Fatal Mercy Dan Padavona (reading cloud ebooks .txt) 📖

Thomas swept his flashlight through the grass. He followed Kay Ramsey’s tracks to the back stoop and stood where she had, gazing out at the darkness. The silhouette of a fence separated the backyard from commercial development. He flicked the light along the grass, moving with slow, deliberate strides until he reached the elderly woman’s home. Gravel girded this side of the house, potted flowers throwing splashes of color along the border. The grass stood erect, undisturbed.

He circled the house, then rounded the Ramsey’s home, searching for another way inside. Footsteps behind him brought his head around. He shone the beam against Aguilar’s face.

“Lower the flashlight, Columbo,” Aguilar said, shielding her eyes.

“Sorry.”

“I knocked on a dozen doors. Of the seven people who answered, nobody saw an intruder break into the Ramsey house. Then again, it’s almost ten on a Sunday night. A lot of these people need to wake up for work tomorrow morning.”

As Aguilar finished her thought, Deputy Lambert swished through the lawn. Slick with dew, the grass grew up Thomas’s shins. He wondered how often the lawn was mowed. Kay Ramsey looked too frail to handle the work. Would his mother fall apart after cancer broke his father?

“No prints on the outside of the window,” Lambert said. “But I found thumbprints on the inside pane. I’ll wager good money they belong to Kay Ramsey or the daughter.”

Lambert was right, Thomas thought. The investigation seemed like a wild goose chase.

So why did he feel they’d missed something critical?

CHAPTER THREE

Monday, July 13th

10:15 a.m.

Chelsey Byrd tolerated the dump trucks and shouts from the construction workers outside. But when the jackhammer started, she rushed across the room and shut the window before the clamor rattled her teeth loose.

“Now I can hear myself think,” she said, settling into her chair.

She slung her tawny locks over her shoulder, leaned back in the rolling chair, and set her feet on the desk. Two years past her thirtieth birthday, she stared at the case folders spread across her desk and took a deep breath. Business had never been better at Wolf Lake Consulting, the private investigation firm she’d founded within a converted single-story home inside the village center. She could barely keep up with the work. If Chelsey didn’t hire a third investigator soon, she’d have to turn down cases.

At the neighboring desk, Raven Hopkins, Chelsey’s partner for the last nine months, clicked around her computer screen. The ebony-skinned investigator tied her long braids behind her neck today. The high cheekbones, fresh manicure, and sapphire nails lent a false sense of security to anyone who got on Raven’s wrong side. She had the body of a sprinter. Or an MMA fighter, Chelsey mused. Today, Raven seemed preoccupied as she called up files on her computer.

“You’re talkative this morning.”

Raven glanced up.

“What?”

“I said you’re talkative…never mind.”

“Sorry, I’m trying to wrap up the Franklin case. And I didn’t sleep much, but that’s nothing new.”

Chelsey sipped her green tea.

“Everything all right at home?”

“Mom had a tough night.”

Raven had moved her mother, Serena, into her house near Wolf Lake. Seven years ago, when Raven was eighteen, Serena threw her daughter out of the apartment. The women had been like oil and water for as long as Raven could remember. Addicted to heroin, Serena overdosed in April. Raven and her brother, LeVar, forced Serena to enter rehab. Though Serena had remained clean for three months and developed a fresh outlook on life, she had her share of bad days.

“What happened?”

Raven set her pen down.

“We got into another argument, and like she always does when she’s under stress, she started talking crazy. Like how she needed a fix to take the edge off.”

“Are you sure she hasn’t used since she moved in?”

Raven issued a humorless laugh.

“I’d know if she had. Her ass would be back in rehab a second later.” Raven dropped her face into her palms. “I’m doing my best. It’s just that my place is tiny, and we’re always in each other’s hair.”

“You might need a break from each other. Does she have any friends she can spend a few nights with?”

Raven cocked an eyebrow.

“Nobody who didn’t feed her addiction over the last ten years. I’m trying to get her away from Harmon, not push her back. I’m uncomfortable leaving her alone when I’m at work. That’s why I drive home for lunch every day.”

“And leave me to eat by myself like a total loser.”

Raven snickered.

“You only have yourself to blame.” Raven raised a hand. “I’m not suggesting you go back to Ray.” During the winter and spring, Chelsey had dated Ray Welch, a loudmouthed bully with alcohol issues. Why she’d wasted time with Ray, Chelsey couldn’t explain. But when Raven brought Ray’s name into the conversation, it reminded Chelsey of her poor judgment. “There are a hundred guys who’d kill for a date with the gorgeous Chelsey Byrd.”

“Yeah, well. I haven’t met the right guy.”

“And you never will, if you lock yourself up in your house every night.”

“I happen to enjoy binging Netflix.”

“When is the last time we went to Hattie’s and fed the jukebox for a few hours? We should go. What are you doing Friday night?”

“Catching up on these case files.”

“Give work a rest, or hire another investigator,” said Raven. “You deserve a life. Look, if I have to drive to your house and twist your arm, you’re going out with me.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Laugh it up, girlfriend. But you’d better be ready to party when I show up Friday night.”

Chelsey sighed.

“Fine, but Friday is four days away. We need to get cracking on the Sadie Moreno case.”

“Moreno…which investigation was that?”

“Sadie Moreno’s ex-husband took her for a million dollars during the divorce, and now she’s got a fiance.”

Raven snapped her fingers.

“The boy toy. Damian, right?”

“Damian Ramos. Sadie is still worth three-million, and she’s paranoid this guy is only in it for the payday.”

“What’s making her paranoid?”

“For starters, Ramos is twenty-five-years-old. He’s thirty years younger than Sadie.”

“Okay, that’s a little curious. What do we know about Damian Ramos?”

“He’s