Read Online Blown Away by Shane Gericke - Free Book Online

in bodily fluids—brake, transmission, lubrication, coolant. Sheet-metal shards glittered like tinsel. Remembering how she’d traced her husband’s name just a few hours ago, Emily thumbed the mess from this inscription.
    Â 
    KINLEY
    WILLIAM K INLEY 1784–1878.
    WIVES A NN A LLEN 1802–1840
    ELIZABETH A SHLEY 1784–1884
    Â 
    Emily sucked in her breath so hard, Branch broke off a sentence. “Hey, you OK?” he asked.
    She pointed to the chiseled lettering. “An interesting…coincidence,” she breathed, fighting off light-headedness. “The name on the tombstone is Kinley.”
    â€œSo?” Benedetti said.
    â€œThat’s her husband’s name,” Branch explained. “Kinley Jack Child.”
    â€œLate husband,” Emily murmured, rocking on her heels. Something else was at play here. She glanced around—street, fence, Scottie, train tracks, boot, stolen Porsche—but nothing grabbed her.
    â€œLate?” she heard Benedetti say. “As in dead?”
    Emily nodded.
    Benedetti stared at her left hand, where the hammered-pewter wedding ring tented her latex glove. Shot Branch a look that said, “Thanks for telling me, pal.” Then looked at Emily, bewilderment washing his face. “Sorry for my surprise, but the way you talk about him in the present tense…and the ring…I just assumed your husband was, well, you know, alive.”
    He is alive, Commander! she thought furiously. In here! But she didn’t say it. The words would sound as ridiculous to him as “life goes on” and “you’re still young” and “you’ll fall in love again” did to her at Jack’s funeral. She stood, slapped grass off her knees, cleared her throat. “Jack was killed a decade ago,” she said. “By person or persons unknown throwing rocks from a highway overpass.” Blinded by flying glass, Jack had lost control of his Jeep Cherokee and had crashed into a concrete viaduct on Interstate 88, halfway home from a business meeting at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb. “I’ve got far better things to do on your thirtieth birthday than sell telephone equipment to eggheads, Princess,” he’d vowed to her at breakfast. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.” She skipped the part about how she’d raced to the front door in a green lace teddy, intending to deliver a grand thank-you for the matching emerald earrings she’d found in her underwear drawer after her shower. But the peephole revealed two Illinois State Police troopers wearing Smokey the Bear hats and grim expressions. Alarmed, she jerked on the knee-length jacket she used for yard work and opened the door. The troopers doffed their hats and asked if they could come in….
    â€œThat was your husband?” Benedetti asked, interrupting her reverie. He sounded genuinely distressed. “I remember that case. Troopers never did catch the scumbags, did they?”
    Emily shook her head, remembering the official conclusion that Jack was a random victim of kids throwing rocks. Youngsters had played “rock hockey” with cars since the Model T, and the overpass sidewalk was littered with rocks, as was the interstate below. “The deceased has no known enemies,” the official report droned. “Solid bank account and investments, lifestyle reflective of income. No gambling, drugs, adultery, or other vices. No criminal record. Significant community involvement. Highly regarded at work. Solid relationship with Emily Thompson, wife of one year. Ms. Thompson possesses airtight alibi. She was talking with Lydia Branch, wife of the Naperville Police Department’s chief of detectives, at the moment of the wreck, according to phone company records. Vehicle not tampered with.” And so on. The private eye Emily hired to double-check the state investigation agreed—tragedy, not murder. Because the rocks