Nervous Water by William G. Tapply Read Free Book Online Page B

parked beside the four other vehicles—a new-looking Lexus SUV, a more elderly Chevy sedan with a baby’s carseat strapped in back, a battered Dodge pickup truck, and a sleek red Saab—that were lined up in front of a three-car garage.
    A dusty coat of tree pollen covering the Saab—but not the Lexus or the Chevy or the truck—suggested that the Saab hadn’t moved for a while.
    The house was a rambling contemporary featuring skylights, vertical cedar sheathing, fieldstone chimneys, and interesting roof angles. A curving walkway of big granite stepstones wound through azaleas and rhododendrons and thick groundcover to a double-wide front door.
    I rang the bell, and a minute later a woman with an infant in her arms opened the door and peered at me through the screen. “Hi,” she said. She was tall and lanky and wore a sloppy T-shirt and baggy jeans. She had bare feet and blond hair and a pleasant, toothy smile.
    â€œI’m looking for Cassandra Hurley,” I said. “Is this the right place?”
    â€œIt is,” she said. “But Cassie’s not here. Maybe I can help you?” She was about Cassie’s age, I guessed.
    I smiled perfunctorily at her baby. “I’m Brady Coyne. Cassie’s cousin. You’re Rebecca?”
    She nodded. “I don’t recall Cassie mentioning you,” she said. The baby on her shoulder gurgled. She patted his back, then smiled at me. “You’re the man who called last night, right?”
    â€œThat was me,” I said. “Maybe I better talk with your father. Is he here?”
    â€œSure,” she said. “I’ll get him for you.” She opened the screen door. “Come on in.”
    I stepped into a flagstone foyer. Beyond it was an open area flooded with sunlight and bare of furnishings except for a giant Oriental rug.
    Rebecca turned her head and yelled, “Hey, Daddy. There’s somebody here for you.”
    She gave me a quick smile. “Don’t know if he heard me. Old goat needs hearing aids, but he won’t admit it. I’ll get him for you.” She turned and disappeared into the house.
    A minute later a man a little shorter than I appeared. He had wire-rimmed glasses and curly steel-colored hair. He appeared to be in his early fifties. He was wearing a pale green golf shirt and khaki pants. His chest and shoulders bulged under the shirt, and he had a flat stomach and a splendid tan.
    He held out his hand and smiled. “Richard Hurley,” he said. “Becca said you wanted to talk to me?” Up close, I reestimated his age. Judging from the creases on his throat and the crinkles around his eyes, he was closer to sixty. But he had the teeth of a teenager, as any conscientious dentist should. His eyes were a washed-out blue behind his glasses. They peered at me with neither warmth nor hostility.
    I shook his hand. “I’m Brady Coyne,” I said. “I’m a lawyer, and I—”
    â€œA lawyer, huh?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were Cassandra’s cousin.”
    â€œI am that, too.”
    â€œYou’re the one who called last night.”
    â€œI did, yes.”
    â€œCassandra isn’t back yet,” he said. “I know I told you I’d give her your message.”
    â€œThat you did,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t believe me? Is that why you decided you had to show up here unannounced?”
    â€œI don’t know you well enough to believe you or not believe you,” I said. “Where’s Cassie?”
    â€œShe’s not here.”
    â€œWhen do you expect her?”
    â€œLook,” he said. “I told you I’d deliver your message.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œWhen she gets back.”
    â€œWhen will that be?”
    â€œI’m not sure.”
    â€œCan you tell me where she is?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œCan’t,” I said, “or