Caught Dead Handed Read Free

.” She looked at me. “You said it was a woman. Oh my God!”
    â€œWere you able to distinguish any features of the person you saw in the water, Miss Barrett?”
    â€œNot really. I couldn’t see the face. But she had blond hair. And a big ring on her hand.”
    â€œJesus! It’s Ariel. I have to tell Doan.” Janice turned, pushing her way past the officers, hurrying to the station manager’s office.
    The detective grew silent again, watching Janice’s retreating back. Down below, the new field reporter was on camera. He stood next to a long white van, doors open to receive the drowned woman, and the large yellow cat I’d tripped over sat beneath a nearly leafless tree, licking his paws with seeming unconcern as the body of his late mistress was trundled by.
    â€œMiss Barrett, were you acquainted with the missing employee at all?”
    â€œWhat? Oh, no,” I answered. “No. I’ve never even seen her TV show. I just arrived from St. Petersburg last night.”
    â€œI see.” He continued making notes. “And you say you came to Salem for a job interview?”
    â€œYes. Well, also I have family here.”
    â€œYou weren’t hired.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWill you be returning to Florida soon, then?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    Returning to what? Johnny was gone. My job was gone. And I’d signed a two-year rental agreement on my condo in St. Petersburg.
    â€œI see,” he said again. “Do you have a local number? Somewhere you can be reached if we have further questions?”
    I gave him the numbers for my cell and Aunt Ibby’s house, and he snapped his notebook shut.
    â€œThank you, Miss Barrett.”
    â€œYou’re welcome, Detective.”
    He strode to the reception desk, pulled out the notebook again, and began speaking in low tones to Rhonda, who seemed to enjoy the attention. The scene in the parking lot had changed again. The white van was gone, and yellow tape was festooned along the wall. A mobile unit from one of the Boston TV stations had pulled into the lot, and the crowd had grown.
    â€œIs that your Buick? Right in the middle of all the action?” Janice Valen spoke from behind me.
    â€œYes. Well, it’s my aunt’s car.”
    â€œYou might want to stick around here for a while,” she said. “You’ll walk straight into that mess if you try to leave now.”
    She was right. I certainly didn’t want to be interviewed as the one who’d discovered poor drowned Ariel’s body.
    â€œCome on into my office. I want to talk to you, anyway.”
    Janice Valen’s office was, thankfully, different from the turquoise and purple decor of the reception area. The walls were a soft golden color. The Scandinavian modern furniture was sleek and stylish. Like Janice, I thought.
    There were a few nice prints of old Salem sailing vessels on the walls. On the desk was a small framed nightclub souvenir – type photo of a sparsely clad, slender woman wearing the tall feather-and-sequin headdress of a showgirl. Stamped across the bottom in purple metallic ink was The Purple Dragon, London, New Year’s Eve 2005.
    â€œLooking at the evidence of my misspent youth?”
    â€œIt’s lovely,” I said. “You looked beautiful.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œYou’re an actress?”
    â€œWas. That was taken in London back when the skinny, anorexic Diana look was still in.”
    â€œLondon. That must have been exciting.”
    â€œIt was okay. Here. Please sit down.”
    The chair was soft and comfortable, and I realized just how tired I was. For the first time I noticed that my hands were scraped, my knees bloody, and my hose ripped. I tried to pull the green skirt down to cover the damage.
    â€œLook, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right off,” she said. “What with all the excitement, I didn’t make