Rides a Stranger Read Online Free Page B

living room. “What do you figure he has in all those boxes?”
    “Knowing your dad, more books. Hell, who knows? They could be the collected love letters of some ex-girlfriend.”
    “Dad?”
    Mom waved her hand in the air, dismissing me. “Maybe I’ll self-publish them and create the next Fifty Shades of Gray . Except it would really be gray because of how old we are.”
    Like most children, I didn’t like to think of my parents’ sex lives. And I certainly didn’t think of them as sexual creatures who had relationships before they met and married each other. But, of course, they probably did. I knew Mom and Dad married when they were in their late twenties, and Mom had me within a year of their marriage. They met through mutual friends. Mom worked as a secretary in a law office, and Dad was a casual acquaintance of the lawyer. They sometimes golfed together. So they both must have dated others during high school and college and those first few years out in the real world.
    My mind flashed to the woman at the cemetery. Had she really been there to see Dad’s funeral? People spent time in cemeteries for any number of reasons. Why would I assume she was there because of Dad?
    “Let’s open up one of the boxes and take a look,” I said.
    “Be my guest. It’s all yours anyway. You’re the heir to this great fortune.”
    Mom cleared the plates while I went out to the living room. I took out my key to slit the tape on the box, but before I could do anything, the doorbell rang.
    “If that’s Mrs. Himmel from up the street, tell her I’m lying down,” Mom said.
    I went to the front window and slid the curtain aside.
    “It’s not Mrs. Himmel,” I said.
    “Who is it?”
    I opened the door to Detective Hyland.
    “Who is it, honey?” Mom said, coming into the room. “Oh, hello.”
    “Mom, this is Detective Hyland from the police department. It’s kind of a long story.”
    Mom listened while I explained the events of the previous night and the death of Lou Caledonia. Mom’s face remained composed, and she didn’t display much shock or dismay. She reserved her comments for the end of my story when she looked at me as only my mother could and said, “Why on earth didn’t you tell me this last night?”
    “I didn’t want to wake you up or worry you,” I said.
    “Sit down, Detective,” Mom said. “How can we help you with this?”
    Hyland came into the room. He eyed the boxes in the middle of the floor but deftly stepped around them without comment. He wore a different shirt and tie than the night before and still no jacket. His hair looked less windblown as he sat on the couch and crossed his legs, ankle on knee.
    “I’m sorry to intrude on you at such a difficult time,” he said. He really didn’t seem that bothered by his interruption and showed no sign that he might get up and leave. He looked settled in on the couch.
    Mom and I took the hint, and we each sat in matching chairs that were arranged on either side of a small table. The boxes filled the floor space between all of us.
    “Last night you told me that you didn’t know Mr. Caledonia,” Hyland said.
    “That’s right.”
    “And you don’t know the nature of their friendship?”
    “That’s what I was going to the store to find out,” I said. “Lou said they weren’t really friends. He said something like he wanted to know Dad, but Dad didn’t want to know him.”
    “Your father always was a bit of a loner,” Mom said.
    “Mr. Caledonia wrote a number of letters to your father. At least ten. They were in his office at the bookstore. All of them were returned unopened.”
    “My husband was bedridden for the last six months,” Mom said. “He wouldn’t have been able to open an envelope.”
    “But you would have seen the letters,” Hyland said. “Or opened them?”
    “I don’t remember any letters like that.”
    Hyland’s eyes narrowed. I thought he was going to press Mom further, but he didn’t.
    “These letters were