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

realization that I had to add this aspect to my death query questionnaire.
    We jogged past Hall’s Diving Center and over the Vaca Cut Bridge before I decided getting answers was problematic. I lacked the background to frame the questions.
    “Hayd,” Mallory began, “maybe I shouldn’t have told you. You’re going to look deeper into his death than your job requires, aren’t you?”
    “Why do you think that?”
    She gave me her patented eye roll. “Hayden Kent, you couldn’t leave this up to the police, not with a friend at stake. You need to be involved. I know you too well.”
    It wasn’t the first time she’d referred to my tendency to want to control situations. My cheeks heated, knowing she was right.
    “After today, there are too many questions. And I have information the police don’t. Or at least information they didn’t share.”
    “Just don’t forget that they are investigating.” She paused for a beat. “Use their information. Let them help you.” She shot me a quick glance. “They don’t have to know.”
    “Experience talking?” I wasn’t ready to talk about my visit with Deputy Diego. There wasn’t much to say.
    Mallory’s chuckle had a Machiavellian edge to it.
    Our sneakers made rhythmic padding noises. “What do you know about drugs?” Mallory stopped so short I thought she would fall over.
    “What?” Her voice ended in a high-pitched squeal.
    I brought myself to a halt. Hands on hips I stared straight into her eyes. “Not personally, goofy. Based on your job. Any of your crims talk about how drugs affect them?”
    Cars whizzed past us on U.S. 1, intent on getting someplace fast now that they had two-laned the road in each direction. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a pickup turning into the driveway where Mallory stood. She opened her mouth to answer and I grabbed her arm, yanking her to safety next to me. The driver of the car flipped us the bird.
    “What’s his problem?” Mallory sputtered.
    A distinctive license plate adorned the back of the pickup. “Masshole,” I muttered, using the local term for drivers from Massachusetts. “He had a sudden need for fast food.” I cocked my head at the burger joint behind us.
    She pulled her legs up behind her one after the other in a classic runner’s stretch. The lines around her mouth were tight. Whether from the adrenaline rush of the near miss or in response to my question, I couldn’t say. Her hand shot out for my shoulder to steady herself. “Thanks. Someday I’ll get used to nearly getting run down on the sidewalk.”
    The stretch indicated Mal was finished running for the night. We would walk the last half mile to her house or mine.
    Her face softened. “You startled the hell out of me. I guess, when you get right down to it, I know more about street drugs than the prescription stuff.”
    I thought about that a beat before I asked the question that chewed a hole in my thoughts.
    “Are they different? I mean, I read about drug busts all the time where the drugs confiscated are narcotics. They’re pharmaceutical grade.”
    “There are a million different answers to that question. The only honest one is, it depends.”
    “Let’s head to my house,” I said. “Tiger Cat is probably climbing the curtains by now looking for his supper.”
    As predicted, when we came in sight of my house, Tiger sat in the kitchen window. When he spotted us, he stood on his hind legs and began patting the glass. This cat had major attitude. I unlocked the door, and he launched himself at me. Laughing, I scooped him up and buried my face in his soft fur. Loud purrs rewarded my actions.
    “I’m sure of one thing about addiction,” I said as I put Tiger down and he headed for the bowl Mallory filled. “An addict fears losing the high, and losing whatever makes them high. They panic if they get low.” I pointed toward Tiger. “Just like him. The thought of an empty dish set him up for an uncontrollable craving once someone nearby