The Color of Light by Wendy Hornsby Read Free Book Online

wasn’t...” She held up her palms and smiled; no harm, no foul.
    The edges of that decision were a bit squishy, I thought. But I understood why they made it. At the time, my parents and the Nussbaums saw nothing untoward in the film of their neighborhood on an ordinary morning. But an outsider might. The passage of time makes all of us outsiders to the past. I thought that if Gracie saw the film again something might pop out that she had missed before.
    I took my laptop case from the counter where I parked it when we came inside, pulled out the computer and held it up to Gracie.
    â€œWant to go to the movies with me, Gracie?”
    â€œWhat do you have, dear?”
    â€œThe film.”
    â€œGood lord, did you get the old projector working?”
    â€œI couldn’t find enough pieces of it,” I said as I booted the film. “So I had the film digitized. Tell me what you see.”
    Gracie leaned toward the monitor, bobbing her head until she found the right lens of her trifocals to look through, and I hit Play.
    â€œI don’t recognize all you girls, but there’s Tosh working on the Scotts’ yard. And George Loper backing out of his driveway. The dry cleaner’s van, hmm...” Her brow was furrowed when she looked up at me; I hit Pause. “I don’t remember noticing before. What day of the week did Tosh do yards on your street?”
    â€œAlternate Mondays,” I said.
    She nodded. “We had him the opposite Mondays. The dry cleaner only made home deliveries to our neighborhood on Thursdays.”
    â€œInteresting,” I said. “Did they ever make special deliveries?”
    â€œNever. If you needed something special you had to go over to their place yourself.”
    â€œDo you remember the deliveryman?”
    She shook her head. “They came, they went. No one ever stayed long enough to know his route well. I think the pay was a pittance. Maybe it was a new driver and he was lost,” she offered.
    â€œBut wouldn’t he have been lost on Thursday instead of Monday?” I asked.
    â€œYou would think so, wouldn’t you?” Suddenly her face brightened and she said, “Ennis Jones.”
    â€œHe was the driver?”
    â€œNo, dear. That’s the name of the man who was arrested, the rapist. Ennis Jones.”

Chapter 3
    Walking away from Gracie’s, I dialed Kevin’s mobile phone.
    â€œDetective Halloran,” he answered, though I knew my name came up on his caller I.D.
    â€œYou’re busy,” I said.
    â€œGo ahead,” was his cryptic response.
    â€œGracie Nussbaum picked out something interesting on the film I showed you,” I said. “I thought you should know.”
    â€œWhat was it?” Someone in the room with him, a woman, wanted to know who he was talking to. He shushed her.
    â€œIt was the wrong day for the dry cleaner’s van to be on our street.”
    â€œThat’s a tough one,” he said. “But I’ll check it out. Anything else?”
    â€œYes, but it can keep. Sounds like you’re in a meeting.”
    â€œThis is as good a time as any.” The woman volubly disagreed. “Go ahead.”
    â€œDo you remember Toshio Sato?”
    â€œThe gardener?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “He told me that he’s caught Larry Nordquist hanging out in Mom’s backyard a couple of times.”
    â€œLarry? At your mom’s house?” Again he shushed the woman when she demanded to know whose mom. “What was he doing there?”
    â€œHanging out, apparently,” I said. “Mr. Sato called the police last week. But Larry showed up again today.”
    â€œWere you there?”
    â€œI was.”
    â€œWhat did he do?”
    â€œNothing, really. Mr. Sato shooed him away,” I said. “You told me Larry was out on parole. What did the police do with the call?”
    â€œI’ll check it out and get back to