Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder Read Online Free Page B
Author: Marilyn Rausch, Mary Donlon
Tags: Mystery: Thriller - Crime - Author - Iowa
out to be in a relationship. Maybe he was just a flawed human being, unwilling to care too much for someone, because it hurt to lose them. Like that little eight-year-old girl with the pixie smile.
The pilot’s voice came on over the speakers, “Ladies and gentleman. We have begun our final descent into Minneapolis/St. Paul International airport. The current temperature is a balmy fifteen degrees. It’s been our pleasure to fly with you from our origination point of Baltimore/Washington International airport. We hope you have a pleasant stay.”
John gathered up his scattered files and drank the remainder of his soda. He closed up the tray and stored his belongings beneath the seat in front of him. After several minutes encased in clouds, the plane broke through. The snow-covered buildings and streets of the Twin Cities appeared out his window as the plane banked to line up with its runway. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Landings were never John’s favorite.
The female morning-drive DJ was cheerful as she reported doom and gloom on the commute. “Eastbound lanes of Highway 62 are shutdown at the Cedar Avenue/77 exit due to a jackknifed semi-trailer. We suggest you find an alternate route to your destination… .”
“Great. Now they tell me.” Special Agent Jo Schwann clicked off the radio in disgust. She looked at the clock on the dash. “Today, of all days.”
It had been one of those mornings. The old furnace in her 1920s house had petered out last night, and she woke to a chilly fifty-eight degrees. Jo spent forty minutes arranging to have it replaced while she was out of town. No heat for several days would mean frozen pipes in these temperatures.
She loved her house. It was in the Tangletown part of Minneapolis, so called because of the winding streets that took their directional cue from Minnehaha Creek flowing through the area. Jo spent most of her precious free hours restoring the house to its original beauty. It was at times like this, though, that a maintenance-free apartment seemed enticing.
The next snag in her day had appeared when she loaded her luggage into her FBI-issued vehicle, only to find it wouldn’t start. Rather than calling a tow truck, she transferred everything to her personal SUV and headed out. Now this.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She hated to be late for anything. An expert for her next case was waiting for her at the airport.
Looking around at the sea of cars inching along with her, it was hard not to feel a bit claustrophobic. She could see into the red VW Beetle next to her. The driver was talking on his cell phone while eating an Egg McMuffin from McDonalds. Of course, no hands on the steering wheel.
Her mind drifted to last night. Kara, a friend at work, had set her up on a blind date, something Jo had been resisting for months. Jo finally caved. It had been a long time since she had been out, though she told herself that the fault lay in the hours and demands of her job—they left little room for a social life.
They arranged to meet at an Irish pub in St. Paul. Her date, Cory, was not at all what she expected. Kara had said that he was a huge hockey fan, played in college in fact. He had gotten tickets to see the Minnesota Wild take on the Anaheim Ducks, and they were going to the game after a quick bite to eat. She expected a tall, outgoing guy with blond hair and blue eyes—the standard Nordic Minnesotan.
Instead, he had a slight build and dark hair, with artsy glasses over brown eyes. When the hostess led her to his table, Cory stood up and knocked over his drink, spilling it on her shoes. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. Here, let me.” He got down on his knees and began wiping her shoes with his napkin. “So clumsy of me.”
The night had gone down hill from there. Throughout the meal of fish and chips, Cory was nice, but painfully shy. He wouldn’t look her in the eye when he spoke and answers to her questions were
The pilot’s voice came on over the speakers, “Ladies and gentleman. We have begun our final descent into Minneapolis/St. Paul International airport. The current temperature is a balmy fifteen degrees. It’s been our pleasure to fly with you from our origination point of Baltimore/Washington International airport. We hope you have a pleasant stay.”
John gathered up his scattered files and drank the remainder of his soda. He closed up the tray and stored his belongings beneath the seat in front of him. After several minutes encased in clouds, the plane broke through. The snow-covered buildings and streets of the Twin Cities appeared out his window as the plane banked to line up with its runway. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Landings were never John’s favorite.
The female morning-drive DJ was cheerful as she reported doom and gloom on the commute. “Eastbound lanes of Highway 62 are shutdown at the Cedar Avenue/77 exit due to a jackknifed semi-trailer. We suggest you find an alternate route to your destination… .”
“Great. Now they tell me.” Special Agent Jo Schwann clicked off the radio in disgust. She looked at the clock on the dash. “Today, of all days.”
It had been one of those mornings. The old furnace in her 1920s house had petered out last night, and she woke to a chilly fifty-eight degrees. Jo spent forty minutes arranging to have it replaced while she was out of town. No heat for several days would mean frozen pipes in these temperatures.
She loved her house. It was in the Tangletown part of Minneapolis, so called because of the winding streets that took their directional cue from Minnehaha Creek flowing through the area. Jo spent most of her precious free hours restoring the house to its original beauty. It was at times like this, though, that a maintenance-free apartment seemed enticing.
The next snag in her day had appeared when she loaded her luggage into her FBI-issued vehicle, only to find it wouldn’t start. Rather than calling a tow truck, she transferred everything to her personal SUV and headed out. Now this.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She hated to be late for anything. An expert for her next case was waiting for her at the airport.
Looking around at the sea of cars inching along with her, it was hard not to feel a bit claustrophobic. She could see into the red VW Beetle next to her. The driver was talking on his cell phone while eating an Egg McMuffin from McDonalds. Of course, no hands on the steering wheel.
Her mind drifted to last night. Kara, a friend at work, had set her up on a blind date, something Jo had been resisting for months. Jo finally caved. It had been a long time since she had been out, though she told herself that the fault lay in the hours and demands of her job—they left little room for a social life.
They arranged to meet at an Irish pub in St. Paul. Her date, Cory, was not at all what she expected. Kara had said that he was a huge hockey fan, played in college in fact. He had gotten tickets to see the Minnesota Wild take on the Anaheim Ducks, and they were going to the game after a quick bite to eat. She expected a tall, outgoing guy with blond hair and blue eyes—the standard Nordic Minnesotan.
Instead, he had a slight build and dark hair, with artsy glasses over brown eyes. When the hostess led her to his table, Cory stood up and knocked over his drink, spilling it on her shoes. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. Here, let me.” He got down on his knees and began wiping her shoes with his napkin. “So clumsy of me.”
The night had gone down hill from there. Throughout the meal of fish and chips, Cory was nice, but painfully shy. He wouldn’t look her in the eye when he spoke and answers to her questions were
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