What Laurel Sees: a love story (A Redeeming Romance Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

time I checked, I was the current wife, Laurel. That means you can officially let go of Frank. And please—oh, please—drop the metaphysical theatrics.”
    Shana glanced over her shoulder at Grace. Not so far away, Grace turned a polished brass knob and opened one side of her father’s imposing office door. Grace grinned back at Shana.
    Playfully, Shana put a finger to her lips. Grace readily mimicked her, clearly enjoying their little secret, then toted the basket into the executive office.
    Shana lifted the phone to her ear. “It’s not a good time, Laurel. Really, it isn’t. Perhaps another day.”
    Grace’s scream pierced through the office suite.  “Daddy…Daddy!”
    “Shana, what’s wrong?” Obviously, Laurel had heard it, too.
    Rene dashed toward Frank’s office. Shana turned, in shock. Grace wailed. With a sickening clunk, Shana dropped the receiver.

 
    three
    T here was something about chomping on a crisp apple from the neighborhood open-air market that eased Joe back into the normal rhythms of what had become his life. A daily customer at the downtown street vendor, Joe perused an array of newspapers as he crunched into another bite.
    Long gone was the era when papers would be sold out by this time in the morning. The Internet had changed all that. When the Times had laid him off, they’d blamed the flagging economy. To Joe it seemed a convenient way to jettison seasoned reporters. Hungry journalism grads would work for a fraction of what he’d earned over a decade or two of merit increases.
    Joe passed over a variety of tabloids, his face souring as he settled on his rag’s over-hyped headlines. Ah, the fish wrapper of all fish wrappers. How could he not loathe the fact that he worked there? Instead, Joe picked up a copy of the Times . He could have made a difference there, if only they’d coughed up the cash to keep him.
    He flipped to the Metro section and quickly scanned its pages. Far toward the back, there it was, exactly what he had been expecting to find. Underneath a small captioned photo of Tom Zoring, a brief article announced the defrocked priest’s second parole hearing that morning. Two lousy paragraphs they’d given to that travesty.
    Reflexively, Joe grunted. They had buried the story. Years ago when the scandal had broken, it had emblazoned front pages across the country. Now, it was relegated to the “who cares” pages that lined people’s birdcages.
    Joe tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter. It was old news already. A text from Lou had confirmed what was surely all over the Internet in a matter of minutes. No wonder the newspaper industry was wobbling on its last legs.
    Joe set down a sack of produce. He dug a few bills out to hand to the newsstand clerk.
    “Traffic’s nuts, huh?” The clerk was always good for an innocuous exchange of banter.
    Hardly in the mood, Joe forced himself to trade cynicisms. “Forty-five minutes it took me to go three miles.”
    The clerk handed Joe’s change back. “So…they spring the perv?”
    “Yep.” Joe arched his brow. “Like a Republican out of Harvard.”
    A police cruiser screamed by as Joe trudged down the stairs to his basement apartment, his paper and produce bag in tow. There was still something of the morning left, but Joe had no intention of hurrying into work, not after the way the parole hearing had gone. He certainly was in no mood to face Debra with the fact that he hadn’t stayed for the actual ruling.
    Given Joe’s druthers, he would have opted for time alone. But the sight of his brother, Clay—slouched at his door in sweats, still wearing remnants of smeared Marilyn Monroe make-up—told Joe to face facts. Privacy was not to be had.
    Using the side of his shoe, Joe nudged aside a pile of Clay’s belongings. Joe dug his keys out of his pocket. “So, where were you?”
    Clay looked up, a disgruntled sneer on his face. “You could say hello to your brother. Good morning would be