Called to Kill by Joan Albarella

Author:Joan Albarella [Joan Albarella]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781883061289
Google: n4kAAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1883061288
Publisher: Rising Tide Press
Published: 2000-06-01T03:00:00+00:00

"They are lovely," Magpie says touching a petal on one of the roses. "But they aren't from Barrett. They're from Carol Doyle, my agent. She's coming down for awhile to see , me and to get the rest of the art show commitments rescheduled. You and Ginni will get to meet her."

Nikki tries to stay upbeat. "That'll be nice for you, someone from home." Moving closer to the bed, she gives Magpie a warm hug. "I've got to run...but I'll keep you posted."

She leaves the hospital thinking about the change in her opinion of Magpie. She likes her, and she hopes the relationship with Barrett is bringing her some joy. Magpie needs more joy in her life—something good enough to replace the Falklands' bad. Maybe love will still come into that relationship. But Magpie's romantic life seems minor compared to the complications surrounding this case and Jimmy Coleman. She wonders how Max's interview is going.

The surface of Max's desk is a complete contrast to Henry's. Every square inch is covered with papers and reports in every size and color, pieces of waxed paper from old lunches, half-used napkins, loose pencils, Styrofoam cups, and several stacks of manila folders. He sits behind his desk, writing on a yellow legal pad. Henry is next to him, listening attentively.

Mrs. Dark Coleman sits across from them, twisting the shoulder strap of her purse nervously, as she talks. "I told them when they called, just send the body back to his kids in Georgia." She tugs at the bottom of her mini-skirt, trying to force it closer to the knee of her crossed leg. "We were through. I tossed him out about two weeks ago. Drugs, that's all he had on his mind, day and night."

She uncrosses her leg and taps her three inch heel nervously on the floor. "He was getting too weird for me. And he never managed to get his paycheck from work to home." She leans forward, causing her loose, low-cut shell to drop even further. "I've been supporting myself for months. I didn't need him."

Henry clears his throat and slowly asks, "When you say he was getting weird, what exactly do you mean?"

She sits upright, trying to match his perfect posture. "There was this girl," she explains. "A real pretty thing, mixed, you know."

Max asks, "What do you mean, mixed?"

"I mean," she says in a bothered tone, "She wasn't all black. She was part Japanese, or Caribbean, or something. Anyway, she started hanging around. Calling him at home, meeting him at his gigs." She rubs one of her long, African-symbol earrings. "He says it's strictly business. Well, I laughed in his face and told him no God-damn hoe is gonna get my house money. He goes on and on about how this kid thinks he's her father, from sometime when he's in the Army, and..."

Max interrupts again. "He said she thought he was her father? That she was his daughter from when he was in Vietnam."

"Yeah," she points at him with her finger.

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