Killer Run

Killer Run by Lynn Cahoon Page B

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Authors: Lynn Cahoon
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the house or by a quick text.
    Instead of dealing with the pile, I sat on a step stool and pulled out my phone. I dialed Greg’s cell, and it rang three times, then went to voice mail. “Hey, if you want to eat dinner together tonight, text me and I’ll either grill something or drop something off at the station. I miss you.”
    I put away the phone and concentrated on hauling the trash boxes down to the kitchen and out the back door to the garage. Typically, my garbage can was pretty empty most weeks, but I estimated I had enough trash and recycling to fill both of the ultra-large receptacles for a month or more. I set aside a few copies of the more recent magazines so I could drop them off at the police station. Last time I had to sit and wait for Greg, I’d read a copy of Guns & Ammo that was over ten years old. At least this way, some of the magazines wouldn’t go to recycling unread.
    My phone buzzed in my pocket and I read the text aloud. “Fire up the grill, I’ll be there around six.” Emma looked up at me from her kitchen bed and thumped her tail on the floor. “Yep, girl, we’re having company tonight.”
    I dug through the freezer for some sort of meat—anything—but I came up short. I glanced at the contents of the fridge for a side. I’d forgotten to stop at the grocery store in Bakerstown, and since I hadn’t bought much last week, expecting to be off on our cruise, the pickings were sparse. I still had enough for a quick pasta salad, though. I set a pan on the stove to boil the pasta and another for boiled eggs and went back upstairs to bring down a load of giveaway boxes.
    These I set on the other side of the garage. I’d drop them off at the Youth Ranch thrift store sometime next week. Halfway through that project, I started the eggs and took a break to fix a quick lunch. Opening a can of tuna, I heard a knock on the door. Emma ran to the door and sat at attention. I wiped my hands off and went to let my aunt in.
    â€œWhat are you doing here? I figured you’d be visiting Josh.” I kissed my aunt on the cheek as she buzzed past me, bags in hand. The smell of fresh baked bread filled the room.
    â€œThey let him out.” Aunt Jackie unpacked the bags that were filled with groceries. Fresh vegetables were piled on the counter along with the bread and what looked like fresh seafood from the local fishmonger. There was also a packet that appeared to be New York strips. I bet she’d hit three to four different stores on the way home from Bakerstown.
    â€œUh-oh,” I started putting away the food, eyeing the wrapped package labeled scallops and then my opened can of tuna. “What happened that has you all shopping therapy crazed?”
    Aunt Jackie took a can of seltzer water out of the fridge and settled into one of the kitchen chairs. She set her purse on the table and seemed to collapse into herself. Opening the can, she took a drink.
    â€œYou don’t want a glass for that?” I’d never seen my aunt drink out of a can before, not even when we’d taken a lunch to the beach last week.
    She stared at the can like it had just appeared in her hand. “I’m fine. I just can’t believe they let Josh go home already.”
    â€œHe’s been released?” I grabbed the celery and green onions out of the fridge and started chopping. “Can I make you a sandwich?”
    She nodded. “I haven’t eaten today. Put it on that seven-grain bread and slice a few peaches to go along.”
    Should have known she’d have a menu planned around my offer. “So, tell me about Josh. When we visited, I thought they were trying to get his diabetes under control.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have diabetes. He’s just fine.” Aunt Jackie sighed. “Well, as fine as a massively obese man in his seventies can be.”
    â€œThen why did they keep him?” I stirred mayonnaise and sour

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