Read Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) for Free Online Page B

quite a friend.”  
    “She is.” Chuck reached in and pulled my skis over the seat. He put them in my arms and mouthed, “You owe me.”  
    Better and better.  
    Wallace the pug was still barking at me and straining on his leash toward my feet. I jumped sideways and he turned and pointed his rump at me, ready to release a stream of pee at my boot no doubt, but Nancy scooped him up. “She wants to get to know you better.”  
    Bark. Bark.
    “Wallace is a girl?”  
    Bark. Bark.
    “And the best girl ever,” said Nancy, holding the pug out to me. I had no choice. I had to take the thing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Chuck at the trunk, pulling out my suitcase, his face twisted with amusement. I was about to tell him off, right in front of Calvin and Nancy, but Wallace saved me. She peed. The yellow stream hit me right in my coat before I jerked her sideways and she hit the Jag’s front tire.  
    “Oh you bad, bad girl,” said Nancy as she took Wallace from me. “She’s just excited. We’ll have that cleaned for you.”  
    “It’s okay.”  
    Hopefully, it’s okay to kill your dog later, too.  
    Pete gave me a handkerchief and I wiped the remains of dog urine off my coat while gritting my teeth. Chuck placed the last of my luggage on a porter’s cart, said his goodbyes to Pete and his parents, and then hugged me. “Bet you wish we’d kept driving now.”  
    “Hardly. It’s fine,” I whispered back.  
    Chuck’s hand brushed my rump when Pete wasn’t looking and left. Despite the sleazy behavior, I wanted to chase the car. Calvin and Nancy were looking me over, and Wallace was barking and snorting at me. Worst of all, Pete looked distinctly uncomfortable.  
    “So who owns the Jag?” asked Calvin.  
    “Um,” I said because I have a way with words.  
    “Dad, we better get going,” said Pete. “Got to check in. We don’t want to be late.”  
    “Oh, right. Anything can happen with air travel. Best to be early. Don’t you agree, Mercy?”  
    “Sure.”  
    Nancy fell in step with me and started asking where I’d skied before. I guess Pete hadn’t anticipated these questions because he kept glancing over his shoulder with panicked eyes. So I lied. I said my parents had taken me skiing instead of The Girls. It seemed so ungrateful. Myrtle and Millicent had taught me to ski at three and had taken me everywhere from Whistler in Canada to Chamonix in France. But still I lied and put my parents in their place with a silent vow to confess all when I got home. Well, maybe not all. I wouldn’t mention Keegan’s oil. I doubted The Girls would object to my smuggling medicine to a dying child. The Bleds were known to do what they thought was right, not necessarily what was legal. But they didn’t keep secrets from my parents whose reaction was less certain. There would be yelling at the very least.  
    Nancy and I chatted about various resorts, and I detected none of the dislike I’d come to expect from mothers. She treated me like someone pleasant that she just happened to meet at the airport and I was digging it. If only Wallace would stop barking and eyeing my feet.  
    We checked in, went through the interminable security line, and settled in at our gate. That’s when I saw that Denver was not on the board. Above the kiosk, it clearly said San Francisco and a takeoff time in two hours. What the heck? I leaned over to Pete, who was immersed in a scintillating article on post-operative pus, and said, “Are you sure we’re at the right gate?”
    He shifted in his seat and avoided my eyes. “I’m sure.”  
    “When’s our flight?”  
    “After the San Francisco flight.”  
    “How long after?”  
    He mumbled something and looked at his parents who were reading their Kindles and not paying us any attention.  
    I prodded his shoulder. “When?”    
    “Two hours. Don’t be mad,” he said, his eyes pleading.  
    “Mad? Are you kidding me?” I whispered.