Grave Endings by Rochelle Krich Read Free Book Online Page B

especially gaudy next to the dress shirts, dark twill slacks, and black loafers that I assumed he wore to auditions. I flipped among the slacks and shirts but didn’t find any clothing that would have belonged to the girlfriend. Unless Doreen had a key to Randy’s apartment and had removed her things?
    â€œShe didn’t have a key,” Gloria said when I asked. “If she did, she wouldn’t of needed me to open his door, would she? I guess she didn’t leave stuff after all.”
    I returned to the books stacked on the nightstand. The top one was a thick text.
Alcoholics Anonymous.
    â€œCan I look at these?” I pointed to the stack.
    â€œI guess so, seein’ as how the police are done.”
    I picked up the book. It was well worn, I saw as I paged through it, with many passages highlighted in yellow. Serving as a bookmark in the middle of chapter nine were two color photos. One was of Randy with his arm around a pretty, petite, light-brown-haired, pony-tailed young woman in jeans and a T-shirt. The girlfriend?
    â€œNo, that’s Randy’s kid sister, Trina,” Gloria said when I showed her the photo. “She came by ’bout once a week, more when he took sick. Randy’s momma died when he was just a kid.”
    Dead to Randy, and to his family? It was probably less painful to say his mother had died than to deal with the complex emotions of being abandoned.
    The other photo showed Randy as a stunning child (five or six?), cheek to cheek with a beautiful woman I assumed was his mother. There was something artificial about the pose and the smiles and the woman’s long golden hair that seemed to blend in with her son’s. Someone—Randy? his father?—had ripped the photo and Scotch-taped the parts together unevenly, creating a faint, jagged line that scarred her face.
    I replaced the photos and shut the book. “Do you know where I can reach Trina, Mrs. Lamont?”
    â€œShe lives a couple of blocks from here. I don’t know the address. I have her phone number, though. After Randy took sick, she gave it to me, just in case. Work
and
home numbers. I called her after the police and she came right over. She took it bad, poor thing.” The manager clucked.
    I have three brothers and three sisters and can’t imagine how I would deal with losing one of them. The thought made me shudder.
    I checked the rest of Randy’s reading material. A well-worn Bible, other books on addiction and self-help.
    â€œIt looks like Randy was serious about trying to quit drugs,” I said as we were leaving the apartment.
    â€œWell, like I said, he was shook up bad when he almost died. He told me he was never gonna do that stuff again, and Trina, she watched him like a hawk. But once you hooked, it’s hard to get free, you know?” She locked the door. “My daughter’s husband swore ten times he was done with all that, and I believe he meant it, every time. Shirrel left him ’bout five months ago, and I hope she doesn’t go back.”

seven
    CONNORS WAS IN A HORIZONTAL POSITION WHEN I ENTERED the Hollywood Division detectives’ room at one-thirty, his scuffed tan boots propped on his desk, his ankles crossed. He was engrossed in a phone conversation, and acknowledged me with a nod, minus his usual smile. Not a good sign.
    I took off my peacoat, pulled up a chair, and inhaled the smell of coffee from the mug on his desk while I waited.
    â€œThe answer is no,” Connors said in his flat Boston accent when he put down the receiver.
    â€œNo, what?”
    â€œNo to whatever you’re selling.”
    â€œYou’re sure? I have Girl Scout Cookies, wrapping paper, Amway products, magazine subscriptions—”
    â€œCut it out.” He swung his long legs down from the desk and sat up straight.
    â€œI take it Porter told you about our conversation.”
    â€œHe’s ready to lock you up.” Connors scowled at