Seattle Quake 9.2 Read Online Free Page B
computer nerd and Carl thought of flying as a pleasure, not a job. Each of them was happy. The money was excellent, vacations were frequent and Jackie always consulted them before taking on new cases. Neither man ever turned her down
Dressed in her usual royal blue suit, Jackie stood in the doorway of her private mobile home and grinned at Carl, who was standing on a ladder with a can of polish in one hand and a rag in the other. When Michael appeared, she stood aside, let him in and offered a seat in her recliner. Cramped but immaculately kept, Jackie's private quarters held a much smaller version of their computer system, a television, a radio, and the best in audio equipment. Just now, soft music played and the smell of pine trees filtered in through an open window. She made herself comfortable on a bar stool, crossed her long slender legs and began to fiddled with a diamond wedding ring on her left hand.
At the age of twenty-nine, Michael Sorenson gladly gave up the conventional business world as soon as Jackie offered him a job. Short men, in his opinion, were never taken as seriously as tall men. Nor did Corporate American allow him the freedom to expand, embellish and investigate new ideas. With Harlan Detective Agency, all that changed. Jackie gave him a free hand, spoiled him with more equipment than he knew what to do with and greatly valued his opinion.
But today Michael looked confused and bewildered. He pushed his glasses up and stared into her eyes, "I think we might be in over our heads."
"In what way?"
"I talked to the second Mrs. Cole’s sister. She knows Evan is looking for Christina and at first she was friendly, asking me more questions than I asked her. But after a while, her voice got sort of cold. I don't think she's going to be real pleased if we find Christina."
"What did she say?"
Michael got up, walked to a kitchen cupboard and opened the door. He withdrew two glasses and a bottle of scotch, and then walked to the refrigerator for ice.
"Not much really. She said Evan never hurt his second wife, Jennifer. In fact, her sister had a good life and the best doctors money could buy before she died. I asked her a few more questions, and then all of a sudden she blurted out, ‘Oh hell, he's going to find out anyway. You want to know what happened? Go to Evergreen Cemetery,' abruptly, she hung up."
"Evergreen Cemetery…where?"
"As it turns out, right here in Seattle."
"And?"
"And I found a very interesting grave."
"Let me guess, Christina is buried there.”
He handed her a drink, and then retook his seat in the recliner, "No, Evan is."
"What?"
"The head stone reads: Evan Cole, beloved husband of Christina. Born June 13, 1945…died April 10th, 1970."
"The same day Christina supposedly drowned off the coast of Maine?"
Michael raised an eyebrow and took a quick sip, "The very same day."
"What is going on here?"
Ten days later
At KMPR, Collin plopped a piece of hard candy in his mouth and quickly tucked it between his teeth and cheek, "Enough of boring national news, here's a little local news. Guess what Charlotte Bancroft dug up in her back yard? Charlotte lost her husband of twenty-three years to heart disease, and having finally recovered from her grief, decided to dig up Harold's garden. But what she dug up was a metal box containing the records of Harold's -- other identifies. Yep, old Harold was also John Peters, Clay Wilson and Steve Watts."
In the booth, Max slammed a stuffed toy in the palm of his hand and quickly raised it to the mike. With an English accent, the toy echoed, "Oh no!"
Collin smiled and went on, "Our Power Company says they're still powerless to explain last night's brown-out. Some little something went wrong somewhere. And, at about two this morning, Seattle's fire and rescue trucked, and I do mean trucked, to the corner of 28th Avenue and Northwest Market in Ballard. Get this folks, a garage collapsed crushing a car. The owner of the twenty-year
Dressed in her usual royal blue suit, Jackie stood in the doorway of her private mobile home and grinned at Carl, who was standing on a ladder with a can of polish in one hand and a rag in the other. When Michael appeared, she stood aside, let him in and offered a seat in her recliner. Cramped but immaculately kept, Jackie's private quarters held a much smaller version of their computer system, a television, a radio, and the best in audio equipment. Just now, soft music played and the smell of pine trees filtered in through an open window. She made herself comfortable on a bar stool, crossed her long slender legs and began to fiddled with a diamond wedding ring on her left hand.
At the age of twenty-nine, Michael Sorenson gladly gave up the conventional business world as soon as Jackie offered him a job. Short men, in his opinion, were never taken as seriously as tall men. Nor did Corporate American allow him the freedom to expand, embellish and investigate new ideas. With Harlan Detective Agency, all that changed. Jackie gave him a free hand, spoiled him with more equipment than he knew what to do with and greatly valued his opinion.
But today Michael looked confused and bewildered. He pushed his glasses up and stared into her eyes, "I think we might be in over our heads."
"In what way?"
"I talked to the second Mrs. Cole’s sister. She knows Evan is looking for Christina and at first she was friendly, asking me more questions than I asked her. But after a while, her voice got sort of cold. I don't think she's going to be real pleased if we find Christina."
"What did she say?"
Michael got up, walked to a kitchen cupboard and opened the door. He withdrew two glasses and a bottle of scotch, and then walked to the refrigerator for ice.
"Not much really. She said Evan never hurt his second wife, Jennifer. In fact, her sister had a good life and the best doctors money could buy before she died. I asked her a few more questions, and then all of a sudden she blurted out, ‘Oh hell, he's going to find out anyway. You want to know what happened? Go to Evergreen Cemetery,' abruptly, she hung up."
"Evergreen Cemetery…where?"
"As it turns out, right here in Seattle."
"And?"
"And I found a very interesting grave."
"Let me guess, Christina is buried there.”
He handed her a drink, and then retook his seat in the recliner, "No, Evan is."
"What?"
"The head stone reads: Evan Cole, beloved husband of Christina. Born June 13, 1945…died April 10th, 1970."
"The same day Christina supposedly drowned off the coast of Maine?"
Michael raised an eyebrow and took a quick sip, "The very same day."
"What is going on here?"
Ten days later
At KMPR, Collin plopped a piece of hard candy in his mouth and quickly tucked it between his teeth and cheek, "Enough of boring national news, here's a little local news. Guess what Charlotte Bancroft dug up in her back yard? Charlotte lost her husband of twenty-three years to heart disease, and having finally recovered from her grief, decided to dig up Harold's garden. But what she dug up was a metal box containing the records of Harold's -- other identifies. Yep, old Harold was also John Peters, Clay Wilson and Steve Watts."
In the booth, Max slammed a stuffed toy in the palm of his hand and quickly raised it to the mike. With an English accent, the toy echoed, "Oh no!"
Collin smiled and went on, "Our Power Company says they're still powerless to explain last night's brown-out. Some little something went wrong somewhere. And, at about two this morning, Seattle's fire and rescue trucked, and I do mean trucked, to the corner of 28th Avenue and Northwest Market in Ballard. Get this folks, a garage collapsed crushing a car. The owner of the twenty-year
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