Read Online Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) by Susan O'Brien - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan O'Brien
Tags: Humor, Suspense, Humorous fiction, Women Sleuths, cozy, amateur sleuth, Murder mysteries, detective novels, english mysteries, female sleuths, mystery series, traditional mystery, cozy mysteries, humorous mysteries, whodunnit, mystery and suspence, book club recommendations, british mysteryies, cozy mysteries women sleuths, private investigator series
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prepare myself for the pool mentally and physically. I ran through bathing suit selections in my mind. The red tankini that didn’t hide butt fat well enough? The lime bikini that resulted in good tan lines but equated with wearing skimpy underwear in front of neighbors? An old reliable black one-piece? Fact is, no matter what I wore, I never thought I measured up.
I walked upstairs and past the kids’ rooms. Jack was in board shorts building something with Legos. Sophie had found her bikini top and was posing in front of her mirror, confident as a Victoria’s Secret model, lucky thing.
She caught my eye in the reflection. “When are we leaving?”
“Pretty soon.” Translation: It depends on a number of factors, including your ability to cooperate and my ability to get my act together and parent with authority. It could be sixty seconds, it could be tomorrow. I don’t know. I recalled hearing a joke that, thanks to parents, kids have a warped sense of time. It had to be true. I put off the bathing suit decision and headed downstairs for a quick Internet detour.
I locked my office doors with a satisfying click and spun the power dial on the baby monitor beside my computer. Ahhh, the sweet combination of separation and safety. Located between the kids’ rooms, the monitor’s base allowed me to listen and respond with a walkie-talkie-like feature, issuing requests, commands, and threats if needed. Praise would be nice once in a while, too, I scolded myself.
“Great job getting on your bathing suits, guys!” I said. “I have to do something in my office for a minute.”
Out of habit, I checked email first, which included junk surrounding a recognizable address, Andy’s. I frowned and raised my eyebrows. What had he sent me? I double clicked.
Hi Nicki,
You know how I feel about you and Kenna looking into things. But I couldn’t help checking social networking sites. Beth’s on one. Take a look.
Best,
Andy
He included a link, and I clicked immediately. A lone photo graced Beth’s Facebook page, a black-and-white side view that caught just a touch of her features as she looked down to the left, sleek hair obscuring her face. It was her, though, based on the information blurb, which included Beth Myers and Woodridge High School .
I kicked myself for not checking the sites earlier. In fear the page would somehow disappear before I read the whole thing, I copied it into a file, saved it, and hit “print.” Only then did I focus on Beth’s words.
Sadly, she wasn’t a blogger type, but she did have a list of online friends, photos and all. April was among them, but Marcus wasn’t. Weeks earlier, she had posted benign references to the weather, summer school, and a song she liked.
I wanted to look up every friend and read every word on every page. And while Beth’s profile looked sparse, I needed to go through it with a fine-toothed comb, scrutinizing every detail. This was going to take a while, longer than Jack, Sophie, or the pool trip could wait. I sent Andy a thank-you reply, logged off, and marched reluctantly back to my room and bathing suit decision, which, in the midst of the latest developments, didn’t seem to matter a bit.
We walked to the closest pool, flip flopping our way down an asphalt path, laden with kickboards and noodles. I wore my black one-piece covered with a fuchsia cotton dress. I could pull off the dress if needed, but I hoped to keep it on and lounge by the pool, thinking, while the kids splashed around.
My favorite thing about our house is its proximity to everything. We live next to Kenna, of course, but we can also hit the pool, tennis court, and park without crossing a street. The elementary school is about a mile away. Stores and churches are a mile and a half. If we couldn’t walk, we could bike. Maybe after I learned to trust my kids crossing streets on foot, we would.
“Check before you cross,” I reminded them when we reached the pool
I walked upstairs and past the kids’ rooms. Jack was in board shorts building something with Legos. Sophie had found her bikini top and was posing in front of her mirror, confident as a Victoria’s Secret model, lucky thing.
She caught my eye in the reflection. “When are we leaving?”
“Pretty soon.” Translation: It depends on a number of factors, including your ability to cooperate and my ability to get my act together and parent with authority. It could be sixty seconds, it could be tomorrow. I don’t know. I recalled hearing a joke that, thanks to parents, kids have a warped sense of time. It had to be true. I put off the bathing suit decision and headed downstairs for a quick Internet detour.
I locked my office doors with a satisfying click and spun the power dial on the baby monitor beside my computer. Ahhh, the sweet combination of separation and safety. Located between the kids’ rooms, the monitor’s base allowed me to listen and respond with a walkie-talkie-like feature, issuing requests, commands, and threats if needed. Praise would be nice once in a while, too, I scolded myself.
“Great job getting on your bathing suits, guys!” I said. “I have to do something in my office for a minute.”
Out of habit, I checked email first, which included junk surrounding a recognizable address, Andy’s. I frowned and raised my eyebrows. What had he sent me? I double clicked.
Hi Nicki,
You know how I feel about you and Kenna looking into things. But I couldn’t help checking social networking sites. Beth’s on one. Take a look.
Best,
Andy
He included a link, and I clicked immediately. A lone photo graced Beth’s Facebook page, a black-and-white side view that caught just a touch of her features as she looked down to the left, sleek hair obscuring her face. It was her, though, based on the information blurb, which included Beth Myers and Woodridge High School .
I kicked myself for not checking the sites earlier. In fear the page would somehow disappear before I read the whole thing, I copied it into a file, saved it, and hit “print.” Only then did I focus on Beth’s words.
Sadly, she wasn’t a blogger type, but she did have a list of online friends, photos and all. April was among them, but Marcus wasn’t. Weeks earlier, she had posted benign references to the weather, summer school, and a song she liked.
I wanted to look up every friend and read every word on every page. And while Beth’s profile looked sparse, I needed to go through it with a fine-toothed comb, scrutinizing every detail. This was going to take a while, longer than Jack, Sophie, or the pool trip could wait. I sent Andy a thank-you reply, logged off, and marched reluctantly back to my room and bathing suit decision, which, in the midst of the latest developments, didn’t seem to matter a bit.
We walked to the closest pool, flip flopping our way down an asphalt path, laden with kickboards and noodles. I wore my black one-piece covered with a fuchsia cotton dress. I could pull off the dress if needed, but I hoped to keep it on and lounge by the pool, thinking, while the kids splashed around.
My favorite thing about our house is its proximity to everything. We live next to Kenna, of course, but we can also hit the pool, tennis court, and park without crossing a street. The elementary school is about a mile away. Stores and churches are a mile and a half. If we couldn’t walk, we could bike. Maybe after I learned to trust my kids crossing streets on foot, we would.
“Check before you cross,” I reminded them when we reached the pool
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