ColdScheme Read Online Free Page A

rid of it.
Even a crooked veterinarian would be tempted to report that kind of strange
device to the police. He must have known and couldn’t tell anyone.” He looked
down at Brick’s sharp profile, eyes now closed.
    “Kidnapped, tortured—and executed,” I murmured.
    “Four years between kidnap and execution,” Ken whispered
back. Joe heard him.
    “What do you mean four years?” His head reared and his
features stiffened.
    I nodded at the body. “Mr. Jonathan Anderson Brick is a cold
case in the truest sense of the word. Four years ago, he went out for popcorn
and pop to a 7-Eleven and never returned to his fiancé, waiting for him on a
couch in front of a TV.”
    We went outside to hail a taxi.
    “Do you think Joe will ever go into a 7-Eleven again?” Ken
asked, grinning.
    “Probably not,” I chuckled, remembering the pathologist’s
shocked stare. “I should have said Nando’s Chicken. It would have saved us a
lot of money.”

Chapter Two
     
    The morning clocked in with all the appropriate stress of
having guests. Jazz didn’t want to set a good example and take down the tent. I
stopped Mrs. Tavalho from doing it.
    “Clean up or you’re grounded for the rest of the month,” I
said inhospitably. The girls shrank away. I had four hours of sleep and an
equal amount of fury burning inside me.
    “I don’t hear any voice. Do you?” Jazz ignored me. She
turned to her friends for support.
    “Jasmine, take down the tent and clean up the living room or
there will be no breakfast for you—or your guests.”
    “I’m an orphan and orphans make their own breakfast,” she
declared and moved for the kitchen.
    I was about to lose it. Mrs. Tavalho saw it and touched my
arm. She offered compromise. She would help with the tent removal and the
breakfast, while I should go check my messages. She heard my cell phone ringing
in my purse.
    She was a wise woman. She knew why Jazz was so difficult
lately.
    It wasn’t just the father issue but roots—mine. I was well
aware that the grade four had a new course, genealogical studies but it didn’t
diminish my resistance to give out information on this dangerous topic. I told
Jazz that she should consider herself lucky to have a caring, devoted
parent—her mother. These last few weeks, there hadn’t been a moment of truce
between us.
    I returned Ken’s message. I would pick him up in my Acura.
Mrs. Tavalho had a car and the kids would be picked up by a school bus.
    “Was I named after someone in our family?” Jazz welcomed me
to the breakfast table.
    I ignored her question. “I’ll leave you a message on your
cell phone before three o’clock, to let you know whether I’m going to be late
again today. If I can’t make it home before five, you have the key. Have the
sandwich Mrs. Tavalho prepared and put in the fridge. I’ll pick up something on
my way home—or we’ll order a pizza.”
    “I’ll stay until you make it,” the housekeeper said. “Don’t
worry.”
    “My partner and I just fell into a blender. It’s not
promising to be something that we can close quickly.”
    “I’ve done my gardening early,” she said. “There’s nothing
to do for a while. My family doesn’t need me to pitch in. I don’t mind.”
    I was grateful but it was time to leave the house before the
other shoe dropped.
    I made it to the door.
    “There are agencies that help search for kids and parents
who want to find each other,” Jasmine’s voice floated after me.
    “Make sure you mind your manners when you’re dealing with
agencies and government people, or you won’t get any cooperation,” I said and
ran.
    I lived on Dellwood Avenue, just west of Johns Hopkins
University. Ken lived further west, on Ulman Avenue. It took me ten minutes to
get there. Brenda lived east of the University. Ken claimed that it was a
balancing act. It allowed him to see the sunrise and the sunset. I wondered
whether he got to see both at the same time.
    We took the 83 downtown, exited at