Read Online (Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child by Dale Mayer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dale Mayer
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look. "Suicide?"
Jackson shrugged. "No idea."
He looked like he didn't give a damn. It must have been a long night. Brandt nodded and handed back the report. "We'd better find out." He turned away, heading down the hallway.
"Uh, Brandt, sir?"
Brandt stopped before slowly turning around. "What?"
"Do you know something about this woman? Something that pertains to the case? Because this seems straightforward. Open and shut type of thing."
You mean, ‘you don't want to be bothered’ type of a thing, Brandt thought, his cynicism rising to the surface. Too often, it was more a case of working in the areas where progress could be made and leaving the time-wasting for others. Still, his placement here put him in an awkward position.
"Maybe," Brandt answered. "Then again, maybe not." He turned and walked away. He needed to talk to Samantha again.
The hot July sun shimmered between the leaves to bounce off the hood of his truck as he drove past the gingerbread house. The place was a remarkable landmark. Further down, fir growth grew thick on the left and several poplar groves dotted the fields on the right. Signs of improvement done over the years blended into the natural habitats. Drainage ditches ran along the side of the well-maintained road. Generations had put their heart and soul into developing this place.
Brandt could only wish he had something as nice to pass on to his kids.
Kids. He grimaced. He didn't dare go there. It led to his mother and all her machinations. The truth was, at thirty-five he'd given it a whole lot more thought than he wanted to admit. Especially to his mother. He saw the worst that people could do to each other, and at other times, events were so poignant they made his heart hurt. It was at those times, he gave serious thought to his future. Thankfully, these lapses were short-lived. The divorce rate in his profession was out of this world. He'd be willing to try, but honestly, he'd never met anyone he couldn't live without.
Besides, it would take a unique woman to accept his work.
He rounded the last corner. The old homestead sprawled off to one side, lazy and serene. Except for the dog barking on the porch, the cabin appeared deserted.
Braking, Brandt brought the truck to a gentle stop beside her red one. Was that rust or paint that gave the vehicle its color? He studied it closer as he opened his door and hopped out. It didn't look road safe. He frowned. She needed a better set of wheels.
The screen door banged shut.
Brandt turned quickly. Sam stood, arms akimbo, apparently surprised to see him.
"Louise Enderby drove her Mercedes off the highway between 5:45 and 6:30 this morning," he said as way of greeting. Alarmed, he watched the color drain from her face. Brandt reached out to steady her, except she pulled back before he had a chance to make contact. His left hand still in midair, Brandt blinked at the speed she'd moved to avoid him.
In general, women liked him. He couldn't remember a time when one had avoided his touch. He didn't know if he should be amused or insulted. Instead, he felt oddly hurt.
"Why did you come?" she asked.
He glanced at her in surprise. "I thought you'd like to know."
She frowned. "You could have called me."
"But then I wouldn't be able to see you in person. By the way, was this morning's call an emergency?" He raised his eyebrows.
Samantha frowned. "I couldn't leave her alone in the car."
Interesting wording. Alone. He had to know. "Why?"
Her solemn gaze studied him for a long moment. She sidestepped the answer. "The bastard needs to be caught."
Brandt's heart stalled before starting again – double time. "The bastard?" Did she know about the serial killer he'd been chasing this last year? How could she know anything? Unless she was for real? God, could she help? Hope flared deep within.
"The killer."
Oh, that bastard. Damn. His heart rate
Jackson shrugged. "No idea."
He looked like he didn't give a damn. It must have been a long night. Brandt nodded and handed back the report. "We'd better find out." He turned away, heading down the hallway.
"Uh, Brandt, sir?"
Brandt stopped before slowly turning around. "What?"
"Do you know something about this woman? Something that pertains to the case? Because this seems straightforward. Open and shut type of thing."
You mean, ‘you don't want to be bothered’ type of a thing, Brandt thought, his cynicism rising to the surface. Too often, it was more a case of working in the areas where progress could be made and leaving the time-wasting for others. Still, his placement here put him in an awkward position.
"Maybe," Brandt answered. "Then again, maybe not." He turned and walked away. He needed to talk to Samantha again.
The hot July sun shimmered between the leaves to bounce off the hood of his truck as he drove past the gingerbread house. The place was a remarkable landmark. Further down, fir growth grew thick on the left and several poplar groves dotted the fields on the right. Signs of improvement done over the years blended into the natural habitats. Drainage ditches ran along the side of the well-maintained road. Generations had put their heart and soul into developing this place.
Brandt could only wish he had something as nice to pass on to his kids.
Kids. He grimaced. He didn't dare go there. It led to his mother and all her machinations. The truth was, at thirty-five he'd given it a whole lot more thought than he wanted to admit. Especially to his mother. He saw the worst that people could do to each other, and at other times, events were so poignant they made his heart hurt. It was at those times, he gave serious thought to his future. Thankfully, these lapses were short-lived. The divorce rate in his profession was out of this world. He'd be willing to try, but honestly, he'd never met anyone he couldn't live without.
Besides, it would take a unique woman to accept his work.
He rounded the last corner. The old homestead sprawled off to one side, lazy and serene. Except for the dog barking on the porch, the cabin appeared deserted.
Braking, Brandt brought the truck to a gentle stop beside her red one. Was that rust or paint that gave the vehicle its color? He studied it closer as he opened his door and hopped out. It didn't look road safe. He frowned. She needed a better set of wheels.
The screen door banged shut.
Brandt turned quickly. Sam stood, arms akimbo, apparently surprised to see him.
"Louise Enderby drove her Mercedes off the highway between 5:45 and 6:30 this morning," he said as way of greeting. Alarmed, he watched the color drain from her face. Brandt reached out to steady her, except she pulled back before he had a chance to make contact. His left hand still in midair, Brandt blinked at the speed she'd moved to avoid him.
In general, women liked him. He couldn't remember a time when one had avoided his touch. He didn't know if he should be amused or insulted. Instead, he felt oddly hurt.
"Why did you come?" she asked.
He glanced at her in surprise. "I thought you'd like to know."
She frowned. "You could have called me."
"But then I wouldn't be able to see you in person. By the way, was this morning's call an emergency?" He raised his eyebrows.
Samantha frowned. "I couldn't leave her alone in the car."
Interesting wording. Alone. He had to know. "Why?"
Her solemn gaze studied him for a long moment. She sidestepped the answer. "The bastard needs to be caught."
Brandt's heart stalled before starting again – double time. "The bastard?" Did she know about the serial killer he'd been chasing this last year? How could she know anything? Unless she was for real? God, could she help? Hope flared deep within.
"The killer."
Oh, that bastard. Damn. His heart rate
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