Read Online Spider Web by Earlene Fowler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Earlene Fowler
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tonight, my interviews for Isaac’s book, when another person interrupted my reverie.
“Hey, ranch girl,” said my friend and verbal sparring partner, Detective Ford “Hud” Hudson of the San Celina Sheriff’s Department. Our relationship consisted of a juvenile combination of harmless flirtation and smart-ass insults. But, in spite of our constant bickering, in the last few years a real friendship had developed between us. Actually, he was an upright guy and I’d trust him with my life . . . and had a few times. Even my husband was beginning to like Hud a little. Or at least tolerate his presence in my life without too much grumbling.
“Hey, Clouseau,” I said, my nickname for him simply because he was as far from the loopy fictional detective as someone could be. “What’s cookin’?”
“Just dodging sniper bullets and searching for justice for poor lost souls,” he said, sliding into the bench seat across from me.
Hud wore a faded plaid flannel shirt, an olive green and blue Tulane University Green Wave baseball cap and dark blue Wranglers. His warm brown eyes and smooth-cheeked, country boy face looked every inch like a mother’s dream of the dependable L.L. Bean–clad boy next door who would tame and marry her wild daughter. In reality, he’d probably be the one buying her illegal moonshine and taking her skinny-dipping at midnight. My lost souls remark to him referred to his job at the sheriff’s department—investigating cold cases.
“Yeah, that sniper thing stinks,” I said, looking down at my watch. “Shoot, I missed the six o’clock news. Did our lovely Miss Tiffany have any breaking news about the incident?”
“Not much more than this afternoon. The four young men who live in the apartment were all cleared. Apparently they have handed out keys to their bachelor pad with gracious and unrestrained hospitality. Not to mention that they often leave it unlocked. So anyone and her brother could have simply walked in and out of the place. But I’m assuming you know this already.” He removed his hat and set it on the table. His short brown-blond hair stood up in funny little peaks.
“Part I knew, part I assumed. I spoke to Gabe at three o’clock, and they were stymied. They’ve apparently got a brand-new crackerjack detective working on it. She’s from Louisiana.”
“Yvette Arnaud. Yeah, we’ve met. She’s sharp, but no surprise there. She’s Cajun.” He grinned at me. He was half Cajun on his mother’s side. “Moved here from New Iberia.”
“Dave Roubicheaux’s stomping grounds.” A love for James Lee Burke’s books was one of the things Gabe, Hud and I had in common.
“Except she’s real as can be. Husband’s a photographer. Quite famous and in demand at one time, I hear.”
“Believe it or not, her husband and I have met. Elvia took Sophie to Backdrops to have Easter photos taken. He works there.” I pushed my plate aside and sipped my ice water. “His name is Van Baxter.”
“What’s your problem?” he asked, pointing at my water glass.
“What?”
“Water? Since when do you drink water ? I thought you bathed in Coke, gargled with Pepsi and rinsed your hair in RC Cola.”
“I drink water.”
He twisted his lips into a smirk.
“All the time.” I made a face. “Often.”
He rolled his brown eyes skyward.
“Okay, some. I’m trying to limit myself to one Coke a day. I read somewhere that cola is bad for women’s kidneys.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “It’s killing you, isn’t it?”
I nodded miserably. “Yes, but, I’m turning forty this month. Gotta start living a little healthier.”
“Forty? That’s old . Ancient. Someone call AARP, quick. Get the defibrillator ready.”
I slapped the top of his hand. “Shut up. You’re older than me. How do you like being forty?”
He leaned back in the booth, locking his fingers around his neck. “Forty is much more attractive on a man than a woman.”
“On that sexist note,
“Hey, ranch girl,” said my friend and verbal sparring partner, Detective Ford “Hud” Hudson of the San Celina Sheriff’s Department. Our relationship consisted of a juvenile combination of harmless flirtation and smart-ass insults. But, in spite of our constant bickering, in the last few years a real friendship had developed between us. Actually, he was an upright guy and I’d trust him with my life . . . and had a few times. Even my husband was beginning to like Hud a little. Or at least tolerate his presence in my life without too much grumbling.
“Hey, Clouseau,” I said, my nickname for him simply because he was as far from the loopy fictional detective as someone could be. “What’s cookin’?”
“Just dodging sniper bullets and searching for justice for poor lost souls,” he said, sliding into the bench seat across from me.
Hud wore a faded plaid flannel shirt, an olive green and blue Tulane University Green Wave baseball cap and dark blue Wranglers. His warm brown eyes and smooth-cheeked, country boy face looked every inch like a mother’s dream of the dependable L.L. Bean–clad boy next door who would tame and marry her wild daughter. In reality, he’d probably be the one buying her illegal moonshine and taking her skinny-dipping at midnight. My lost souls remark to him referred to his job at the sheriff’s department—investigating cold cases.
“Yeah, that sniper thing stinks,” I said, looking down at my watch. “Shoot, I missed the six o’clock news. Did our lovely Miss Tiffany have any breaking news about the incident?”
“Not much more than this afternoon. The four young men who live in the apartment were all cleared. Apparently they have handed out keys to their bachelor pad with gracious and unrestrained hospitality. Not to mention that they often leave it unlocked. So anyone and her brother could have simply walked in and out of the place. But I’m assuming you know this already.” He removed his hat and set it on the table. His short brown-blond hair stood up in funny little peaks.
“Part I knew, part I assumed. I spoke to Gabe at three o’clock, and they were stymied. They’ve apparently got a brand-new crackerjack detective working on it. She’s from Louisiana.”
“Yvette Arnaud. Yeah, we’ve met. She’s sharp, but no surprise there. She’s Cajun.” He grinned at me. He was half Cajun on his mother’s side. “Moved here from New Iberia.”
“Dave Roubicheaux’s stomping grounds.” A love for James Lee Burke’s books was one of the things Gabe, Hud and I had in common.
“Except she’s real as can be. Husband’s a photographer. Quite famous and in demand at one time, I hear.”
“Believe it or not, her husband and I have met. Elvia took Sophie to Backdrops to have Easter photos taken. He works there.” I pushed my plate aside and sipped my ice water. “His name is Van Baxter.”
“What’s your problem?” he asked, pointing at my water glass.
“What?”
“Water? Since when do you drink water ? I thought you bathed in Coke, gargled with Pepsi and rinsed your hair in RC Cola.”
“I drink water.”
He twisted his lips into a smirk.
“All the time.” I made a face. “Often.”
He rolled his brown eyes skyward.
“Okay, some. I’m trying to limit myself to one Coke a day. I read somewhere that cola is bad for women’s kidneys.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “It’s killing you, isn’t it?”
I nodded miserably. “Yes, but, I’m turning forty this month. Gotta start living a little healthier.”
“Forty? That’s old . Ancient. Someone call AARP, quick. Get the defibrillator ready.”
I slapped the top of his hand. “Shut up. You’re older than me. How do you like being forty?”
He leaned back in the booth, locking his fingers around his neck. “Forty is much more attractive on a man than a woman.”
“On that sexist note,
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