T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality by T. Lynn Ocean Read Free Book Online

Lolly was out shopping with Bill, and Chesterfield and Jared were doing the male bonding thing at the newest Chesterfield Financial branch office, so I had plenty of time. I placed a mike in the bedroom and another in the bar and lounge area, which separated the kitchen from the living room. I probably wouldn’t have a need for them, but at least they were in place if I wanted to become a fly on the wall.
    I briefly wondered where I’d be had my retirement plans gone as expected. Probably lounging on
Incognito
, my forty-eight-foot boat that was a gift from a very appreciative past client. My one extravagance, I kept it docked at the Point Cape Fear Marina and hired a dockhand who made sure the refrigerator was well stocked and that the boat was always clean and ready to go.
Incognito
was an upscale sport-fishing boat, but like my kitchen at home, the outriggers were never used. She cruised at thirty knots, and Bill and I enjoyed taking her out for promiscuous weekend trips. Hadwe been on the boat right now, we’d probably be drifting just off the coast, making good use of the master stateroom….
    Shaking my head to clear distracting thoughts, I got down to business. I took care of both phone lines. An answering machine was plugged into the main number and the other line had only one outlet in the son’s room, next to a computer desk loaded with various hardware. When I first met her, Lolly mentioned that Chesterfield was training Jared, and that Jared had just graduated from the Citadel in Charleston.
    With that in mind, it wasn’t unusual for a twenty-one or twenty-two-year-old to live with his parents temporarily, but studying the son’s room, I had to wonder if Jared had decorated it himself. It had a decidedly feminine touch: everything in perfect order, light pastel wall colors, and no dirty clothes lying around. Aside from the cluttered desk, nothing personal was in sight. A single framed photograph of his mother, Lolly’s predecessor, and a current copy of
GQ
magazine lay on the night table beside a low-profile platform bed that was piled high with striped pillows. I’d have to run a full background check on the kid to see if anything interesting turned up.
    On the other side of the roomy condo, the master bedroom reeked of opulence and came complete with its own flat-screen television, wet bar, and leather sofa. Without leaving signs of intrusion, I did a cursory search through Chesterfield’s dresser, paying careful attention to the sock drawer. I once found a government handheld satellite tracking device nestled between two pairs of white athletic socks. Like digging a hole on the beach just for the hell of it, I theorized that concealing goods in a sock drawer was a genetic thing for males. Women were much more creative. Much to my disappointment though, Chesterfield’s sock drawer revealed only clean socks, neatly folded into matching pairs.
    Moving on, I tossed his study, the wet bar, and the entire kitchen. I didn’t know what I was looking for, and as if to meet my expectations, I found exactly nothing. I suddenly wished that Ox were by my side, along with one of his brilliant suggestions. His input was always laced with striking clarity and he often helped with challenging cases when I asked—and sometimes when I didn’t. Occasionally, he’d have an epiphany that was preceded by a vision, which I found both disconcerting and intriguing. But the man’s suggestions were always legitimate, albeit borderline psychic. And in addition to his connection with protective spirits, he could kick some major ass when the situation called for it. Not to mention the fact that ever since he played the starring role in a vivid dream I had last week, the mere sight of him made me tingle in all the right places. Thoughts of quitting work and entering a new phase in life may have nudged my subconscious to consider Ox as more than a best friend and business partner. Or maybe I’d wanted to explore the possibility