Vixen by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online

there keeping an eye on him.”
    â€œThank you.” She held eye contact for a few seconds more; then, when I still showed no signs of responding to the sexual pheromones she was putting out, she produced another of her sad little smiles and slowly backed off. “Now if you’ll please leave so I can get dressed.…”
    I left. It had been an unsatisfactory interview, but Cory Beckett was not easily rattled—practiced liars and deceivers usually aren’t—and I’d prodded her as far as I dared.

 
    6
    JAKE RUNYON
    It was almost three o’clock before Kenneth Beckett’s sister showed up at Belardi’s.
    Nothing happened in the interim. Runyon had gone back inside the shack after the phone conversation with Bill to conduct a careful search for drugs and also for weapons. For all he knew Beckett was suicidal and the last thing he wanted was a dead man on his watch and conscience. He found nothing, not even a sharp knife. Beckett stayed buried under the blanket on the cot, sleeping or just hiding. He hadn’t made a sound the entire time.
    Outside again, Runyon unlocked the van and poked around among the clutter of tools, paint cans, and other items. Nothing there, either, in the way of weapons or illegal substances.
    He did the rest of his waiting in the car. He was used to downtime and he dealt with it as he always did, by putting himself into the equivalent of a computer’s sleep mode—a trick he’d learned to help him get through the long months of Colleen’s agonizingly slow death. Aware, ready for immediate action if necessary, but otherwise as shut down mentally as he was physically.
    Boats passed up and down the river, a few of them stopping at Belardi’s dock; cars came and went along Lakeville Highway. Nobody approached the shack until the newish, yellow-and-black Camaro came jouncing along the riverfront track and slid to a stop nearby.
    Two occupants, the woman driving and a male passenger. Runyon got out when they did, so that the three of them came together in front of the shack. Cory Beckett was just as Bill had described her, sleek and slender in a white turtleneck sweater and designer jeans, her midnight-black hair tossing in the wind off the marshland. The animal magnetism she possessed was palpable enough, but Runyon would not have responded to it even if he hadn’t had the conversation with Kenneth Beckett. The type of woman who attracted him was subtly sexy, like Colleen had been, or lonely, needy, and pain-wracked, like Bryn when he’d first met her. The too-cool, smolderingly seductive type left him cold.
    She gave Runyon a long, slow, appraising look, like a prospective buyer sizing up a stud bull. Whether or not she liked what she saw, he couldn’t tell. And didn’t much care.
    She said, “Mr. Runyon? I’m Kenneth’s sister, Cory,” then gestured in the direction of her companion. “This is a friend I brought along to drive Kenny’s van back to the city.”
    No introduction, just “a friend”; she didn’t even look at the man as she spoke. He dipped his chin once, sharply, but said nothing, made no attempt to shake hands. He was in his mid-thirties, sandy-haired, well set up and pretty-boy handsome except for a muscle quirk at one of corner of his mouth that gave the impression of a perpetual sneer in the making.
    Runyon said, “Your brother’s inside, Ms. Beckett.”
    â€œIs he rational? I mean, I understand you talked to him and he told you some wild stories he made up.”
    Is he rational , not is he all right . She seemed less worried about the kid’s welfare than about what he might have revealed.
    â€œCalm enough. Withdrawn.”
    â€œBut not high … drugged?”
    â€œNo. No sign of drugs on the premises.”
    â€œWell, that’s a relief. Kenny’s much easier to handle when he’s sober and tractable.” Tractable. Another