Death By Sunken Treasure (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 2) by Kait Carson Read Free Book Online Page A

dish.
    I shook my head. “Ingrate.” My hands worked the clasp at the top of my trousers. By the time I made it to the bedroom, I was half-naked and ready to get into my running clothes.
    My running clothes drawer looked like a carnival of color. I hated monochrome clothes, opting for tropical colors in running clothes and in my personal life. I yanked an orange sports bra, yellow running shorts, and a raspberry singlet over my body. Even my socks were multicolored, although only I knew that. They were no-shows inside my deep coral running shoes. I set the alarm, closed and locked the door behind me, and set out at a gentle lope for Mallory’s house a half mile away.
    I jogged into her driveway in less than ten minutes. Ducking under the bougainvillea growing on a trellis over her front door, I knocked twice and turned the handle. My enthusiastic push nearly knocked her over.
    “Steady, Hayd. Jeez. I’ve been waiting at least five minutes.”
    A quick glance assured me she wasn’t angry but amused. I threw a hand to my chest and beat out three mea culpas. A huge grin split her face.
    “Knew you’d get religion one of these days, Skinny.” She laughed, pulled the neon blue bracelet that held her key over her wrist, and headed out the door. I punched the two numbers to set her alarm, pushed in the thumb lock, and followed on her heels. One of these days I’d convince her to move her alarm control pad from next to her door and get deadbolts, but today wasn’t the time to fight that battle. Again.
    A cool breeze played through the palms. We enjoyed the companionship broken by the soft sound of our sneakers hitting the pavement. Eager for Mallory’s opinion, I shared what information I could about Mike’s trip to our office without violating the attorney/client privilege. “You hear anything about his death? From any of your…sources?” I finished lamely.
    She ignored the question and cut me a squinty-eyed look, sped ahead, and called back, “Which do you think is the final will?”
    It took a quick spurt of speed, but I caught up. “I don’t know. Guess I won’t until I hear what Buddy says.” My lack of breathlessness after the brief sprint pleased me, so I continued, “Mike signed our will on Friday. He said he was going to dive his site. He seemed off. I couldn’t put my finger on it.”
    We jogged in place waiting for the Sombrero Road traffic light to turn green. I remembered Mike sitting at the conference table. He asked all the right questions. Knew what he wanted. No question about his competency. But something hadn’t struck me right.
    “I saw him last month,” Mallory said. The light changed and we continued our jog to the far end of the shopping center. We would turn around when we reached the Copper Monkey Bar. “At the doctor’s. When I wrote my co-pay check, I saw him waiting in the hall outside one of the treatment rooms.” She gave me a measuring glance as if weighing her words.
    “Dr. Green told him this was the last time he would write Percocet and OxyContin prescriptions. Told him to make an appointment with a pain specialist.”
    Mallory’s words made my heart pound faster than the pace of the run warranted. I yanked out my dry towel again and mopped my face as I ran. Mallory matched my steps pace for pace as we pounded for home up U.S. 1. Her troubled glances made me wonder if she followed my thoughts too. Drugs. I’d read about ghost pain after an amputation. How much worse would his pain be from burns? To have a chemical fire consume your body, then to suffer the regrowth of nerve endings, long dormant, now awakening.
    More questions than answers crowded my head. If his doctor cut him off, had he turned to other, less legitimate sources? Was he the victim of a dealer who sold him bad drugs? I didn’t understand much about heavy-duty narcotics or their long-term effects. I figured if Doc Green wanted to cut him off, then he had his reasons. My stomach churned at the