Read Online A Rendezvous to Die For by Betty McMahon - Free Book Online
Authors: Betty McMahon
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from a fire. The fire was so real, I could feel the heat
and smell the smoke. I could even feel the rawness in my throat from
crying and breathing deadly fumes.
As a child, I would
wake up crying when the dream came. Now, I wake up in a sweat,
relieved to know it’s only a dream. I would keep the dream in the
“fantasy” category, except the scar on my neck continuously
reminds me that the fire may not be only in my imagination. Even
though no one has ever said, “I know a fire separated you from your
parents,” I know I’ll never get the dream to go away until,
someday, I smoke out the story behind it.
But not today. And
probably not tomorrow. I was used to me the way I was. If I threw
real parents into the mix, I’d have to recreate myself . . . again.
I was drinking my
second cup of coffee, trying to put my dream behind me, when Lawton
Sanders rang my doorbell. “Cassandra, the sheriff’s department
has issued a warrant to search your house,” he said.
“ When and what
for?”
“ They’re
searching for anything that might help them in their investigation. I
advise you to cooperate with them.”
“ Can I expect to
see the deputy sheriff from hell again?”
Sanders gave me a
stern look. “Don’t underestimate Deputy Shaw, Cassandra. His kind
can be very dangerous.”
“ Why’s that?”
His frown deepened
and his gaze became more intense. “A low-ranking, but ambitious
law-enforcement officer looks forward to making his reputation on a
case such as yours. He may be much more aggressive than seasoned
members of the force and read much more into so-called evidence that
he uncovers. The police humiliated him when they put him in the
basement for your initial interview. He’s got a lot to prove.”
I ushered my
attorney into the living room. “I still can’t believe Shaw has
his sights set on me. If he read that entire case against Eric, he’d
know all I did was use my expertise to show that the incriminating
photograph had been doctored.”
“ He’s young, and
he’s playing the odds. He knows that the person who discovers a
victim is often the person who perpetrated the crime. I expect you’ll
hear much more from him.”
Right on cue, the
doorbell rang. “I have a warrant to search your premises,” Shaw
said, when I opened the door.
“ Be my guest,” I
said, accepting the warrant and sweeping my arm into the house to
motion him inside. What could he find? I had no stash of tomahawks.
No bloody clothes. No weapons. He was wasting his time.
Nevertheless, it was
hard to keep from worrying, as Shaw and his crony pawed through my
cabinets and pulled items off the shelves. As soon as they were gone,
I’d launder every item of clothing they touched and thoroughly
clean the whole place. My only consolation was knowing they’d find
nothing incriminating.
Two hours later,
Shaw asked for access to my computer. The request had the effect of
slapping me upside my smug, complacent head. Eric Hartfield had not
only tweaked me in person every chance he got, but he’d sent me
irritating e-mails whenever the spirit moved him—or whenever my
Indian photos were in the newspaper or on TV. I led Shaw to my
upstairs office and opened my computer. I had deleted the majority of
Eric’s e-mails, but there were enough left that when Shaw found
them, he thought he’d hit the Big Bear casino jackpot. I read the
first two from the monitor:
Date:
Mon, 14 Jun 18:14:54 -0500
To:
Cassandra Cassidy < [email protected] >
From:
Eric Hartfield < [email protected] >
Subject:
Sunday’s Star Tribune review
CCAS:
Read Sunday’s review of your latest. Some reviewers are too easy to
impress. <> What a
bunch of tripe.
Date:
Sat, 28 Aug 21:11:23 -0500
To:
Cassandra Cassidy < [email protected] >
From:
Eric Hartfield < [email protected] >
Subject:
Another fool’s been sucked in
CCAS:
I have walls that are more intelligent than the guy who wrote that
<
and smell the smoke. I could even feel the rawness in my throat from
crying and breathing deadly fumes.
As a child, I would
wake up crying when the dream came. Now, I wake up in a sweat,
relieved to know it’s only a dream. I would keep the dream in the
“fantasy” category, except the scar on my neck continuously
reminds me that the fire may not be only in my imagination. Even
though no one has ever said, “I know a fire separated you from your
parents,” I know I’ll never get the dream to go away until,
someday, I smoke out the story behind it.
But not today. And
probably not tomorrow. I was used to me the way I was. If I threw
real parents into the mix, I’d have to recreate myself . . . again.
I was drinking my
second cup of coffee, trying to put my dream behind me, when Lawton
Sanders rang my doorbell. “Cassandra, the sheriff’s department
has issued a warrant to search your house,” he said.
“ When and what
for?”
“ They’re
searching for anything that might help them in their investigation. I
advise you to cooperate with them.”
“ Can I expect to
see the deputy sheriff from hell again?”
Sanders gave me a
stern look. “Don’t underestimate Deputy Shaw, Cassandra. His kind
can be very dangerous.”
“ Why’s that?”
His frown deepened
and his gaze became more intense. “A low-ranking, but ambitious
law-enforcement officer looks forward to making his reputation on a
case such as yours. He may be much more aggressive than seasoned
members of the force and read much more into so-called evidence that
he uncovers. The police humiliated him when they put him in the
basement for your initial interview. He’s got a lot to prove.”
I ushered my
attorney into the living room. “I still can’t believe Shaw has
his sights set on me. If he read that entire case against Eric, he’d
know all I did was use my expertise to show that the incriminating
photograph had been doctored.”
“ He’s young, and
he’s playing the odds. He knows that the person who discovers a
victim is often the person who perpetrated the crime. I expect you’ll
hear much more from him.”
Right on cue, the
doorbell rang. “I have a warrant to search your premises,” Shaw
said, when I opened the door.
“ Be my guest,” I
said, accepting the warrant and sweeping my arm into the house to
motion him inside. What could he find? I had no stash of tomahawks.
No bloody clothes. No weapons. He was wasting his time.
Nevertheless, it was
hard to keep from worrying, as Shaw and his crony pawed through my
cabinets and pulled items off the shelves. As soon as they were gone,
I’d launder every item of clothing they touched and thoroughly
clean the whole place. My only consolation was knowing they’d find
nothing incriminating.
Two hours later,
Shaw asked for access to my computer. The request had the effect of
slapping me upside my smug, complacent head. Eric Hartfield had not
only tweaked me in person every chance he got, but he’d sent me
irritating e-mails whenever the spirit moved him—or whenever my
Indian photos were in the newspaper or on TV. I led Shaw to my
upstairs office and opened my computer. I had deleted the majority of
Eric’s e-mails, but there were enough left that when Shaw found
them, he thought he’d hit the Big Bear casino jackpot. I read the
first two from the monitor:
Date:
Mon, 14 Jun 18:14:54 -0500
To:
Cassandra Cassidy < [email protected] >
From:
Eric Hartfield < [email protected] >
Subject:
Sunday’s Star Tribune review
CCAS:
Read Sunday’s review of your latest. Some reviewers are too easy to
impress. <
bunch of tripe.
Date:
Sat, 28 Aug 21:11:23 -0500
To:
Cassandra Cassidy < [email protected] >
From:
Eric Hartfield < [email protected] >
Subject:
Another fool’s been sucked in
CCAS:
I have walls that are more intelligent than the guy who wrote that
<
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