Read Online "R" is for Ricochet by Sue Grafton - Free Book Online

variously leaned and slouched, trying to find a comfortable position in which to wait. There was a pay phone mounted on the wall nearby and I could see Reba’s focus sharpen at the sight of it. “You have any change? I need to make a phone call. It’s local.”
    I opened my shoulder bag and did a quick search along the bottom, fishing for stray coins. I passed her a handful of change, watching as she moved to the phone and picked up the handset. She dropped in the coins, punched in a number, and then turned her body at an angle so I couldn’t read her lips while she talked. She was on the line for three minutes and when she finally put the handset back in the cradle, she was looking happier and more relaxed than I’d seen her so far.
    â€œEverything okay?”
    â€œSure. I was touching base with a friend.” She sank down along the wall and took a seat on the floor.
    Ten minutes later, Priscilla Holloway appeared, walking her fusty-looking client to the front door. She issued him an admonition and then turned to Reba. “Why don’t you come on back?”
    Reba scrambled to her feet. “What about her?”
    â€œShe can join us in a bit. We’ve got a couple of things we need to talk about first. I’ll come get you in a minute,” she said to me.
    The two moved down the bleak hallway, Reba looking half Holloway’s size. Reconciled to the wait, I leaned against the wall, my shoulder bag on the floor. The glass doors opened and Cheney Phillips came in, passing me on his way down the hall. I saw him tap on Priscilla Holloway’s open door and stick his head in. He chatted briefly with her and then turned, walking in my direction. He still hadn’t recognized me, which gave me a moment to study him.
    I’d known Cheney for years, but we hadn’t had occasion to interact until a murder investigation two years before. Over the course of several conversations, he’d told me he’d grown up in circumstances of benign neglect and fixed his sights early on a career in law enforcement. He’d been working undercover vice the last time our paths crossed, but by now his face was probably too well-known for anything covert. He was dressed to the nines, as usual: dark slacks and a pin-stripe sport coat, wide in the shoulders and nipped at the waist. His dress shirt was midnight blue worn with a midnight blue tie with a sheen of lighter blue. His dark hair was curly, his dark gaze revealing a curious mix of cop-think and come-hither. When I heard he’d gotten married, I’d moved his name, in my mental Rolodex, from a prominent place near the front to a category I labeled “expunged without prejudice” near the back of the file.
    His gaze connected briefly with mine and when he realized it was me, he stopped in his tracks. “Kinsey. I don’t believe it. I was just thinking about you.”
    â€œWhat are you doing here?”
    â€œGetting a bead on a parolee. What about you?”
    â€œBabysitting a gal until she gets on her feet.”
    â€œMissionary work.”
    â€œHardly. I’m getting paid,” I said.
    â€œWhen I ran into you Saturday I meant to ask why I haven’t seen you at CC’s. Dolan told me the two of you were working a case. I figured you’d be in.”
    â€œI don’t ‘do’ bars at my age except for Rosie’s,” I said.
    â€œWhat about you? Last I heard, you were off in Las Vegas getting married.”
    â€œGeez, word gets around. So what else did you hear?”
    â€œThat you met her at CC’s and only knew her six weeks before the two of you ran off.”
    Cheney’s smile was pained. “Sounds so crass when you put it that way.”
    â€œWhat happened to your other girlfriend? I thought you’d been dating someone else for years.”
    â€œThat wasn’t going anywhere. She realized it before I did and dumped my sorry butt.”
    â€œSo