Killer Kisses by Sharon Buchbinder Page A

pocket and covered the end of his beaked nose. Just then, his over-dressed, over-endowed wife stepped between them.
    “Boys, for God’s sake.” As Dick continued to dab at his nostrils, Beth Heade yanked at her husband’s arm. “We have more important things to work on than some juvenile pissing contest.”
    Heade lowered his fist and allowed himself to be led away, all the while glaring at Web. “I’ll make sure you’re on the night shift the rest of your life, Dweebster.”
    Web shrugged. There were worse things in life—like being married to Dick Heade, for one. He sat down and listened to Beth pick up where her husband left off, her high-pitched voice artificially cheerful, as if she was on the Home Shopping Network hawking a particularly garish lot of jewelry.
    “Okay, then,” Beth pointed the remote control and clicked to the next slide, showing downtown Summerville. “It is going to be very busy time. Between the reunion and the Arts Festival, every hotel room in town and in the neighboring villages are booked. This is a great opportunity for homeowners to rent out rooms to our visitors.”
    The next slide showed Beth’s downtown real estate office. Web assumed she couldn’t resist the opportunity for a bit of shameless self-promotion
    Despite the fact that their rival hogged the spotlight, two other local realtors, Susan Cloutier and Sam Kruger, seemed unperturbed by Beth’s hype. Web knew for a fact that many clients defected from Heade Real Estate when they grew tired of Dickhead’s intrusions into his wife's business dealings. His overbearing boss just had to be in charge of everything and everyone in his realm.
    “As always, I’m happy to help with rental agreements,” Beth announced. “Let’s not forget that in addition to catching up with our old or shall we say, mature colleagues, we have a wonderful marketing opportunity for Summerville. Some folks might decide they want to move back here to be among their friends.”
    A photo of sail boats gliding across the white capped surface of Lake Ontario came up on screen. “Or they might want a summer home.” Beth flipped to a photo of a brick town home on Lake Shore Boulevard. Thanks to the wonders of cosmetic surgery, the perpetual look of false surprise on her face grew to clown-like proportions. “We have everything here in Summerville!”
    Web couldn’t decide which was more annoying. Dick's nasal annoying bombast ego driven dribble, or Beth with her incessant chirping. If it hadn’t been for his mother, Web would have escaped from this boring little burg a long time ago, and moved on to more exciting places where he could make a difference, instead of spending weekends arresting underage drinkers at the U.
    The death of his father in a car crash when Web was sixteen sealed his fate. He stayed in Summerville to become his mother’s scrawny, but determined protector. Her slow descent into Alzheimer’s Disease, turned his role into a permanent one.
    His mind drifted back to those dreadful adolescent years when, all arms and legs, he was known as the Dweebster. He’d spent a lot of time stuffed into hall lockers by his constant tormentor, the same back then as now, Dick Heade. The only good thing that ever came out of it was meeting Lola Getz the day she opened her locker and he fell out—right on top of her luscious curves.
    They both went down, him flailing, her squealing. Then, she’d dissolved into laughter. He’d been mortified, but would never forget what she said after they finally got back to their feet and he told her his name.
    “Webster Bond.”
    “Hmm. Stirred but not shaken. I like that in a man.”
    Her Mexican accent sent a thrill down his spine and elsewhere. Thankfully, the class bell rang before he could say anything terminally stupid.
    After high school, with no money for an out of town, much less out of state university, Web enrolled at Summerville University. Knowing he wanted to get into the police academy, his