I Love You More: A Novel Read Online Free Page A

I Love You More: A Novel
Book: I Love You More: A Novel Read Online Free
Author: Jennifer Murphy
Pages:
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I’d just assumed it was left open by the Butterworths.
    “Yes. Very open.”
    “Go on,” I said.
    “Well, as I was saying, the paperboy like everyone else on this island, including your crime scene investigators I should say, is slow as molasses. At home our paper is on our stoop by five thirty; that’s when Melvin rises. He prefers to do his exercise and shower before breakfast, but here he has to wait until after. Anyway, we were almost to the box when I saw the open door. I asked Melvin if we ought to check it out, and he said we should go right over. Didn’t you, Melvin?”
    Not even a cursory nod.
    “There was this odd smell as we approached. I can’t quite say why, but I had this strange feeling that something was wrong, and I must say I was a little scared of what I might find, but I said to myself, Clara, you need to get over your fears and get in that house, now.”
    “You said it was seven forty-five when you arrived. You sure about that?”
    “On the nose,” she said. “It takes us twenty minutes to eat, another five for me to clear the table and rinse off the dishes, and five to walk to the mailboxes. I do the dishes when we get back while Melvin reads the paper. He likes to sit out on our deck with his second cup of coffee. Two’s the limit, you know.”
    “Do you remember seeing anything or anyone out of the ordinary either on your walk over or when you arrived at the scene?”
    “Do you mean like someone leaving the scene or sniffing around the house?” she asked. “Like an intruder? I don’t think so. But maybe it’ll come back to me later, you know like those witnesses on TV. Do you want me to close my eyes and recountmy entire morning? What I heard and smelled and all that? I’d be happy to do that.”
    “Thank you, ma’am, but that won’t be necessary.” I hate TV crime shows. “What happened when you entered the house?”
    “I saw her first.” Mrs. Butterworth indicated the woman on the sofa. “I introduced myself, but she didn’t say a word. Then I saw the body … well, him.” She pointed at the victim. “He looked pretty dead, but I thought I better make sure. So I marched right over and felt for his pulse.”
    “Two shots,” Mack said. “See here? Exit wounds. I don’t want to flip the body until the CSIs get here, but I’d say one to the chest and one to the abdomen. Looks by the trajectory of the bullet holes in the wall”—he pointed at two dark spots near the wall’s corner between the fireplace and sliding glass doors—“that the shots came from the direction of the side door.”
    Beautiful, lucky, sorry, gun
.
    I was just about to bring up the gun when Mrs. Butterworth scolded us for talking in front of the child. Child? There she sat right next to her mother, fingers tightly laced in her mother’s. How had I not seen her before? She looked about the age of my nephew, my sister’s son. Was he ten now? Eleven? All I could see beneath the towel that enshrouded her was a pair of spindly white legs and a thick head of curls. She had her mother’s blue eyes and the dead man’s dark hair (Mediterranean descent?), but her skin tone was much lighter than both of theirs. Her eyes and cheeks were damp, as if she’d been crying, and there was something about the way she looked at me, something beyond sadness, beyond pride or defiance or even protectiveness that I knew I’d seen before but couldn’t quite place.
    “What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked.
    She looked down at her feet.
    “I’m real sorry about your daddy,” I said. “I know you must be sad.”
    Nothing.
    “I saw this really cool sand castle on my way in. Did you make that?”
    “My daddy and me,” she said, without looking up.
    “Wow, cool. My dad used to build sand castles with me too.” A lie. Not the sand-castle building part, the dad helping me part. “Maybe you could give me the official castle tour?”
    She eyed me suspiciously. Progress at least.
    “If you don’t want to,
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