Finding Harmony (Katie & Annalise Book 3) by Pamela Fagan Hutchins Read Free Book Online Page A

repeat trips to the airport during the day. A matter of commerce. And not a good one.”
    Nick said firmly, “We understand.” I got the impression he didn’t want me to open my mouth again about the trucks.
    Ramirez said, “As you know, our employee, Eddy Monroe, died of a gunshot wound to the head several days ago.” Um, yeah, in our driveway. “The police ruled his cause of death a suicide. We are not convinced this is true. These things you already know. Nick has been kind enough to take the case and do some preliminary work. I have brought in some of my co-workers,” he said, including the others with an elaborate flourish of his long-fingered hand, “and would like to update them on what Petro-Mex hopes to accomplish, and your results so far.”
    Six heads nodded in acknowledgment, mine one of them.
    “I appreciate everyone’s discretion with some of the comments I will make, and would remind you that we are all subject to confidentiality agreements.”
    Nods again.
    “Several factors are at play. One troubling issue is that we experience a higher than normal rate of suicide in the refinery community. Not just among our employees, but among their family members as well.”
    One of the other men broke in. “We cannot accept the police’s quick judgment about Mr. Monroe, if for no other reason than the emotional strain the label of a suicide puts on all of us. It’s too easy, too convenient, and at the same time too damaging. And it hurts our ability to keep valuable employees and replace those we lose. It’s already hard enough for my people in human resources to attract people to work here.”
    Wow. This was news. Truly, they kept the suicides in the family. Very Stepford Wives of them. Maybe that explained the overly Zen gardening outside.
    Another Petro-Mex employee interrupted in Spanish. This sparked a heated discussion that I could not follow, other than the words “terrorista” and “muerto.” Terrorista didn’t need an English translation, and my limited Spanish vocabulary included muerto, the word for “dead.” I dug my fingernails into Nick’s thigh but he just sat there like a drugstore Indian.
    Ramirez held up his hand and interrupted the other men sharply. “Enough. We can discuss this when our guests are not present.” He turned to Nick and me and added, “My apologies for the lack of manners of my colleagues. It will not happen again.” Said colleagues averted their eyes, and I heard an audible expulsion of breath. Hot prickles marched up my neck.
    “Now, where was I?” Ramirez asked. “Ah, yes, the other factors necessitating your inquiry. While Mr. Monroe was from the United States, his wife is from Mexico. She has requested the investigation, and we want to honor her wishes. Mr. Monroe does not present a classic case for suicide . . . too many signs point us in another direction.” He placed his hands on the table in front of him and laced his fingers together. Done.
    What signs? I didn’t ask aloud.
    Nick spoke. “Thank you, José. After our telephone conversation on the night of Mr. Monroe’s death, I secured the police report. I’ve also spoken with Detective Tutein again.” He swiveled his head toward the other Petro-Mex employees. “For those of you who didn’t know, Katie and I were already involved in this case before Mr. Ramirez called me. Mr. Monroe died right outside the gate to our home. Detective Tutein interviewed me as a witness for the investigation by the police.” He looked back at Ramirez. “Suffice it to say, Tutein did not appreciate my visit. I didn’t get anything from him except a few subtle chuptzes.”
    “Not unexpected,” Ramirez said.
    My turn. “We have scheduled an interview with the widow, Elena Monroe, this afternoon. Also, we will need access to the hard drive of Mr. Monroe’s computer, or computers.”
    Ramirez said, “I will arrange—” but he was interrupted by the same man who had spoken up about the impact of the