2 Death Makes the Cut Read Free Page B

company, for God’s sakes. You guys could go anywhere in the world.”
    I gestured to the empty desks around us. “Not in three days. I have a job, remember? Besides, I want to pay my own way. I can afford Port Aransas.”
    “Pay your own way?” she said with outrage. “Why? Is he that cheap? He sure isn’t racking up any boyfriend points, is he?” She looked thoughtful, as though struck by a sudden idea. “Are you going to kick him to the curb?”
    “What, are you waiting to snap him up?” The question wasn’t quite as far-fetched as it sounded. She’d had her eye on him when we’d been in Egypt, although admittedly since I’d been dating him, she’d been strictly hands off.
    Now she snorted. “Ew. I don’t need your sloppy seconds, thanks very much. Especially not some cheap bastard. But there’s this new guy in my office who’s sort of cute, and I could introduce you. You might like him.”
    “Alan’s not a cheap bastard, and no, I’m not kicking him to the curb,” I said. But even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.
    Kyla ignored this. “It wouldn’t hurt you to meet this guy. Just for drinks or something. It’s not like you and Alan are exclusive.”
    I frowned. Of course we were exclusive … weren’t we? Thinking about it, I supposed we’d never formally talked about it. No promises on either side, that sort of thing. Part of it was the distance. When you only got to see each other a weekend or two each month, things tended to move pretty slowly. It seemed like we spent half our time each visit getting reacquainted. Not that the reacquainting wasn’t a lot of fun, but I was getting tired of the dry spells in between.
    “No, I don’t think so. Alan and I are doing okay. At least,” I added, “I want to give us a chance to do okay.”
    She shrugged. “Think about it. Sherman’s a nice guy. And smart. And funny.”
    “His name is Sherman?”
    “He can’t help that. Besides, he’s a hottie. Or he would be if he had someone to tell him how to dress.”
    “Why don’t you want him?” I asked suspiciously.
    “I thought about it,” she admitted. “But I have to work with him. It would be awkward, especially since I’d have to make him buy a new wardrobe and change his name. You know I could never go out with a guy named Sherman.”
    I decided to leave it at that. We spent the next hour going over what she could say in her first class. I made her take notes and reminded her that she’d have to do it on her own, but we both knew I’d be doing most of the real work. By the time we left, I’d already forgotten about Larry and his VIP guests. And about Coach Fred.
    *   *   *
     
    Austin is the best city in the world, I thought for about the millionth time as I drove home. On this August afternoon, the sun was gliding slowly down to meet the blue tops of the hills to the west and throwing a brassy golden light over the dusty live oaks and cedars that filled every undeveloped bit of land. Heat pulled color and shape into the air above the road, and made it shimmer and undulate like miniature underwater reefs. With the air conditioner blasting icy air in my face and my radio playing Brad Paisley’s “Mud on the Tires,” I didn’t care. Like most Texans, I’d take a miserably hot July and August over a miserably icy January and February any day.
    I’d been born in Texas, although I hadn’t grown up there. Until his retirement, my father had been in the diplomatic corps, and my two brothers and I had spent much of our childhood in France, Italy, and Spain. Moreover, my mother was French, and as a result I was fluent in French and Italian, and had a fairly decent grasp of Spanish. We’d returned to Austin at the beginning of my high school years, and I’d been able to go to school with Kyla, which had been a bit of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, she’d resented me for looking so much like her and had stolen my very first boyfriend for no other reason than to prove