Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) by Katie Graykowski Page B
Authors: Katie Graykowski
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standing there smiling at me. He nodded and backed out of the room. “See you soon.”
He waved and headed out. My phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it out of my front left trouser pocket. Ben’s addy.
“He’s cute.” Mellie had finally finished her—my—cupcake and was lingering in the doorway. Was she hoping to eat the cupcake in my hand? I shoved it in my mouth and chewed and chewed and chewed. I have two older brothers, so competition over food is a very real and present danger.
I swallowed and chased it with hot latte. It has taken years for my mouth and throat to build up a tolerance to napalm-hot beverages. Next to my boobs, I think they’re my finest assets.
“So you’re dating a cop now?” Confusion muddied her muddy browns. “Wasn’t your husband a cop?”
“Yep, and that didn’t work out so well for me.” I didn’t hold out much hope that this was going to work out any better. Although, Ben was filthy rich thanks to family money, so I guessed he wouldn’t need to steal two mil from the city. That put him miles ahead of my ex.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Mellie’s smile promised an unending list of all the things she was willing to do to marry well.
“Trust me...there will be no doing tonight.” I picked up my latte and slung my work tote over my shoulder. “I’m out of here.” I headed to the door but then turned around. “Can you send an email hospital-wide and see if anyone wants some of these flowers? And take some home too.”
God knew, it was too much of a good thing. This was why rose gardens were outside.
Ten minutes later, I was in Portia and pulling out of my officially unofficial parking place. Everyone knew that I parked in the first electric car slot closest to the door. No, Portia isn’t electric, but we have like ten slots—none with chargers—so in protest of something stupid, I park there.
You have to draw a line in the sand somewhere.
I hit Monica’s name on my contacts as I pulled out onto Highway 620. I needed to pick up Max from extended care, and then it was on to two kinds of cake.
The phone rang through Portia’s speakers. Hands-free was right up there with donuts and chocolate in the good inventions department.
Monica answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“According to Ben, we are now bug-free.” This was cause for celebration. Try being home alone and not talking to yourself...it’s hard...really hard.
I’d call Haley later. Right now, she was meeting with the garden club or the fine arts commission or the Junior League or one of the myriad of other clubs that rich people belong to so they can feel civic-minded. My idea of civic-mindedness was paying my electric bill on time.
“Good to know.” Monica said. “Wanna come over for dinner? I made enchiladas verdes.”
Unlike me, Monica liked to cook and was actually good at it. To my knowledge, her food had never sent anyone to the hospital.
I turned onto Highway 71 and headed to Bee Creek Elementary. “Can’t. Headed over to Ben’s for dinner.”
A solid minute of silence crackled on the line.
“Are we liking him again? I didn’t know we were liking him again.” Monica had reproachful down to a science. She was the Donald Trump of reproachful.
“Um...well...he’s making me dinner that involves two kinds of cake.” Now that I thought about it, I was kind of a carb slut. Not that I particularly cared or wanted to change, but it’s good to label the crazy.
“You’re such a carb slut.”
See? Nailed it.
“Why don’t you and Landon come to dinner with us?” I wasn’t raised by monkeys; I knew it was rude to invite other people to dinner at someone’s house, but Ben was far from off the hook...plus, I could use a wing-woman.
“I guess I could throw the enchiladas in the fridge and have them tomorrow. And glaring at Ben all night could be fun.” Monica was all about the silver lining. “I’m there.”
Notice how she didn’t ask what was for
He waved and headed out. My phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it out of my front left trouser pocket. Ben’s addy.
“He’s cute.” Mellie had finally finished her—my—cupcake and was lingering in the doorway. Was she hoping to eat the cupcake in my hand? I shoved it in my mouth and chewed and chewed and chewed. I have two older brothers, so competition over food is a very real and present danger.
I swallowed and chased it with hot latte. It has taken years for my mouth and throat to build up a tolerance to napalm-hot beverages. Next to my boobs, I think they’re my finest assets.
“So you’re dating a cop now?” Confusion muddied her muddy browns. “Wasn’t your husband a cop?”
“Yep, and that didn’t work out so well for me.” I didn’t hold out much hope that this was going to work out any better. Although, Ben was filthy rich thanks to family money, so I guessed he wouldn’t need to steal two mil from the city. That put him miles ahead of my ex.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Mellie’s smile promised an unending list of all the things she was willing to do to marry well.
“Trust me...there will be no doing tonight.” I picked up my latte and slung my work tote over my shoulder. “I’m out of here.” I headed to the door but then turned around. “Can you send an email hospital-wide and see if anyone wants some of these flowers? And take some home too.”
God knew, it was too much of a good thing. This was why rose gardens were outside.
Ten minutes later, I was in Portia and pulling out of my officially unofficial parking place. Everyone knew that I parked in the first electric car slot closest to the door. No, Portia isn’t electric, but we have like ten slots—none with chargers—so in protest of something stupid, I park there.
You have to draw a line in the sand somewhere.
I hit Monica’s name on my contacts as I pulled out onto Highway 620. I needed to pick up Max from extended care, and then it was on to two kinds of cake.
The phone rang through Portia’s speakers. Hands-free was right up there with donuts and chocolate in the good inventions department.
Monica answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“According to Ben, we are now bug-free.” This was cause for celebration. Try being home alone and not talking to yourself...it’s hard...really hard.
I’d call Haley later. Right now, she was meeting with the garden club or the fine arts commission or the Junior League or one of the myriad of other clubs that rich people belong to so they can feel civic-minded. My idea of civic-mindedness was paying my electric bill on time.
“Good to know.” Monica said. “Wanna come over for dinner? I made enchiladas verdes.”
Unlike me, Monica liked to cook and was actually good at it. To my knowledge, her food had never sent anyone to the hospital.
I turned onto Highway 71 and headed to Bee Creek Elementary. “Can’t. Headed over to Ben’s for dinner.”
A solid minute of silence crackled on the line.
“Are we liking him again? I didn’t know we were liking him again.” Monica had reproachful down to a science. She was the Donald Trump of reproachful.
“Um...well...he’s making me dinner that involves two kinds of cake.” Now that I thought about it, I was kind of a carb slut. Not that I particularly cared or wanted to change, but it’s good to label the crazy.
“You’re such a carb slut.”
See? Nailed it.
“Why don’t you and Landon come to dinner with us?” I wasn’t raised by monkeys; I knew it was rude to invite other people to dinner at someone’s house, but Ben was far from off the hook...plus, I could use a wing-woman.
“I guess I could throw the enchiladas in the fridge and have them tomorrow. And glaring at Ben all night could be fun.” Monica was all about the silver lining. “I’m there.”
Notice how she didn’t ask what was for
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