Read Online Theresa Monsour by Cold Blood - Free Book Online Page A

dad’s joint.” More hacking. “I saw you punch a fella after he pinched your ass. You were a tough little shit.”
    â€œTell me about this Pederson. Is he a decent neighbor or a jerk?”
    â€œChad. He’s a nice kid. Moved down here from up north. Juggles two jobs to make his child support.”
    Murphy took her notebook out of her purse. “Where’s he work?”
    â€œMachine shop in Minneapolis. Third shift. Tends bar during the day at that titty club on West Seventh Street.”
    â€œI know the place,” said Murphy, writing in her notebook. “Ever see him lose it with his kids or his ex or anyone else?”
    â€œNever met his ex.” She stopped talking to pick a dog hair off her tongue. “Cute kids. A little wild.”
    â€œDoes he yell at them a lot? Slug them? Hear any racket over there?”
    â€œThat stupid monster, Spike. Barks at everything that moves. Scares the living shit out of my baby.” She scratched behind the poodle’s ears and kissed his head; she left a lipstick mark on his fur.
    â€œWhat else about Chad?”
    â€œQuiet. Shovels my walk in the winter. Won’t take a dime from me. Sent tomatoes over all summer. Big Boys. Real meaty.” She paused to take a drag off her cigarette, coughed, took another pull. Then it occurred to her: “Christ Almighty! That’s his ex on the news, isn’t it? You’re not thinking he killed her. No way he did it.”
    â€œKnow how I can reach him?”
    â€œHe’s at a friend’s cabin. No phone. No electricity. Outdoor crapper.” She coughed so hard she dropped the cigarette. A gust of wind made her shiver and pull her sweater tighter around her thin body. “I think he’s nuts. Especially this time of year.”
    â€œHe ever mention the friend’s name? Where the cabin is located?”
    â€œNope. If he did, I’d remember.” More hacking, then:“The body’s going, but the mind still works. Your folks, Sean and Amira, they still alive?”
    â€œAlive and kicking,” Murphy said.
    â€œTell them Tootie says hello.”
    â€œI’ll do that. You take it easy Mrs. McDonough.” She closed her notebook and slipped it back in her purse.
    â€œTry tonight on Chad,” she said as Murphy stepped off the porch. “He’ll be back tonight. Probably bring me a duck all cleaned and ready for the oven.” She bent over and picked the cigarette off the porch floor and took another puff. “No way in hell he killed her.”
    Murphy checked her watch. Close to lunchtime, and she could go for a bar burger and fries. She took Smith Avenue and crossed the High Bridge over the river. She hung a left on West Seventh and drove a couple of miles. There used to be several strip joints in St. Paul, but one by one they were shut down by neighborhood activists. One on the East Side was now an Embers restaurant in the front and a bingo hall in the back. Another on University Avenue had been converted into the police department’s Western District Office. The West Seventh club was one of the last two left in town.
    She took a left and pulled into the parking lot, turned off the Jeep and slipped her keys in her purse. She slid out of the car and shut the driver’s door. Surveyed the parking lot. Not many cars. From what she remembered, the place had the biggest lunch crowd on Fridays. She hiked her purse strap over her right shoulder and walked to the entrance. The front windows were painted black with white silhouettes of nude women. After stepping inside, Murphy stopped for a few seconds so her eyes could adjust to the dark. The place looked the same as she remembered from her days as a uniform. The bottom half of the walls were covered by wood paneling and the top half by barn-red paint. Large oil portraits of nude women provided the main decoration for the place. The bar was on one end of the room and was circled by