The Readaholics and the Falcon Fiasco by Laura Disilverio Read Free Book Online Page A

point.
    The detective hesitated, then said, “Her brother says she was depressed recently, that he was trying to talk her into seeing someone—a therapist—and getting medication.”
    Astonishment and anger flared up. “Ham? She didn’t see him more than twice a year. And the kinds of ‘medicines’ he knows about aren’t the sortthat are legally prescribed.” I was horrified that I’d let myself say something so ugly—even if true—and I bit my lip hard.
    My comment didn’t seem to faze Detective Hart. “She had a contentious relationship with her brother? Over anything in particular?”
    I squirmed, feeling guilty yet again about bad-mouthing Ham. The paper clip broke and I dropped the two bits as if they’d stung me. “I don’t know about ‘contentious.’ They weren’t close, although Ivy took him out to lunch on his birthdays and I think they saw each other most Christmases. He hit her up for money now and then, wanting her to fund his ‘business’ schemes. The last one was an alligator-wrestling attraction off I-70. She said no.”
    “What did she have to eat at your house?”
    His change of direction took me by surprise and I gave an instinctive denial. “Nothing. Well, maybe a chip or two. But we all had some. I don’t think she even had a petit four. Ivy didn’t have much of a sweet tooth. That’s it—no spoiled shrimp or
E. coli
–infected produce or deli meat past its expiration date.” Geez, could I sound more defensive? I took a deep breath.
    “Drink?”
    “Tea. She brought her own. She always does. I remember she said she had an upset stomach.”
    “Is there anything else you think I should know?”
    “No, I can’t think of anything.” What did he think . . . that I would suddenly remember Ivy handing me a suicide note before she got in the ambulance, or . . . “Wait. She did say something while we were waiting for the ambulance.”
    He nodded for me to go on, looking a shade more interested than earlier.
    “She said everything was blurry and then said, ‘Clay didn’t mean—’” I shrugged. “That was it.”
    Detective Hart noted down the words without saying what he thought of them. Then he flipped the notebook closed, stowed it in his sport coat pocket, and rose. “Thanks for your help, Ms. Johnson. If you think of anything else—” He handed me his card.
    I ran a thumb over the embossed black lettering: LINDELL HART, CHIEF OF DETECTIVES , HEAVEN P OLICE DEPARTMENT . “‘Chief of Detectives’? How many detectives does Heaven have?”
    He grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle in a surprisingly appealing way. “You’re looking at him. I’m pretty sure the town council gave me the title in lieu of a larger paycheck when they lured me up here.”
    “From where?”
    “Atlanta. Georgia.”
    “I know where Atlanta is. Did it take much luring?”
    “I was ready for a change.”
    His tone told me he wasn’t going to explain further. His reticence piqued my interest. He
was
attractive in a somewhat reserved way, and single, if the lack of wedding band was anything to go by. Ivy would’ve thought he was cute. The thought popped into my mind unbidden, and I smiled sadly.
    “I’ll be in touch,” he said, holding out his hand.
    I shook it and walked him to the French doors,closing them once he was on his way around the corner of the house. I tried to likewise close off my mind to thoughts of Ivy and her death. Bouncy castles, clowns, cupcakes . . . I held those images firmly in mind as I returned to my desk and forced myself to focus on work.

Chapter 5
    I t was two days later, Thursday, before I heard that Ivy’s death had officially been ruled a suicide. Ham Donner called to tell me the police had released Ivy’s body and he wanted to get the funeral and reception organized and “over with” on Saturday. His words made me simmer, and when I met him at his apartment, which turned out to be a noisome room in a converted motel, to discuss the