Read Online Absolutely, Positively by Heather Webber - Free Book Online Page A

didn’t know anything for sure. All we had was an address for Rourke’s grandmother, who had been listed as his next of kin through the prison, and a picture of Rourke faxed from a contact of Sean’s at Cedar Junction.
    I plucked the photo out of a folder. Shorn blond hair, striking pale blue eyes, a scar crossing his nose. He didn’t look like a stereotypical bad guy. If I stared long enough, I could almost see the boy he once was, the boy Meaghan Archibald had loved.
    Still loved.
    I had to keep that in mind with this case. Had to keep an open mind, period.
    The houses on Maureen Rourke’s street were surprisingly well maintained for the rough-and-tumble neighborhood. The triple-deckers sat nearly side by side with freshly painted clapboards, newer-looking porches, and bright, clean windows. Tiny strips of snow-covered lawns bled into the street, no sidewalk boundary protecting home sweet home from the big bad world beyond. Cars sat along the blurred line separating yards from traffic, most plowed into their spot until a good thaw or someone with the wherewithal to dig out the car came along.
    Roxbury, in general, was one of Boston’s transitional areas. High crime, drug houses, and drive-by shootings were mixed in with hardworking residents just trying to make their way in life.
    By all accounts, Maureen Rourke was one of the latter. According to tax records, she’d worked two or three jobs at a time since she was fifteen years old. Everything from chambermaid, to washwoman, to entrepreneur.
    I remembered what Meaghan had said—that Tristan’s grandmother had been too poor to take him in when his mother died. I couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been—for both of them—and wondered if she had worked so hard to raise the money to get him back from the state, only to see him arrested and taken away for good.
    Three years ago, right after Tristan had been released from prison, she opened her own business, a Laundromat we’d driven past on our way here, A Clean Start.
    Someone had a sense of humor.
    Thoreau lay snuggled on my lap. We’d opted to bring him along instead of leaving him at my place. Dovie would have her hands full with Rufus as he adapted to his new surroundings. She had decided to keep him— I’d never had a doubt.
    Someone at Maureen Rourke’s house had been quite industrious. Not only had a car, a newer-model Camry, been shoveled free of snow, but the walkway and front steps had been cleared as well.
    We idled in front of the three-decker. Sean said, “The deed is in Maureen’s name. And apparently the house was bought with cash two years ago. There was never any mortgage on record.”
    I heard the undertone in his voice. I had a dozen reasons why Maureen would suddenly have so much cash on hand, but reality was hard to overlook. Tristan probably helped buy the house. His release from prison and the timing of the business opening and the purchase of the house were too coincidental. Where he found the money was anyone’s guess at this point, but I had a sinking feeling that whatever he was doing wasn’t on the up-and-up.
    Sean hopped out, removed the plastic chair saving the empty parking spot in front of the house, and parked. I bundled Thoreau in a blanket and left him in the front seat.
    The wooden door had been painted a beautiful colonial red. An arched window at the top of the door didn’t have a speck on it. I knocked. A moment later, an older woman answered the door. Reddish hair streaked with white was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Beautiful creamy skin was dotted with freckles, and wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes and lips. Ice blue eyes twinkled at us as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “What you be needing, darlin’s?” Her voice was rich with an Irish brogue. She had to have been a stunning beauty in her younger years.
    “Are you Maureen Rourke?” I asked.
    Behind her, dark wooden floors gleamed in the morning light. The scent of