Read Online Out of the Blues by Trudy Nan Boyce - Free Book Online Page B

ruffs. Wills’ girls loved them some Wonder, who was smart and affectionate but wanted to run the show. The Rotties happily let him.
    There was plenty of room for the graceful Rotties. Wills had stored most of his furniture while he had been renovating. A big kitchen ran the width of the entire back of the house, walls down to the studs and raw boards, but it was fully functional, and he’d set a beautiful, rough-hewn parson’s table in its center, where he quickly went to assembling sandwiches and fruit.
    Salt let the dogs out in the backyard, then wandered through the rooms, noting a little progress here and there. While maybe not systematic, Wills was meticulous with his craftsmanship—a thoroughly stripped mantel, smooth as skin, fireplace tiles cleaned to their original shine and stacked ready to be mortared back around reconstructed hearths. “I can see how you love this house,” she said, returning to the kitchen. “It’s going to be beautiful.”
    â€œIt may take a lifetime at this rate.” Wills poured lemonade with lemon slices into tall glasses.
    â€œWhen will you be able to take your weekends, both days, again?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’ve got no suspects. The husband, even though I haven’t been able to interview him ’cause he’s ‘under a doctor’s care,’ according to his lawyer,” Wills sighed, “and has an alibi. Even the wife’s family confirms he had the fishing trip to Florida planned for weeks.”
    â€œAny reason to suspect the marriage was shaky?”
    â€œNo. And even if it was, I don’t see him, from what I’ve learned so far, killing his daughters.” Wills put the sandwiches and a big ceramic bowl of mixed fruit on the table. “Come on—let’s leave all that for a bit.”
    After eating, they took the dogs for a walk under the trees that lined the neighborhood. They shared the sidewalks with couples pushing strollers, tyke cycles, and baby carriages. On one corner sat an old brick church, its steeple reaching far above the rooftops. Beside the steep steps was a sign advertising the online contact at AirJesus.net. Music jumped from the open doors, a gospel band accompaning a rollicking choir as the congregation flowed out to the sidewalks.
    With the music following them down the street, Wills stopped and pointed down a weedy access between two houses. “See down that alley? I worked a murder back there five years ago.”
    â€œThe neighborhood has changed, huh?”
    â€œSome.” He squinted down the shaded lane. “I drive through almost any neighborhood now and I come upon someplace that’s been tied with yellow ribbon.”
    The afternoon began to heat as they headed through the park and up the wide path of the hill to one of the last remnants of the Civil War and the Battle of Atlanta. “Last time I was up here I was chasing perps.” She laughed. “Pepper caught them both at the same time on the other side of the park. ’Course we never heard the end of his crowing. Anyway, I’d gone to this side of the park, in case they got this far. When I heard Pepper on the radio saying he had them, I started backto the car. I happened to look down and there was this little basket right in the center of some newly turned dirt. In it were two white feathers and about six or so yellow rose heads. It was sitting on a flat slate stone with four dimes, heads up. I thought it was an animal grave or a voodoo shrine, who knows. Right here beside this tree.” She looked at the ground, turning over brown leaves with the toe of her shoe. “Nothing left now.”
    Only an old historical society stand-alone brass marker on a post testified to the significance of the hill that had been Fort Walker. It was the highest land elevation in the city. Downtown buildings in the distance appeared over the tops of the trees.
    â€œVoodoo. Slaves brought it