4th of July by James Patterson, Maxine Paetro Page A

before heading down to his basement exit. He’d been inside for four minutes and a few seconds.
    Now, outside the house, he ran a line of caulking along the window glass and pressed it back into place. The caulk would hold until he was ready to enter the house again—and torture and kill them.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 29
    I OPENED CAT’S FRONT door, and Martha yanked on her lead, pulling me into shocking sunshine. The beach was a short walk away, and we were headed toward it when a black dog zoomed out of my peripheral vision and lunged at Martha—who pulled free of my grasp and bolted.
    My scream was cut short when something rammed me hard from behind. I fell, and something, someone, piled on top of me. What the hell?
    I tore free of the tangle of flesh and metal and stood up, ready to swing.
    Damn! Some idiot had run me over with his bicycle. The guy struggled to his feet. He was twenty-something, with thinning hair and pink-framed glasses hanging from one ear.
    “So-phieee,” he yelled in the direction of the two dogs now barreling toward the water’s edge. “Sophie, NO!”
    The black dog braked and looked back at the cyclist, who adjusted his glasses and turned a worried look toward me.
    “I’m so s-s-sorry. You okay?” he asked. I felt him grappling with his stutter.
    “I’ll let you know in a minute,” I said, fuming. I limped down the street toward Martha, who was trotting toward me, ears back, looking whipped, poor thing.
    I ran my hands over her, checking for bites, hardly listening as the cyclist explained that Sophie was just a puppy and didn’t mean any harm.
    “Look,” he said, “I’ll g-g-get my car and drive you to the hospital.”
    “What? No, I’m okay.” And Martha was fine, too. But I was still pissed. I wanted to blast the guy, but, hey, accidents happen, right?
    “What about your leg?”
    “Don’t worry about it.”
    “If you’re sure . . . ?”
    The bike guy leashed Sophie and introduced himself. “Bob Hinton,” he said. “If you need a good lawyer, here’s my card. And I’m really sorry.”
    “Lindsay Boxer,” I said, taking his card. “And I do need a good lawyer. Some guy with a baby rottie ran over me with his Cannondale.”
    The guy smiled nervously. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
    “My sister, Catherine, lives there.” I pointed to the pretty blue house. Then, since we were headed the same way, we all trooped off together along the sandy footpath that bisected the dune grass.
    I told Hinton that I was staying at my sister’s house while taking a few weeks off from my job with the SFPD.
    “A cop, huh? You’ve come to the right place. All those murders that have happened around here.”
    I went hot and cold at the same time. My cheeks flamed, but my insides turned to ice. I didn’t want to think about murders around here. I wanted to detox. Take my R&R. And I certainly didn’t want to talk anymore with this blindsiding lawyer, although he seemed nice enough.
    “Listen, I’ve gotta go,” I said. I tightened Martha’s lead so that she was beside me and walked quickly on. “Take care,” I shot over my shoulder. “And try to watch where you’re going.”
    I clambered down the sandy cliff to the beach, distancing myself from Bob Hinton as quickly as possible.
    Out of sight. Out of mind.

Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July

Chapter 30
    THE WATER WAS TOO cold for swimming, but I sat cross-legged near the surf’s edge and stared out at the horizon where the aqua blue bay met the great rolling Pacific.
    Martha was running along the curve of the beach, the sand spraying out behind her feet, and I was enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face when I felt something hard jab the back of my neck.
    I froze.
    I didn’t even take a breath.
    “You shot that girl,” a voice said. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
    At first I didn’t recognize the voice. My mind spun, searching for a name, an explanation, the right words to