A Beautiful Voice (Jake Travis Book 6) by Robert Lane

Author:Robert Lane [Lane, Robert & Lane, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mason Alley Publishing
Published: 2018-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

A BOLD MOON BROKE the horizon like a giant Cyclops eye taking a peek at a dark world. It chased away all the stars around it. The moon is not fond of sharing its part of the sky. Kathleen, Morgan and I sat in the screened porch. Garrett, who does not believe in conditioning his body to exercise at the same time every day, was on a night run. Better doing that than being in the kitchen.

We’d been passing the picture of Sergio Flores back and forth, trying to extract meaning. I left them to change records. I flipped through a dozen covers, but couldn’t decide. I put Dusty in Memphis on and turned the volume down. On the way back out to the patio, I plucked a sweater draped over a couch and tossed it on Kathleen’s lap. Hadley III, as if she’d been lying in wait, jumped on the sweater, and, in a move the yoga class on the beach would envy, folded her front legs under her. She purred as Kathleen stroked the back of her neck.

Morgan said, “May I see it again?” He extended his hand toward Kathleen.

“The cigar smoke makes the picture surreal,” she said, handing the picture to Morgan. “It’s more brushstrokes than pixels. More Degas than digital.”

Kathleen, like myself, saw it as a random picture of a pool party. Nor did she discount the possibility that Wright had saved it for its porn value. It had a raw sexual edge to it. The date of the photograph, four years ago, was stamped on the back. No clues as to the location.

“Perhaps he had no reason to save it,” Morgan said. “But he was equally not inclined to throw it away.”

“That’s my thinking.” I took a sip of watered-down whiskey and placed the tumbler on the glass table.

Morgan squirmed up in his cushioned chair and took out his phone. He turned on the flashlight app and held it over the picture. “He’s looking at something, or someone. Maybe not in the picture, but it’s hard to see with the smoke and the creases.” He placed the picture down and turned to me. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”

“No.”

“Back in a sec.”

He bolted out of his chair. Hadley III tracked him intently as he tramped across the back of the yard to his house. A moment later, he returned with a wood-handled mariner’s magnifying glass. He settled in over the picture.

“This is my father’s,” he said while keeping his head buried. “He would spread maps over the dash of our sailboat and study them. He never made the switch to screens. That’s not how he saw the world.” He brought the magnifying glass up and down. “Why do these voluptuous woman bore you so?”

“Must be dreaming of true love,” I said.

“Maybe he found it,” Morgan said. He looked at me. “How old is Little Joe?”

“Three. But whether he’s closer to two or four, I don’t know. Why?”

He handed me the picture and the magnifying glass. The finish on the wood handle was gone, but the wood was oiled and smooth from decades of handling.

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