Read Online You Know Who Killed Me by Loren D. Estleman - Free Book Online Page A

was—” She groped through her command of the language.
    â€œSmitten.”
    She brightened. “Yes. It’s an old-fashioned word, isn’t it? You don’t hear it much anymore.”
    â€œIn a few years half the world won’t be able to understand the other half. What did he hunt?”
    â€œElk.” She shook her head, still smiling. “He wasn’t very good at it, I’m afraid. In eight years he never shot one. Do you know what I think? I think he had lots of chances but never took them. It was just an excuse to get away with friends and commune with nature.”
    â€œWhat were his friends like?”
    â€œI never really got to know them. He’d had some of them since high school, and they were scattered all over the United States. They only got together during the season, and he stopped going after Michel was born. The trips were too expensive to justify, with a family to look after.”
    â€œI’d like the names of his friends, if you can get them.”
    â€œI suppose I can. He kept an address book. Why?”
    â€œI used to hunt deer with my father upstate. He always said if you really want to know who your friends are, you should spend three days with them in a hunting camp. The veneer wears off quick.”
    â€œWhy would someone kill Donald? That’s the question I want to ask when they find who did it.”
    I lit a cigarette, mainly to cover the smell of warm food drifting my way. I don’t eat breakfast and I didn’t want to chisel off the chronically hungry. “You seem pretty sure they’ll find him.”
    â€œI have to. It’s all I have, apart from my son. I lost the baby, you know.”
    â€œI heard. I’m sorry. What do you think of the reward your church put up?”
    She looked me in the eye. “It’s a damn nuisance. People keep calling the house with what they think they know. I tell them to call the sheriff, or the church. I’ve tried to persuade the Reverend Melville to withdraw it. She says that’s up to the person who offered it, and he’s adamant. Do you know who he is?”
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œNo. I think if I could just talk to him, make him see the reward is actually getting in the way of the investigation, he’ll see my side. But Florence won’t budge. Budge, yes?”
    â€œYes. I think your English is better than you make out. Pretending to have to think about what someone’s saying to you is a good way to buy time while you think of what to say back.”
    Up close her eyes weren’t black at all, but a deep shade of brown.
    â€œDo you always say exactly what’s on your mind?”
    â€œWhen I think it’ll save time.” I pointed to the pocket where she’d put my card. “You can get me on my cell when you have the names of Donald’s hunting buddies. Men open up among themselves more than you might think, especially over drinks and euchre.”
    â€œEuchre?”
    â€œCard game: one of those cuss-and-slam-down-a-card affairs. It’s not played much outside the Midwest.”
    â€œHe never mentioned it. Do you know how to play?”
    â€œI’m rusty, but I could brush up.”
    â€œWill you teach me? I’ve been looking for something to occupy my thoughts since the billboards.”
    â€œI’d be glad to; just as soon as I brush up on it myself.”
    She smiled, and I saw the pain then.
    â€œI’ll hold you to that. It’s the quiet that sets in, you know? After the ceremony and the good wishes and the offers to help are over and done with. It’s one of the reasons I’m here feeding strangers while my son is being looked after by other strangers.”
    â€œHow are they getting along?”
    â€œChildren are resilient. Anyway, that’s what everyone keeps telling me, or almost everyone. Michel’s teacher thinks he should be in counseling. I don’t know. What do you