Drowning in Amber (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

spite of myself. “Absolutely.”
    “Then yes, I’m sure.”
    He smiled crookedly, looking all cute and vulnerable, with the white bandages wrapped around his head and his blue eyes looking deeply into mine—and I realized that if I didn’t move immediately, I wasn’t going to move at all. And that would not pay the bills.
    Getting information about Dead Eddie would. Maybe.
    I pulled the keychain from his fingers without touching him.
    “Thanks,” I whispered, and headed for the door.
    I decided to ignore his nervous voice yelling, “Hey! You know how to drive a standard, don’t you? Jeepers, do you even have a driver’s licence?” and let the door slam shut behind me.
    No reason for him to get too comfortable, no matter how nice he was being.
     

Eddie:
I Wish I’d Stayed Asleep
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    I SHOULD HAVE realized something wasn’t right with me, because the plastic on my mom’s couch didn’t make a sound as I twisted and turned, trying to stay asleep. I didn’t want to open my eyes, even though my dreams had been more of the nightmare variety—something about ducks, which was weird, because I’ve never been afraid of ducks before—until the doorbell chimed.
    That brought me to attention, even though this wasn’t my place. All right, so my place doesn’t have a doorbell, but anybody knocking on the door was usually somebody wanting money I owed them, or somebody wanting to arrest me.
    “Don’t answer it,” I said, before I was really, truly awake.
    My mother, who I could hear shuffling toward the door, ignored me as usual. Before I could even move, she threw open the door.
    Two police officers stood on the step, looking shocked stupid. They blinked, glanced at each other, and blinked again. Finally, one of them spoke.
    “Are you Mrs. Naomi Hansen?”
    “Yes,” Mom said. “What do you want?”
    “Edward Nathaniel Hansen is your son?”
    That brought me to attention. I scrabbled off the couch and up to her, looking past her at the two uniformed cops on the doorstep.
    “Don’t let them in, Mom,” I said. “They cannot find what’s in my top drawer.” Crack pipe, well used. “Seriously. Tell them to leave.”
    Her manufactured smile did not hold, and her face went paper white. Her long-fingered hand clutched the door jamb as though she would collapse if she didn’t.
    “Yes, I am,” she said. “Why?”
    The cops looked at each other, just a quick glance, but that told me everything. It was bad news. Bad bad news.
    “Don’t listen to them, Mom,” I said. “Whatever they’re gonna tell you about me, it’s all lies.”
    “I’m afraid I have some news for you, ma’am,” the tall cop said. “May we come in?”
    “I only have a minute,” Mom said, her tight white lips barely moving. “My book club—”
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the smaller of the two said, and stepped up into the house. “We need to speak to you, now.”
    Mom stepped back, and the larger cop stepped into the front foyer, pushing all the light and air out with his bulk.
    “Don’t listen to them,” I whispered.
    But she did. Oh God, she did.
    And so did I.
     
    NOT MUCH WENT through my mind after the cops left my mom’s place other than, “Oh my God, I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m fucking dead.”
    I realized I was screaming it and tried to stop. No go. Still screaming, and then I was crying. And all through it, my mother cleaned her house.
    I could’t believe it. She’d just been told her son—her only son—was dead, but after the cops left, all she could do was wash the walls, and the windows, and vacuum the rug.
    She didn’t call anyone. She didn’t throw herself to the floor and cry. She didn’t even scream, past the one time when the cop told her the news. Just the one. Then she hustled them out of the house and kicked cleaning into high gear.
    I dropped back onto the couch, on my back, with one arm over my eyes. I felt as though I’d just run a marathon or some shit. I