Ken Kuhlken_Hickey Family Mystery 03 Read Online Free

okay?”
    “Clifford’s a naughty one. He kicks harder every day. Sometimes I think his foot’s going to come out my belly.”
    “Babe, if the kid’s a girl, are you still going to call her Clifford?”
    “Funny man.”
    “You feeling good?”
    “Sure am.”
    “Claire’s sticking with you, right?”
    “You bet. We were getting dressed warm for a walk up to the village. I’m going to buy some peanut butter and a button for my blue flannel shirt, and peas and a ham bone for soup tonight. Did you talk to the poor lady yet?”
    “Nope. I just got in. Wanted to hear your voice and make sure you remember how crazy I love you.”
    “Same as I love you.”
    “Maybe I’ll get home tonight, babe. I’m not wasting a second.”
    “Well, if you drive back tonight, there’s a big storm coming. Be extra careful.”
    “Storm, huh?”
    “Yep. Already the water’s choppy and the clouds over Homewood look like dragons carved out of stone.”
    After he told her to watch her step and reluctantly said goodbye, in the desk’s left top drawer he found Leo’s phone list. Stashed under the crossword puzzle, the same place as ever. He dialed San Diego PD, detective division, asked for Thrapp. Waiting to get switched through, he filled and lit his briar.
    “Tom who?”
    “Tom the guy you promised to come mooch off and go fishing with but never did.”
    “I got five kids, old man. Want me to elaborate?”
    “Naw. Tell me this summer when you visit. We’ll make the kids stay outside, build ’em a wigwam or something. They’ll think they’re in heaven.”
    “You got a date. Last couple weeks in July okay?”
    “That’ll do fine,” Hickey said.
    “So, how’s tricks out in the wilderness?”
    “Swell. It looks as if spring and our kid’ll arrive about the same time. Look, Rusty, I’m down here in a rush. Wendy’s due in no time. You got my note about the wedding, right?”
    “Hell, yes. I even sent a gift, a fancy spoon or something.”
    “Sure, that’s right. Wendy hung it on the wall.”
    “On the wall? Good thing I didn’t send an oil painting. You’d be lapping up soup with it. Speaking of soup, you busy for lunch?”
    “Yeah. I’m down here in a rush.”
    “About an arson case, is my guess. Your client’s a certain ex-songbird.”
    “How about you let me in to see her?”
    “No sweat. I’ll leave your name with the turnkey. You wanta look at the file, ask for Lieutenant Palermo. How about tonight? You still drink Dewar’s?”
    “If I’m still around and can spare a minute, sure.”
    “You wanta know what I think about the girl, after grilling her a couple hours myself on account of she’s your old…whatever she was?”
    “Yeah, tell me.”
    “I’d give twenty to one she torched the joint. The gal’s not one of your better liars.”
    “Who’s the dead guy, Laurel’s husband?”
    “Johnny Sousa. A fast talker outta LA. Checkered past. Two stretches in Quentin, for extortion. Produces a film now and then. Word is Mickey sent him down to cut in on the race track action, Caliente and Del Mar both, but the wops weren’t budging. You know Angelo Paoli moved out here from Jersey?”
    “I heard. And you’re saying Laurel’s husband was one of Cohen’s boys?”
    “That’s what they say.”
    “Then it could’ve been one of Paoli’s crowd that torched the place.”
    “Sure, Tom.” The captain sighed. “If your Cynthia hadn’t got to it first.”

Chapter Three
    By the time Hickey’d used the john down the hall, walked back across Broadway, past the lot where he’d parked near the Pier Five Diner, and arrived at the police station and jail on Market Street by the tracks that ran along Harbor Drive, it was nearly 11 a.m. Sunlight glared off the harbor. Hickey hadn’t been this warm in months.
    The station had archways and a patio, a shady Mexican design. There were potted cactus, climbing bougainvillea, a dwarf palm at the entrance to the women’s jail. Hickey went in and slumped