Read Online Father’s Day Murder by Leslie Meier - Free Book Online Page B

paralyzed on his left side.
    As the rumors swirled around them, Monica sat quietly, clutching Inez’s hand. Sam Syrjala polished off his drink and signaled the waiter for another, then leaned toward Inez and began bending her ear. Catherine looked miserable and very alone with her father’s and Junior’s empty chairs on either side of her. Then Junior returned, looking very serious, and the room fell silent. Everyone watched as he hurried to the table. There, he bent down to Monica and shook his head from side to side sadly.
    Lucy couldn’t hear a word, but the little drama was as clear to her as if it had been onstage or in the movies. Monica’s shocked expression as she struggled with the awful news; Junior’s stricken yet controlled expression as he did what had to be done. He and Inez were leading Monica from the room when she suddenly halted, shaking her head.
    â€œThat’s impossible,” she was heard to say. “I gave him a fresh inhaler this morning. I saw him use it. It worked just fine this morning.”
    Then they were joined by Harold and Sam, who hustled them out the door, followed by Catherine. The lights were turned off and the film began to roll. It was eerie, thought Lucy, watching the images of Luther Read flicking across the screen. Maybe he was dead or maybe he was fighting for his life, but in the darkened room he was an enormous, living presence.
    Then the film ended. The final image of Luther Read’s smiling face had hardly faded when the announcement came.
    â€œLuther Read, our Newspaperman of the Year, is dead.”
    That was incredible enough, but an even more shocking announcement followed.
    â€œRemain in your seats, please, as the police will be collecting information from everyone.”

Chapter Seven
    T uesday morning, when Lucy awoke in her light-filled room, there was a brief moment when she felt relaxed and refreshed, as if everything were right with the world. Then, as if a dark cloud had covered the sun, she remembered that something was very wrong indeed. Luther Read had been murdered and there was little doubt that the murderer was someone very close to him.
    She glanced at the clock and stumbled into the bathroom, astonished to see it was well past nine. At home she was always up well before six and even on weekends rarely managed to sleep in past seven. Of course, she remembered as she groped for her toothbrush, she hadn’t gotten to bed until after two this morning. The police had worked their way methodically through the banquet room, saving those seated near the Reads’ table for last.
    Not that anyone at her table had been able to tell Detective Paul Sullivan of the Boston Police Department very much.
    â€œThe Reads seemed happy enough,” volunteered Herb. “And why wouldn’t they? They’ve got it all: money, prestige, and power.”
    â€œIt was a celebration,” offered Harriet. “Luther was being honored as Newspaperman of the Year. The whole family seemed to be enjoying themselves.”
    â€œNo signs of discord? Nothing at all?” persisted Sullivan.
    He was a stocky fellow in his early thirties, dressed casually in a polo shirt and khaki pants, who looked as if he took fitness seriously and worked out regularly. He also had a frank, pleasant face and reacted enthusiastically to every bit of information, almost as if it were a gift.
    Lucy struggled with her conscience, debating whether she should tell the detective what she had seen before the banquet. It wasn’t her business to tell, she felt. True, she had witnessed a disagreement, but family members often argued, and it was difficult for an outsider to understand what was really going on, especially one who simply blundered into a private gathering. She certainly wouldn’t want some passerby who happened upon a squabble like Bill and Toby’s fight over the shed tattling about her family. Plus, she had a reporter’s instinct