The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free Page A

Uncle Will could vouch for me. He probably knows your sheriff pretty well since, as Forks County Sheriff, Uncle Will knows everybody. Particularly other country law enforcement .”
    “Are you threatening me?” Rookie Holt’s spine cracked as her shoulders tensed.
    “No, ma’am.” My super-ego began butt-kicking my id. I had gone too far again.
    “Let me tell you, Miss Tucker. Flashing your uncle’s name around may get you out of tickets and such in your own town, but it won’t work here.”
    “I was just trying to be helpful. And it doesn’t get me out of tickets. Believe me on that one.”
    “Witnesses don’t offer casseroles and comforting stories to victim’s families they don’t know. You’ re old enough to know that.” She consulted my witness statement form. “Twenty-six years old, in fact. What’s wrong with you?”
    Well, I thought, my daddy died when I was a toddler. My momma took off soon after, and my moral compass, Grandma Jo, stopped moving about the time she passed. Which was when I was fifteen. As my brother and sister do act their emotional age, I thought I was doing pretty good.
    Instead I said, “I was raised to bring casseroles and comfort the grieving. Although Red says my need to help victims of unfortunate circumstances is most likely a form of projection.”
    “Red’s your therapist?” She clicked her pen and flipped her notebook open.
    “Bartender. He just watches a lot of daytime TV.”
    “Thank you for your testimony.” The air nearly frosted with her words. “That’s all we need from you.”
    However, filling out a witness testimony sheet was not all I needed. Some could question my compulsion to learn more about the victim, but meeting someone just before they plummet to their death? That’s an event you can’t file under “weird shit that just happened” and go on about your day. I had to spend a weekend hanging with rich and famous people. Hopefully making a good impression so they’d want to hire me for future portraits. I needed my head in that game. But my head was in the “I just met a man before he died” game.
    Not a fun game.
    Particularly when I couldn’t resolve the man I met with the man the police muttered about under their breath.

      
    After a hot shower and change of clothes, I still hadn’t thrown off the chill of finding Mr. Abel’s body.
    Unnerved, I grabbed my phone and let my finger hover over my favorite speed dial number.
    Before I could give in to the impulse, the phone shook in my hand and sang “I Walk The Line.” The personal ringtone for Max Avtaikin, a.k.a. the Bear. Not that he’s hairy. Just big and scary. And able to score from shady dealings quicker than a grizzly snatches salmon.
    But I’ve pretty much forgiven him for that trait.
    “Hey, Max, sorry to keep you waiting. I’m heading downstairs,” I answered, in my chirpy customer service voice. Always make the art patron happy. Even when you’ve found a dead man earlier that day.
    “You must hurry.” His growl almost disguised his Slavic accent. “I need your help with this rock star idiot.”
    “Come again? I thought Bob Bass was your friend. Why else would you bet to have a winning portrait made? Who does that?”
    “He is the business associate.” The Bear’s growl took a turn toward abashed. “Our bet was the mistake created by too much vodka. In truth, he tries my patience. The man lives on flattery. That is not something I do well. He also likes to give too much—what you call?—trashing talk.”
    “Talking trash. Bob Bass is an international star and adored by every gun lover in the country for his stance on the right to bear arms.” My voice shook. Meeting Bob Bass was going to be the high point in my wretched day. “Trash talk’s natural with competitors.”
    “I also believe in this American right, but do you see me on the television proclaiming I am the hunting expert? In my country, we hunt to feed our family. I know hunting. Bob Bass grew