Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 01 - Murder Off the Books Read Free Page A

yowling…. The sound of a chair toppling over in the kitchen…. The cold fear of someone rushing up behind her as she’d worked the deadbolt from the warped doorframe…. The relief when she’d remembered to kick the base of the door and the lock had slid open….
    Snickers meowed again and Rachel’s thoughts returned to the present.
    “Yeah, I know, it’s over. But I’m going to have nightmares for years about trying to get that door open.” Rachel added another spoonful of cat food to the dish. “Wonder what you saw in the kitchen last night?”
     
    ***
     
    He sat in the waiting room, watching for her. Yesterday, he’d discovered that she’d been unemployed for the last two weeks, laid off from her job at Franklin’s funeral home. Apparently, she wasn’t so much laid off as traded. For once Jeff’s constant chitchat had actually yielded some useful information. He glanced at his watch and the open door of the empty office that a pinch-faced Myrna, Jeff’s ancient secretary, had directed him to.
    Rachel Brenner was late showing up for work and Myrna was already well into her standard rant about the irresponsible work habits of people under sixty. But he’d expected Thayer’s sister to be late. Filling out police reports always took more time than the crime.
    After an hour, Mac walked back to the panel truck and let Whiskey out to stretch her legs and patrol the wooded area behind the building. The dog was bored and so was he. It didn’t seem likely that Dan Thayer was going show up on his sister’s first day at work, but he hadn’t worked out a Plan B yet for finding the man and his employer’s missing money. He only hoped one of the O’Herlihys didn’t show up and blow his cover as a client.
    “Can I help you find something or someone?”
    He dropped his newspaper. Damn, he was getting sloppy. He could just as easily be facing the subject of his surveillance instead of a teenager with rainbow hair.
    “I’ve noticed you wandering around. You didn’t seem to be with the Coughlin funeral party. Are you shopping for yourself or a loved one?”
    Mac forced his face into a semblance of bumbling incompetence, thinking he didn’t have to stretch his acting skills to achieve that expression. He should have made sure he mixed with the mourners gathering in the chapel. He made a show of looking at her nametag, trying to buy some time. The lack of a preplanned cover story was his second error, counting the flat tire. His third if he counted Whiskey’s grand theft ham. Which he didn’t. He couldn’t control everything, he reasoned. The cop voice in his head said that was a load of….Okay, he took Whiskey with him on the stakeout so maybe that was his fault.
    “Carrie, I’m-I’m,” he stumbled along blindly, “I’m trying to plan ahead. I’d like to see something in oak with a good seal.”
    “Okay. I’m new and I’m mostly here to do hair and makeup, but I can show you the display models. When would you need to take delivery?”
    “After I’m dead?” Mac hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question. “I have a small house and a large dog. Do you have anything for dogs? Maybe a sidecar type thing?”
    Mac watched the rings in the girl’s eyebrows rise
    Okay, so maybe next time he’d work on a better plan B.
     
    ***
     
    Finally able to leave for work, Rachel contemplated taking her car rather than walking. The Blue Dog, as her son called the 1995 Dodge Caravan wreck she drove, had been in a bitchy mood for the last week, starting when it wanted, sputtering indignantly when pressed over 40 miles an hour, and emitting heat only on odd numbered days. Today, she didn’t feel like coaxing it. She walked the twelve blocks to the O’Herlihy Funeral Home.
    Pushing open the front door, Rachel took a deep breath as she walked across the lush carpet. Arthur Franklin had kept his word, making sure that both she and Carrie had jobs, when he sold out to O’Herlihy’s. She was grateful for his