Read Online First You Fall: A Kevin Connor Mystery by Scott Sherman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott Sherman
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looking. Almost as tal as he, with sharp, birdlike features that made her smile look predatory. In a strapless white evening gown, her bony shoulders and prominent col arbone gave her the chic appeal of a bulimic. Lara Flynn Boyle would have to diet to get this skinny. Whoever said you can’t be too rich or too thin never saw this picture.
Next, I searched the name of the older brother, Michael. The first link took me to the Center for Creative Empowerment Therapy. There on the homepage was a picture of Michael, with a caption reading “Founder and Leader.”
Although the picture was just a head and shoulder shot, you could see Michael Harrington was a powerful y built and stunningly good-looking man.
Square jawed, heavily muscled, with sharp cheekbones and electric blue eyes. Although there was some resemblance between Paul and him, Michael seemed to have gotten both brothers’
al otment of testosterone.
Like his brother’s official portrait, Michael’s also showed him unsmiling. With his stern expression and piercing eyes, Michael gave you the feeling that if his “creative empowerment therapy” (whatever that was) didn’t work, he could just beat the neuroses out of you.
Hunky as he was, he could have made a fortune with Mrs. Cherry doing just that.
A click on his picture took you to his bio. I was just about to read more about him when an instant message popped up on my screen.
“Angel, what r u doing up?” Freddy typed.
I wrote him an abbreviated synopsis of my evening, making out with Tony, and my mother’s moving in.
“Just when I thought ur life couldn’t get any more dramatic,” Freddy wrote back. “What tragedy wil befal you next? A plague of locusts? Boils? A new Celine Dion album?
“Speaking of crazy divas,” he continued, “would u say hel o to ur mother for me?
I assured him I would.
“Good. Now go to bed. We have to be beautiful for the reading of the wil tomorrow.”
I looked at the time in the Windows taskbar. 2:45
A.M. Ugh.
I signed off and lay on the couch for another hour until sleep came.
CHAPTER 6
Things Go Worse Than Expected
THREE HOURS LATER I was awakened by the sound of grenades exploding in my kitchen. “What the hel ?” I shouted.
“Honey,” my mother said cheerily. “I was just looking for where you keep the food.”
Welcome, Hurricane Momma. For one blissful moment, I had forgotten about my new roommate.
“I don’t keep any food,” I groaned.
“Toast?”
“Toast is food.”
“Coffee?”
“Nope.”
“How about some tea?”
“I have protein powder, milk, and bananas.”
“Maybe some eggs?”
“Am I going to have to get out of bed?”
“You’re not in bed,” my mother reminded me.
“You’re on the couch. And yes, you have to get up.
Momma’s going to take you out to breakfast at that greasy spoon on the corner. You know, breakfast is a very important meal. The most important of the day, I always say. I don’t know how you can be productive if you don’t start out with a good breakfast
…”
Maybe I should have taken Tony up on that offer to shoot her.
After our breakfast, my mother and I went our separate ways: She to the beauty parlor she runs in Hauppauge, Long Island, I to my apartment to change. I told her that the super would let her in if she got home before I did, but she assured me that he had already given her an extra key. Great.
I put on a pair of tan khakis, a white dress shirt, tan boat shoes, and carried a blue linen blazer, the outfit I wear when a client requests “a nice, clean boy.” I considered wearing a tie, but the blistering heat made me decide otherwise. I don’t know how people who have real jobs survive in this city.
I took a cab to the law office where Al en’s wil was to be read. Standing outside was Freddy, looking spectacular in a black suit with a white silk T-shirt underneath. The outfit was just this side of Miami Vice, but Freddy could pul it off.
“What happened to the
Next, I searched the name of the older brother, Michael. The first link took me to the Center for Creative Empowerment Therapy. There on the homepage was a picture of Michael, with a caption reading “Founder and Leader.”
Although the picture was just a head and shoulder shot, you could see Michael Harrington was a powerful y built and stunningly good-looking man.
Square jawed, heavily muscled, with sharp cheekbones and electric blue eyes. Although there was some resemblance between Paul and him, Michael seemed to have gotten both brothers’
al otment of testosterone.
Like his brother’s official portrait, Michael’s also showed him unsmiling. With his stern expression and piercing eyes, Michael gave you the feeling that if his “creative empowerment therapy” (whatever that was) didn’t work, he could just beat the neuroses out of you.
Hunky as he was, he could have made a fortune with Mrs. Cherry doing just that.
A click on his picture took you to his bio. I was just about to read more about him when an instant message popped up on my screen.
“Angel, what r u doing up?” Freddy typed.
I wrote him an abbreviated synopsis of my evening, making out with Tony, and my mother’s moving in.
“Just when I thought ur life couldn’t get any more dramatic,” Freddy wrote back. “What tragedy wil befal you next? A plague of locusts? Boils? A new Celine Dion album?
“Speaking of crazy divas,” he continued, “would u say hel o to ur mother for me?
I assured him I would.
“Good. Now go to bed. We have to be beautiful for the reading of the wil tomorrow.”
I looked at the time in the Windows taskbar. 2:45
A.M. Ugh.
I signed off and lay on the couch for another hour until sleep came.
CHAPTER 6
Things Go Worse Than Expected
THREE HOURS LATER I was awakened by the sound of grenades exploding in my kitchen. “What the hel ?” I shouted.
“Honey,” my mother said cheerily. “I was just looking for where you keep the food.”
Welcome, Hurricane Momma. For one blissful moment, I had forgotten about my new roommate.
“I don’t keep any food,” I groaned.
“Toast?”
“Toast is food.”
“Coffee?”
“Nope.”
“How about some tea?”
“I have protein powder, milk, and bananas.”
“Maybe some eggs?”
“Am I going to have to get out of bed?”
“You’re not in bed,” my mother reminded me.
“You’re on the couch. And yes, you have to get up.
Momma’s going to take you out to breakfast at that greasy spoon on the corner. You know, breakfast is a very important meal. The most important of the day, I always say. I don’t know how you can be productive if you don’t start out with a good breakfast
…”
Maybe I should have taken Tony up on that offer to shoot her.
After our breakfast, my mother and I went our separate ways: She to the beauty parlor she runs in Hauppauge, Long Island, I to my apartment to change. I told her that the super would let her in if she got home before I did, but she assured me that he had already given her an extra key. Great.
I put on a pair of tan khakis, a white dress shirt, tan boat shoes, and carried a blue linen blazer, the outfit I wear when a client requests “a nice, clean boy.” I considered wearing a tie, but the blistering heat made me decide otherwise. I don’t know how people who have real jobs survive in this city.
I took a cab to the law office where Al en’s wil was to be read. Standing outside was Freddy, looking spectacular in a black suit with a white silk T-shirt underneath. The outfit was just this side of Miami Vice, but Freddy could pul it off.
“What happened to the
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