Murder in the Irish Channel (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) Read Free

ain’t like my ma, you know? I used to talk to her every day. The last time I talked to her was Thursday, you know? I didn’t hear from her on Friday and I figured, you know, she got busy or whatever, and then I went over there, and she wasn’t home, didn’t look like she’d been home, and her car ain’t there, and she ain’t answering her cell phone, either—and that ain’t like Ma, I’m telling you. And she didn’t show up for my fight last night, either, and Ma ain’t never missed one of my fights.” He started rocking back and forth. “I told the cops that yesterday and I called the asshole who took my report about her not showing up to the fight last night, but I don’t think he gives a damn, you know? He tells me she’ll probably just turn up, and it don’t mean nothing.” His face twisted. “What the hell does he know? He don’t know my ma.”
    “She ain’t missing,” the pregnant girl yelled from the next room. “She’s off with some man, you just don’t want to admit it, is all. You’re wasting the guy’s time, Jonny. You might as well just get the hell out of here, mister.”
    He gave me a look, shaking his head, and shouted back at her, “Heather, you know damned well Ma wouldn’t do that—”
    “She’s a woman, ain’t she?” Heather cut him off angrily. “She ain’t so goddamned pure, ya know—just ’cause she’s your ma doesn’t mean she don’t have needs like any other woman. You think you were a virgin birth? Where you think you came from?”
    “I never said that! Why don’t you get us some coffee, will ya, honey?” He gave me a forced and embarrassed “everything’s cool” smile.
    “Yeah, ’cuz I ain’t got nothing better to do, right?” I heard her shuffling to the back of the house. “I’m just pregnant, you asshole.”
    “Sorry about that, Mr. MacLeod.” He held up both hands and gave me a sheepish grin. “It’s her hormones—I never know whether she’s gonna start crying or screaming or both. She’s due next month.”
    I nodded, fighting my instinct to get the hell out of the dirty little house.
    “My mom wouldn’t do that, Mr. MacLeod,” he added quickly in a low voice. “I mean, I know she’s a woman, and she’s had plenty of boyfriends over the years, ya know, I ain’t stupid no matter what some people think”—he glanced at the doorway—“but she’s never just gone away without telling no one. That ain’t like her. Like I said, she ain’t answering her cell phone. She didn’t come to the casino last night to see my fight.” He shook his head. “That ain’t like Ma. She ain’t never missed one of my fights, Mr. MacLeod, never.” He swallowed. “I’m worried. Something happened to her, I know it. My brother Robby and my sister Lorelle—they haven’t heard from her either.” He frowned. “Well, I haven’t really talked to Robby since Thursday, I can’t get a hold of him, but I talked to his wife yesterday, and she ain’t heard from Ma, either.” He folded his arms.
    “Jonny, even if I take the case, I can’t guarantee I’ll find her,” I heard myself saying before I could stop myself. “And it could get expensive—really expensive.”
    “I got money,” he replied stubbornly, his lower lip sticking out.
    “That money’s supposed to be for the baby!” Heather screamed from the back of the house. I couldn’t believe she heard him—I’d barely been able to hear him and I was only a few feet away.
    I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. “Look, I don’t—”
    “I got money,” he insisted. “Not the baby money. Don’t listen to her, man, you gotta find my ma. Please.” He reached into the pocket of his shorts and passed a crumpled hundred-dollar bill over to me.
    I held the bill in my hand.
    I thought about telling him what my day rate was, and how that didn’t include expenses—and it was usually the expenses that stabbed the client in the bank account. I thought about telling him one