Read Online Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) by LL Bartlett - Free Book Online Page B

hurried back to the game room. In the minutes since we’d checked out the back yard, it had begun to rain. Already the windows overlooking the yard were beaded with drops.
    I set my camera on the pool table and grabbed the first cue from the rack. It had been polished with what seemed like beeswax. She had not only obliterated any fingerprints that might have been on the stick, but any auras left behind as well. They were all like that. No one could say that Mrs. Walburg was shirking her duties. I put the last one back in the rack and heard voices approaching. I went to grab my camera and noticed a well-worn piece of blue billiards chalk in one of the table’s pockets. I grabbed it and stashed it in my jacket pocket before hurrying over to the window so that I would appear to be evaluating the yard.
    “I hope you haven’t been messing with that table,” Mrs. Walburg scolded as she entered the room.
    I turned and held my hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t think of it. Could you tell me who does the landscaping?” I asked, and looked back toward the yard.
    “Why would you care?”
    I pivoted to meet her gaze. “I’m looking for someone to take care of my place.”
    She looked me over and frowned. Okay, so I wasn’t wearing a suit and tie — just jeans, a black turtleneck, track shoes, and a denim jacket. Steve Jobs had mega millions and always seemed to wear the same outfit and nobody claimed he couldn’t afford a gardener.
    “It’s time for you to leave,” Mrs. Walburg sharply.
    I didn’t argue, and without a word headed for the entrance.
    “Thank you for all your help,” Sam said sincerely.
    Mrs. Walburg walked us to the door, opened it, and let us out. The door slammed behind us. She hadn’t said good-bye.
    Sam pulled up his collar as we started walking back down the drive toward our cars. “Well, that was a complete waste of time.”
    “Maybe not,” I said. “Let’s go sit in your car for a minute.”
    The rain pelted us and we picked up speed. Once inside the car, I reached into my pocket for the chalk. The second my hand clasped it, I got a jolt of something.
    “What’ve you got?” I showed Sam the paper-wrapped piece of blue billiards chalk. “Hey, where’d you find that?”
    “In one of the table pockets.”
    “Are you getting anything from it?”
    I closed my eyes, folded my fingers around the chalk, and was assaulted with a myriad of sensations.
    “Well — well?” Sam badgered me.
    “Shut up and let me concentrate.”
    Whoever had last held the chalk had been upset — about money. A hazy image of a pool cue slamming into the cue ball, and all the other balls scattering across the table flashed through my mind. There was no way to tell if it was Morrow, his son, or anyone else who might have been in the house, but whoever it was had taken out his — and it was definitely a male — frustrations via the pool table and accoutrements.
    I opened my eyes and shook my head. “Money.”
    “Yeah?” Sam asked eagerly.
    “But I don’t know who it was, or what they were thinking.”
    “Is there a chance you might get more? You know, think about it a while. Maybe things could get clearer.”
    “There is that chance,” I admitted.
    He nodded. “Okay.”
    I pocketed the chalk once more. “What’s up next?”
    “I’m going to do some more research. I don’t want you doing the same. That might taint whatever it is you get from other more tangible sources.”
    I shrugged. “Suits me.”
    “Then again, if you get more vibes, you might want to take some notes — no matter how odd or demented they seem. At this point, we don’t know what could be relevant.”
    It seemed a reasonable request.
    “I need to get going. Like Mrs. Walburg, I’ve got duties to perform.”
    “All the cleaning in the world isn’t going to get rid of that woman’s anger. And by the way, did you get anything off of her?”
    “Just that she’s afraid she’s going to lose her home. You can’t blame her