Death Notice by Alicia Dean

Author:Alicia Dean
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2015-02-23T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

My ringing phone dragged me from sleep hours before I was ready. I brought it to my ear and said hello, or something resembling the word.

"Monroe, dear? Did I wake you?"

Katie's mom, Corrine. I sat up and swiped a hand over my face, wincing when the pain in my jaw protested the action. "No, you didn't wake me."

"Can you come over? Right away?"

Straight to the point. No, "How are you, hon, how's the love life, the family?" All the usual chit chat before the inevitable, "Have you learned anything about my Katie?"

"What's wrong?" Monroe asked as she suppressed a yawn.

"I need to see you. Please. I'll cook breakfast."

So, she really meant now. Something had to have happened. But what? Couldn't be a development in Katie's murder—Corrine was no Jessica Fletcher—so what could have her so worked up?

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

I hung up the phone and crawled out of bed, crying out at the sharp pain in my tail bone, my knees, my head, pretty much everywhere.

I started the coffee and took a quick shower, then filled a travel cup and went to my car. The officer was still there, his squad car parked along the curb between my house and Linus's. He waved at me as I pulled out of the driveway. It was seven a.m. Linus would be awake. I dialed his number from my cell.

"Hello," he answered, sounding kind of perky for an eighty-two year old who'd nearly been attacked by a violent drug addict less than ten hours ago.

"Hey, Linus. It's me. You okay?"

"I'm good. How about you? What you doing up so early on a Sunday morning?"

"A friend called and needed to see me. I'm heading over there now."

"Everything all right? You're not messing with that Josie girl so soon after her punk boyfriend pulled that stunt, are you?"

"No. A different friend."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

After Linus extracted another promise that I'd be careful and that I'd let him know if I needed anything, we ended the call.

As I drove, I pondered Corrine's call. I couldn't imagine what it was about. Corrine and her husband, Vic, still held out the hope, even after all these years, that their daughter's killer would be found. Ten years ago, we'd pooled our money and hired a private detective. A year passed and he didn't find anything. The money ran out, so we had to let him go.

Since I was a journalist, Katie's parents thought I could solve the murder. I wanted to. I'd tried, but so far, not a clue. Not that the police had done much better. Although there'd been a suspect in both Katie's murder, and the one that happened the year before—a man who'd been released from prison after serving time for rape—no arrest had been made. Apparently, there hadn't been enough evidence to file charges.

Corrine and Victor Broussard lived a mile from my parents, in the same house they'd lived in when I was a child.

I knocked on the door, and it opened to the smell of bacon and Corrine's embrace.

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