Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper Read Online Free Page A

reports predicted a blizzard on the way. Bitter gray cold had arrived ahead of the snow. Joe shivered as he slid behind the wheel. His cell phone rang and he leaned back to pull it from the front pocket of his jeans, noticing that the charge was low. He couldn’t seem to remember to plug the damn thing in when he had the chance.
    â€œBrady, here,” he said, around a mouthful of beef.
    â€œHey, Joe. Ed Simms.”
    â€œEd! Good to hear your voice.” The old guy had been on the force with Joe’s father Patrick back in the day. As a kid, Joe had spent many an hour with the Simms family. Later, Ed had opened his own private investigation firm and it had thrived. Word was, he’d retired with a nice little nest egg. In Joe’s opinion, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. “Where you been keepin’ yourself, buddy?”
    â€œOut of trouble. Old age agrees with me.”
    Joe chuckled. “How’s Nancy?”
    â€œDoin’ good, doin’ good. She loves living out of the city. And she’s enjoying the grandkids. You should come see ’em sometime. Bring your mother. Have dinner.”
    â€œShe’d like that. So would I.” In fact, his mother would like living out of the city, too.
    â€œHow is she, anyhow?”
    â€œGood. She misses Pop, but she’s learning to be happy alone.” By driving Joe crazy, but he wouldn’t share that with Ed. “It’s almost two years Pop’s been gone now.”
    â€œHard to believe. I miss him, too,” Ed murmured. “How about you? Still driving a cab?”
    â€œPart-time between cases.”
    After a short pause, the older man said, “I still say you were too hard on yourself after all that mess went down. You’re a detective, not a P.I. Or a cabbie, for that matter. But it’s good to know you’re staying busy.”
    â€œI could be busier,” Joe admitted. He placed the messy sandwich on the seat beside him and stuck his key into the ignition. He hadn’t heard from Ed in months and wondered what had prompted this particular call. More than an offhand dinner invitation and a subtle lecture, he guessed. “What’s up, Ed?”
    â€œI had a call today from an old client. Hotshot banker from Savannah name of Milford Macy. His old lady drove a car off a bridge into the Hudson more than twenty years ago and he hired me to check out the vehicle’s owner, a fellow who was riding along in the passenger seat. I believe you know the guy.”
    â€œOh, yeah?” Joe checked the traffic over his shoulder and prepared to merge into it.
    â€œIt was Frank Reno.”
    Slamming his foot down on the brake, he threw the cab into Park and stayed put. “No shit.”
    â€œI thought that might get your attention.”
    â€œYou thought right.”
    â€œAnyhow, I didn’t find out much at the time. Just that Macy’s wife and Reno were doing some kind of business together. He was small-time back then, but already threatening enough that if anybody knew anything they weren’t willing to talk. I advised Macy to let it drop and go on with his life, and that’s what he did after taking some steps to keep the details of the accident low-profile. Didn’t want the scandal of a possible suicide reaching the tea sippers back home in Georgia.”
    â€œSo why’s he calling you again after so long?”
    â€œSeems his daughter moved to the city last summer and went to work at a bank. No big deal until a couple of months go by and she takes on a second job working as a waitress at Landau’s.”
    â€œI know the place,” Joe said.
    â€œYou know Harry Landau?”
    â€œI know of him. He’s Reno’s nephew.”
    â€œThat’s right. Reno set him up in the restaurant business. Macy didn’t make the connection but a little red flag went up when his kid started calling home with a lot of vague questions about