Dead Body Language Read Online Free

sheriff’s number and just talk and talk and talk and eventually someone would pick up the phone on the other end and hear me. But I didn’t get the chance.
    “Listen, I’m not a burglar or anything. I know this looks kind of funny—” He turned his head and swept the room with his arm, then faced me again. I missed a few words.
    “… this mess. I’m Boone’s brother. My name is Dan Smith.”
    As long as he didn’t turn his head away, I could follow every word. Maybe those perfect white teeth made it easy. Or maybe it was the way his mouth was outlined by that disconcerting blond beard. Or maybe his lips—
    “You don’t believe me,” he said, breaking my wandering train of thought. I must have looked unconvinced. Deaf people tend to show their thoughts and feelings through vivid facial expression and body language. I was apparently an open book.
    “Here—” He pulled an ornately tooled wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, removed the driver’s license, and handed it to me.
    Daniel Webster Smith. Address: Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Born forty-two years ago. Six foot two inches tall. Six inches taller than me. Two hundred and twenty pounds—almost twice what I weigh after a week on Slim-Fast. Brown hair, blue eyes. Donor. License recently renewed.
    But the picture wasn’t recent. His hair was shorter, there were no indications of newly sprouting gray along the temples, and he was clean shaven. I returned the license and watched him stuff it into his wallet.
    He extended his hand again and this time I shook it,quickly, noncommittally. His hand was dry and softer than it looked. I let it go, then glanced around the room at the disarray.
    “Your name’s different from Boone’s. And you don’t look like him, either. Where is he, anyway? And what are you doing here?” I shook my head at the mess.
    Dan Smith pulled out Boone’s swivel chair, removed the stack of papers, and gestured for me to sit down. When I passed, he sat down himself.
    “Well, the truth is, we had different fathers. Boone’s my half-brother.”
    I blinked and waited for him to go on. He could tell I wasn’t satisfied.
    “Our mother remarried after he was born and I came along ten years later. Kind of a surprise.”
    At first I thought he said his mother’s name was “Mary,” but that didn’t fit the context so I tried “remarried” and it worked. I took a closer look around the office, trying to figure out what had happened, then looked at him for an explanation.
    “It was like this when I got here.”
    The place hadn’t been vandalized, exactly. There weren’t any overturned tables, menacing words written in lipstick on the windows, or other indications of a break-in. But drawers had been pulled open and papers were strewn about haphazardly as if someone in a hurry had been searching for something important.
    Dan Smith looked pensive, as if waiting for me to speak. It was a look I was familiar with. He’d probably said something while my head was turned and was expecting an answer. I said “What?” just in case.
    “Got any idea who might have done this?”
    “Frankly, I thought it was you. Boone’s a slob, but he’s not this bad. So where is your brother, anyway?” I was still not convinced they were blood relatives.
    “I don’t know. I thought he’d be here. He knew I was coming to visit for a couple of weeks. I was … thinking of staying a while, if things worked out. But he didn’t show up at the train station in Whiskey Slide so I rented a car and drove over. He mentioned you a couple of times, saidyou had the office next door. Told me I could get his key from you if he wasn’t in. Turns out I didn’t need it. The door was unlocked.” He paused then said, “You
are
Connor Westphal, aren’t you?”
    I nodded reluctantly. I wasn’t sure it was any of his business. “He’s probably out on a case. He sometimes takes off for days at a time. And he’s kind of bad about remembering things.