Tortoise Soup by Jessica Speart Read Free Book Online

addressed to Anna Bell McCarthy in Buda, Texas. The postmarks were dated from 1938 to 1942. Without thinking about why, I zipped the bag up and lifted it out of the trunk. Glancing furtively around, I stashed the remnants of Annie’s life inside my Blazer.
    “You still here, Porter?” Brady asked, slowly tottering outside.
    Lanahan followed with a grin on his face as I closed the door to my car.
    “If you like this place so much, I have a feeling you can get it dirt cheap,” Brady suggested facetiously.
    I’d caught a quick view of Brady’s bachelor pad once. It was a place that even New York roaches would have refused to call home. In comparison, Annie’s house didn’t look half bad.
    He opened the cooler in the trunk of his squad car and threw me a beer. I popped the tab and took a sip.
    “What happens now?” It would pay to know Brady’s next move while I planned out my own.
    “Now we clean up the mess.” Brady wrapped an ice cube in his handkerchief and laid it against the back of his neck. “After that I file the report as a suicide. Case closed. Then tonight I get stinking drunk and try to forget what takes place when you kick the bucket.”
    He could have been describing my own plans for the evening. “You sure you don’t want more time to rethink this case, Brady?” I asked, giving the man one last chance.
    Brady swirled a swig of beer in his mouth and then spat it out, just missing Lanahan’s shoe. “You wanna join the police force, feel free to come over anytime and fill out an application, and we’ll see if we can’t find you something to do. Otherwise, you stick to your work, Porter, and I’ll stick to mine.”
    “There you go again Brady, assuming that what you do can be called police work.”
    Lanahan stepped between us like a referee at a boxing bout. “Why don’t you give me a call in a few days, Rachel? Nobody will be signing off on anything until I’ve finished my testing. Then we’ll take it from there. What do you say, old buddy?” Henry put his arm around Brady, holding the container of maggots close to his face.
    Brady took a look at the maggots and pulled away, gagging at the sight. Lanahan winked at me, and I realized his sense of humor wasn’t so bad after all.
    Living in Las Vegas wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. At least, it wasn’t for me. There was no glamour in my life, no wild parties, no men banging down my door to show me a hot night on the town. Stopping by Taco Bell on my way home, I picked up a couple of burritos with a bag of chips as my vegetable.
    Once again I was renting a place to live. I seem to have trouble when it comes to settling down. It’s the thought of permanency that makes me nervous. Once that happens, you sink into the reality that this is your life. You buy furniture and dishes and hang bric-a-brac on your wall. Then you grow old, and before you’re ready, you die. I figured the magic elixir of youth was staying mobile, and with the places I lived in, that had yet to pose a problem.
    Along with my move to Vegas, I had decided to take the bold step of renting a house rather than the usual apartment. Well, not a house, exactly. A small bungalow, to be precise. A bungalow situated in a row of identical bungalows. Most people would have been appalled at units that sat practically on top of each other. It suited me just fine.
    Just as in New Orleans, my new abode was decorated à la thrift shop specials. But the landlord had added a distinct touch of his own. The carpeting throughout was a shag that looked as if it had fallen into a humongous vat of Pepto-Bismol. The way I figured, it was a make-or-break factor. Either I’d like my life in Las Vegas enough to consider putting down roots, or the carpet alone would be enough to send me packing back home.
    I threw my bag down on a table that the Salvation Army would have refused, and headed for the bedroom and my answering machine. The lack of flashing red lights confirmed that my personal