Read Online Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1) by David Chill - Free Book Online

the shower.
Exuding liquor on the breath was unlikely to enhance a reputation. After a
brief respite to collect myself, I dressed and drove over to the Freeman estate
in Brentwood.
    To say the Freemans lived luxuriously was to say that
the sky is blue. The front lawn was so lush and well manicured it might have
passed for emerald carpeting. A half dozen bushes, carefully sculpted to appear
wind swept, stood majestically in the front yard. Lavender blossoms from nearby
Jacaranda trees were sprinkled daintily along the grass. The house itself was a
tall, stately McMansion, painted white, with a red, Spanish tile roof and ivy
climbing up to the second story. California eclectic.
    I drove my Pathfinder across the glazed, brick driveway
and parked behind a gold Mercedes sedan, a silver Volvo station wagon, and a
green Hummer. The Freemans owned Honda and Acura dealerships but none
were in evidence. As I exited my truck I made sure I had the keys with me. If
anyone's car was blocked, they would simply have to wait.
    Walking up a red clay path, I reached the front door and
rapped twice with the polished brass knocker. Approximately thirty seconds went
by before an overweight maid wearing a flowered apron opened the door.
    "Yes?" she asked shyly.
    "The name is Burnside," I said, handing her a
card. "Mr. Freeman asked to see me."
    " Un momento ," she said and closed the
door. Two minutes went by slowly before she reappeared and directed me to
follow her.
    The interior of the Freeman homestead was as impressive
as the outside. A sparkling crystal chandelier hung down from an ornate ceiling
as we walked through the foyer and into what some might call the family room. A
pair of long, identical black leather sofas faced each other, perpendicular to
a wood burning fireplace with a stack of split logs bundled alongside it. We
walked down a long hallway of cherry wood floors and into a stately office
complete with skylight, picture window and a number of impressionist paintings
hanging on the wall. A large, powerfully built man in his late fifties sat
working at a huge maple desk that was strewn with papers. His hair was as
golden blond as Norman's, indicating either expert coloring or a hair weave. At
this level, a weave was a good presumption. I watched him work for a minute and
then cleared my throat.
    "Yes, yes, I know you're there," he said
without looking up. "Give me a minute."
    He gave himself about three, by which time he had
finished whatever urgent business needed to be transacted at that exact second.
He put his pen diligently back into an elaborate silver holder that was mounted
on a square green onyx base. Looking at me for the first time, he rose, offered
a confident expression, and extended a hand.
    "I'm Harrison Freeman," he declared, in a
manner no doubt designed to impress whomever he was addressing. Less than a
week ago that name meant nothing to me. Right now it didn't mean much more and
I put off genuflecting.
    "Burnside's the name," I responded, and shook
a large, strong hand.
    Freeman suggested I sit down in one of the chairs
opposite his desk. It was hard and uncomfortable, and I got the feeling this
tactic encouraged visitors to get straight to the point. I needed no further
inducement.
    "Why do you want to see me?"
    Freeman shifted his bulky frame nervously. Clearly, he
was more accustomed to being the one who asked the questions.
    "I think you know why," he finally said.
    "Mind reading isn't one of my specialties. You'll
have to do better than that."
    Freeman sighed. Now we were getting somewhere. A little
humility never hurt anyone. "I understand my son Norman hired you to look
into why someone shot at his car last week. You're a private
investigator."
    "That's correct," I nodded.
    "And I also understand he terminated you after you
began to look into what happened to... to Robbie," he managed, his voice
lowering just a bit when he mentioned his younger son's name.
    "Again, correct."
    Freeman took a long breath.