MURDER on the ROCKS (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Leslie Leigh
sharp.
The text came through just as she was about to give Dinah an insulin shot. The number was 000.
The last time a cryptic message like this came in, she’d wound up at the Verdenier Water Works with a gun to her head. She was about to call Sgt. Beauchenne when another text came through from the same non-number.
Sorry, I forgot. Swordfish.
She laughed, a warm relief pouring over her. Almost. Did he have to choose that location?
Sara's Bridge was over near the eastern border of the town. It was a quaint covered bridge in chipped, apple red that had stood for 183 years. In autumn, the bridge popped to life surrounded by larches burning bright yellow for the season. Spring was a sweet time for the bridge as well, as the largest bore their pink buds, transforming the bridge into a rustic centerpiece. However, whatever the season, the bridge was not a very nice place at nighttime. Officially called the Silas Creek Bridge (Silas Creek had dried up completely by 1920), locals had nicknamed it "Sara's Bridge" due to a local legend about a girl named Sara, who in 1843, spurned by a lover, strung a length of hemp over the rafters of the bridge and hanged herself. At night the larches sway in the wind, and breezes whistle and whine through the boards of the old bridge, and they say on certain nights you can hear Sara's anguished cries as she tosses her ex-lover's letter into the creek and strings up her rope.
Twenty minutes later, she was pulling up at the old bridge. A crystal clear sky and half a moon provided just enough light to cast eerie shadows swooping down over the roof of the creaky structure. Beauchenne's car was parked. She could see there was no one in it.
Great. She'd have to get out.
But any fears, rational or not, dissipated quickly at the sight of Sgt. Beauchenne, leaning pensively on one of the open windows that looked out on the vast plain that was once a bubbly creek.
"You know," she said, "if this wasn't so godawful spooky, I’d say it was kinda romantic."
"Unfortunately, we don’t have time for that," said Beauchenne.
"Then it's just godawful spooky. So what's with the stealth phone?"
"It's just that. Untraceable."
"Uh huh." She breathed in chilly air laced with wafts from the field, earthy and moist, and there was the cold scent of old wood all around her. "So what’s the story?"
He licked his lips, took a deep breath, as if in anticipation of a long tale to tell. "Dupond is forcing me to back off this case. He said Tomlin is capable of handling it by himself."
"All by himself?"
"He and his people."
"Not for nothin', but how many people could you guys possibly have in that department?"
"It's a joke. They're stretched as thin as it can get. As for me, they’re handing all of Tomlin's back jobs to me. Stuff like check fraud and petty vandalism cases. Just enough things to keep me busy and out of their hair."
"So, I don’t understand. Why would Dupond do it?"
"I can’t say."
"You can’t or you won't?"
"That's a thing you need to look into. Now, the details. Listen closely. Reilly says he came home and found his wife on the floor of the kitchen. Our guys say there was no sign of a break-in. Usually, that means—"
"She knew her assailant."
"That's right. Honey Reilly was bludgeoned in the back of the head with a heavy
The text came through just as she was about to give Dinah an insulin shot. The number was 000.
The last time a cryptic message like this came in, she’d wound up at the Verdenier Water Works with a gun to her head. She was about to call Sgt. Beauchenne when another text came through from the same non-number.
Sorry, I forgot. Swordfish.
She laughed, a warm relief pouring over her. Almost. Did he have to choose that location?
Sara's Bridge was over near the eastern border of the town. It was a quaint covered bridge in chipped, apple red that had stood for 183 years. In autumn, the bridge popped to life surrounded by larches burning bright yellow for the season. Spring was a sweet time for the bridge as well, as the largest bore their pink buds, transforming the bridge into a rustic centerpiece. However, whatever the season, the bridge was not a very nice place at nighttime. Officially called the Silas Creek Bridge (Silas Creek had dried up completely by 1920), locals had nicknamed it "Sara's Bridge" due to a local legend about a girl named Sara, who in 1843, spurned by a lover, strung a length of hemp over the rafters of the bridge and hanged herself. At night the larches sway in the wind, and breezes whistle and whine through the boards of the old bridge, and they say on certain nights you can hear Sara's anguished cries as she tosses her ex-lover's letter into the creek and strings up her rope.
Twenty minutes later, she was pulling up at the old bridge. A crystal clear sky and half a moon provided just enough light to cast eerie shadows swooping down over the roof of the creaky structure. Beauchenne's car was parked. She could see there was no one in it.
Great. She'd have to get out.
But any fears, rational or not, dissipated quickly at the sight of Sgt. Beauchenne, leaning pensively on one of the open windows that looked out on the vast plain that was once a bubbly creek.
"You know," she said, "if this wasn't so godawful spooky, I’d say it was kinda romantic."
"Unfortunately, we don’t have time for that," said Beauchenne.
"Then it's just godawful spooky. So what's with the stealth phone?"
"It's just that. Untraceable."
"Uh huh." She breathed in chilly air laced with wafts from the field, earthy and moist, and there was the cold scent of old wood all around her. "So what’s the story?"
He licked his lips, took a deep breath, as if in anticipation of a long tale to tell. "Dupond is forcing me to back off this case. He said Tomlin is capable of handling it by himself."
"All by himself?"
"He and his people."
"Not for nothin', but how many people could you guys possibly have in that department?"
"It's a joke. They're stretched as thin as it can get. As for me, they’re handing all of Tomlin's back jobs to me. Stuff like check fraud and petty vandalism cases. Just enough things to keep me busy and out of their hair."
"So, I don’t understand. Why would Dupond do it?"
"I can’t say."
"You can’t or you won't?"
"That's a thing you need to look into. Now, the details. Listen closely. Reilly says he came home and found his wife on the floor of the kitchen. Our guys say there was no sign of a break-in. Usually, that means—"
"She knew her assailant."
"That's right. Honey Reilly was bludgeoned in the back of the head with a heavy
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