Read Online The Popsicle Tree by Dorien Grey - Free Book Online Page A

Joshua—quickly squashed by Samuel—over the boy’s insistence that Bunny go to school with him.
    I shook hands with Samuel and got a hug from Sheryl, both of whom thanked me again for letting Joshua stay with us, and then they were gone.
    And the adventure begins! I thought.
    *
    At the office I did my morning coffee/newspaper/crossword puzzle routine waiting for the DMV offices to open, then called Bil to ask him to check on the license plate number Carlene had given me.
    He called back within the hour with the information. The car belonged to one Frank Santorini, 10335 Kurt Street. I recognized the name. I thanked Bil, and as soon as we hung up I reached for the yellow pages, looked under “Investigators, Private,” and found the listing I was looking for, Santorini Detective Agency. I dialed the number.
    “Santorini Detective Agency,” a very female voice announced. Well, he obviously was doing better than I was; he had a secretary.
    “Is Mr. Santorini in?”
    “He’s on the phone. Would you care to wait?”
    “For a minute.”
    There was a click, and the tinny strains of “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” came over the wires.
    Muzak! One of my mind-voices whispered in a dutifully awed tone. The guy has a secretary and Muzak!
    It was a long song, and I was about to hang up, having long since determined that not only did I not know the way to San Jose, but had no desire to find out, when there was another click and, “Frank Santorini.”
    “Mr. Santorini, my name is Dick Hardesty. I’m a private investigator. I have a client who claims you have been following her. I was wondering what you might tell me about it.”
    There was only the slightest of pauses, and then, “What is your client’s name?”
    “Carlene DeNuncio.”
    Another pause, then, “Sorry, never heard of her. And even if I did, as you know I wouldn’t be obliged to tell you.”
    So much for professional courtesy, I thought. “I see,” I said, mildly pissed. “Well, I just hoped you might be able to help me.”
    He chuckled. “Well, Mr. Hardesty, that’s why we get paid the big bucks, to find out things on our own. Good luck.”
    And he hung up.
    *
    I was just getting ready to go home a little early when the phone rang.
    “Hardesty Investigations.”
    “Dick. It’s Jonathan.”
    Well, of course it is! I thought, until the tone of his voice sunk in. He was speaking very calmly, but something was definitely wrong.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I came to pick up Joshua, and the Department of Children’s Services was here. They took Kelly!”
    “Took Kelly?” I echoed. “Why?”
    “I don’t know,” he said, his voice still calm, though I knew it was difficult for him.
    “Where’s Carlene?”
    “I don’t know! Can you call someone and find out what’s going on?”
    “Of course I’ll try.” I was trying to mask my own concern. “Do you know where Carlene works?”
    “Richardson Engineering. She told me once.”
    “Well, you take Joshua home, and I’ll meet you there. I’ll see what I can find out before I come home, so if I’m a little late…”
    “I understand. I’ll see you at home.”
    I immediately looked up Richardson Engineering and dialed the number, hoping someone was still there.
    “Richardson Engineering,” a woman’s voice answered.
    “Yes, I was wondering if Carlene DeNuncio might still be there?”
    There was a long pause, and then a very strained, “May I ask who’s calling?”
    I did not like the way she sounded. “A friend, and I really would like to speak with her if she’s there.”
    Another long pause. “Let me transfer you to Mr. Richardson.”
    Maybe Richardson Engineering didn’t allow their employees to accept phone calls, and I was about to be chewed out. That’s what I’d have liked it to have been, but my gut told me otherwise.
    “Emmet Richardson.”
    “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Richardson, but I’m trying to reach one of your employees, Carlene DeNuncio. I’m a friend.