A Mother's Day Murder (Mt. Abrams Mysteries Book 1) by Dee Ernst Read Free Book Online Page A

about some boy?”
    Cait looked at her in surprise. “Boy? You mean like go all the way to France just to be with some guy?”
    Shelly shrugged. “Or to go all the way to France to not be with some guy.”
    My daughter turned beet red as she added cream to her coffee mug.
    “Cait?” I stared at her, then at Shelly. “Who?”
    “It’s nothing,” Cait muttered and practically ran from the kitchen.
    I pushed my coffee away from me and glared at Shelly. “What do you know that I don’t?”
    Shelly looked very innocent. “Kyle Lieberman.”
    I frowned. “You mean Kyle Lieberman who was her best friend in third grade? Skinny Kyle with the awful nose and big blue eyes?”
    Shelly was smirking. “Yep. Only his nose isn’t awful any more, and his eyes are still as blue. Just graduated from Wharton. MBA. He’s been coming home to pack up his things from his parents’ house, and I know for a fact he and Cait were seen together down at Zeke’s.”
    Zeke’s was Ezekiel’s Tavern, an old-style pub right next to the train station, with craft beers on tap and the best burgers in the county. It was a favorite of just about everyone in Mt. Abrams, not just for the food, but also because of its location.
    I hardened my gaze at Shelly. “And you didn’t tell me because?”
    “I just heard last night. Honestly. I would have said something this morning, but the conversation got hijacked.”
    “Was that the guy in the beemer?” Maggie asked. She lived behind the Lieberman’s house. “He was way cute.”
    My daughter and Kyle Lieberman. Cait, who according to our brief and infrequent conversations on the subject, had spent the last few years going from one casual hook up to another, was perhaps finally finding happiness with the boy almost next door.
    Talk about the world being full of mysteries.

    L awrence Township may sound small and country-like, but it was in fact, a very large, sprawling town of over fifty thousand people in an area of over twenty-five square miles, thirty minutes due west of New York City. The police station had been rebuilt about ten years ago, and it was a large, imposing place adjacent to the municipal court right across the courtyard from Town Hall.
    Carol and I walked through the glass doors into a small lobby, past the bulletin board to a thick window. A very young-looking officer behind the glass leaned forward to speak into a microphone.
    “Yes?”
    “I have an appointment with Detective Kinali,” Carol said.
    The officer nodded, spoke into a phone, and a few seconds later, the door clicked and swung open.
    “Come on through,” he said.
    We walked through the door into a short empty corridor. A door on the other end opened and a man stood there, smiling.
    “Mrs. Anderson. How lovely to see you,” he said, and we followed him into the squad room.
    There were a dozen or so desks, half of them empty, and a buzz in the room, but there didn’t seem to be much actually happening. No jaded hookers slumped in a chair, no shivering junkies, not even a happy drunk. Crime in Lawrence Township appeared to be nonexistent. Detective Kinali led us to a small glass-enclosed room, held the door open, then closed it behind us and sat across the small metal table from us. He took out a small notebook and asked us for our names, spelled out, please, then our addresses and phone numbers. He closed his notebook and folded his hands in front of him. “Now, what can I do for you?”
    I almost said “marry me.” He was pretty much the sexiest man I had ever seen in real life, and I think my tongue was hanging down to the floor.
    He was big. Not just tall, although he was probably over six feet, but big everywhere—broad shoulders and a barrel chest, thick neck and large, strong-looking hands. He was probably my age, maybe older, his hair turning silver, with a slight softening at the jaw.
    And he looked…dangerous. He was dark skinned, probably Middle Eastern, with dark eyes and thick but beautifully