Revenge of Innocents Read Online Free
Author: Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
on her face? Why had she abruptly ended her relationship with Haley Snodgrass, a girl she’d been close to for most of her life?
Veronica’s red-rimmed eyes scanned the buildings. She steered the car into a parking lot, getting out and hiking up the stairs to the second floor. As she was trying to focus on the arrows that showed where room 246 was located, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She managed to open her purse and pull out her gun, but before she could turn around, someone reached around her waist and wrenched it out of her hand.
CHAPTER 3
Tuesday, October 12—5:30 P . M .
T he Ventura government center was similar to a small city. The courts, the district attorney’s and public defender’s offices, as well as the records division, were all housed on the right side of a large open space. A bubbling fountain stood in the center, surrounded by concrete benches and blooming flowers. To the left was the probation department, the sheriff’s department, and the women’s and men’s jails. The general public assumed the two structures weren’t connected, yet an underground tunnel was used to transport inmates back and forth.
Carolyn headed to her new red Infiniti M35 in the parking lot. The wildfires had been contained, but her car was covered with ash. The car was a wedding gift from her fiancé, Marcus Wright. Two weeks ago, the house she had raised her children in had sold and she’d no choice but to move into Marcus’s home in Santa Rosa. She’d wanted to wait until after they were married. She was old-fashioned when it came to certain things. And why have a formal wedding if you were already living with the person?
Carolyn’s old house would fit into Marcus’s living room. Her son, John, was in his first year at MIT. Rebecca, her sixteen-year-old, adored Marcus and was elated they were getting married. Everything was finally coming together, and Carolyn couldn’t be happier.
A forty-year-old wearing a wedding dress seemed absurd, but Marcus had insisted. Both of their first marriages had ended in failure, so he wanted to make it a special occasion. She had intended to exercise and lose five pounds. Any mention of the word diet, though, and she became ravenously hungry. With all the hassle of moving and planning the reception, she’d gained seven pounds. Yesterday, she’d gone to the tailor and had the seams let out on her dress. She wasn’t heavy, just curvaceous. She didn’t need to look like a waif.
Her cell phone rang and she fumbled around in her purse to retrieve it. “It’s Hank,” a gruff male voice said. “Where are you? Are you on the road?”
Hank Sawyer was a lieutenant in Ventura homicide, as well as a long-term friend. The tone of his voice was alarming. “What’s going on?”
“Are you driving?”
“No,” Carolyn said. “What difference does it make if I’m driving or not? I can listen and drive.”
“I have some bad news,” he said. “I don’t want you to be behind the wheel when I tell you.”
“I’m in the parking lot. Tell me, for Christ’s sake.”
“Veronica Campbell is dead.”
Carolyn dropped her briefcase on the pavement. “God, no!” she exclaimed. “What happened? A traffic accident…”
“Charley Young thinks she was shot sometime this morning. The maid at the Motor Inn on East Thompson found her around three o’clock.”
“I’m on my way.” She swept up her briefcase and jogged toward her car.
“There’s nothing for you to do here. Charley just gave the okay for us to transport the body. I’m sorry, Carolyn. I know how close you two were.”
“It’s a mistake,” she said, panting. “It’s someone who looks like her. You don’t know Veronica that well, Hank. I’ll come—”
The detective cut her off. “We have her badge, as well as the county vehicle she was driving. I thought you’d want to be the one to tell her husband. Can you handle it?”
“I can’t…do anything right now.” Carolyn leaned
Veronica’s red-rimmed eyes scanned the buildings. She steered the car into a parking lot, getting out and hiking up the stairs to the second floor. As she was trying to focus on the arrows that showed where room 246 was located, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She managed to open her purse and pull out her gun, but before she could turn around, someone reached around her waist and wrenched it out of her hand.
CHAPTER 3
Tuesday, October 12—5:30 P . M .
T he Ventura government center was similar to a small city. The courts, the district attorney’s and public defender’s offices, as well as the records division, were all housed on the right side of a large open space. A bubbling fountain stood in the center, surrounded by concrete benches and blooming flowers. To the left was the probation department, the sheriff’s department, and the women’s and men’s jails. The general public assumed the two structures weren’t connected, yet an underground tunnel was used to transport inmates back and forth.
Carolyn headed to her new red Infiniti M35 in the parking lot. The wildfires had been contained, but her car was covered with ash. The car was a wedding gift from her fiancé, Marcus Wright. Two weeks ago, the house she had raised her children in had sold and she’d no choice but to move into Marcus’s home in Santa Rosa. She’d wanted to wait until after they were married. She was old-fashioned when it came to certain things. And why have a formal wedding if you were already living with the person?
Carolyn’s old house would fit into Marcus’s living room. Her son, John, was in his first year at MIT. Rebecca, her sixteen-year-old, adored Marcus and was elated they were getting married. Everything was finally coming together, and Carolyn couldn’t be happier.
A forty-year-old wearing a wedding dress seemed absurd, but Marcus had insisted. Both of their first marriages had ended in failure, so he wanted to make it a special occasion. She had intended to exercise and lose five pounds. Any mention of the word diet, though, and she became ravenously hungry. With all the hassle of moving and planning the reception, she’d gained seven pounds. Yesterday, she’d gone to the tailor and had the seams let out on her dress. She wasn’t heavy, just curvaceous. She didn’t need to look like a waif.
Her cell phone rang and she fumbled around in her purse to retrieve it. “It’s Hank,” a gruff male voice said. “Where are you? Are you on the road?”
Hank Sawyer was a lieutenant in Ventura homicide, as well as a long-term friend. The tone of his voice was alarming. “What’s going on?”
“Are you driving?”
“No,” Carolyn said. “What difference does it make if I’m driving or not? I can listen and drive.”
“I have some bad news,” he said. “I don’t want you to be behind the wheel when I tell you.”
“I’m in the parking lot. Tell me, for Christ’s sake.”
“Veronica Campbell is dead.”
Carolyn dropped her briefcase on the pavement. “God, no!” she exclaimed. “What happened? A traffic accident…”
“Charley Young thinks she was shot sometime this morning. The maid at the Motor Inn on East Thompson found her around three o’clock.”
“I’m on my way.” She swept up her briefcase and jogged toward her car.
“There’s nothing for you to do here. Charley just gave the okay for us to transport the body. I’m sorry, Carolyn. I know how close you two were.”
“It’s a mistake,” she said, panting. “It’s someone who looks like her. You don’t know Veronica that well, Hank. I’ll come—”
The detective cut her off. “We have her badge, as well as the county vehicle she was driving. I thought you’d want to be the one to tell her husband. Can you handle it?”
“I can’t…do anything right now.” Carolyn leaned
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