Read Online Dead Red Cadillac, A by R. P. Dahlke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. P. Dahlke
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over the sink where I wouldn't make too much of a mess, I watched clouds chase the moon across the sky. Eating alone made me wonder if I would be standing here in another ten years watching a night sky filled with too many questions. Two unsuccessful marriages may have done it for me, but did it mean I was destined to become just another eccentric old lady standing at the sink, eating out of tuna cans?
I turned away from uncomfortable thoughts, went to shower, and then, brushing my teeth, drooled toothpaste over the sink and looked up in the mirror.
The very act of putting a woman, dead or alive, in my car made this crime very personal. Was it only a joyride gone bad, or was it something to do with me? Who would harbor such unmitigated hatred that they would murder a woman simply to pin it on me? Nothing I'd learned so far made sense, except a little nagging thought. Three times today I'd been told that everyone knew who I was and where I lived. My work habits were an open book, so was it someone who knew me and had a grudge big enough to frame me for murder? Or was it simply a side benefit? Tomorrow I would see if I could find some answers.
Chapter Eight:
My cell phone chimed from the bedside table. I poked at it and heard Caleb say, "Hey, you. You can have your car back now."
"That's nice," I said, still exhausted from yesterday, and I wasn't too thrilled at being awakened from my all-too-brief snooze. "I'll have Noah drive me in tomorrow."
"No, I'm coming out to pick you up."
"Now? Don't you sleep?"
"Get up, sleepyhead, it's seven a.m. I'll be there in half an hour. I have something to show you."
"What—now?" I sat up in bed, pulled the sleep-shade off my head and looked at my bedside clock. He was right, I'd slept through the early morning shift and didn't hear a thing. Planes roared down the runway and took off, trucks rumbled out of the yard, and I slept through all of it. Was it any wonder I hadn't heard my Caddy going out?
I groaned. "Can't this wait?"
"Sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can clear your good name," he said. "So get up and get decent, or not. Either way, I'll be there soon."
Left with an ear full of air, I slapped the phone down and rolled out of bed. He must be calling from his car. Voices from below meant Noah was done with the morning paperwork and was now downstairs at breakfast. I might be expected to report in, if not for business, then certainly for yesterday's events.
I stood at the kitchen door and took in the scene—my father eating a plate of pancakes, a small brown dog at rapt attention. Juanita, seeing the little dog's empty plate, picked it up and whittled his next pancake to bite-size. Finished, she put the plate down next to Noah's feet and smiled as the dog gobbled up the bites. It was a regular Rockwell memory and one for the record. Spike had my grumpy father and his small bossy housekeeper wrapped around his little brown paw.
My dad put down his fork. "You're up. I got Northrup's peaches started, but you need to fire Brad."
"Brad? Why would I do that? He's top producer and doing the work of two pilots."
"If you'd get back into the saddle, we'd have two pilots."
"I have to get this cast off first."
"See to it, then. You're wasting this season sitting on your butt."
That hurt. When I didn't say anything, he looked up at me and blinked like he'd suddenly realized what he'd said. "That kid is gambling, and now he's taking pills, the kind that keep him awake so he can do the work of two pilots."
"I keep track of his hours. He isn't flying any more than allowed."
"He's going to be trouble."
"Okay, don't go all cranky on me again, but where'd you hear this?"
"I got my sources. A fool and his money are soon parted, I always say."
Since my dad and a nickel were seldom parted, the idea of gambling was as alien to him as wearing his underwear outside his overalls. "He's pushing his luck with more than cards, and I'm of a mind that I
I turned away from uncomfortable thoughts, went to shower, and then, brushing my teeth, drooled toothpaste over the sink and looked up in the mirror.
The very act of putting a woman, dead or alive, in my car made this crime very personal. Was it only a joyride gone bad, or was it something to do with me? Who would harbor such unmitigated hatred that they would murder a woman simply to pin it on me? Nothing I'd learned so far made sense, except a little nagging thought. Three times today I'd been told that everyone knew who I was and where I lived. My work habits were an open book, so was it someone who knew me and had a grudge big enough to frame me for murder? Or was it simply a side benefit? Tomorrow I would see if I could find some answers.
Chapter Eight:
My cell phone chimed from the bedside table. I poked at it and heard Caleb say, "Hey, you. You can have your car back now."
"That's nice," I said, still exhausted from yesterday, and I wasn't too thrilled at being awakened from my all-too-brief snooze. "I'll have Noah drive me in tomorrow."
"No, I'm coming out to pick you up."
"Now? Don't you sleep?"
"Get up, sleepyhead, it's seven a.m. I'll be there in half an hour. I have something to show you."
"What—now?" I sat up in bed, pulled the sleep-shade off my head and looked at my bedside clock. He was right, I'd slept through the early morning shift and didn't hear a thing. Planes roared down the runway and took off, trucks rumbled out of the yard, and I slept through all of it. Was it any wonder I hadn't heard my Caddy going out?
I groaned. "Can't this wait?"
"Sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can clear your good name," he said. "So get up and get decent, or not. Either way, I'll be there soon."
Left with an ear full of air, I slapped the phone down and rolled out of bed. He must be calling from his car. Voices from below meant Noah was done with the morning paperwork and was now downstairs at breakfast. I might be expected to report in, if not for business, then certainly for yesterday's events.
I stood at the kitchen door and took in the scene—my father eating a plate of pancakes, a small brown dog at rapt attention. Juanita, seeing the little dog's empty plate, picked it up and whittled his next pancake to bite-size. Finished, she put the plate down next to Noah's feet and smiled as the dog gobbled up the bites. It was a regular Rockwell memory and one for the record. Spike had my grumpy father and his small bossy housekeeper wrapped around his little brown paw.
My dad put down his fork. "You're up. I got Northrup's peaches started, but you need to fire Brad."
"Brad? Why would I do that? He's top producer and doing the work of two pilots."
"If you'd get back into the saddle, we'd have two pilots."
"I have to get this cast off first."
"See to it, then. You're wasting this season sitting on your butt."
That hurt. When I didn't say anything, he looked up at me and blinked like he'd suddenly realized what he'd said. "That kid is gambling, and now he's taking pills, the kind that keep him awake so he can do the work of two pilots."
"I keep track of his hours. He isn't flying any more than allowed."
"He's going to be trouble."
"Okay, don't go all cranky on me again, but where'd you hear this?"
"I got my sources. A fool and his money are soon parted, I always say."
Since my dad and a nickel were seldom parted, the idea of gambling was as alien to him as wearing his underwear outside his overalls. "He's pushing his luck with more than cards, and I'm of a mind that I
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