Read Online Bad Moon Rising by Ed Gorman - Free Book Online

asked him a number of times to stop harassing them but all I get are those speeches Reverend Cartwright gives. All the marijuana and sex. By now Cliffie must’ve run every one of them in at least once. They certainly won’t cooperate with him.”
    â€œI’m representing Sarah Powers, Paul. You should know that up front.”
    He blinked only once. “I didn’t know that.”
    â€œThat’s why I think you should look for somebody else.”
    â€œShe of course says Neil didn’t kill Van.”
    â€œThat’s what she says.”
    â€œAnd you believe her?”
    â€œIn a case like this I only represent people I think are innocent. I want to find Neil and have him turn himself in.”
    â€œWhat if he’s guilty?”
    â€œThen he’s guilty. If he’s not, then I want to find the person who really killed Van.”
    â€œThen there’s no conflict. I still want to hire you.”
    â€œI wish you’d think it over. I can recommend a few people in Cedar Rapids or even Des Moines. It might be better to let them handle it instead of me.”
    For the first time I saw resentment—anger—in the long, angular face. “You have a stake in this now, too, Sam. You need to prove to people you’re not the fool they say you are.”
    He’d meant for his words to hurt. He’d succeeded. “I’ll send a check to your office. I appreciate this, Sam.” He spoke through a kind of pain I’d never had to deal with. “Maybe I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    He turned and walked back to his people and his Jag. His daughter came to him and slid her arm around his waist. She tilted her head against his chest as he guided her to their car.
    Tommy walked a few feet toward me and said, “Hope no girls beat you up on the way home, McCain.”
    â€œGet back here,” Mainwaring shouted without turning around.
    Of course Tommy gave me the famous soul-freezing evil eye before he did what Mainwaring said. I wondered what he’d look like if I was fortunate enough to back over him six or seven times.
    A few years ago, before Jamie married her wastrel boyfriend Turk and bore him a baby girl as sweet as Jamie herself, I always checked out the clothes she wore. She had one of those stunning bodies you see on the covers of paperbacks, usually under the title Teenage Tease or some such thing. The wholesome pretty face only made her more appealing. These days I checked her for signs of bruises and cuts. In the first year of their marriage Turk had given her a black eye. I returned the favor by giving Turk a black eye. I’m not tough, but I’m tougher than Turk. I also drew up divorce papers that Jamie refused to sign. She loved him and he would change, she said.
    These days I had her solemn word that if he ever got physically violent with her again she was to tell me immediately. I made her promise on her mother’s life. A good Catholic girl, she took such oaths seriously.
    Turk still had his surfing band, probably the only one in landlocked Iowa—despite the fact that surfing bands were now seen as wimpy and irrelevant. And he was still going to be on American Bandstand , though American Bandstand was fading fast. And he was still going to have several gold records. And he was still, when the time was right, planning to become a movie star. And he still didn’t want to get a job because working conflicted with his songwriting and practicing. He couldn’t even babysit his little daughter. That was left to Jamie’s mother. These artistes, they need their time to create.
    Today Jamie wore a sleeveless yellow blouse and a richer yellow miniskirt. She was easy to scan for bruises. I didn’t see any. She also wore a pair of brown-rimmed eyeglasses. She’d started having headaches so I’d paid for her visit to an optometrist and then for the glasses. I still wondered about the headaches. I didn’t trust