Drowning Barbie by Frederick Ramsay

night dispatcher, said. “I’ve fixed it up so Darcie Billingsley will sub for me tonight. Things are quieter at night and her kids are old enough and smart enough to go to bed and stay there. Besides, Ike, she needs the work.”
    â€œOkay, I’m good with that, but why did Essie go off? Did she say?”
    â€œYou haven’t heard?”
    â€œApparently not. What should I have heard?”
    â€œGeorge LeBrun. He’s out of jail. Some smarty pants lawyer from Richmond got him a re-trial hearing and he’s out on bond, or something.”
    â€œAh, that would explain it. I have seven text messages on my phone. One of them must be about that.”
    â€œYou have seven texts and you haven’t responded?”
    â€œI don’t like text messages. You want to contact me, call, write, drop in and chat. Nobody’s time is so damned important that they have to resort to misspellings and ridiculous contractions just because it will save thirty seconds of their precious time. So, no, I haven’t responded. I am sure there is an official announcement on my computer or in the mail. What has that to do with Essie…? Oh, crap, I almost forgot. It’s George LeBrun who’s on the loose. Where’d she go?”
    â€œShe didn’t say. She was just scared of what LeBrun would do to her if he found her.”
    â€œHow about Billy?”
    â€œHe’s off duty for two days anyway. I guess they’ve both bolted.”
    â€œBilly knows better. See if you can find either of them and let me know. And, thanks, Rita.”
    â€œNo probs, Boss.”
    Ike slipped into his office and nearly tripped over the bag of miscellany from his father’s barn. He gave it a kick and sent it into the corner. Two dead guys and George LeBrun on the loose trumped a bag of trash. He paused and stared at the bag again.
    â€œMight it have been left in that particular barn because whoever left it there wanted it found by someone who would tell me? But who’s that clever and if they are, wouldn’t it be simpler to drop it off here? Maybe they didn’t realize what they were doing as a conscious thing. Maybe it was one of those Freudian worms Ruth was talking about.”
    â€œYou talking to me?” Rita called from the outer office.
    â€œNope, just consulting with my inner cop.”
    â€œIf you say so. While you have his attention, ask if he can get some more of those coffee thingies. The night crew went through the whole box. That’s what you get when you serve up drinkable coffee.”
    â€œOn it. By the way, Rita, you’ve lived here all your life. What can you tell me about Ethyl Smut and her daughter?”
    â€œYou have enough overtime in the budget to cover the hours it will take to tell you? I mean there’s a thick book on the old lady and another, thinner one, on the girl. Neither one of them is pretty reading, you could say.”
    â€œCheck with me before you go home and, yeah, I can cover it.”
    â€œJust kidding about the money, but hey, if you got it…”
    â€œI do, and I will.”
    Ike turned back to the papers on his desk, booted up his computer, cursed at three error messages and wished Samantha Ryder had never been shanghaied by NSA. And why did that girl in Lee Henry’s Hair Cuttery seem familiar, and where the hell was the kid from the academy, TAK?

Chapter Sixteen
    Leota Blevins had lived in Virginia Beach since her thirtieth birthday—after the breakup of a disastrous affair with an ex-Marine. The affair had invoked the disapproval of her cousins and grandmother, and the upshot had not been pleasant. She’d returned to Old Dominion University after a five-year lapse and received her Bachelor of Library Science degree. She moved to the shore and took her first—and so far only— job as an assistant librarian in Little Creek, a position she’d filled for almost two decades. Any chance of promotion