Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery) by Annette Meyers Read Free Book Online Page A

bedroom, big enough for a double bed, unmade, a dresser and a tv with cockeyed rabbit ears. She helped Zoey to the bed, took off her shoes, and covered her with the quilt. Zoey had passed out. But her breathing was even and her color was okay.
    In the tiny bathroom, T.J. took off the sodden Keds, the stiffened socks, and her clothes, laying her leggings on the hot and sputtering radiator. The damned blue plastic ID was still with her. She wrapped herself in a towel and in the kitchen, with a paring knife, rid herself of the bracelet. The hot shower was respite, albeit transient.
    Afterward, she rinsed the socks and her panties in the sink and hung them on the shower rod. She stuck the Keds under the radiator and pulled on the warm leggings. The floor boards creaked under her feet as she returned to the bedroom to check on Zoey. Sleep so deep. If only she could sleep as Zoey slept.
    If only.
    She walked to the window and closed the metal blinds against the bleak sunlight. A thin blanket lay on the floor near the bed. As she picked it up she knocked over a wicker wastebasket, spilling out used tissues and a rolled up newspaper.
    The newspaper, the blanket, it was a sign. Maybe she would sleep like Zoey. She lay down on the sofa in the tiny living room and covered herself with the blanket. It brought an involuntary sigh. She unrolled the newspaper, the Post it was, and flattened it so she could read the headline.
    It said: IT WAS MURDER! Three Known Dead in Mysterious Explosion.
    But it was the photograph that stopped her. There she was, the same face, but smiling and happy. Under the photograph:
    Mary Lou Salinger. Missing and feared dead.

12
    M ARY L OU Salinger. The man who claimed to be Mary Lou’s uncle had told the truth. T.J. stared at the photograph in the newspaper. Mary Lou might be a real person, but I’m not her. And there was something really slimy about her uncle.
    She searched her poor confused brain, hoping for a sliver of memory. Anything. Why had she found Mary Lou’s uncle so frightening?
    What if she’d been there at that explosion and the shock had caused her loss of memory? Why hadn’t she read the rest of the article? Afraid? Yes.
    The rest of the article was continued on pages two and three. An explosion on a private jet. Horrendous photos of the burned out plane. The pilot dead and several other dead. The jet belonged to Jason McLaughlin, a financier. His flight plan was taking him to Italy. His companions were an assistant, this Mary Lou Salinger, a business manager, a secretary, as well as a chef who doubled as co-pilot. There had been people seen at the airport with McLaughlin before the explosion but they had not as yet come forward.
    If she’d been there, in New Jersey—Teterboro Airport it said—how had she gotten back to the city? What was she doing wandering around Central Park without a coat and her dress saturated with blood ... She covered her eyes. The more she thought about it the more anxious she became.
    Someone had to have brought her, someone who’d been there. Maybe someone involved in the explosion. Uncle Lew wanted something from her. She’d escaped. And he found her in Mount Sinai. Now she’d escaped again. She was safe here, for the time being. She tore the story from the newspaper, folded it, and tucked it into a pocket of her jacket still hanging from the doorknob.
    A shrill shriek jarred her awake, eyes wide. She took in the blanket, the sofa, the small room. Panic subsided. She was safe wrapped in the blanket on Zoey’s sofa. It was only a kettle whistle. She sank back and closed her eyes. The sensation of being watched penetrated her calm. She opened her eyes cautiously. Sneezed. Like the Sphinx, the gray cat lay on top of the back cushion of the sofa studying her.
    “She likes you, dude,” Zoey said. “She hardly ever comes out except when she’s hungry.”
    T.J. threw off the blanket. Ebullient in a stretched and shapeless red sweater thrown over a leotard