Read Online The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1) by Loy Ray Clemons - Free Book Online

Georgie—as she had been affectionately known, had been a larger than life character and was primarily responsible for the bars success. Her husband Eddie Davis had started the bar and café twenty years earlier and she had been his first waitress. Eddie was in his sixties when he married Georgie and she died at a young age ten years later. After she died, he didn’t know what else to do, so he kept the bar and it became his life.
                Thorne entered and sat at the counter. A perky uniformed young waitress with a flamboyant starched pink handkerchief flowing out of the pocket of her blouse appeared.          
    “What’ll it be,  Hon.”
                “Two eggs, over easy, dry toast, oatmeal, orange juice.
                “You got it, Darlin’” she chirped as she spun around, and wheeled off in the direction of the kitchen.
                Eddie approached and said, “Hey, Dave, how’s tricks? We haven’t seen you around for a while. I’m glad you came in. I’ve been wanting to tell you, a fellow came in last week and asked if I knew an architect named David Thorne. “Since your name’s Dave I thought it might be you.”
                Thorne kept the smile frozen on his face. “Friends call me Dave, but my last name is Carson. I’m a finish carpenter and bricklayer.” He shrugged and said, “Never heard of any architect named David Thorne.” Thinking it might be the large man who had assaulted him at the hotel or the man who had tried to kill him on the mountain road, he asked, “What did he look like?”
                Eddie sucked on a tooth. “Scrawny little fellow with a long face and a sharp nose. Didn’t get his name. Had an accent, but I couldn’t place it.”
                The young waitress brought Thorne his breakfast, and Thorne took a bite out of a corner of the toast. “What kind of accent? Was it Southern—Brooklyn—maybe English—you know, from Great Britain?”
                Eddie squinted and looked off in the distance. “No . . . more like a foreign accent, but not exactly. Could have been English—yeah, it could have been.”
                “Well, the next time I’m in, maybe you could quietly point him out to me—if he’s here. Might be a process server. I don’t want him serving me a subpoena by mistake.” He chuckled and took a sip of orange juice.
     
    As he drove back to his house in Sunnyslope, Thorne realized he’d have to stop having breakfast or lunch at Georgie’s Bar. He suspected the assault outside the Biltmore and the attempt on his life on the mountain road, could be connected with this new man with the British accent—or maybe his clients were keeping tabs on him? His concern prompted him to go to the Home Depot and buy electrical wire and lighting supplies.
                Back at the Sunnyslope house, he placed pillows under a blanket on his bed, made a makeshift bed on the floor in his large walk-in closet, and slept with his .38 service revolver under his pillow. Interior floodlights were controlled by a switch in the closet, and pointed in the direction of the door coming into the bedroom, blinding anyone in their beam. An outside motion sensor was wired to an alarm buzzer in the closet.
     
    The first few nights were uneventful, and Thorne began to think he may have over-reacted to the possible danger. The third night, around two o’clock, he was awakened by the buzzer he kept in his hand. He reached under his pillow for his .38 service revolver, turned over on his stomach, and cocked the hammer on the gun. He peered through the louvers of the closet door and listened.
                Soft footsteps made a barely audible sound in the kitchen area where he had sprinkled cornflakes on the floor. The door to the bedroom opened slowly. He pressed a switch and a bright spotlight threw a concentrated beam of light directly on the