Deadly Holidays Read Online Free

cleaners.  Money is no object.  Just do your job and don't let him catch you."
     
     
     
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    Large pieces of lacy snowflakes filled the air as Frankie headed toward her car.  She buttoned her coat and wound her red woolen scarf around her neck, then slipped on her gloves.  Frankie couldn't remember the last time she was this excited.  If there was one thing she needed right now, it was a lucrative project.  Mr. Arthur Holden owned the Holden Gasket Factory, as did his father and his father before him.  The factory employed fifty percent of the county, and provided one hundred percent of the pollution.  Yes, she thought with a smile, this could be a very lucrative project.
     
    Frankie and her husband, Lane, had been living from paycheck-to-paycheck all year, thanks to the lousy economy and its impact on her small business.  Everyone was cutting back, including the insurance companies that had fed a fair amount of money into her business in their search for disability cheaters.  Lane had taken a second job doing security for a local warehouse, and she felt guilty every time he came home late.  If her business hadn't been so slow, he would have been home at night with her and Ashley, their three-year-old.  Frankie missed Lane.  He often came home so late, and so exhausted; he dropped into bed and was asleep within seconds.
     
    Frankie turned left at the end of the Holden's long driveway and headed back to her office in town to do some Internet research on Mr. Arthur Holden.  She planned to start surveillance as soon as she could.  She'd driven about fifteen miles when she noticed an older black Dodge Ram and a blue Toyota Corolla blocking the entrance to the Wabash River Bridge.  Parking behind the Toyota, she got out of her car and walked toward two men, who were having a heated conversation in the middle of the bridge.  Engrossed in their debate, they ignored the snow falling around them, dusting their hair and jackets.  As she drew closer, she noticed a huge section of the bridge's guardrail was no longer there.
     
    "Hey, what's going on?" she called out.  The man wearing a camouflage hoodie dismissed her with a glance, and then turned around to continue his debate with an older man, who was adamantly waving his arms as he talked.
     
    "Damn it," he said with a voice filled with frustration.  "I drive this bridge every day, and I'm telling you that piece of guardrail was there yesterday."
     
    "Oh, come on.  This bridge must be twenty years old, it probably dropped off long ago," argued camouflage man.
     
    Frankie walked past them to examine the area where the guardrail used to be.  The metal of the guardrail was ripped away, leaving behind a sharp, jagged edge.  There were patches of red paint on the remaining metal.  She moved to the edge of the bridge and peered down at the swirling dark water below. 
     
    "I'm no expert," she called out to the men, who seemed to notice her for the first time.  "But I'm guessing by the width of this gap in the railing and by the red paint on the metal's edge that there's been a car accident here."
     
    She headed back to her car for her cell phone to call Lane and report the incident.  As she passed the man in the camouflage hoodie, she said, "Oh, and it happened recently.  Very recently."
     
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    Shawn Isaac leaned against the Elm Street signpost and sighed.  He'd been either running or walking for a long time.  He'd never walked this far, and he was cold.  His legs and feet hurt, and his toes felt frozen.  The snow was falling harder, and dusted the shoulders of his navy winter coat.  He wished he had remembered his gloves.  But as tired as he was, he was proud of himself for remembering the way to Billy's house.  This was Billy's street and his house was not far from this sign. Shawn knew Billy's house well.  He'd been coming to Billy's house since both boys were two-years-old.  That was back when his mommy