Scott William Carter - [Myron Vale Investigation 01] - Ghost Detective by Carter

Author:Carter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Flying Raven Press
Published: 2013-06-19T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Early Friday morning, two things hadn’t changed from the previous night. When I woke to the squeal of the garbage-truck brakes, having fallen asleep on the futon watching Charlie Rose, the back of my head still felt as if it had been the target of a drone missile. And my lovely wife, who’d taken off in a huff at Bernie Thorne’s office, was still missing.

I hadn’t closed the curtains, and the early-morning light, as weak as it was, stabbed at my eyes. The crick in my neck hurt almost as much as the throbbing in my head. It was going to be a glorious day. The only good thing about it so far was that no smug priest was standing in the room, waiting to deliver some smug, cryptic warning.

A cup of instant coffee, a hot shower, and a couple of Aleve later, I was starting to feel almost human. I was also pissed as hell. After five years, I’d finally gotten a lead on the man who’d shot me in the head, and everybody wanted me to let it go. I wasn’t about to let it go. I was going to get some answers.

The problem was, I still didn’t have much to go on. Somebody didn’t like me nosing around Karen’s condo, even though the place was so sterile it made hotel rooms seem cluttered. Why?

I needed to know more about Tony, but so far I hadn’t turned up much. Somebody had to know something about him, and I decided the two sisters might be a good place to start, since Karen said they really didn’t care for the guy. Maybe they knew something about him that Karen didn’t. There was also the younger brother. He was out of town, but he might have had a perspective his sisters didn’t.

I called Travis, the son, first, just because it was still a bit early and Travis was at Brown in Rhode Island, on East Coast time. He answered on the first ring, croaking out a hello, still sounding like I’d woken him even though it was closing in on noon there. When I asked him about Tony, he said he’d never met the dude and hadn’t even been back to Portland since Karen’s funeral, three months earlier, and that was the first time he’d seen his sisters or his dad in a year. When I asked him if he had any reason to think someone might want to kill his sister, he told me maybe it was because she was a total bitch and hung up. Nice kid.

Beth, the oldest child, had three numbers, a landline at her house in Lake Oswego, another landline at her cabin near Mount Hood, and a cell phone. She didn’t answer any of them. I left messages, explaining that I was a private investigator looking into Karen’s death and that I wanted to talk to her.

Janice, the second youngest daughter, answered her house’s landline on the first ring.

“Hello?” she said.

Her voice sounded much like Karen’s, but wearier.

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