The Valentine's Day Murder Read Online Free Page A

airport.”
    “And you’ll arrange for me to talk to Val’s partner.”
    “I’ll call him right away.”
    I must admit to an immediate surge in my spirits. Not only was it spring, with all the pleasure that the fresh air and sunshine give me, but I was embarking on one of those great journeys I had come to look forward to in the last two years, digging for information, development of a theory, and finding who knew what—a killer or killers, a victim or victims, a reason, a motive, an explanation I could not begin to imagine on the day I began.
    And more than that, I sensed it was my last case, at least for a long time. With a baby coming I would not be hopping on a plane to go anywhere, not even picking up and going into the city for a day. I knew about as little about babies as one could at my age; I had never had anything to do with them after an occasional job as a sitter when I was young, and I had sat only with children whom I could talk to. Diapers were a mystery. I was aware that they had been transformed from cotton to disposable only because I saw shelves of them in the local supermarket and occasionally caught an ad on TV. I had a lot to learn, and I would do it at home with my child.
    I told my friend and neighbor Melanie Gross that I would be leaving for a few days and sketched out the little I knew. Like me, she was excited and intrigued, not to mention very encouraging about taking on an adventure while pregnant.
    “I worked till the last minute with my first,” she said. “And that meant getting up, driving to school, andteaching a full schedule, a lot of it on my feet. Don’t worry, and drink lots of milk.”
    It sounded like good advice, the second half of it perhaps easier to follow. I called Amy Grant and told her I was flying to Buffalo and would stay with Carlotta for a few days. She had already heard the news about the surfacing of the bodies and she wished me luck. In this case I interpreted luck to mean that Carlotta’s husband would not be involved in the homicide—and would turn up alive. Maybe, I thought, packing my bag on Tuesday night, it was too much to hope for.
    Spring travels north a few miles a day, and even from the air I could see it had barely reached western New York. In Oakwood the trees had all leafed out; here the buds were just breaking and the air was cool but steeped with the promise of spring. I walked up the long corridor to where a small crowd waited for New York City passengers, and there was Carlotta, her eyes searching the faces of the moving group until she recognized mine.
    “Chris, you made it,” she said, coming forward, and I wondered if she had doubted that I would come.
    We shook hands. “Everything is scaled down compared to the big city. It must be nice to live in a less populated area.”
    “It is. And everything’s close. Did you check a bag?”
    “Yes.” I was carrying a small one and when she saw it, she took it from me.
    “Right downstairs. Then we’ll go out to the car. It’s a bit of a drive, but we’ll stop for lunch on the way. I’ve got you scheduled for later this afternoon, if that’s all right.”
    “It’s fine. I’m here and I want to get started.”
    The suitcase came around on the belt and Carlotta grabbed it, leaving me with two free hands and not a little embarrassment. But when I protested, she would hear none of it.
    “I brought Val’s car,” she said, as we walked into the parking lot, small by New York City standards but nowhere near as full. “It drives like a dream. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
    “What kind of car is it?”
    “A Mercedes. There it is.”
    “Carlotta, I can’t drive a car like that.”
    “Why? Because it’s expensive? It drives like any other car. Put your foot on the accelerator and push. That’s all there is to it.”
    “It’s funny. I asked Jack once if he wanted an expensive car, and he said maybe someday.”
    “Val wanted it now. He wanted everything now. He earned it and he got it.