Drowning Barbie Read Online Free

litterbug? Or, if they were fastidious, there were dumpsters aplenty in the area. And why wait ten, fifteen, twenty years to do the dumping? He stared at the scattered materials for several minutes, then turned and left.
    Ike kept a variety of things in the trunk of his cruiser—a pump shot gun with a shortened stock and barrel, a Kevlar vest, a crime scene kit, and a change of clothing. In a separate box he stored tools ranging from a five-pound maul to a set of lock picks (entering a building in the pursuit of evidence as opposed to making an arrest often required different approaches), flashlights, and padlocks. He grabbed one of the latter and a spool of crime-scene tape. He shoved the barn doors closed, threw the rusty hasp over, and locked them shut. He reconsidered stringing the tape. Yellow tape without some sort of supervision of this remote building would be an invitation to the curious to break and enter.
    He would send someone out in the morning to collect the stuff—if he could. Right now they had enough to do with two fresh murder investigations. The paperwork alone would take hours.
    He felt good. He was back at work.

Chapter Four
    Except at work when they had no choice, Ike and Ruth had made a decision to avoid people in general. Socializing prompted questions. Questions about their vacation in Maine, for example. Questions about their brief stay in “Sin City.” Questions from family—that would be Ruth’s mother, Eden Saint Clare, and Abe and Dolly Schwartz. Questions about future plans—specifically marital. So, for the last three days, they had been eating their meals at either Ruth’s house or Ike’s apartment. On the weekend they planned to retreat to Ike’s A-frame in the mountains. Buried in maples and laurel, they were guaranteed a modicum of privacy. Tonight, however, they risked a public meal at Frank’s Restaurant and Grill. Frank stayed in business as a restaurateur chiefly because in a down economy, no major chain wanted to risk the start-up costs involved in opening a competitive location. That had to change soon. Rumors of a Denny’s had been circulating for months. The fact that a Denny’s would be considered a better choice as a place to dine than Frank’s tells you everything you needed to know about Frank’s culinary skill.
    Thus, Ike and Ruth felt moderately safe at Frank’s because, aside from the roast beef, Frank served truly mediocre food. Chances were slim that anyone they knew would eat there on a Tuesday night. Ike picked a roll out of the bread basket and searched for butter.
    â€œWe have a problem,” he said and waved to their waiter.
    â€œJust one?” Ruth asked. “From where I’m sitting we have…well, I have multitudinous problems. If I had a really good option, I’d be out of here in a New York minute.”
    The waiter arrived and Ike asked for butter. The server stared at the table for a moment hoping, Ike supposed, to find the missing butter hiding under the napery. He nodded and left.
    â€œYou say that every summer and fall, Ruth. New faculty and new students on their way in, old faculty and students who can’t behave, on their way out, and the paperwork attached to all of the above sits like the Himalayas on your desk. Yes, I know and you know it will all smooth out by Halloween, and then you’ll be fine. The problem we have at the moment is about us and how we announce to the world we’re getting married when, in fact, we already are.”
    Ruth pushed back from the table and sighed. “You’d think Frank could at least have a restaurant that smelled good. A restaurant should be filled with the aromas of fresh bread, roasting meat, garlic, something. This place smells like Pine-Sol.”
    â€œAre you sure you want to sniff at Frank’s cooking?”
    â€œFrank should put an onion or two in the oven. I had a friend who did that. She couldn’t cook