Murder Alfresco #3 by Nadia Gordon Read Free Book Online Page A

She wrapped the waxed paper around her bagel, swallowed the last of her orange juice, and picked up her latte. Wade put down his paper. “Are you leaving already?”
    “Afraid so. It’s that time. Raviolis wait for no woman.”
    “Is that the menace du jour?”
    “We could FedEx fresh ravioli from Tuscany faster than I can make them myself. I don’t know why I put them on the menu. I’m a masochist.”
    “At least the rest of us are safe. What are you doing tonight?”
    “Nothing. Want to come over?”
    “I was planning on it. Seven?”
    “Seven.” Sunny pulled on her jacket and buttoned it up. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, lingering over the vision of Wade Skord.
    He looked up. “Seven sounds good. You want me to bring anything special?”
    “No, I’ll get everything from the restaurant.”
    “Great. I’ll see you tonight.”
    Sunny didn’t move. Wade looked at her again. “Hey?” she said. “You know that story about the girl somebody killed yesterday?”
    “I saw that. Terrible news. That’s not that far from here. Just around the corner.”
    “Well, the strange thing is, just between you and me. . . I have to tell somebody.” She stared at him. She knew she must have a maniacal look on her face and she tried to control it. “The strange thing about it is, I was the one who found her. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
    Wade stared up at her. “You set my hair on end, McCoskey.”

    The truck skimmed across the yellow morning like a boat on a rippling sea. It was a morning like the first morning on earth with a blue sky and fresh, cool air. Sunny rolled down the window and wished she had farther to drive. Instead, she pulled into the parking lot at Wildside and killed the engine.
    She sat in the truck listening to a red-winged blackbird trill from the edge of the vineyard that ran up to the back of the restaurant. Perhaps things would go back to normal now. She was rested, washed, fed, and caffeinated. Moreover, she’d beenfreed of the burden of secrecy. The beautiful young woman’s tragic death was known to the world at large. It was no longer her burden. Everyone carried the girl’s death now, everyone shared the grief and horror of it. Steve Harvey and his team were working on the case. There was order. Sunny’s only task was to come to terms with the memory of the white shape hanging in the tree, tied like a macabre gift.
    There was no longer any way to avoid the next order of business, which was to telephone Andre Morales and attempt to explain why she had left his house without saying good-bye two nights ago, and had avoided his calls since then. If he was upset, she couldn’t blame him, he had a right to be. She claimed genetic weakness as her defense. The McCoskeys were a disciplined and talented clan stricken with several consistent flaws, among them the inability to articulate their feelings, especially under pressure. Sunny was a typical McCoskey. At least she knew herself well enough to admit that she would do almost anything to avoid having to explain an incident of precocious behavior, including, it seemed, jeopardize the peace of mind of the person she was most interested in pleasing. This, she resolved, was a moment that would require courage and frank language, as well as considerable eloquence. If she did not possess these qualities in adequate supply, she would simply have to fake it. The truth—that she had left because she was annoyed at being kept up all night when her work day started at five every morning—was likely to provoke more bad feelings. On the other hand, there was always the chance Andre would understand completely, and even empathize.
    She walked around the back of the restaurant and through the kitchen garden, feeling better with each step. The darkness of Wednesday night was behind her and a new day ahead. Thegirl’s death was a tragedy and a nightmare. It may have been Sunny’s nightmare, but it was not her tragedy. She did not have to