Read Online Dying for Her: A Companion Novel (Dying for a Living Book 3) by Kory M. Shrum - Free Book Online

all the way.
    Pinching the bridge of my nose I said, “What the hell is that?” I nodded toward the jukebox.
    “It turns out I’ve discovered why the replacement jukebox was such a good deal.”
    “You didn’t request this song?” I asked.
    “God no, the first time it happened, I pulled all the CDs out and reset it. There isn’t a Backstreet Boys tape in that thing. But every once in a while, it will play one of their songs anyway.”
    “That’s some scary shit,” I said.
    “Tell me about it.”
    I thanked him for the beer and settled into the darkest corner of the room, a circular booth with lots of tabletop space and a view of the door, bar, pool tables, and dartboards, all reflected in the large mirrors running from one end to the other.
    The crowd was thin this early in the afternoon, and I was fine with that. I hoped it would be a slow week night. Not dead, not for Peaches’ sake anyway, but thin enough that I wouldn’t have to pack up my notes until I was good and ready to do so.
    I pored over the photographs I had. Eric Sullivan’s, circa 1995, courtesy of the DMV. Maisie Michaelson’s, courtesy of her mother, and Rachel Wright’s charming mug shot for the indecent exposure charge. And a fourth photo, also from the DMV—Henry Chaplain. He had a smarmy pirate look about him, or it could’ve been the eye patch, more than the olive skin, dark curls, and sharp cheekbones. I wrote notes for each case, asking myself questions to start me down one path or another.
    Maisie: What were the circumstances of her adoption? Where are her birth parents? Were there any family members who were not happy with the adoption? I’d be looking for a father of course, a man with blond hair like Maisie’s.
    Rachel: What’s the connection to Henry Chaplain? Is Henry Chaplain protecting Rachel by using his influence to throw someone off her trail? Do they have a bigger crime planned and Holly was simply misdirection?
    Chaplain’s record was clean with no priors. If I wanted to know who he was and what he was about, I’d have to use other sources. I had an address, but I couldn’t walk up and knock on the door. Nothing shuts mouths faster than showing a badge. Even perfectly innocent people clam up when you do that. But at least I had a good suspicion that the way to find Rachel was through Chaplain.
    I put Eric’s picture beside Maisie’s and there was just something about it. Those faces were speaking to me, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. I hated that. I hated knowing that I saw something but just didn’t make the connection.
    I asked Peaches for another house pint in a fresh frosted mug and he obliged. I was halfway through my third pint before my head cleared enough, the throbbing subsiding and my unsteady hands growing still. I turned my full attention to Sullivan.
    Charlie wanted him caught, but why? He wasn’t a criminal. There were no entries for him in the system. The only entry I found belonged to the FBRD database. It was only a standard entry for those with known NRD. I had his name, basic public information and death day, some of it courtesy of Memphis. But I doubted any of this would help.
    I had two choices.
    I could request the files from Jerome, or I could follow the money. When Eric got out, he would’ve needed money. His assets would’ve gone to his wife and kid, and since it didn’t seem like he filed the paperwork to get them back, he must’ve gone a different route. So who did he get money from? And where did he go with it? Because a man has got to eat.
    I lifted the pint and drained the last of it. Before I drank the last drop, I saw a dark shape in the bottom of the glass grow larger. Someone was approaching me. I tuned my ears to the sounds of the bar. I listened for tension, anger, threats. Nothing. I still drew my gun under the table, resting the barrel against my leg.
    “Hey man,” a voice said.
    I lowered the glass enough to see the man speaking, but damned if I was