Dead to the Last Drop by Cleo Coyle Read Free Book Online Page B

“I’m going to have to check out Mr. Gardner Evans . . . and his bandmates.”
    “Do you think they did something wrong?”
    Sergeant Price cracked what passed for a smile, then he shook his head.
    “I want to hear them play, that’s all.”
    Patrolman Landry had been silent throughout his sergeant’s tricky interview. Now he let out an audible sigh.
    “I think that will be all, Ms. Cosi,” Sergeant Price concluded. Then he tucked the meat cleaver and tie into his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m heading back to the precinct to file the report. If you need the case number, for insurance purposes or any other reason, let me know.”
    He laid a card on the counter and wished me a good night.
    So it was that easy , I thought. A seasoned law enforcement officer had accepted my obfuscations as truth . . .
    Or had he?

T hirteen
    A LTHOUGH I lived only a few blocks away, Officer Landry insisted on giving me a ride home.
    “It’s late, ma’am. I don’t want you walking the streets alone.”
    “That’s very kind of you, young man . . .”
    Eesh, I sounded like a little old lady. But it was certainly how the officer viewed me, and humoring the police was my objective tonight. So I smiled sweetly at him as I filled a disposable cup of French-pressed coffee and locked up the building.
    Climbing into the front seat of his Chevy Impala police cruiser, I heard him radio something about a 10-7.
    I sat back, happy this was a short trip. I was totally talked out, and I had far too much to ponder to continue chatting up the young cop. For one thing . . .
    I couldn’t stop wondering how Mr. Varma had recognized Abby, despite his inebriated state. A mystery in itself. Blind drunk, you might recognize a friend or family member, but would you so quickly recognize a seldom-seen First Daughter who took pains to disguise herself?
    And what was he trying to tell Abby about her father?
    Did “the truth” involve a scandal? A danger? Or some kind of threat? Or was Mr. Varma nothing more than a half-crocked government worker on a sloppy bender?
    Officer Landry had advised me to think of this as a company town. Maybe Varma was simply spouting off about his boss, who also happenedto be the President. Maybe “the truth” was nothing more than a workplace grievance.
    “Here we are, Ms. Cosi, home sweet home . . .” The police cruiser rolled to a stop in front of my N Street address. Landry craned his neck. “A very nice home, too.”
    “Thanks. Unfortunately, it’s not mine. I’m only house-sitting.”
    “Really? Must be lonely.”
    “Well, I’m always busy, and—”
    “You know, you still seem a little shaken up.” He turned off the engine. “I can hear the tension in your voice.”
    “You can?”
    “How about I escort you to the door, see you inside? Tuck you in?”
    Tuck me in? “That’s nice of you, Officer. But I’m fine.” I waved the idea away with my left hand.
    “You’re not married, are you?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I don’t see a wedding band on that pretty finger.”
    Then he leaned closer, and despite the dimness in the car, I suddenly saw the young man’s “friendly” smile in a whole new light.
    “Um, Officer Landry—”
    “Call me Tom.”
    I blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Don’t be embarrassed, Clare. All night long, you’ve been smiling at me, making small talk about my name, fixing me amazing coffee. A blind man could see you’re interested.” He checked his watch. “Look, I already called in an ‘out of service.’ We have an hour, give or take. What do you say?”
    “I say I’m old enough to be your mother!”
    “So?”
    “So you should find yourself a nice young woman, you know, one closer to your decade .”
    “Aw, girls my age are a pain in the—you know. Whereas older ladies, like yourself . . .” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’re so together, so confident. You go right after what you want. I respect that.”
    “Believe me, what