Revenge of Innocents Read Online Free Page B
Author: Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
the time is right. Doesn’t she have a teenage daughter?”
“Jude,” she said, trying to navigate through rush-hour traffic. “I don’t even know if she’s still living at home. They’ve had all kinds of problems with her. Veronica was going to throw her out if she didn’t get her act together.”
“I need you,” Brad said, talking to someone in the office. “Linda Cartwright is here. I’ll bring her with me.”
“It could be someone other than Bramson. I—I can’t remember what cases I assigned her.”
“I’ll print out a list from your computer,” Brad said. “We’ll be there as fast as we can. Whatever you do, don’t talk to the press.”
“Hurry,” she said, hitting the wrong button to end the call and speed-dialing her brother, Neil’s number. She flipped the phone closed and tossed it back into her purse. She hadn’t called Marcus yet. She didn’t have time to talk to Neil.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up in front of a modest stucco house. The exterior needed painting, and most of the flowers had died from lack of water. A bicycle was lying on its side near the sidewalk. When she reached the front door, she could hear the TV blasting inside. It sounded like cartoons or some other type of children’s program. Thank God, she thought, it wasn’t the news. She swallowed hard and rang the doorbell.
A tall, attractive man with prematurely gray hair and pale blue eyes answered the door. Drew Campbell was barefoot, wearing jeans and a green cotton T-shirt with some type of stain on the front. “Carolyn,” he said. “Haven’t seen your face in a month of Sundays. Veronica isn’t home, but come in.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the living room. Toys were scattered everywhere, along with juice cups and half-empty bowls of cereal. Stacy, their eight-year-old, was sprawled out on the sofa watching TV. She was tall for her age and reed thin. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.
“Excuse the mess,” Drew said. “We live in a perpetual state of chaos. You look like a wreck, Carolyn. Getting ready for the big day, I presume. I was planning to call Marcus and tell him I wouldn’t be able to make his bachelor party. Nice of him to invite me, though. Seems like you’re getting yourself a swell fellow there.”
Michael, the couple’s four-year-old, raced into the room screaming, “Petey took my truck and won’t give it back.”
“Gotta share, kiddo,” Drew said, hoisting him up in his arms. “You know who this lady is, don’t you? This is your godmother, Carolyn. She came to see you. Why don’t you give her a hug?”
“No,” he said, pouting. “I want my red truck.”
When Carolyn gazed at the child’s round face and wide-set eyes, she saw a miniature version of Veronica. “Is Jude here?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Drew said. “I just picked the kids up from the babysitter. I think we found a live-in, but she hasn’t started yet. What’s going on? Jude’s not in trouble again, I hope.”
“No, no,” Carolyn said. “Why don’t we sit down? Something’s happened. I thought Jude could look after…” She waved her hand in front of her. “Never mind…it doesn’t matter.”
“Turn the TV off,” Drew said to his daughter. “You’re not supposed to watch TV until you finish your homework.” When the girl ignored him, he barked, “Now, Stacy.”
Once Stacy had left, Carolyn started to ask him to send Michael to the other room as well, but decided he needed something in his arms when she told him. He took a seat beside her on the sofa. “Veronica was shot, Drew.”
Michael saw a toy on the cushion behind him, and tried to climb out of his father’s arms to reach it. Stacy passed through the living room on the way to the kitchen, a spiral notebook in her hand. Carolyn’s eyes darted around the room. Her head was spinning. There were too many things going on at the same time, and far too much clutter.
“I’m sorry,” Drew said,
“Jude,” she said, trying to navigate through rush-hour traffic. “I don’t even know if she’s still living at home. They’ve had all kinds of problems with her. Veronica was going to throw her out if she didn’t get her act together.”
“I need you,” Brad said, talking to someone in the office. “Linda Cartwright is here. I’ll bring her with me.”
“It could be someone other than Bramson. I—I can’t remember what cases I assigned her.”
“I’ll print out a list from your computer,” Brad said. “We’ll be there as fast as we can. Whatever you do, don’t talk to the press.”
“Hurry,” she said, hitting the wrong button to end the call and speed-dialing her brother, Neil’s number. She flipped the phone closed and tossed it back into her purse. She hadn’t called Marcus yet. She didn’t have time to talk to Neil.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up in front of a modest stucco house. The exterior needed painting, and most of the flowers had died from lack of water. A bicycle was lying on its side near the sidewalk. When she reached the front door, she could hear the TV blasting inside. It sounded like cartoons or some other type of children’s program. Thank God, she thought, it wasn’t the news. She swallowed hard and rang the doorbell.
A tall, attractive man with prematurely gray hair and pale blue eyes answered the door. Drew Campbell was barefoot, wearing jeans and a green cotton T-shirt with some type of stain on the front. “Carolyn,” he said. “Haven’t seen your face in a month of Sundays. Veronica isn’t home, but come in.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the living room. Toys were scattered everywhere, along with juice cups and half-empty bowls of cereal. Stacy, their eight-year-old, was sprawled out on the sofa watching TV. She was tall for her age and reed thin. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.
“Excuse the mess,” Drew said. “We live in a perpetual state of chaos. You look like a wreck, Carolyn. Getting ready for the big day, I presume. I was planning to call Marcus and tell him I wouldn’t be able to make his bachelor party. Nice of him to invite me, though. Seems like you’re getting yourself a swell fellow there.”
Michael, the couple’s four-year-old, raced into the room screaming, “Petey took my truck and won’t give it back.”
“Gotta share, kiddo,” Drew said, hoisting him up in his arms. “You know who this lady is, don’t you? This is your godmother, Carolyn. She came to see you. Why don’t you give her a hug?”
“No,” he said, pouting. “I want my red truck.”
When Carolyn gazed at the child’s round face and wide-set eyes, she saw a miniature version of Veronica. “Is Jude here?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Drew said. “I just picked the kids up from the babysitter. I think we found a live-in, but she hasn’t started yet. What’s going on? Jude’s not in trouble again, I hope.”
“No, no,” Carolyn said. “Why don’t we sit down? Something’s happened. I thought Jude could look after…” She waved her hand in front of her. “Never mind…it doesn’t matter.”
“Turn the TV off,” Drew said to his daughter. “You’re not supposed to watch TV until you finish your homework.” When the girl ignored him, he barked, “Now, Stacy.”
Once Stacy had left, Carolyn started to ask him to send Michael to the other room as well, but decided he needed something in his arms when she told him. He took a seat beside her on the sofa. “Veronica was shot, Drew.”
Michael saw a toy on the cushion behind him, and tried to climb out of his father’s arms to reach it. Stacy passed through the living room on the way to the kitchen, a spiral notebook in her hand. Carolyn’s eyes darted around the room. Her head was spinning. There were too many things going on at the same time, and far too much clutter.
“I’m sorry,” Drew said,