The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (the read aloud family .TXT) 📕

ease him down to the rooftop, brush his eyelids shut, straighten his legs out and fold his arms over his chest. Semper fi, my friend.

Tiffany? Much easier. There we were in the depths of Grand Central. I mean, hell, she’s already on her knees, preoccupied. I’ve still got my bag over my shoulder, pull my gun out, pull her besotted head back and slide the suppressor tube mounted on my M9 into her mouth, and before she realizes what it is, she flops over backward, knees buckled underneath her, wearing a stunned look of disbelief on her beautiful face.

And Bonnie Jo? That one hurt almost as much as Ramon. But she went ballistic on me, and who knows where that goes? I mean, she knows I’m a dealer. I’m afraid she’s got me pegged for Ramon. So when she was fast asleep, I did it.

Felt all clear then—except for Juanita.

She’s lucky. The cops saved her life the night they arrested me.

Chapter 42

I’m a kick-ass New York adman, Madison Avenue, yada yada. A wife who loves me. Two wonderful kids. I’m a family man.

Like I told Linda Kaplan: I’m a guy that makes shit happen. And I did.

I’m a guy who was confronted with tough, unbearable situations that left me with no options.

Like they say, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

Jean and the kids are on the way over for a visit. They still love me, and their husband and father loves them more than simple words can describe.

Can’t wait to see my guys!

“MacGhee.” It’s one of the jailers.

“Yeah?”

“Your family’s not coming.”

“Not again! The fourth goddamned time, for Christ’s sake!”

I hear some guys down the hall in front of a TV. “Hey!” one of them says. “Check this out. Shh! Quiet!”

“…Esposito, for WNBC, with exclusive, breaking news. New York City police have just confirmed the arrest of their prime suspect in the triple homicide case that has had lower Manhattan on edge for the past week. His name is Timothy James MacGhee, and he is a senior partner at Marterelli and Partners, the advertising agency that all three victims were connected to. MacGhee’s being held at the Manhattan Detention Complex on White Street awaiting arraignment.

“Here’s Detective Peter Quinn, lead officer on the case for the 21st Precinct. Detective Quinn, what finally led you to Timothy MacGhee?

“These advertising people are crafty, I’ll give them that. He didn’t make it easy, that’s for sure. But…”

And the guys down the hall erupt into spontaneous applause, just like my client did the other day.

So, here I sit in this godforsaken jail cell. Successful New York adman. Family man. Husband. Father. Churchgoer. An upstanding member of the community. And now my family is deserting me.

You know what? Fuck ’em.

Besides, if you saw me sitting here now, you’d have to say “…why, he wouldn’t even harm a fly.…”

Stingrays

James Patterson

with Duane Swierczynski

Chapter 1

THE GIRL

Imagine she’s your sister.

Smart, shy, six feet tall—and she has absolutely no idea how beautiful she really is. Her fellow students at St. Paul’s Prep gravitate toward her. They like her sweet nature and silly sense of humor. Her closest friends have the twin impulses to protect her and maybe corrupt her a little, because it’s just too much fun. Come on, have a smoke. Let’s shotgun a beer!

Now, your sister’s never had a drink before—not even a secret sip of Mom’s wine at the Thanksgiving dinner table. So she almost always says no, thank you. Or takes the faintest puff or smallest sip, just to appease her friends.

Your sister’s a good kid.

But when her two best friends invite her to a very private beach party on Turks and Caicos during spring break—all expenses covered—she can’t help herself. She feels like a kid who was denied sweets growing up and one day stumbled into Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.

Of course she grew up hearing the usual advice about partying smart, pacing yourself, and keeping your hand over the top of your drink so nobody slips a roofie into it. And she believes in that advice. But she’s also never been invited to a party like this before. Someone has spent a lot of money to lay out an array of culinary delights, yet everybody seems to ignore the food. Instead they drink and dance to throbbing electronic music under strings of lights and palm fronds. Or steal away to a quiet corner for a more intimate conversation.

Your sister’s best friends from school, an adorable pair of twins, press a cocktail the color of a bruised sunset into her hand and encourage her to take just a sip. C’mon, just one! So she does.

And it tastes…amazing. Nothing like the cheap beer they’d sneak on campus. Before she knows it, she’s finished her first and the twins are handing her another. And she downs that, too. Easily, and it’s as refreshing as a glass of orange juice.

And after the second drink the twins manage to drag their normally shy friend onto the dance floor and begin to twirl under skies so beautiful she can hardly believe this is real. Any of it.

Of course, the men notice her because there’s no one else at this party quite like her. In a sea of bodies trying too hard, she is an effortless beauty, full of laughter and light.

First comes the handsome Italian lifeguard, just a few years older than your sister, but much more experienced in the ways of the islands. So he’s not entirely surprised when he’s nudged aside by a trust fund kid with a yacht—and this kid mentions the yacht a lot. Soon your sister and her twin friends are tipsy enough to agree to go see the yacht, a Squadron 60 (whatever that is—your sister doesn’t know), anchored just off the beach.

Once they’re on board, however, the yacht’s captain cozies up to your sister. He’s in his forties, but the captain is charming enough to make your sister fall for him just a little, even though a voice in the back of her