Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) by Connie Shelton Page A
Authors: Connie Shelton
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Donovan, Tali’s now ex-husband. He’s paying for this investigation.” He sipped from his drink. “But we can get into all that when I give you the full briefing.”
“Chet’s going to stay with Vic and me tonight. Tomorrow we can all meet at the office and go over the files,” Ron said.
From the kitchen I began to notice voices. Elsa must be back. “I better get in there and help with the chores,” I said.
Drake emerged from the bedroom, looking extremely good in a soft green pullover sweater and chinos, his hair damp and his face freshly shaved. I sent a little flicker of longing his way.
In the kitchen, potatoes were bubbling away in a large pot and Victoria was stirring gravy in another. Elsa held up a bowl of cranberry sauce and asked whether I wanted it in the fridge or on the table. Things were moving into place nicely. I added another place setting to the table and basically let momentum take charge of the dinner.
To paraphrase—we came, we ate, we conquered that whole turkey. It took only twenty minutes to decimate the feast that had taken a half-day to prepare. That seemed about normal. Ron seemed beat after the sleepless night in Dallas, so the party broke up soon after the dishes were done.
I turned to my sweetheart and could tell we both had the same idea.
Next thing I knew, the clock struck eleven out in the living room. The guests had long gone and Drake and I had quickly found ourselves in the bedroom making up for the few nights apart. Then we’d opened our gifts and I tried on the lacy red teddy he’d bought for me, and that led us back to the bedroom. The clock barely intruded into my consciousness as I lay with my head against his chest and a sea of warm bedding around me.
“Good Christmas?” he murmured.
“Um, now it is.”
* * *
The room was filled with half-light when I awakened. Beside me, Drake snored softly and peacefully. I slipped out of bed, thinking I would just go to the bathroom and come back. But I found myself mulling over work. Rosa Flores was home with her sister now. I hoped she would find a peaceful reconciliation there, whatever the real story was. Now the thing on my mind was the new case. Ever since Chet Flowers explained the basics of the situation I’d been intrigued. The anniversary of the children’s disappearance and the coverage by The Scoop must be nagging like crazy at the devoted detective. I slipped on a pair of sweats and padded to the living room.
Freckles wasn’t about to let me just tippy-toe past. In her mind it was time for breakfast. I let her out, came up with the obligatory nuggets, and started the coffee maker while I was at it. I had to rummage for the tabloid, which I’d tossed aside somewhere in the living room, a space which still held the litter of wrapping paper and bows that we’d never cleaned up.
At the kitchen table I spread it open and poured my first cup of coffee.
Tali Donovan’s eyes stared belligerently at the camera in her mug shot. The pudgy face was framed by stringy brown hair and she had dark circles under her eyes. No wonder; the jail-issue orange jumpsuit is no woman’s friend, fashion-wise. I reread the story.
Her two children, a three-year-old girl and twenty-one-month-old boy were last seen playing in the family’s back yard, a week before Christmas. Donovan claimed that she’d been with them but had gone in the house to answer the phone, leaving them to play in a pile of raked leaves. When she came back outside they were not there. She claimed she had run out to the yard and found a back gate that led to a wooded area standing open and she saw a man dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt running away. By the time she got to the path, he was gone.
No neighbors witnessed anything and Tali’s story had become a bit muddled as to the timeframe and exactly where she’d seen the strange man. Eventually the jury acquitted her, mainly because the bodies of the children had never been found, despite
“Chet’s going to stay with Vic and me tonight. Tomorrow we can all meet at the office and go over the files,” Ron said.
From the kitchen I began to notice voices. Elsa must be back. “I better get in there and help with the chores,” I said.
Drake emerged from the bedroom, looking extremely good in a soft green pullover sweater and chinos, his hair damp and his face freshly shaved. I sent a little flicker of longing his way.
In the kitchen, potatoes were bubbling away in a large pot and Victoria was stirring gravy in another. Elsa held up a bowl of cranberry sauce and asked whether I wanted it in the fridge or on the table. Things were moving into place nicely. I added another place setting to the table and basically let momentum take charge of the dinner.
To paraphrase—we came, we ate, we conquered that whole turkey. It took only twenty minutes to decimate the feast that had taken a half-day to prepare. That seemed about normal. Ron seemed beat after the sleepless night in Dallas, so the party broke up soon after the dishes were done.
I turned to my sweetheart and could tell we both had the same idea.
Next thing I knew, the clock struck eleven out in the living room. The guests had long gone and Drake and I had quickly found ourselves in the bedroom making up for the few nights apart. Then we’d opened our gifts and I tried on the lacy red teddy he’d bought for me, and that led us back to the bedroom. The clock barely intruded into my consciousness as I lay with my head against his chest and a sea of warm bedding around me.
“Good Christmas?” he murmured.
“Um, now it is.”
* * *
The room was filled with half-light when I awakened. Beside me, Drake snored softly and peacefully. I slipped out of bed, thinking I would just go to the bathroom and come back. But I found myself mulling over work. Rosa Flores was home with her sister now. I hoped she would find a peaceful reconciliation there, whatever the real story was. Now the thing on my mind was the new case. Ever since Chet Flowers explained the basics of the situation I’d been intrigued. The anniversary of the children’s disappearance and the coverage by The Scoop must be nagging like crazy at the devoted detective. I slipped on a pair of sweats and padded to the living room.
Freckles wasn’t about to let me just tippy-toe past. In her mind it was time for breakfast. I let her out, came up with the obligatory nuggets, and started the coffee maker while I was at it. I had to rummage for the tabloid, which I’d tossed aside somewhere in the living room, a space which still held the litter of wrapping paper and bows that we’d never cleaned up.
At the kitchen table I spread it open and poured my first cup of coffee.
Tali Donovan’s eyes stared belligerently at the camera in her mug shot. The pudgy face was framed by stringy brown hair and she had dark circles under her eyes. No wonder; the jail-issue orange jumpsuit is no woman’s friend, fashion-wise. I reread the story.
Her two children, a three-year-old girl and twenty-one-month-old boy were last seen playing in the family’s back yard, a week before Christmas. Donovan claimed that she’d been with them but had gone in the house to answer the phone, leaving them to play in a pile of raked leaves. When she came back outside they were not there. She claimed she had run out to the yard and found a back gate that led to a wooded area standing open and she saw a man dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt running away. By the time she got to the path, he was gone.
No neighbors witnessed anything and Tali’s story had become a bit muddled as to the timeframe and exactly where she’d seen the strange man. Eventually the jury acquitted her, mainly because the bodies of the children had never been found, despite
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