Dead Run by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page A

kneeling besidethe bed, examining it. “I prayed for him. I ask the Lord to forgive him his sins.”
    Carla could get little else out of her. Apparently, the girls in the photographs had been very young, naked and performing various sexual acts. The housekeeper had been unable to say if they had been underage. She had been unaware of any illegal activities occurring on the premises.
    Some sins, Carla thought, glancing back at Bernhardt’s home as she boarded the ferry back to the main island, even death couldn’t erase.

CHAPTER 7
    Monday, November 5
10:15 a.m.
    T he Key West Police Department was located in Old Town on Angela Street. The pink, stuccoed building, the color so typical of south Florida, also housed City Hall. The unexceptional, aging two-story building, surrounded by a riot of trees, flowering shrubs and runaway weeds, hardly seemed a modern law enforcement hub.
    But like everything else Liz had seen so far on this island, it possessed a casual, sometimes dilapidated, charm.
    She had spent the weekend unpacking, planning and familiarizing herself with the key. She had done the latter on foot and with the motor scooter she had rented from a kiosk just up the block from her office.
    It had been a difficult weekend. Everything she’dseen had reminded her of Rachel. When her sister had first come to Key West, she had called Liz almost daily. She had described the island vividly, the people, her new church and congregation. She had described the local landscape with its wild profusion of flora in a palette of oranges, pinks and reds; its palms in so many varieties it boggled the mind—Chinese, sawtooth, coconut and windmill—and the island’s architecture, with its Caribbean, Victorian and Latin influences.
    Seeing the island through her own eyes had brought Rachel’s conversations to life. In the moments Liz had been able to detach from her emotions, she had understood why her sister had fallen in love with this place.
    Those moments had been punctuations in a narrative of pain. How could she see any beauty in the place that had taken her sister from her?
    Liz turned her attention to the task before her: Lieutenant Lopez. Step number one in the plan she had put together over the weekend. She hoped to convince him to reopen his investigation into Rachel’s disappearance. At the very least, she intended to put him on notice: she had loved her sister and wouldn’t rest until she uncovered the truth about her whereabouts. She wanted a copy of her sister’s case file and she wouldn’t leave until he gave it to her.
    A nervous laugh bubbled to her lips. Big bad Liz. Right. If any more butterflies landed in her stomach, she’d throw up.
    Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and started up the police department’s front steps. She hadn’t made an appointment; she had wanted the element of surprise on her side. She imagined Detective Lopez would be anything but happy to see her.
    She entered the building and crossed to the receptionist’s station, located to her left. The woman behind the desk greeted her with a perky smile. Liz figured her to be in her mid-fifties although she dressed more like a teenager, complete with rhinestone-studded butterfly clips in her hair.
    â€œHow can I help you, hon?” she asked.
    Liz forced a confident smile. “I need to see Lieutenant Lopez. Is he in?”
    â€œYour name?”
    â€œElizabeth Ames.”
    She drew her cotton-candy pink lips into a pucker. “Do you have an appointment?”
    â€œNo. But he’ll know what this is in reference to.”
    â€œOkay, doll.” She motioned the logbook on the counter. “Sign in. I’ll see if he’s available.”
    Liz did as she requested, heart beginning to race. This was it, the moment of truth. She scrawled her name, turned and crossed to the seating area behind her, though she didn’t sit. From behind her she heard the