AW 23 Don't Look for Me by Estleman Loren D

Author:Estleman, Loren D. [Estleman, Loren D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Published: 2014-03-18T04:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

After John left, I put my glass in the sink, undressed, and got horizontal in the bedroom. I was wired, didn’t expect to sleep, but I surprised myself. When someone tapped on the window, it drew me up from deep bottom like a hook attached to a lead sinker. It was dark out. I couldn’t see the features on the blur of face pressed nearly against the glass. The luminous dial on the nightstand told me it was 5:10. I saw these things on my way to retrieve the gun that wasn’t in the drawer. Wyandotte still had it.

“Mr. Walker?”

I recognized the voice. Propped up on one elbow, I gestured toward the front of the house. The pale smudge of face vanished.

I tied my robe on the way to the door. Smoke stood on my stoop, wearing a forest-green hoodie, scuffed blue jeans, and ankle-high brown suede boots trimmed with sheepskin, with heels that brought her up to six feet. The hoodie made her eyes moss-colored. She could rob a bank and no two eyewitnesses would be able to agree on their color.

“The cops have been at my place. Can I stay here? I’ve been walking around all night and I can barely stand up.”

“They’re going to find you sooner or later. It’s what they do, and you’re not exactly the type that blends into a crowd. Turn yourself in, and you’ll be out in an hour. A little longer if you killed your boss. Then you’ll have a place to sleep.”

“I’m not sorry he’s dead. I’ve had better bosses. Less grabby ones, anyway. But I was a dodgeball champ in high school, and I’m saving my one shot at a life sentence for somebody I’ll enjoy murdering, whoever he or she turns out to be. I’ll turn myself in later, I promise. When I’m not exhausted. You can even give me a ride.”

“Right now I don’t have a ride.” But I stepped away from the door.

I got my other set of bedding from the closet and laid it on the couch. “Two pillows. One to put on top of the wonky spring in the middle.”

She stood in the middle of the living room hugging herself. It was a dank morning, and I’d turned down the heat before going to bed. “Do you have anything to drink? Something strong? I’m chilled to the bone.”

“You came to the right door. How’d you find it, by the way?”

“Internet café. You’re on the grid, like it or not.”

“Not.” I went to the kitchen for the bottle, pausing on the way to crank up the thermostat. The furnace in the little Michigan basement buzzed for a full minute, then the blower kicked in, stirring the hairs on my ankles in front of the baseboard register as I filled two glasses at the counter. My guest was standing in the kitchen doorway when I turned that direction. She’d ditched the hoodie and it was all her under a cobalt-colored T-shirt.

“You weren’t kidding about being chilled,” I said.

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