Read Online Framed and Burning (Dreamslippers Book 2) by Lisa Brunette - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa Brunette
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upsetting him?”
“I can,” said Alvarez. “But you’re a detective, aren’t you? People put on acts all the time.”
Cat gestured at Mick, who’d got up and was pouring himself a drink. His eyes were watery even though up till now he’d been sober. “Sure, he’s acting.”
Alvarez sat down. “He doesn’t have an alibi,” she said softly, so only Cat could hear. “How well do you know him, anyway? You and your grandmother, his sister. You live in Seattle. That’s about as far as you can get from here without leaving the continental United States. That doesn’t exactly say ‘family ties.’”
Cat didn’t know how to respond. She flashed on the dream of Mick’s she’d slipped into, how he poured gasoline over Donnie and lit the match. But then she remembered her grandmother’s words, which echoed something Cat’s father had always said, too. A dream isn’t evidence .
“He’s innocent,” she said to Alvarez.
“If you’re right, and Mick didn’t kill Donnie, then that brings us to another possibility.”
Speck, who looked like a fresh recruit with his baby face and new buzz cut, spoke up. “The victim was the intended target.”
“That’s right. We’re investigating Don Hines’s past, trying to find out if anyone bore a grudge against him.”
Cat groaned inwardly. She’d actually brought up this point to Granny Grace, who clung to her hunch that it was about her brother. Cat wondered if her grandmother couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
“As far as I know, he didn’t have a single enemy,” said Mick, slumping back down in his chair. The ice in his drink tinkled.
“If someone wanted Hines dead, we’ll find him,” said Alvarez.
“Unless we find him first,” said Cat.
“You people,” said Mick. “Why is life always a contest?”
Santiago, whom Cat thought was kind of cute in an abstract way, cleared his throat. “You’re forgetting the other possibility.”
Cat looked him in the eyes, wondering if he was thinking what she was thinking.
“What’s that?” Alvarez quizzed him, as if she already knew the answer.
“Neither victim was the intended target,” Cat put in.
“That’s right,” said Santiago. “The paintings were.”
“This would make what my grandmother and I are doing even more valuable.”
“And what’s that?” Alvarez asked, her tone dubious.
“We’re interviewing people who had a grudge against Mick. Maybe one of them wanted to destroy his work. That’s a fairly stepped-up brand of jealousy there, but maybe they didn’t bank on Donnie being in the studio. It does have the mark of an amateur.”
“Any information you gather, I’d like to know about it,” said Alvarez.
“Sure,” Cat agreed. “But we need copies of the evidence reports. And the autopsy and lab reports. Your department hasn’t been cooperative.”
“You’ll get them,” said Alvarez, rising to leave. “But as soon as your grandmother returns, I want to know what you’ve got.”
Cat stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
They shook on it.
“Now,” Mick broke in. “Can a man get a little quiet in his grief? I’ve got some serious drinking to do.”
They left him alone.
Chapter Six
Mick wasn’t sure anymore what to do with his hands.
His life up until the fire had followed a certain rhythm. It was an unpredictable one, with hours that weren’t set, as his art-making couldn’t be relegated to set times of the day. Sometimes he’d work through the night on a painting, afraid he’d lose the vision if he didn’t get it down in one flood. Other times, he’d take several days off, drive down to the Keys to remind himself of the way nature itself paints with color and water and reflection. It was a place that never ceased to give him something new to see.
But now he heard no call from the Keys, and every time he looked at a blank canvas, he saw was what was left of his friend, that charred tree stump of a man, that piece of gnarled
“I can,” said Alvarez. “But you’re a detective, aren’t you? People put on acts all the time.”
Cat gestured at Mick, who’d got up and was pouring himself a drink. His eyes were watery even though up till now he’d been sober. “Sure, he’s acting.”
Alvarez sat down. “He doesn’t have an alibi,” she said softly, so only Cat could hear. “How well do you know him, anyway? You and your grandmother, his sister. You live in Seattle. That’s about as far as you can get from here without leaving the continental United States. That doesn’t exactly say ‘family ties.’”
Cat didn’t know how to respond. She flashed on the dream of Mick’s she’d slipped into, how he poured gasoline over Donnie and lit the match. But then she remembered her grandmother’s words, which echoed something Cat’s father had always said, too. A dream isn’t evidence .
“He’s innocent,” she said to Alvarez.
“If you’re right, and Mick didn’t kill Donnie, then that brings us to another possibility.”
Speck, who looked like a fresh recruit with his baby face and new buzz cut, spoke up. “The victim was the intended target.”
“That’s right. We’re investigating Don Hines’s past, trying to find out if anyone bore a grudge against him.”
Cat groaned inwardly. She’d actually brought up this point to Granny Grace, who clung to her hunch that it was about her brother. Cat wondered if her grandmother couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
“As far as I know, he didn’t have a single enemy,” said Mick, slumping back down in his chair. The ice in his drink tinkled.
“If someone wanted Hines dead, we’ll find him,” said Alvarez.
“Unless we find him first,” said Cat.
“You people,” said Mick. “Why is life always a contest?”
Santiago, whom Cat thought was kind of cute in an abstract way, cleared his throat. “You’re forgetting the other possibility.”
Cat looked him in the eyes, wondering if he was thinking what she was thinking.
“What’s that?” Alvarez quizzed him, as if she already knew the answer.
“Neither victim was the intended target,” Cat put in.
“That’s right,” said Santiago. “The paintings were.”
“This would make what my grandmother and I are doing even more valuable.”
“And what’s that?” Alvarez asked, her tone dubious.
“We’re interviewing people who had a grudge against Mick. Maybe one of them wanted to destroy his work. That’s a fairly stepped-up brand of jealousy there, but maybe they didn’t bank on Donnie being in the studio. It does have the mark of an amateur.”
“Any information you gather, I’d like to know about it,” said Alvarez.
“Sure,” Cat agreed. “But we need copies of the evidence reports. And the autopsy and lab reports. Your department hasn’t been cooperative.”
“You’ll get them,” said Alvarez, rising to leave. “But as soon as your grandmother returns, I want to know what you’ve got.”
Cat stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
They shook on it.
“Now,” Mick broke in. “Can a man get a little quiet in his grief? I’ve got some serious drinking to do.”
They left him alone.
Chapter Six
Mick wasn’t sure anymore what to do with his hands.
His life up until the fire had followed a certain rhythm. It was an unpredictable one, with hours that weren’t set, as his art-making couldn’t be relegated to set times of the day. Sometimes he’d work through the night on a painting, afraid he’d lose the vision if he didn’t get it down in one flood. Other times, he’d take several days off, drive down to the Keys to remind himself of the way nature itself paints with color and water and reflection. It was a place that never ceased to give him something new to see.
But now he heard no call from the Keys, and every time he looked at a blank canvas, he saw was what was left of his friend, that charred tree stump of a man, that piece of gnarled
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