Partnerships Can Kill: The Third Charlie Parker Mystery Read Online Free Page B

whiled away the rest of the lasagna’s baking time
by taking turns challenging Vicky at the video game. My skills in
this department are sadly lacking and I got eliminated early in the
first round.
    At last the lasagna bubbled and we pried the
video game away from Vicky. Ron lit the candle on our table and
held her hand as we took our seats.
    “So, Vicky, Ron tells me you’re a decorator,”
I said, once we’d scooped lasagna and salad onto our plates.
    “Yeah,” she answered, her dark eyes looking
at Ron rather than me.
    “Do you have a specialty? Residential or
commercial?”
    “Oh, just about anything.”
    “What’s your preference in style?
Traditional, contemporary?” I felt like I was giving her the third
degree but she certainly wasn’t volunteering anything.
    She shrugged in answer to my question.
    Ron piped up: “You should see Vicky’s place,
Charlie. She’s really done a beautiful job with it.”
    “Great, I’d like that.” I addressed the
answer to Vicky, although she had not extended the invitation.
    Ron sensed her reluctance to open up and he
steered the subject to something else. After dinner, the two of
them volunteered to do the dishes. Vicky laughed and talked with
Ron, who had his arms in the soapy water. What was going on here? I
could only guess that she just plain didn’t like me.
    I excused myself and took my dog and my
Clancy novel downstairs to my room, where I could convince myself
that being alone was just fine with me.
    Sunday morning I awoke early, dressed and
took Rusty out for a walk. We bought fresh muffins at the small
market on the highway and listened to the bells at the white
steepled church chime out hymns half-remembered from childhood. I
shared my muffin with Rusty. Despite the tantalizing aroma of
coffee, Ron and Vicky didn’t surface until nearly noon.
    It was a bizarre weekend, to say the least. I
was relieved to wave goodbye to them, as they drove away Sunday
evening.
    There was a message on my answering machine
from Drake. He said he missed me, and would call again later. His
voice did sound wistful. Hearing from him completely undid all the
self-talk I'd done over the weekend. My insides felt unsettled.
    The next morning, I was back at my desk by
the time Sally arrived.
    "How was your weekend?" she asked, leaning
against my doorframe with her mug of tea in hand.
    My eyes rolled, although I swear I didn't
intend them to, when I told her where I'd been.
    "That good, huh." She didn't really look
surprised.
    "Oops, there goes the front door." We both
heard the bell, which we have rigged up to sound in the back and
the upstairs offices, at the same time. Sally headed toward the
front.
    About a minute later, my intercom line
buzzed.
    "Sharon Ortega to see you." Sally's voice was
neutral.
    Sharon had obviously dressed without much
attention to detail this morning. She wore a pair of black slacks
and a white sweatshirt that showed gray smudges at the cuffs and
elbows. Her breezy blond hair now hung limply, and her face was
without makeup and splotchy looking. She didn't waste any time on
preliminaries once she was seated in the chair across from me.
    "David is dead," she said flatly.
    It took me a minute for me to associate that
it was her restaurant business partner she was talking about. A
variety of emotions flickered across her face and came out in her
body language. Her face was puffy from crying, her eyes red rimmed.
Her hands wouldn't stay still. She twisted her fingers around each
other in a way that looked painful. Tension was evident in her arms
and neck. Clearly, she was extremely shaken. Something told me she
was scared.
    I wished Ron were here. I couldn't imagine
that Sharon was coming here to tell me this dire news as a friend.
We weren't that close. If she intended to hire the firm to look
into David's death, I would prefer that Ron be here to handle it.
But, he wasn't, so it looked like I was stuck.
    "Tell me what happened, Sharon," I suggested,
as gently