Read Online Reilly 13 - Dreams of the Dead by Perri O'Shaughnessy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Perri O'Shaughnessy
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Brenda said. “I want to call my husband.”
A fter about forty-five minutes, they put her into a police car and took her to the police department building in Al Tahoe to be interviewed and make a statement. At least ten law enforcement people were swarming about the motel room when she left, like on a TV show. Raised not to trust cops, Brenda kept a little secret as she told her story into the tape recorder in a room where a female officer sat with her at the conference table and questioned her.
The secret was that she had seen the Housekeeping tip lying on the table in the room and put it into her pocket before she ran out of the room. Twenty dollars wasn’t much for what she had gone through. She really needed the money after Christmas and deserved it. She knew she’d keep it.
B renda arrived at her home, the knotty-pine cabin, in the winter dusk. Walking up to the cabin, she noted that the kitchen window had a steady bulb burning, the one above the sink. She could almost smell the gray woodsmoke the fire was shooting out the chimney that rose above the living room, where orange light flicked against the window like fireflies trying to get out.
She came in through the side door, throwing all her stuff on the bench beside it. Ronnie, making a pizza without salt, his latest food fad, saw her and came toward her, saying, “Aw, poor baby, what a mess, are you okay?” He took her into his arms and they both sighed and relaxed. Feeling his heart beat next to hers, she felt able to let go and cry a little.
“Why didn’t you let me come get you?”
“I didn’t know when they’d finish with me.”
“I woulda waited.”
“It was awful,” she sobbed. “I never saw a dead body before.” Outside, snow drifted into the window mullions. His hand roamed to her breast. She liked him comforting her like this. She turned a little so her mouth could meet his. “I should have let you pick me up.”
“You should have.”
“I feel like shit.”
“Let’s have a drink.”
“I told you not to take that job,” Ronnie said later, after they’d wolfed down the pizza and drunk a bottle of red wine, his favorite, a sweet one, disgusting, gave her headaches, but she never said no to wine.
They went straight to bed after that, and Ronnie got up on his elbow and started asking her questions. “Those big Tahoe hotels—anybody can rent a room. People go to casino-hotels to get wasted and do stuff they wouldn’t dare do at home. Crime, drugs, prostitution—”
“We need the money.” Lying in the warm bed next to her husband, Brenda felt guilty about keeping the latest windfall from him. Twenty dollars sat in an envelope in her purse, and she had already decided to give it to her ex for Isaiah, for school supplies.
“You’re not going back there.”
“We need that job.” Brenda shivered, pulling the red plaid flannel comforter up over the sheet to cover her shoulders. “We need the income, and we need the health benefits. Honey, we’ve discussed this before.”
“What’d the big man say?”
“You mean Steve? Mr. Rossmoor?”
“Yeah, him, the owner. What did he say? Come back tomorrow, work your ass off like you saw nothing, heard nothing, and didn’t get totally unhinged by finding your friend murdered on a bed?”
“Correction. I hardly knew her. And why the attitude about Steve? He’s good to us. Good benefits. Supports the union. Mostly. He told me to take as much paid time as I needed to recover from the shock.”
“Huh.”
“If I didn’t know you know you’re my handsome lover, the only man I adore”—she gave his goatee a gentle pull—“I might just imagine you were jealous.”
“He’s rich. And young. He’s got you all day. I’d rather you stayed home.”
“Yeah, but you’re bigger. And don’t ask me how I know that, okay?” She punched him on the arm.
He ran his hand along her hip. “You say that to all your guys.”
She laughed. “As if you leave me energy for anybody
A fter about forty-five minutes, they put her into a police car and took her to the police department building in Al Tahoe to be interviewed and make a statement. At least ten law enforcement people were swarming about the motel room when she left, like on a TV show. Raised not to trust cops, Brenda kept a little secret as she told her story into the tape recorder in a room where a female officer sat with her at the conference table and questioned her.
The secret was that she had seen the Housekeeping tip lying on the table in the room and put it into her pocket before she ran out of the room. Twenty dollars wasn’t much for what she had gone through. She really needed the money after Christmas and deserved it. She knew she’d keep it.
B renda arrived at her home, the knotty-pine cabin, in the winter dusk. Walking up to the cabin, she noted that the kitchen window had a steady bulb burning, the one above the sink. She could almost smell the gray woodsmoke the fire was shooting out the chimney that rose above the living room, where orange light flicked against the window like fireflies trying to get out.
She came in through the side door, throwing all her stuff on the bench beside it. Ronnie, making a pizza without salt, his latest food fad, saw her and came toward her, saying, “Aw, poor baby, what a mess, are you okay?” He took her into his arms and they both sighed and relaxed. Feeling his heart beat next to hers, she felt able to let go and cry a little.
“Why didn’t you let me come get you?”
“I didn’t know when they’d finish with me.”
“I woulda waited.”
“It was awful,” she sobbed. “I never saw a dead body before.” Outside, snow drifted into the window mullions. His hand roamed to her breast. She liked him comforting her like this. She turned a little so her mouth could meet his. “I should have let you pick me up.”
“You should have.”
“I feel like shit.”
“Let’s have a drink.”
“I told you not to take that job,” Ronnie said later, after they’d wolfed down the pizza and drunk a bottle of red wine, his favorite, a sweet one, disgusting, gave her headaches, but she never said no to wine.
They went straight to bed after that, and Ronnie got up on his elbow and started asking her questions. “Those big Tahoe hotels—anybody can rent a room. People go to casino-hotels to get wasted and do stuff they wouldn’t dare do at home. Crime, drugs, prostitution—”
“We need the money.” Lying in the warm bed next to her husband, Brenda felt guilty about keeping the latest windfall from him. Twenty dollars sat in an envelope in her purse, and she had already decided to give it to her ex for Isaiah, for school supplies.
“You’re not going back there.”
“We need that job.” Brenda shivered, pulling the red plaid flannel comforter up over the sheet to cover her shoulders. “We need the income, and we need the health benefits. Honey, we’ve discussed this before.”
“What’d the big man say?”
“You mean Steve? Mr. Rossmoor?”
“Yeah, him, the owner. What did he say? Come back tomorrow, work your ass off like you saw nothing, heard nothing, and didn’t get totally unhinged by finding your friend murdered on a bed?”
“Correction. I hardly knew her. And why the attitude about Steve? He’s good to us. Good benefits. Supports the union. Mostly. He told me to take as much paid time as I needed to recover from the shock.”
“Huh.”
“If I didn’t know you know you’re my handsome lover, the only man I adore”—she gave his goatee a gentle pull—“I might just imagine you were jealous.”
“He’s rich. And young. He’s got you all day. I’d rather you stayed home.”
“Yeah, but you’re bigger. And don’t ask me how I know that, okay?” She punched him on the arm.
He ran his hand along her hip. “You say that to all your guys.”
She laughed. “As if you leave me energy for anybody
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