Read Online Shotgun Lullaby (A Conway Sax Mystery) by Steve Ulfelder - Free Book Online Page B

told them I’d keep an eye on Gus, be an informal sponsor until he gets a real one.”
    â€œAnd then,” she said, “you proceeded to beat the living daylights out of one man, then beard a gangster in his lair.” She sipped bubbly water and looked at Randall. “Your friend keeps one hell of an eye.”
    â€œHe’s known far and wide for the eye he keeps.”
    â€œAnd the company,” she said.
    â€œWho am I to argue?” he said.
    â€œOh for chrissake,” I said.
    Rinn blushed some.
    We sipped.
    I said, “What does his father do?”
    â€œInvestment banker. He is”—Rinn tucked her chin to her chest and used a newscaster voice—“the driving force behind Thunder Junction Partners, the red-hot Cambridge firm that’s the envy of Wall Street and Silicon Valley.” In her own voice: “Thunder Junction made a splash when it refocused on green tech at just the right time. Peter was hailed as a genius. The company’s done well these past few years, while everybody else has been flailing.”
    I started to ask something, but she snapped her fingers and interrupted. “You know, if you want a truly interesting take on Peter, here’s the man you should talk to.”
    â€œInteresting how?”
    She ignored the question, peered at her phone, wrote a number on a notepad, handed it across the table. It read Donald Crump and a number that started with 713, an area code I didn’t recognize.
    I pocketed the paper. “I’ll call. How long have you two been married?”
    â€œA year and a half. We met the summer between my junior and senior years, when I interned at Thunder Junction.”
    â€œWhat college?” Randall said.
    â€œHarvard.”
    â€œWhere else?” he said. “How silly of me.”
    She smiled. “My application for the internship caught Peter’s eye. It was a memo. Six pages, single-spaced.”
    â€œWhat did it say?”
    â€œIt said Thunder Junction should dump high tech and biotech and jump into green tech.” She used two fingers to pull a lime wedge from her water glass and pop it in her mouth. “With both feet.”
    Rinn Biletnikov chomped the lime, sucked its juice. If it struck her as bitter, she hid it well.
    *   *   *
    â€œMy my my,” Randall said when the two of us left the guesthouse.
    â€œMarried,” I said. “Six-month-old baby.”
    â€œKilljoy.” Long pause. “She is something, though. That you must concede.”
    I conceded it. We stood on the gravel drive, our backs to the cottage, each with car keys in hand, looking up the rise at the main house.
    â€œShe’s down here,” Randall finally said, “and the husband’s up there.”
    â€œNo sign of any baby in the cottage, either. That’s the part gets me. Ever seen the mother of a six-month-old move out like that?”
    â€œAnd she lied about her relationship with Gus,” he said. “Or, at the very least, omitted much.”
    â€œYou picked up on that even with those stars in your eyes, huh?”
    â€œShut up.”
    â€œEven with those little cupid arrows.”
    â€œShut up.” He smiled, though. “What’s next?”
    I held up the slip of paper Rinn had passed me. “Guess I’ll call this guy.”
    â€œGeese to be chased,” he said. “Herrings to be … reddened, I guess.”
    â€œThe hell is that supposed to mean?”
    â€œYou’re going to a lot of trouble, my friend. Heck, I’ll just say it: we’re going to a lot of trouble. Over a shooting that may have something to do with young Gus.”
    I said nothing.
    â€œOr may not,” Randall said.
    â€œI got that.” Long pause. “You saw the dude with the Desert Eagle.”
    He shrugged. “Beard a gangster in his lair, as lovely Rinn said. He puts on a show of bravado. This is a surprise?”
    I said