The Dead Dog Day Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jackie Kabler
Kendrick. The plans, which had taken a long time to formulate, were all in place. Just the weekend to get through, and then the day would be here. The soon-to-be killer, casually tossing a roll of duct tape from hand to hand, wondered with a small smirk if Jeanette Kendrick liked Mondays. If so, she wouldnât be quite so keen on her next one.
4
In a luxurious apartment in central London, Benjamin Boland flicked his gargantuan plasma screen off and sank back into the stack of fine Egyptian cotton-covered pillows that adorned his queen-sized bed.
Heâd been watching Morning Live a lot recently. It wasnât a bad little show actually, he thought. He wouldnât work on it of course â and he had been asked to, not so long ago. Heâd turned Jeanette Kendrick down flat though. No way was he going to get out of bed at the crack of dawn, not while he was still getting primetime stuff to present â but still, it did make quite entertaining viewing. Some hot women too.
Relishing his lie-in, the TV star gazed out of the huge floor to ceiling window opposite. He loved this place, which was on the fifteenth floor of a new, ultra-modern high-rise on the South Bank, just down the road from TV Centre. Without stirring from his bed (newly acquired from the Versace home range), he could see the Thames snaking by below, the weak December sun glinting on its curves. Towering over the riverbank, the London Eye, the great Ferris wheel which gave sightseers an unparalleled view of the capital, was already slowly turning, its transparent pods dotted with the first tourists of the morning.
He ran his hands through his dark, curly hair, which was even more unruly then usual at this time of day, and turned to pull the duvet off the bed completely, looking with anticipation at the sleeping figure of the skinny blonde in red, âMrs Santaâ style lingerie sprawled next to him. She had bored him almost to tears with her conversation last night but then, most of them did nowadays. He vowed there and then to stop dating models. Well, maybe just over Christmas. Then, no more. Still ⦠asleep, this one looked seriously sexy. Her long, wavy hair extensions draped softly over huge, quite obviously surgically enhanced breasts, the curls almost reaching the taut tanned stomach and firm little bottom below. Benjamin leaned over, slipped his fingers inside her bra cup, and gently tweaked her large, pink nipple. The blonde moaned softly and half opened her eyes, her dark lashes flaky with last nightâs mascara.
âWell, good morning, big boy,â she said huskily. âYou up already?â She reached out a scarlet-tipped finger and ran it gently up his leg.
Oh yes, thought Benjamin. I am very definitely up already â¦
A hundred and twenty miles away in the Gloucestershire flat he shared with Cora Baxter, Justin Dendy was packing. Feeling slightly nauseous, he moved slowly around the neat lounge, trying to ignore the glittering Christmas tree he had helped his excited girlfriend decorate last weekend. Picking up a CD here, a book there, he carried on until he had collected the last of his belongings. Returning to the bedroom, he tossed them into a large sports bag, zipped it closed and carried it out to the small pile of suitcases and boxes already stacked outside the front door.
With a final glance around the bright apartment heâd called home for the past ten months, Justin shut the door and locked it behind him.
He called the lift, lugged all his gear into it, and hit the button for the ground floor.
Five minutes later, the boot and back seat of his Volvo straining with luggage, he shut the driverâs door, sat back in his seat and pulled his mobile from his jeans pocket. He couldnât put it off any longer. It was time to ring Cora.
5
Monday 18 th December
M is for Monday â M is for murder! OMG Cora â what the hell? Nx
Cora shook her head as she read Nathanâs text. What the
4
In a luxurious apartment in central London, Benjamin Boland flicked his gargantuan plasma screen off and sank back into the stack of fine Egyptian cotton-covered pillows that adorned his queen-sized bed.
Heâd been watching Morning Live a lot recently. It wasnât a bad little show actually, he thought. He wouldnât work on it of course â and he had been asked to, not so long ago. Heâd turned Jeanette Kendrick down flat though. No way was he going to get out of bed at the crack of dawn, not while he was still getting primetime stuff to present â but still, it did make quite entertaining viewing. Some hot women too.
Relishing his lie-in, the TV star gazed out of the huge floor to ceiling window opposite. He loved this place, which was on the fifteenth floor of a new, ultra-modern high-rise on the South Bank, just down the road from TV Centre. Without stirring from his bed (newly acquired from the Versace home range), he could see the Thames snaking by below, the weak December sun glinting on its curves. Towering over the riverbank, the London Eye, the great Ferris wheel which gave sightseers an unparalleled view of the capital, was already slowly turning, its transparent pods dotted with the first tourists of the morning.
He ran his hands through his dark, curly hair, which was even more unruly then usual at this time of day, and turned to pull the duvet off the bed completely, looking with anticipation at the sleeping figure of the skinny blonde in red, âMrs Santaâ style lingerie sprawled next to him. She had bored him almost to tears with her conversation last night but then, most of them did nowadays. He vowed there and then to stop dating models. Well, maybe just over Christmas. Then, no more. Still ⦠asleep, this one looked seriously sexy. Her long, wavy hair extensions draped softly over huge, quite obviously surgically enhanced breasts, the curls almost reaching the taut tanned stomach and firm little bottom below. Benjamin leaned over, slipped his fingers inside her bra cup, and gently tweaked her large, pink nipple. The blonde moaned softly and half opened her eyes, her dark lashes flaky with last nightâs mascara.
âWell, good morning, big boy,â she said huskily. âYou up already?â She reached out a scarlet-tipped finger and ran it gently up his leg.
Oh yes, thought Benjamin. I am very definitely up already â¦
A hundred and twenty miles away in the Gloucestershire flat he shared with Cora Baxter, Justin Dendy was packing. Feeling slightly nauseous, he moved slowly around the neat lounge, trying to ignore the glittering Christmas tree he had helped his excited girlfriend decorate last weekend. Picking up a CD here, a book there, he carried on until he had collected the last of his belongings. Returning to the bedroom, he tossed them into a large sports bag, zipped it closed and carried it out to the small pile of suitcases and boxes already stacked outside the front door.
With a final glance around the bright apartment heâd called home for the past ten months, Justin shut the door and locked it behind him.
He called the lift, lugged all his gear into it, and hit the button for the ground floor.
Five minutes later, the boot and back seat of his Volvo straining with luggage, he shut the driverâs door, sat back in his seat and pulled his mobile from his jeans pocket. He couldnât put it off any longer. It was time to ring Cora.
5
Monday 18 th December
M is for Monday â M is for murder! OMG Cora â what the hell? Nx
Cora shook her head as she read Nathanâs text. What the
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