Lead-Pipe Cinch by Christy Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

working.
    Besides, he likely would keep bringing up the subject of Blake Weston and I didn’t want to talk about him. Ever.
    “No,” I said. The regret in my voice was genuine. I really did wish he could stay, if only so I could postpone those phone messages. “I appreciate the offer, but you need to get back to the office, and I have stuff I should do.”
    By the time Wade’s car pulled away I was already regretting my decision. I could use the distraction. The realization was sinking in. Blake Weston, a man I had once known well, was dead.
    And he was dead in a way that made no sense.
    When I thought about Blake’s death—and I didn’t seem capable of thinking of anything else—there were lots of questions, but no answers.
    What was Blake doing in Pine Ridge? He had steadfastly refused to leave the city for any reason in all the time I had known him.
    Why was he palling around with Chad McComb? I was sure they didn’t know each other, yet Blake had acted all buddy-buddy with Chad and Astrid.
    For that matter, what was Samurai Security doing on this job to begin with? I mean, it was a job I’d have taken in a heartbeat, but it certainly didn’t fit with the “new direction” the board had cited when they’d tossed me out of my own company.
    Why was Blake out at the job site in the dark? There was nothing there for him to see particularly, and he wasn’t fond of the outdoors.
    Another thing that didn’t make sense was how he died. Sure, babies could drown in a few inches of water, but they were small and helpless. Blake was a full-grown man, perfectly capable of getting himself out of the water.
    Unless he hit his head on the way down, or fainted, or something.
    None of it made any sense.
    My stomach growled loudly, reminding me a thermos of black coffee met only my daily caffeine requirements. There were several other food groups—sugar, salt, chocolate—and I should eat something.
    I opened my refrigerator and stared at the contents—half a loaf of bread, not too stale; a couple eggs; a slice of pizza of indeterminate age; condiment packages from the drive-through; and a nearly empty jar of marmalade.
    It was a bachelor fridge, a bad habit acquired in my high-tech life of hundred-hour workweeks and twenty-four-hour takeout. My mother would be appalled.
    I stared into the fridge as though that would make something edible magically appear, but it wasn’t working.
    The phone rang, and I ignored it.
    I kept staring at the empty refrigerator, but instead of seeing stale bread I kept picturing Blake’s hand-stitched Italian loafers toes down in the water at the bottom of the moat.

chapter 9

    The answering machine picked up, and I listened to myself telling the caller I wasn’t home. The message finished, and I heard Sue’s voice.
    “Georgie? Are you there, Georgie? Pick up, girl!! I heard there was an accident out at the McComb job site. Paula called me, said some guy was hurt or something, but she wouldn’t really know anything until Barry gets home.”
    Paula Ciccone, the town librarian, was Barry’s wife. He must have called her while we were at the sheriff’s station, and she called Sue. News traveled fast in Pine Ridge.
    Paula was much more than my boss’s wife. The investigation of Martha Tepper’s disappearance and murder had drawn her into Sue’s and my friendship, and made us a threesome.
    Sue paused, waiting for me to answer. After a few seconds she continued, “I’m at work, you know the number. Just call me, please. I need to know you’re okay!”
    I gave up on the refrigerator.
    Maybe I could just drive through someplace, or pick up some takeout from the deli in the grocery store. But if I wanted to eat I was going to have to leave the house. And no matter where I went in Pine Ridge, somebody would want to ask me about what happened at the job site.
    Another thought struck me like a bucket of cold water.
    With Blake dead, it was likely someone else from Samurai would take his place.