Alana Candler, Marked for Murder by Joanie Bruce Read Free Book Online Page A

discouragement left Chet’s face, and he grinned.
    “For real?”
    “Shoot, man! I didn’t know he was the mayor. He’d just got elected, and all I knew was that he was parking illegally.”
    Chet laughed out loud, his round stomach jiggling.
    “Yeah, well, arresting the bank president’s bodyguard instead of his mugger last week sure made the chief mad. I should’ve known the man with the muscles and the holster was the bodyguard, not the thief.”
    Elliott shook his head and hid a smile. “At least I was there to straighten out the mess, Chet. That’s why Brad pairs rookies with seasoned officers. So they can learn all the tricks. Don’t worry about the chief. His patience is never ending—especially with rookies.” He grinned. “Now, are you ready for another round?”
    “Nah. I don’t think so. Guess my mind’s not on tennis today.” The sentence came on the back of a huff as he chased a ball rolling across the tennis court. “Have you heard any more clues about Alana’s kidnapping?” he asked as he tossed the ball at Elliott to stuff in the bag with the others.
    “Not yet. None of the test results have come in from the DNA samples, and they’re still trying to prove Alana was in the hotel. If they can prove she was there, then someone at the hotel has to be involved.” Elliott jerked up his bag. “Come on, man, I’ll take you home.”
    Together, they grabbed the rest of the loose balls from around the court and headed to a gray Chevy Malibu parked by the curb. Inside the car, Elliott tried to ignore the smell of sweat and hot bodies and concentrated on getting home quickly. After three games of tennis, he was ready to head home, hit the shower, and order a pizza.
    As Elliott drove through Chet’s rustic neighborhood, the smell of magnolia trees and steaks on the grill wafted through the open windows of the car. Sniffing appreciatively, Elliott turned his head toward a barking dog coming from the driveway of the red house next door to Chet’s.
    “Hey, Pops!” Chet yelled out the window and waved at the man leaning over a huge Pyrenees dog. The man was without a shirt, and his shorts were ragged and torn with holes in all the wrong places.
    Gesturing with a disgusted arm movement, the man shook his head and stomped into the side yard as his dog followed.
    Elliott looked at Chet with raised eyebrows. “Pops?”
    “Yeah. I call him that ’cause he’s got a whole pile of beer cans stashed in his back yard. He’s one strange dude.”
    “You think he’s strange because he piles up beer cans?’
    “No. I think he’s strange ’cause he’s strange. I introduced myself to him the day he moved in. He just grunted and turned away like he did just now. He’s a recluse, man. He comes home at all hours. Doesn’t work a job that I can tell, yet deliveries come to his house constantly. Giant flat-screen TVs, brand new industrial sized appliances. A truck from Williams-Sonoma pulled in last week and delivered a whole new living room suite, including a huge entertainment center.”
    “Maybe he’s got lots of money,” said Elliott.
    “Living in that icky-colored red house? In this neighborhood? No way. He didn’t win the lottery either—I checked. I’m keeping my eye on him. He has a white box truck in the shed behind his house and pulls it out all hours of the night. After a while, some man brings Pops home, and the next day the truck is returned and stashed in the shed again.”
    “Maybe he’s making deliveries or something. You never can tell.”
    “Right. Two weeks apart? Don’t think so. He’s strange, I tell ya.”
    Elliott watched Pops as he played around with the dog—throwing a bone and teaching him to fetch. The dog returned with the bone, and Elliott laughed when the dog dropped it on his owner’s toe and made Pops holler. Still, Pops leaned over and praised the dog with rubbing and pats—the dog’s tail slapping back and forth.
    “Looks like his dog loves him—even if he