Read Online Particles of Obsession (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Book 2) by Charlotte Raine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlotte Raine
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watch as she reaches the top of the fire escape. She gets on top of the railing, jumps up grasp the ledge above the window, pulls herself up, and uses it to get on top of the roof.
“What are you doing?” John asks, stopping beside me and gasping for breath. “Where did she go?”
“She’s fucking Spiderman,” I say, pointing to the roof of the building. “She’s up there. She can reach a shit ton of buildings by being on the roof. There’s no point in rushing. This—superwoman…she climbed up the first half of the fire escape ladder with just her arm strength. That has to slim down the suspect pool—what woman do you know who can lift her own body weight without breaking a sweat?”
“I’m sure I know some, but it’s generally not a question I ask in polite conversation,” he says, sighing. “So…now we know it’s a woman.”
“Yes, a woman who is strong as hell and can beat both our asses,” I say. “That’s great. First, we had a guy who could secretly poison people, and now there’s a ninja. What kind of people are you associating with?”
He turns around, heading back toward the greenhouse. “Come on. Let’s go back to my house and sleep. I don’t want to think about this for the next eight hours.”
I don’t want to leave, but I know staying any longer will only increase the likelihood that the police find me. I follow him, hoping he doesn’t lose faith in me as fast as I’m losing faith in finding this killer.
* * *
J ohn left to go to a meeting about the school lockdown and how it’s going to affect final exams, so I’m alone in his house. I wish I could check on my brother, but I’m certain the police will be keeping an eye on him in case I show up. My only other option is to check on someone else’s family and I have two options: Kiona’s or Alex’s.
I can’t be certain that Kiona isn’t another victim, so I’ll have to go with Alex. Shirokov isn’t the most common name around Tuskmirth. I find only one number in the phonebook with the same name. Gerard Shirokov.
The house is about three miles away, but I decide to walk there. I need as little human contact as possible in order to avoid the police. At this point, it almost seems more sensible to get arrested because then I could at least use the prison library to research everything.
It didn’t occur to me that the family would be having a wake today.
Their driveway and the front of the house is packed with cars. I’m surprised that a man who had been accused of committing multiple murders would have so many people here to mourn him, but I suppose the people are here more for his parents than him. Plus, the fraternity likely came.
No one will be around to have a ceremony for Andre. The mafia he had been accompanying would likely pay for a nice casket, but they wouldn’t make a big show of it. He wasn’t important enough for them to act like he was part of the family.
I’ll have to bring flowers to his gravesite every day to make up for it.
When I walk into the Shirokov’s house, the first thing I notice are his parents, evident by the fact that they’re the ones everyone is giving their sympathies to.
I’m wearing the same black pants and top I’ve had on for days, only removing them for sleep and the couple of times I’ve run them through John’s washer and drier. At least they’re the right color for mourning, although they’re too informal. Too bad. I don’t have time to be worried about my appearance. Instead, I take a closer look at Alex’s parents.
Alex’s mother reminds me of Marilyn Monroe if Marilyn Monroe had aged older than fifty and was shaped like a grandfather clock instead of an hourglass. His father looks like a dick—figuratively and literally.
His mother looks up at me. She stares at me with such intensity that I get a sinking feeling that she knows the police are looking for me. I was banking on the idea that the police wouldn’t have told Alex’s parents that they
“What are you doing?” John asks, stopping beside me and gasping for breath. “Where did she go?”
“She’s fucking Spiderman,” I say, pointing to the roof of the building. “She’s up there. She can reach a shit ton of buildings by being on the roof. There’s no point in rushing. This—superwoman…she climbed up the first half of the fire escape ladder with just her arm strength. That has to slim down the suspect pool—what woman do you know who can lift her own body weight without breaking a sweat?”
“I’m sure I know some, but it’s generally not a question I ask in polite conversation,” he says, sighing. “So…now we know it’s a woman.”
“Yes, a woman who is strong as hell and can beat both our asses,” I say. “That’s great. First, we had a guy who could secretly poison people, and now there’s a ninja. What kind of people are you associating with?”
He turns around, heading back toward the greenhouse. “Come on. Let’s go back to my house and sleep. I don’t want to think about this for the next eight hours.”
I don’t want to leave, but I know staying any longer will only increase the likelihood that the police find me. I follow him, hoping he doesn’t lose faith in me as fast as I’m losing faith in finding this killer.
* * *
J ohn left to go to a meeting about the school lockdown and how it’s going to affect final exams, so I’m alone in his house. I wish I could check on my brother, but I’m certain the police will be keeping an eye on him in case I show up. My only other option is to check on someone else’s family and I have two options: Kiona’s or Alex’s.
I can’t be certain that Kiona isn’t another victim, so I’ll have to go with Alex. Shirokov isn’t the most common name around Tuskmirth. I find only one number in the phonebook with the same name. Gerard Shirokov.
The house is about three miles away, but I decide to walk there. I need as little human contact as possible in order to avoid the police. At this point, it almost seems more sensible to get arrested because then I could at least use the prison library to research everything.
It didn’t occur to me that the family would be having a wake today.
Their driveway and the front of the house is packed with cars. I’m surprised that a man who had been accused of committing multiple murders would have so many people here to mourn him, but I suppose the people are here more for his parents than him. Plus, the fraternity likely came.
No one will be around to have a ceremony for Andre. The mafia he had been accompanying would likely pay for a nice casket, but they wouldn’t make a big show of it. He wasn’t important enough for them to act like he was part of the family.
I’ll have to bring flowers to his gravesite every day to make up for it.
When I walk into the Shirokov’s house, the first thing I notice are his parents, evident by the fact that they’re the ones everyone is giving their sympathies to.
I’m wearing the same black pants and top I’ve had on for days, only removing them for sleep and the couple of times I’ve run them through John’s washer and drier. At least they’re the right color for mourning, although they’re too informal. Too bad. I don’t have time to be worried about my appearance. Instead, I take a closer look at Alex’s parents.
Alex’s mother reminds me of Marilyn Monroe if Marilyn Monroe had aged older than fifty and was shaped like a grandfather clock instead of an hourglass. His father looks like a dick—figuratively and literally.
His mother looks up at me. She stares at me with such intensity that I get a sinking feeling that she knows the police are looking for me. I was banking on the idea that the police wouldn’t have told Alex’s parents that they
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