The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1) A.J. Flynn (ebook reader play store TXT) 📖

Once she grew used to the indirect lighting, McPherson examined the room in more detail, but she couldn’t find a single dress. She was so busy searching that she didn’t notice the woman sneak up behind her.

“Hello,” a female voice said courteously,” may I help you?”

In spite of herself, she spun around, wide-eyed. She felt like a little kid who’s been caught behind a barn with a cigarette still burning.

The woman looked like a dowager duchess. Silvery hair, softly waved, above an unlined forehead that could only be described as queenly. She was simply dressed, but every line and seam of her dress looked as if it had been set with calipers. The woman’s bright blue eyes watched her steadily, and McPherson began to feel like she was guessing the price of everything she was wearing.

“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Valentine,” McPherson said politely.

The woman’s eyes went cold. Evidently, so long as she wasn’t there to buy anything, she wasn’t particularly welcome.

“Our ladies aren’t permitted to see visitors during working hours.”

The initial stun of the woman’s appearance was beginning to wear off, and McPherson found herself wondering what a solid kick in the backside would do to her rock-bound dignity. But she restrained herself and flashed her badge.

“This is regarding an investigation. Mrs. Valentine’s husband has been involved in an accident.”

The woman’s expression indicated that her presence was distasteful, but she didn’t wish to tangle with a police officer. Neither did she show any concern for Valentine’s condition.

“You can use my office, over there. Go inside and I’ll send in Mrs. Valentine for you.”

Her words were cordial but what she meant was get the hell out of my sight before you stink up the joint.

McPherson followed her into the small office, which was rather more utilitarian than the showroom floor. The fancy adornments seemed to be for customers only.

She was standing by the window, looking out at the brick wall of the next door building, when Hayley entered.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” she said quietly. “You wished to speak to me?”

If Vanity had mentioned anything about an accident, she was taking it easily.

“Yes, Mrs. Valentine. Please sit down.”

Hayley set a chair closer to the desk and sat down with a sort of awkward grace. She was far too thin, but there was no denying her high-fashion charm. Her sharp and angular face was pale and drawn, but the skillful application of make-up seemed to have hidden most of the strain. In passing McPherson wondered how long it must take her to do her hair.

“I suppose it’s about Harry. Did he run away?”

“Why would you think that?”

Obtaining all the information you could, before delivering the bad news, was rotten, but smart.

“He told me you would check over everyone’s record. I figured what with your being here…” Her voice trailed off.

“Why would he feel like he had to run? We looked into his whereabouts, along with everyone else. We knew it wasn’t possible for him to have killed the boy.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Harry had been to prison. He was convicted of robbery. He was worried that once you knew he was an ex-con you wouldn’t bother looking for anyone else.” She paused for a brief moment, then asked, “Did you catch him?”

McPherson watched her wringing her hands, and hated the thought of telling her.

“Yeah. We found him.”

Her face lit up. “Oh, I’m so happy he didn’t get away. Before he ran I told him staying in town isn’t so bad, not so long as you guys knew that he didn’t kill the boy.”

“We weren’t going after him, Mrs. Valentine. We didn’t even know he’d tried running, not until we got report of the accident.”

“Accident,” she whispered. “What accident?”

Vanity hadn’t seen fit to pass the news after all.

“He was trying to pass another car, out on Sagan Pass, and collided head on with a truck. I’m sorry, Mrs. Valentine, but your husband is dead.”

The sharp intake of her breath was loud in the quiet room. For a moment McPherson feared the woman might faint, but she seemed to find strength, and began to pull herself together.

“I know it came out blunt,” she apologized, “but there just isn't any good way to tell someone something like that.”

She swallowed hard twice before answering. “I know. It must be very difficult for you. Telling people, I mean.”

“Not nearly as hard as you having to hear it. I’m heading out to your neighborhood. If you want, I can give you a ride home.”

Hayley stayed sitting still, like the decision was difficult, then said, “That’s very kind of you. I’ll go tell Miss Vanity. I won’t be much use to her anyway. I’ll be right back.”

It had struck her hard, but somehow McPherson felt that she had almost expected it. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, but she was also happy she hadn’t had to sit through a bout of hysterics.

Death must have been a good enough reason even for Miss Vanity, because Hayley was back with her coat within five minutes.

“Thank you for waiting for me. I’m ready to go now.”

They walked a short distance to the car, and after holding the door open for Hayley, McPherson got in herself and started toward the South Pines Homes development. Just a few days ago it had been a place where a family would love to bring up their children, but now it was a nest of tragedy and fear and, what was hardest to understand, a sort of opportunism.

There’s not much to be said to the newly bereaved, but McPherson made an effort. “Is there anybody you would like to have come and stay with you?” she asked. “We can stop and pick them up along the way.”

Hayley stirred from the inaction that had settled over her just long enough to say, “No, thank you. I would prefer to be alone. There are a lot of things I have to think about.”

“Alright,” she said, and they both maintained a silence that lasted until