Beside Still Waters Read Free

they would just leave the drawer open and leave.
                  She bit her lip, torn.  Finally she picked up a take-out menu and dialed the phone number listed there.
                  The iPhone rang and she jumped.
                  “You’ve reached Uncle.  Leave me a message and tell me how you like the food.”
                  She hung up.
                  There was nothing else she could do.  The restaurant and the money weren’t her responsibility.  She walked out the door and as it swung shut she noticed an emergency contact number in the window.
                  It would be stupid to dial it.  Obviously someone was either there or would be back soon.  Maybe they were just in the bathroom.
                  She wanted to believe that was true, but another part of her whispered that there was something wrong.  Someone could be sick or injured.  Uncle must be older and he could need help.
                  She gritted her teeth and dialed the number.  It started to ring and she heard a shrill ring coming from inside the restaurant.
                  And then it went to voicemail.
                  She hung up and took a deep breath.  She glanced around.  There were several other businesses close by.  Maybe she should go inform someone at one of them of what she had found.
                  But what if someone steals the money because I didn’t do everything I could? she asked herself.  And what if someone’s injured and needs help?
                  For all she knew Uncle was a large, overweight man who could have had a heart attack.  She walked back inside and headed toward the counter.
                  This is stupid, it’s not your job.
                  And she thought of the men on the Oklahoma, dying, and yet still pushing others to safety.  She took a deep breath.  Finding out if the owner needed help was such a little thing.
                  “Hello?” she shouted this time.
                  Still no answer.
                  She walked around the counter and took a step into the kitchen. 
                  And that was when she smelled blood.
                  The hair on the back of her neck raised up and she gripped the doorjamb hard.
                  Uncle could have fallen, hit his head.
                  She forced herself to take another step, and then another.
                  And then she could see all of the kitchen.  She saw white countertops, stainless appliances, and a dead man on the floor lying in a pool of blood, a bullet hole in his forehead.
     

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                  Cindy screamed and then clamped a hand over her mouth as she realized that whoever killed the man might still be nearby.
                  She dialed 911 with shaking fingers and when the dispatcher came on she explained where she was and what had happened in a halting, terrified whisper.
                  And the woman made her repeat the information several times until she could hear sirens in the distance.
                  “They’re almost here,” she whispered and hung up.
                  A minute later two uniformed officers came through the front door, hands on their guns.
                  “He’s over here,” she called, voice shaking.
                  The one officer pushed past her and the second took her elbow and steered her back out to the dining room and had her sit at one of the tables.  She put her small bag of purchases from the Pearl Harbor store on the table and after a minute opened up the deck of cards and began to shuffle them in her hands.
                  When the officer came back to her he raised an eyebrow.
                  “Nervous habit,