Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7) Read Free Page B

him.’
    Janine shook her head. ‘Yes, I do.’
    The front door opened. A jazz clarinet sang from hidden speakers inside. Jay had a glass of red wine in his hand. He was slim and three or four inches shorter than his wife. He wore an untucked white silk shirt and gray dress slacks. His feet were bare. He cast a withering glance at Janine and paid no attention to Cindy.
    ‘Look at you. Is that puke? Very nice.’
    Janine squared her shoulders and pushed past him. He slammed the door without acknowledging Cindy. Through the glass, she saw Janine kick off her heels in the marble foyer. She could hear their loud voices, already arguing. Jay reached for his wife, and she watched her friend violently shake him off. Cindy thought about ringing the bell to intervene, but Janine looked back through the window and mouthed: Go .
    Cindy returned to her Outback and steeled herself for a slow, slippery drive home. She gave a silent prayer of thanks, not for the first time, for the husband she had and the life she led.
    The streets around her were empty. No one else was foolish enough to be out on a night like this. It was just one of the details they would eventually ask her to remember.
    As you left the house that night, Mrs. Stride, did you see anyone else?
    ‘No. There was no one else there. I was alone.’
    *
    Cindy awoke to the smell of cigarette smoke.
    Their small bedroom was dark. She didn’t know what time it was. Through the half-open window, she heard the roar of Lake Superior yards from their back door. She shivered with cold in her nightgown as she sat up in bed, and the blanket slipped down her chest. She pushed tangled hair out of her face.
    Where the moon made a triangle of light on the floor, she saw the silhouette of her husband. He was tall, almost six-foot-two. Strong and fit. His black hair wavy and untamed. He’d shrugged clothes onto his lean frame when he should have been getting undressed. He put a cigarette to his mouth – a habit she hated, but which he’d been unable to quit.
    The bed was cold. He hadn’t climbed in with her yet.
    She said: ‘What’s up?’
    He realized she was awake and sat down beside her. When he flicked his cigarette lighter, it cast a flame. She could see his eyes now. She adored his eyes. Dark, teasing, fierce, funny, and so in love whenever they looked at her.
    But his eyes weren’t happy.
    ‘Bad news,’ Jonathan Stride said. ‘I have to go out.’
    ‘What’s going on?’
    ‘Did you see Janine at the chief’s party tonight?’
    ‘Of course. I took her home. She wasn’t feeling well.’
    Stride stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘ You drove Janine home? What time was that? When did you leave the party at the Radisson?’
    The time popped into her head. ‘9:32 p.m.’
    ‘Almost an hour and a half ago,’ Stride murmured. ‘Did you see Jay?’
    ‘Briefly, yes. Why?’
    Stride kissed her forehead. He stood up again. ‘Jay’s dead. Janine called 911 a few minutes ago. She says someone shot him.’

2
    ‘The thing about dead husbands and dead wives is that the cases are always like a knock-knock joke,’ Maggie Bei said.
    Jonathan Stride eyed his tiny Chinese partner, who stared up at him from behind her black bangs. He played along. ‘How’s that?’
    ‘Knock knock,’ she said.
    ‘Who’s there?’
    ‘We know.’
    ‘We know who?’ Stride asked.
    Maggie cocked her finger like a gun. ‘Yes, we do.’
    Stride smothered a laugh. Maggie was right. He was hard-pressed to remember a dead spouse at home who hadn’t been shot, stabbed, or bludgeoned by their loving husband or loving wife. The investigations typically didn’t take long to produce enough evidence to lay in front of a jury. However, Dr. Janine Snow wasn’t an ordinary suspect.
    She was rich.
    She was a local hero who saved lives on the operating table.
    She was one of his wife’s closest friends.
    Stride ran his hands back through his wavy hair and blinked to stay awake. He was tired and