Red Light (Merci Rayborn Novels) by Parker T. Jefferson

Author:Parker, T. Jefferson [Parker, T. Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-10-09T05:00:00+00:00

• • •

She pulled over beside the old courthouse and called Big Pat McNally. He wasn't home, but she didn't think he would be. More likely, by this time of day he'd be at Cancun Restaurant, down on First Street.

Like Clark, he was retired; unlike Clark, Pat McNally liked to get out and raise a little hell.

It was still early enough to park close to the restaurant. She guided in the Chevy, looked for Pat McNally's black Cadillac. It was taking up two spots out in the comer of the lot.

Pat himself was taking up a stool by the margarita blender, chatting up a pretty young thing who looked at Merci approaching and scuttled away like she'd been slapped.

“Didn't mean to rain your moment,” she said.

Big Pat lumbered off the stool and hugged her. His arms were huge and freckled and his neck seemed thick as a power pole. His hair was graying red, and he had the most gentle blue eyes Merci had ever seen. Crooked smile, quick laugh, good guy.

“You rescued me from temptation. It's the only thing I can't resist.”

She sat down next to him, got coffee. She wondered if she'd ever do such a thing again, the way things were stacking up against his son. She stared straight ahead.

He put his hand on her forearm, gave it a squeeze. “How you doin’, Merci? Everything okay?”

She nodded and looked at him but she let her eyes betray her.

“What is it? That son of mine?”

“No. Mike's great.” She tried to make it convincing. It occurred to her for the first time that she might ruin Big Pat along with his son. It seemed like every hour she had to recalculate the size of her betrayal.

His clear blue eyes roved over her face. He took a drink of his beer. “Lemme guess. He's asked you for the twentieth time to marry him, and you wish he'd stop.”

“No, Pat. Really, it's not Mike.”

“What then?”

“Patti Bailey.”

He reeled back in an exaggerated gesture, like he was taking one on the chin. “All the miserable unsolveds and you got that one? Mikey told me.”

“Can you tell me anything?”

“Well, Detective, that was a long time ago.”

“I'm getting interference from the outside. Maybe it's help. I don't know what it is.”

“You'll have to explain that one.”

She did—the letter, the key, the storage unit, the gun and casings, the blood-riddled dress.

Pat looked at her slack-faced, like she was telling him a whopper he just couldn't believe. She watched him choke down his surprise, try to make something good out of it.

“What else was in the box?”

“Newspapers from sixty-nine. That's it.”

That wasn't it, because she had Patti Bailey's little black book and the unlabeled cassette tape in the trunk of her car. But she wasn't going to give those up until she looked at them. No lab, no Brighton, no McNally, no nobody.

“Well, you got solid physical evidence now. That's more than Thornton ever found. It's a start. But somebody's messin’ with you, Merci, Somebody wants you to have this stuff.

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