Promissory Payback Read Online Free Page B

wound, intense, no nonsense guy who found his redemption in helping other people. You don’t sport the theme-statement,
BRINGING PEOPLE IN NEED TOGETHER , in your lobby for shits and grins. But he also had no sense of humor, Jane surmised. His intensity of purpose prevented wit from shading his life. It was a common side effect she’d noticed of those who dedicated their life to service. It was as though they believed laughter would take away from the seriousness of their endeavors. “So, let’s cut to the chase, Joe. Do you know who killed your aunt?”
    Joe shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure a lot of people would want to bump her off !”
    â€œRight. People she owed money to. Do you have those names?”
    Joe turned his head to the left and let out a sigh. He absentmindedly fiddled with a red envelope on his cluttered desk. “I have no idea.”
    Laura Abernathy seemed to have a better bead on Carolyn’s unpaid investors than her nephew. “Laura Abernathy said there were three individuals. All in for fifty thousand?”
    He looked at Jane somewhat surprised, tension lacing his lips. “Is that right? Three? Fifty thousand?” He leaned back. “Well, I guess my aunt disclosed more to her—”
    â€œHave you and Mrs. Abernathy talked?”
    â€œNo. I saw her briefly at Aunt Carolyn’s house a couple months ago—”
    â€œShe got a voicemail from your aunt the night before the murder. Laura said Carolyn’s voice sounded ‘urgent.’ You have any idea what that might be about?”
    He tapped his pencil against the desk. “Knowing my Aunt Carolyn, it could be anything from a stubbed toe to a dripping faucet.”
    â€œWhich one did you usually respond to?”

    Joe looked at Jane, slightly appalled. “Her faucet had to be busted before I’d show up. I learned my lesson well, Detective. That woman never figured out that the world didn’t exist for her amusement or needs!”
    â€œI need the investors’ names. Based on the way your aunt was found, it looks like an unhappy investor was involved in her demise.”
    Joe pinched the skin between his nostrils. “Yeah, yeah. I heard.” He looked like he was trying to shake the image from his head. “Graphic, wasn’t it?”
    Jane watched him closely. “So, Joe. Do you have those names?”
    As if on cue, Joe turned his head again to the left, exactly as he had done when Jane asked him the same question not thirty seconds before. And then, like clockwork, he touched the same red envelope on his desk. Tells . The body gives us all away with those physical and sometimes verbal tells . Jane casually glanced to the wall where Joe’s attention seemed to be leaning. There were four photos. Two photos featured grade-school children. Another showed Joe shaking hands with a road-ravaged Vietnam Vet and, in the other, a thin gentleman in his fifties who was on crutches.
    â€œNo earthly idea,” he said, avoiding Jane’s glare. Another tell .
    Jane glanced at Joe’s business card. It was a simple white card with grey lettering above his name that read Founded on Trust—Sustained on Trust . To Jane, putting the word “trust” twice on your card spoke volumes. “Nice slogan,” Jane said, pointing to the card.
    â€œThat’s not a slogan, Detective,” Joe replied somewhat insulted. “That’s the way I live my life and run my
business.” He leaned back in his broken-in, inexpensive desk chair, tapping the eraser tip of a pencil against the layers of papers that cluttered his modest desk. “Without trust, you have nothing . I built a reputation on that and I’m proud of it.”
    Yes, there was that singleness of purpose. “What exactly do you do?”
    â€œI consult with companies and nonprofit groups as to how they can connect with likeminded individuals and create win-win