A Murder In Passing Read Online Free Page B

they’re eighty-years-old and on a walker.” I rapped his prosthetic hand with my knuckles. “Look, this device isn’t ever going to be as good as your own flesh and blood. If you make that the standard, you’re going to go through life bemoaning what you can’t do instead of pushing yourself for what you can. I know. I’ve been at that crossroads and I came close to taking the path to self-pity.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you?”
    â€œBecause a woman without an arm yanked my chain.” I didn’t tell him the woman was Marine veteran Tikima Robertson, Nakayla’s sister, and that her interest in me was part of the actions that led to her murder. “She bluntly told me to get off my ass and on with life.”
    Jason nodded. He studied the curve of his prosthetic fingers. “I’ll never be able to shoot again.”
    â€œYeah, and you’ll probably never be able to salute without knocking yourself in the head.”
    He straightened his mechanical fingers, brought his hand just above his eyebrow in one smooth movement, and shouted, “Yes, sir!”
    A smattering of applause broke out from adjacent tables. Evidently, our exchange had drawn an audience.
    Jason held the salute but he couldn’t hold back the broad grin.
    ***
    A victory is a victory, whether solving a case or helping a young soldier through a crisis of hopelessness. So, my encounter with Jason Fretwell did as much for me as for him.
    I entered the offices of Blackman and Robertson light of heart and ready to impress our potential client with my deductive skills. Maybe I’d solve the case from an armchair in our conference room, besting Sherlock Holmes and even his smarter brother Mycroft.
    â€œGood morning, my love.” I stepped across the threshold into a room not unlike Mycroft Holmes’ Diogenes gentlemen’s club. An Oriental rug covered most of the hardwood floor. Two brown leather armchairs sat opposite a matching sofa. We’d designed the decor to project the air of stability and trust. Like we’d been in business over a hundred years. At least that’s what I told Nakayla. Actually, I pushed for the purchase because we could get the furniture for a huge discount off the showroom floor and the sofa was long and comfortable enough for me to lie down and nap.
    The conference room was the first area a visitor entered. A door to the left led to my office, a door to the right went to Nakayla’s. I found her at her computer, staring at an online newspaper.
    â€œI said, ‘Good morning, my love.’”
    She swiveled her chair to face me. “You have to be more specific as to who you are. So many men love me I didn’t know what to say.”
    â€œHow about ‘Sorry, I’m taken.’”
    â€œOkay. As long as I’m not taken for granted.”
    â€œNever.” I leaned over and kissed her on the lips.
    She kissed me back, and then looked at me quizzically. “No alcohol on your breath. I would have sworn you and the boys had been passing a bottle.”
    â€œI’m drunk on life.”
    â€œSo that’s why you fell on your face Saturday.”
    â€œWay to rain on a guy’s parade.”
    She laughed. “The rain was going to fall sooner or later.” She gestured to her computer monitor. “I forwarded you the updated stories about Mr. Bones that ran in this morning’s Asheville and Hendersonville newspapers.”
    Sunday’s papers only reported that a human skeleton had been found on the North Carolina–South Carolina border, probably because newspaper staffs on Saturday and Sunday were skeletal themselves. Even the Internet had been quiet last night as the law enforcement agencies from the two states must have agreed to limit details so early in the investigation.
    â€œHas Mr. Bones got a name?”
    â€œNot yet. The remains are staying in Greenville, South Carolina. That county’s