Read Online Her Dying Breath by Rita Herron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rita Herron
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imagined the odor.
Shaking off the unsettling feeling, she returned to her kitchen and examined her refrigerator for dinner. Nothing substantial, but she had grapes, red pepper hummus, and a block of Gouda cheese. She pulled them out, grabbed a box of Triscuits from the cabinet, and made herself a meal.
“Of course I’m worried,” her father said, his voice uneven. “You insert yourself in the middle of the most horrific crime that’s ever happened in Slaughter Creek. Hell, the worst in Tennessee, for that matter.”
“Dad, I’m just doing my job.” Brenda poured herself a glass of her favorite pinot noir.
“A job doesn’t require putting your life in danger.” Her father heaved a breath. “You don’t even have to work,” he said. “If it’s money—”
“No, Dad, I like my job.”
“But it’s not safe,” he argued.
“I’m fine, Dad,” Brenda said. “Home, locked safe in my condo.”
“For now, maybe,” her father said. “But I saw that newscast of you at the Slaughter Creek Motel. For God’s sake, first you tangle with Arthur Blackwood, who you know murdered everyone who was involved with that experiment, as well as everyone who tried to expose him, and now this.”
“He didn’t kill Jake or Nick or Sadie,” Brenda said, irritated.
“He hired someone to kill Sadie,” her father said. “And who knows—he may hire someone to kill you.”
Brenda opened her mouth to argue, but he continued on his rant.
“I know you had a breakdown years ago over the adoption, but do you have a death wish?”
Brenda tensed at the reminder. “That was years ago, Dad,” she said, striving for calm. “I’ve moved on and worked hard to earn respect in my field. I wish you’d try to understand that.”
A long, tension-filled minute pulsed between them.
Brenda sipped her wine. “Dad?”
“Just promise me you’ll come to Sunday dinner.” Emotions thickened his voice, triggering Brenda’s guilt.
“I—”
“No excuses, Brenda,” her father said. “It took me a half hour to calm your mother down after she saw that newscast. I had to give her a Xanax.”
Along with her vodka tonic, Brenda thought. “All right, Dad. I’ll be there.”
She could hear her father’s relieved sigh. “Thank you, darlin’. We’re looking forward to it. And oh…wear a pretty dress.”
“Dad—”
“I have to go—your mother’s calling from the bedroom.” He said good night, then hung up, and Brenda took her plate of food and wine to the patio.
Wear a pretty dress?
What did her parents have up their sleeves? She always dressed nicely for dinner. Agnes Banks had instilled the rules of etiquette in her as a child. But the fact that her father had suggested a dress made her wonder if they were having other guests.
Good grief. They weren’t planning a setup for her, were they?
No, surely not. She’d warned them about meddling before.
Maybe it was some kind of intervention—they intended to try to convince her to drop the story.
She dipped a cracker in the hummus, took a bite, and stared out at the mountains. There was no way they could persuade her to do that.
Just like there was no way they would keep her from finding out the truth about her birth parents.
The next morning, Jake called Nick to discuss a strategy.
“I’m going by the ME’s office to see what he found,” Nick said. “Then I’ll visit Logger’s ex and search his house.”
“Good. Amelia was too tired to talk last night, but Sadie and I are going to visit her today. I’ll meet you at Logger’s house.”
Nick agreed, then showered and drove to the ME’s office, an urgency needling him.
Dr. Barry Bullock was deep in concentration over the body as Nick entered the morgue. Nick paused a second to stave off the vile odors of the autopsy and the chemicals, grabbed a paper cover-up, and approached Bullock. “I checked his fingerprints in the database last night and verified that the vic is Jim Logger.”
Dr. Bullock
Shaking off the unsettling feeling, she returned to her kitchen and examined her refrigerator for dinner. Nothing substantial, but she had grapes, red pepper hummus, and a block of Gouda cheese. She pulled them out, grabbed a box of Triscuits from the cabinet, and made herself a meal.
“Of course I’m worried,” her father said, his voice uneven. “You insert yourself in the middle of the most horrific crime that’s ever happened in Slaughter Creek. Hell, the worst in Tennessee, for that matter.”
“Dad, I’m just doing my job.” Brenda poured herself a glass of her favorite pinot noir.
“A job doesn’t require putting your life in danger.” Her father heaved a breath. “You don’t even have to work,” he said. “If it’s money—”
“No, Dad, I like my job.”
“But it’s not safe,” he argued.
“I’m fine, Dad,” Brenda said. “Home, locked safe in my condo.”
“For now, maybe,” her father said. “But I saw that newscast of you at the Slaughter Creek Motel. For God’s sake, first you tangle with Arthur Blackwood, who you know murdered everyone who was involved with that experiment, as well as everyone who tried to expose him, and now this.”
“He didn’t kill Jake or Nick or Sadie,” Brenda said, irritated.
“He hired someone to kill Sadie,” her father said. “And who knows—he may hire someone to kill you.”
Brenda opened her mouth to argue, but he continued on his rant.
“I know you had a breakdown years ago over the adoption, but do you have a death wish?”
Brenda tensed at the reminder. “That was years ago, Dad,” she said, striving for calm. “I’ve moved on and worked hard to earn respect in my field. I wish you’d try to understand that.”
A long, tension-filled minute pulsed between them.
Brenda sipped her wine. “Dad?”
“Just promise me you’ll come to Sunday dinner.” Emotions thickened his voice, triggering Brenda’s guilt.
“I—”
“No excuses, Brenda,” her father said. “It took me a half hour to calm your mother down after she saw that newscast. I had to give her a Xanax.”
Along with her vodka tonic, Brenda thought. “All right, Dad. I’ll be there.”
She could hear her father’s relieved sigh. “Thank you, darlin’. We’re looking forward to it. And oh…wear a pretty dress.”
“Dad—”
“I have to go—your mother’s calling from the bedroom.” He said good night, then hung up, and Brenda took her plate of food and wine to the patio.
Wear a pretty dress?
What did her parents have up their sleeves? She always dressed nicely for dinner. Agnes Banks had instilled the rules of etiquette in her as a child. But the fact that her father had suggested a dress made her wonder if they were having other guests.
Good grief. They weren’t planning a setup for her, were they?
No, surely not. She’d warned them about meddling before.
Maybe it was some kind of intervention—they intended to try to convince her to drop the story.
She dipped a cracker in the hummus, took a bite, and stared out at the mountains. There was no way they could persuade her to do that.
Just like there was no way they would keep her from finding out the truth about her birth parents.
The next morning, Jake called Nick to discuss a strategy.
“I’m going by the ME’s office to see what he found,” Nick said. “Then I’ll visit Logger’s ex and search his house.”
“Good. Amelia was too tired to talk last night, but Sadie and I are going to visit her today. I’ll meet you at Logger’s house.”
Nick agreed, then showered and drove to the ME’s office, an urgency needling him.
Dr. Barry Bullock was deep in concentration over the body as Nick entered the morgue. Nick paused a second to stave off the vile odors of the autopsy and the chemicals, grabbed a paper cover-up, and approached Bullock. “I checked his fingerprints in the database last night and verified that the vic is Jim Logger.”
Dr. Bullock
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