Read Online Every Move She Makes by Robin Burcell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Burcell
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a glimpse of him lifting his shirt over his head, the hard contours of his chest silhouetted by the kitchen light behind him. Torrid Torrance, I thought, and found myself wondering for the first time if he really was gay, and what the hell he'd done with my pantyhose. That night I had dreams that my father disowned me for my part in the IA Investigation, even though I tried to tell him I wasn't the one responsible for what happened. As usual, the alarm woke me far earlier than my body wanted to get up, and I dragged myself into the shower after checking on Torrance. He had already dressed and was sitting at the kitchen table, speaking to someone on his cellular. I sat on my bed, towel-drying my hair, when my Aunt Molly called. "You're in the Chronicle, dear," she said, her speech so close to normal, it was difficult to believe she'd only recently recovered from a stroke. "But I can't say I like the photo very much. I think you looked better when you were near that Dumpster in last week's paper.
They don't really think your partner's that Slasher person, do they?"
"No. Of course not." I hated talking shop with my aunt, because she tended to follow up the conversation with a lecture on safety.
"Somebody must think so."
"Read it to me," I said. With only a towel wrapped around me, I wasn't about to go out and get my copy while Torrance was parked in my kitchen.
"Kevin, honey, get me the paper, please. It's on the kitchen table."
Since my aunt had near photographic memory, I assumed that retrieving the newspaper wasn't the real reason she wanted my nephew out of the room. "I was wondering if you could call Leslie," she said a second later, referring to a friend of mine who worked the Domestic Violence detail at SFPD. "I thought of the perfect birthday gift for Kevin's fourteenth birthday. Forty-Niner tickets." Kevin was my late brother's son. My father had wanted nothing to do with the child, because he never forgave my brother Sean for overdosing. It was my spinster aunt who stepped in, immediately taking custody of Kevin when the boy's mother, a suspected dealer, skipped town for fear she'd be blamed for Sean's overdose. MY aunt doted on the boy. Then again, so did I. I suppose we tried in our own way to overcompensate for the loss of his parents.
Kevin's middle school coaches had long since learned to ignore my presence in the stands, and I'm sure I mortified Kevin more often than not with my cheering.
"You can get those tickets anywhere," I said.
"Yes. But not those wonderful box seats Leslie always manages to get.
She has connections. Quiet. Here he comes." I smiled at her warning, and heard the rustle of the paper just before my aunt said, "Right here beneath your photo, it says you're the investigating officer in Dr.
Meadscolari's murder. "Inspector Gillespie neither confirms nor denies that the department suspects Sam Scolari is the Soma Slasher, nor would she comment on the coincidence of the similarities of Dr. Mead-Scolari's fatal injuries and those of the other victims killed by the Soma Slasher." I wasn't aware your partner was married to a doctor." "She was a pathologist. And don't pay any attention to what you read," I said, knowing that this was only the beginning of what would surely turn into a media frenzy, the sharks waiting for Scolari to step foot in the water.
"I want you to promise me you'll be careful out there-"
"Promise. Hugs to Kevin. I'll see you soon." I hung up before she had a chance to start in. Dressing in gray slacks and blazer, I went out to find my copy of the Chronicle so that I could assess the damage to my career and Scolari's life. When I walked into my kitchen, I fully -expected to find Torrance sitting at my table, reading my paper. I found Mathis instead. He was sorting through his briefcase. Several inches shorter than Torrance, Mathis was a body builder, with broad shoulders and a muscular torso accentuated by narrow hips. And while Torrance's
They don't really think your partner's that Slasher person, do they?"
"No. Of course not." I hated talking shop with my aunt, because she tended to follow up the conversation with a lecture on safety.
"Somebody must think so."
"Read it to me," I said. With only a towel wrapped around me, I wasn't about to go out and get my copy while Torrance was parked in my kitchen.
"Kevin, honey, get me the paper, please. It's on the kitchen table."
Since my aunt had near photographic memory, I assumed that retrieving the newspaper wasn't the real reason she wanted my nephew out of the room. "I was wondering if you could call Leslie," she said a second later, referring to a friend of mine who worked the Domestic Violence detail at SFPD. "I thought of the perfect birthday gift for Kevin's fourteenth birthday. Forty-Niner tickets." Kevin was my late brother's son. My father had wanted nothing to do with the child, because he never forgave my brother Sean for overdosing. It was my spinster aunt who stepped in, immediately taking custody of Kevin when the boy's mother, a suspected dealer, skipped town for fear she'd be blamed for Sean's overdose. MY aunt doted on the boy. Then again, so did I. I suppose we tried in our own way to overcompensate for the loss of his parents.
Kevin's middle school coaches had long since learned to ignore my presence in the stands, and I'm sure I mortified Kevin more often than not with my cheering.
"You can get those tickets anywhere," I said.
"Yes. But not those wonderful box seats Leslie always manages to get.
She has connections. Quiet. Here he comes." I smiled at her warning, and heard the rustle of the paper just before my aunt said, "Right here beneath your photo, it says you're the investigating officer in Dr.
Meadscolari's murder. "Inspector Gillespie neither confirms nor denies that the department suspects Sam Scolari is the Soma Slasher, nor would she comment on the coincidence of the similarities of Dr. Mead-Scolari's fatal injuries and those of the other victims killed by the Soma Slasher." I wasn't aware your partner was married to a doctor." "She was a pathologist. And don't pay any attention to what you read," I said, knowing that this was only the beginning of what would surely turn into a media frenzy, the sharks waiting for Scolari to step foot in the water.
"I want you to promise me you'll be careful out there-"
"Promise. Hugs to Kevin. I'll see you soon." I hung up before she had a chance to start in. Dressing in gray slacks and blazer, I went out to find my copy of the Chronicle so that I could assess the damage to my career and Scolari's life. When I walked into my kitchen, I fully -expected to find Torrance sitting at my table, reading my paper. I found Mathis instead. He was sorting through his briefcase. Several inches shorter than Torrance, Mathis was a body builder, with broad shoulders and a muscular torso accentuated by narrow hips. And while Torrance's
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