Read Online FM for Murder by Patricia Rockwell - Free Book Online Page A

there’s not much I can do with this case. Rocky may know the victim—or at least he knows somebody who knew the victim—as she remembered Trudi in her office, but I don’t know the victim at all.
    Just forget the whole thing, she told herself. Let life get back to normal. She probably wouldn’t hear any more about it except on the news. Just as well. She had more than enough to do with her job. She had classes to teach, papers to grade, research projects to complete, and articles to publish.
    “The last thing I need is another murder,” she said out loud as she rolled up her paper lunch bag and scored two points as she landed it squarely in the middle of her waste basket on the other side of her desk.
    “Another murder?” called out a friendly voice, as a woman’s head peeped around the door frame. Her neat white bob and stylish glasses framed a lively face, sparkling with good humor. “Don’t tell me you’re investigating again?” asked the woman as she rounded the door and entered the room. She remained standing in the doorway, one hand pressed against the frame.
    “Joan,” replied Pamela, as she raised her arm and motioned the woman into her office. “You heard me thinking out loud.”
    Joan Bentley strode into her office a few steps and stood with her hands on her hips.
    “I certainly hope you’re not thinking of getting involved in this disc jockey murder,” said the older woman, her eyes glaring at Pamela, her brows raised, suspiciously.
    “Of course not,” said Pamela, “that’s the furthest thing from my mind.” She leaned back on her blue and pink paisley couch and sipped from her thermos.
    “Bravo,” said Joan, with a curt nod, as she sat primly on the straight back chair by the door. Joan Bentley’s outfits always seemed to match her demeanor—today’s was a colorful suit, a subtle mixture of greens and yellows, with a trim white blouse and respectable low-heeled shoes. She placed her grade book and her pen on her lap.
    “Although…”
    “Although what?” asked Joan, leaning towards Pamela, her arms suddenly crossed firmly.
    “Although Rocky knew the victim.”
    “You don’t say.”
    “I do. He was a doctoral student in English—one of Trudi Muldoon’s advisees. Rocky’s office is across the hall from Trudi’s.”
    “So Rocky had spoken with this fellow who was shot?”
    “Oh, no, nothing like that. He just recognized the name when they reported it on the news. Then, yesterday, Trudi called and we went over to Silverton and sat with her while the police went through this Ballard guy’s office. She had to wait because the police wanted to question her more.”
    “My goodness, my dear,” said Joan sitting up straighter, “you just seem to run into crime wherever you go.” She made that “tsk-tsk” sound with her tongue.
    “You’re not kidding,” said Pamela, bending closer to her friend and whispering, “guess who’s the lead investigator on this case?”
    “Not your old friend?”
    “Yup,” said Pamela, nodding, “Detective Shoop. Maybe he’s Reardon’s only homicide detective for all I know.” She laughed and Joan joined in. As they were giggling together, another woman stomped into the room.
    “What’s so funny?” asked the tall, lanky young woman, her thick, curly, black hair flopping in her eyes as she looked from Joan to Pamela. “I obviously missed a great joke.”
    “Pamela’s embroiled in another murder mystery,” said Joan, in a secretive whisper to the newcomer.
    “Joan,” chided Pamela, “I am no such thing. Hi, Arliss. I assume you’ve heard about the disc jockey who was killed at KRDN?”
    “I heard. How does that concern you, Pam?” she asked as she rounded Pamela’s desk, pulled out the rolling chair, and plopped herself down and her feet up on the desk.
    “It doesn’t,” responded Pamela, sipping her tea. “Rocky knew him. He was a doctoral candidate in English.”
    “No kidding?” asked Arliss, leaning back as the