Murder on the Lunatic Fringe (Jubilant Falls Series Book 4) by Debra Gaskill Page A

incessantly.
    Dennis and I nodded at each other in greeting and I explained what my story was about.
    “I’m just uploading Saturday’s stories to the Website,” Dennis said. “I can upload this rescue story and photos for you when you get it done. Did you happen to get video?”
    “Yeah I did—on my phone. I’ll e-mail it to you in a second.” I sat down and flipped on my computer.
    “Did you see Saturday’s paper?” Dennis asked.
    “Yeah. Awesome shots Pat took of those llamas or whatever they’re called,” I answered without looking at him. I already had my lead halfway written: A Jubilant Falls man is recovering at a Collitstown hospital, following a fall into the gorge at Canal Lock Park Sunday...
    I needed to bang out the story so I could be back home by the time Elizabeth got there.
    The phone at Dennis’s elbow rang. He picked it up on the second ring.
    “Hey, Addison. Yeah, he’s here,” he said. “Yeah. He just came back from Canal Lock Park—he’s got photos. No, I haven’t seen them yet. Yes, he got video. He’s working on the story right now. All of Saturday’s stories are uploaded, by the way. I put your llama story on the home page.”
    I tuned out the rest of their conversation as my writing picked up steam. Elizabeth would be back in town in just a couple hours and I had to make things right. If I could help it, another Kinnon child would never wonder where or who his real father was.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 8 Katya
     
    “You have lovely farm, Addison.” I stepped from Jerome’s Jeep Cherokee and shook Addison’s hand, then the hand of her husband, Duncan, who had the black eye. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”
    Jerome shook Duncan’s hand but only nodded sharply at Addison. I would have to say something to him about his rudeness when we got home.
    “I appreciate what you did for me yesterday, Duncan,” he said.
    Duncan shrugged. “The folks here in Jubilant Falls aren’t all like Doyle. That’s why we wanted to have you over. I hope you like steak.”
    Jerome nodded and smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Sure do.”
    Duncan McIntyre led us over to the maple tree in front of the old white farmhouse.
    A grill and a picnic table sat beneath the rustling leaves. A blue and white cooler sat at the base of the tree, filled with beer and soda. Paper plates and plastic silverware were held in place by a large ceramic bowl filled with salad and covered with plastic wrap. A plastic-wrapped plate held brownies; another bowl contained baked beans.
    I heard a cell phone ring. It was Addison’s; she stopped walking with us to answer it. Keeping myself safe is an old habit, so I stopped to listen, pretending to examine the flowers around the front porch.
    “A hiker fell? At the park?” She was silent for a few moments. “Thanks, Graham. I appreciate it. I’ve actually got company this afternoon.”
    I relaxed. Maybe one of these days I could hear phone conversations without fear, but not right now.
    Maybe later today I could make up for yesterday with Jerome. After what I’d said in bed Saturday morning, he left angrily.
    “ Za bazár otvétish,” he said in Russian as he slammed the door. “You’ll pay for those words.”
    What did he mean by that? For the rest of Saturday morning, I sat in my house, rocking back and forth on my bed as I cried and worried. I don’t know where Kolya’s name came from, or why I said it. Once again, I was thoughtless, stupid. Here I am, beginning again, with wonderful man in my life—of all things to say! Would Jerome leave me because of my stupidity? Would we become two people living just feet apart, yet strangers? A few hours later, he was home and angry at something else, not me—a fight at the feed store. Jerome let me comfort him and my intimate indiscretion was forgotten.
    Now, here we were enjoying an outdoor barbecue on a Sunday afternoon as if nothing had come between us.
    The four of us chose beers from the