intense. I automatically rolled on top of him, and he suddenly broke the kiss and rolled me off.
“We shouldn’t,” he said, physical evidence very much to the contrary. “What if Joshua should come in?”
“So straight couples with kids never have sex?”
“I don’t know how they do it.”
I immediately got out of bed, quietly closed the door and moved a chair in front of it, taking a robe from behind the door and tossing it on the foot of the bed.
“We’ll improvise,” I said, climbing back into bed and pulling him to me.
“Just watch it,” he whispered sternly. “None of those bull-moose-in-heat noises.”
“I won’t if you won’t,” I said, reaching for the nightstand drawer.
And we didn’t.
*
First thing after arriving at the office in the morning—after making coffee and reading the newspaper, of course—I called Marty Gresham at police headquarters. He wasn’t in, so I left a message for him to call me.
I really wasn’t quite sure just what I might be able to do for Estelle Bronson. If Carlene’s ex, Jan Houston, was involved, the police would probably be able to handle it without my interference. If she wasn’t—and I’d have to wait until I knew more about what the police had found out about the “accident” to have an idea one way or the other—then I’d really have to start digging. The only other person I knew who might even remotely be considered a likely suspect would be Kelly’s father,…Roy…? Damn, I don’t think Carlene ever mentioned his last name!
Well, I could always check with Carlene’s sister, Beth.
And what is Beth ’s last name? a mind-voice asked sweetly.
Shit!
There goes your “P.I. of the Year Award”…again, the voice said.
Luckily, the phone cut short this little exercise in mental flagellation.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Dick…Mr. Hardesty?…this is Beth Erickson calling…Carlene’s sister?”
Now that was something of an unexpected if serendipitous call.
“Yes, Beth, what can I do for you?” I jotted her last name down as we talked.
She sounded upset when she said, “I’m sorry to bother you at work, but I was wondering if you could refer me to a good attorney in the city? Our family attorney here in Carrington is…well, I think he would be a little out of his league with this.”
Cryptic, I thought.
“May I ask what type of lawyer you’re looking for—in what area of expertise, I mean?”
“I got a call this morning from Roy D’Angelo, Kelly’s biological father, saying he wanted to come pick up Kelly now that Carlene is dead. ‘Pick him up,’ like he was a suit at the dry cleaners! Of course I told him ‘no,’ and he announced that he intends to file for custody! On the day of Carlene’s funeral! I can’t let him do that! Carlene would fight him every inch of the way, and so will my husband and I!”
“How did he even know Carlene was dead?”
She sighed. “Somehow, his mother must have told him.”
“His mother? How would she know? Don’t both of them live in Kentucky?”
“Yes, but right after Carlene moved from Carrington, she told me that she swore she saw Mrs. D’Angelo on the street, and that she was certain Mrs. D’Angelo had seen her , though of course they didn’t speak.”
I was confused. “So what would Mrs. D’Angelo be doing here? It’s a long way from Kentucky.”
“Carlene said she remembered Roy mentioning once that his mother has a sister here whom she visited regularly.”
So the mother had seen Carlene on the street, subsequently read about her death and the fact that Carlene was “a single mother,” put two and two together, and contacted her son. It was a bit of a stretch…but possible.
But why would either one of them care? And again, why Roy D’Angelo’s rush to “get back” a son he’d never technically had?
I gave her Glen O’Banyon’s name and office number and said I didn’t know if he handled custody cases or not, but if he didn’t he could
“We shouldn’t,” he said, physical evidence very much to the contrary. “What if Joshua should come in?”
“So straight couples with kids never have sex?”
“I don’t know how they do it.”
I immediately got out of bed, quietly closed the door and moved a chair in front of it, taking a robe from behind the door and tossing it on the foot of the bed.
“We’ll improvise,” I said, climbing back into bed and pulling him to me.
“Just watch it,” he whispered sternly. “None of those bull-moose-in-heat noises.”
“I won’t if you won’t,” I said, reaching for the nightstand drawer.
And we didn’t.
*
First thing after arriving at the office in the morning—after making coffee and reading the newspaper, of course—I called Marty Gresham at police headquarters. He wasn’t in, so I left a message for him to call me.
I really wasn’t quite sure just what I might be able to do for Estelle Bronson. If Carlene’s ex, Jan Houston, was involved, the police would probably be able to handle it without my interference. If she wasn’t—and I’d have to wait until I knew more about what the police had found out about the “accident” to have an idea one way or the other—then I’d really have to start digging. The only other person I knew who might even remotely be considered a likely suspect would be Kelly’s father,…Roy…? Damn, I don’t think Carlene ever mentioned his last name!
Well, I could always check with Carlene’s sister, Beth.
And what is Beth ’s last name? a mind-voice asked sweetly.
Shit!
There goes your “P.I. of the Year Award”…again, the voice said.
Luckily, the phone cut short this little exercise in mental flagellation.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Dick…Mr. Hardesty?…this is Beth Erickson calling…Carlene’s sister?”
Now that was something of an unexpected if serendipitous call.
“Yes, Beth, what can I do for you?” I jotted her last name down as we talked.
She sounded upset when she said, “I’m sorry to bother you at work, but I was wondering if you could refer me to a good attorney in the city? Our family attorney here in Carrington is…well, I think he would be a little out of his league with this.”
Cryptic, I thought.
“May I ask what type of lawyer you’re looking for—in what area of expertise, I mean?”
“I got a call this morning from Roy D’Angelo, Kelly’s biological father, saying he wanted to come pick up Kelly now that Carlene is dead. ‘Pick him up,’ like he was a suit at the dry cleaners! Of course I told him ‘no,’ and he announced that he intends to file for custody! On the day of Carlene’s funeral! I can’t let him do that! Carlene would fight him every inch of the way, and so will my husband and I!”
“How did he even know Carlene was dead?”
She sighed. “Somehow, his mother must have told him.”
“His mother? How would she know? Don’t both of them live in Kentucky?”
“Yes, but right after Carlene moved from Carrington, she told me that she swore she saw Mrs. D’Angelo on the street, and that she was certain Mrs. D’Angelo had seen her , though of course they didn’t speak.”
I was confused. “So what would Mrs. D’Angelo be doing here? It’s a long way from Kentucky.”
“Carlene said she remembered Roy mentioning once that his mother has a sister here whom she visited regularly.”
So the mother had seen Carlene on the street, subsequently read about her death and the fact that Carlene was “a single mother,” put two and two together, and contacted her son. It was a bit of a stretch…but possible.
But why would either one of them care? And again, why Roy D’Angelo’s rush to “get back” a son he’d never technically had?
I gave her Glen O’Banyon’s name and office number and said I didn’t know if he handled custody cases or not, but if he didn’t he could
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