Picture Them Dead by Brynn Bonner Read Free Book Online Page A

time frame, what we’d observed, if we knew the victim, if we’d seen anyone else, all the typical questions.
    â€œOkay,” she said at last. “If we get any good footprint impressions we’ll need your shoes for elimination purposes.” She sneered down at Esme’s high heels. “And if you think of anything else that might be important, call, but then you two already know how to insinuate yourselves into police cases, don’t you?” she asked, her face deadpan.
    â€œJen,” River said, his tone cautionary. “What is it you’d like us to do now?”
    â€œGo on back to the house,” she said. “Wait there. The ME may have questions for you. If he does, I’ll call you. Otherwise just stay there until I’m done here.”
    â€œUs, too?” I asked, jumping in before Esme had a chance to start up an argument, which I could tell she was itching to do.
    â€œYes, all of you,” she said, adding a perfunctory “We appreciate your cooperation” as her boss walked up behind her.
    â€œI’ll fix you a cup of coffee,” River said. “You’ll have to excuse the state of the house; I’m doing a little remodeling.”
    This was my first clue that River was the king of understatement. The interior of the old farmhouse was a construction zone. The walls—the ones that hadn’t been knocked down—were stripped to the studs and there were tools and supplies stacked everywhere. But the kitchen hadn’t been touched. It was so retro it was in again. The turquoise appliances had to have been there since the fifties, along with the white metal cabinets and the deep porcelain sink. But there was a state-of-the-art microwave and a space-age coffeemaker that took up an entire section of countertop by the sink.
    â€œHow ’bout a cappuccino?” River asked, and we both nodded eagerly.
    â€œSo you’re living here with all this going on?” I asked as he motioned for us to sit at the chrome and laminate dining table.
    â€œI don’t need much,” River said with a shrug. “Kitchen works for as much cooking as I do right now. I’ll redo it last, and if I time it right, it’ll be done just as my garden starts coming in, assuming anything in my garden survives. The upstairs is finished, so I’ve got a nice place to sleep and a classy bathroom. During the day I’m mostly outdoors anyhow.”
    â€œYou’re not doing this all yourself, are you?” Esme asked.
    â€œNo, no,” River said. “I’ve got a good contractor. I like to do the detail work myself: cabinetry, built-in bookcases, stuff like that. But it’ll be awhile before we’re ready for that, which is good, since the workshop’s not done yet.” He motioned toward the kitchen window, and Esme and I craned our necks to see the skeletal rafters of an outbuilding going up in the corner of the backyard.
    â€œYou know, with all that’s gone on here this morning, I’ve not had a chance to get the copy of the deed for you,” River said.
    â€œIt’s okay, we can use the time to figure out what we already know,” I said, taking out my notebook.
    â€œOkay,” River said, pushing various switches and levers on the coffeemaker with practiced ease, “but that won’t take long from my end, since I don’t know much.”
    â€œSophreena’s good at getting information out of ­people that they don’t even know they know,” Esme said.
    â€œWell, let’s see. I never set eyes on Charlotte Walker,” River said as gurgling noises came from the machine. “When I bought the place I asked questions about the family, just out of my own curiosity, but her lawyer wasn’t the jawing type. Either he didn’t know or wasn’t inclined to say much. He always referred to Charlotte Walker as the Widow Walker, I guess because she’d been a widow for a