Disturbing the Dead by Sandra Parshall Read Free Book Online Page A

with Michelle on her heels, slipping and sliding and squealing, and the happy memory pierced her with sadness.
    Oh, stop it. Be glad she’s finally grown up. She certainly took her time about it.
    Resolutely turning her mind to other things, Rachel pulled the scrap of paper Tom had given her from her lab coat pocket and called Holly Turner.
    The girl answered the phone. Rachel introduced herself, mentioned Tom’s recommendation, and asked if Holly would like to apply for a job. This met with silence from the other end of the line.
    “Well,” Rachel said, “if you’re not interested—”
    “You offerin’ me a job in town?” The girl sounded amazed.
    “Come see me and we’ll talk about it.”
    “I don’t have a car,” Holly said, dispirited now. “I can’t drive, anyway.”
    “Oh.” How would the girl get to work and back every day? Mason County didn’t have bus service. Rachel was about to make an excuse to end the conversation when Holly spoke up.
    “I really, really want to talk about the job. I could meet you at Rose’s diner. I’m workin’ there tomorrow, and I always go early so I can eat lunch before I start work.”
    The diner where drugs were sold. No. She couldn’t go there. Rachel didn’t even want to brush up against drugs, the people who sold them, the people who used them. Her fist closed around the paper that held Holly’s name and number, crumpling it into a ball.
    When Rachel didn’t answer, Holly said, “I know I’m puttin’ you out, askin’ you to drive over here. But workin’ at the animal hospital, that’d be like a dream come true. And I’m willin’ to do anything that needs doin’.”
    Rachel remembered saying something similar to a vet when she’d begged for a part-time job at the age of sixteen. Turning down Holly without interviewing her would be heartless. She loosened the crumpled paper, spread it smooth. The diner couldn’t be all that bad in broad daylight. Could it? “I can get away at lunchtime tomorrow.”
    “That’ll be just perfect!”
    Rachel jotted down directions. Holly was describing the diner when Rachel heard a woman’s shrill voice in the background. “Who you talkin’ to?”
    “Nobody, Gran—”
    “Don’t lie to me! I heard you plottin’ somethin’. Give me that phone.”
    What on earth? Rachel listened intently, trying to make sense of what was happening. A scuffle, scratchy noises. Were they fighting over the receiver?
    The line went dead.
    “Good grief,” Rachel muttered as she hung up. The girl was a young adult, but she couldn’t speak freely on the telephone. It was outrageous. Yet Holly’s grandmother apparently didn’t object to her working where drugs were sold. That didn’t make sense to Rachel.
    Would the woman try to stop Holly from keeping the interview appointment? If Holly did show up, and she wanted the job, she could have it. Tom was right. This girl needed help.
    ***
    Seven-year-old Simon barreled out the front door of his grandparents’ house and streaked across the lawn to the driveway. “Tom! Tom, it’s snowing!”
    Tom caught his nephew and swung him around. “Yeah, champ, I kinda noticed that. I guess you’ll have to haul out the sled in the morning, huh?”
    “You think we’ll have enough?” Simon leaned back in Tom’s arms. In the glow of the porch light, the boy’s small face looked serious, worried. Snowflakes stuck to his spiky black hair. “Grandma says I can’t go on the sled if it’s just a little bit.”
    Tom glanced over Simon’s shoulder to the front porch of the rambling Victorian house, where Darla Duncan, the boy’s grandmother, stood with arms crossed. Tall and thin, with shoulder-length brown hair, she wore her usual jeans and shirt. When Tom waved she didn’t respond with so much as a smile.
    “Simon,” she called, “come back in the house. You don’t even have a coat on.”
    Tom set Simon down and let Billy Bob out of the cruiser. Boy and dog ran to the house together,