Read Online Thoroughly 03 - Who Invited the Dead Man? by Patricia Sprinkle - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Sprinkle
Ads: Link
where I might have known Slade Rutherford before?”
I popped the tab from my chilly can as I thought about that. “Maybe he went to Davidson? He’s from North Carolina.”
“Nope. He took a long swallow of Coke, emitted a belch, and gave me a grin to say it was designed only to irritate his mother. “I checked my annuals. Even hauled down my old high school annuals, in case he attended high school here a year or two.” He flung himself into his daddy’s chair but didn’t turn back to the computer. “I’ve thought about all the logical places—insurance conventions, Rotary, Jaycees. It’s not any of those. I keep connecting him with huge buildings, but if it wasn’t at college—” He shook his head like he was trying to clear it.
I turned back to my desk and asked absently, “But you think you have met him?”
“I’m sure of it. The first time I laid eyes on him, I thought he looked familiar, and when I heard his name was Rutherford, I immediately asked, ‘Slade?’ It’s not exactly a name you pull out of the first barrel.” He gave an embarrassed little chuckle. “The weirdest part is, as soon as I said his name, I wanted to knock him down.” He made a fist and rammed it into his sore palm, then winced.
Now he had my full attention. Walker had always been a pounder, but he pounded furniture and pillows, not people. “For what?”
“I don’t know.” He swiveled his chair toward the computer. “Oh, well. We’ve got enough on our plates without worrying about that.”
I eyed my own screen thoughtfully. It wasn’t like Walker to dislike somebody. Was there something about Slade I ought to know as a magistrate? Walker’s back was to me, so instead of continuing to work on payroll like I ought to, I went on-line and checked the Asheville paper archives. Slade was listed as one of their editors up to six weeks ago, but I couldn’t find a bio.
As long as I was reading papers on-line, I might as well look up another article I’d been wanting to read. I found the Clearwater paper and the archive article on page one: “Novice Diver Trapped in Coral Rock.” As I read, I squirmed that I’d harbored even a suspicion that Alice killed her sister. The story was worse than she’d told. Several other divers had been interviewed, and the writer pulled out all the stops telling about beautiful young Teresa Civilis frantically trying to release her foot, panicking, fighting off her helpers, ripping off her mask, and drowning right before their eyes. “We could have saved her,” one man was quoted, “if she’d stayed calm. We could have gotten her free. It was panic that killed her, not danger.” Terri had a degree in business administration from Georgia State, but was unemployed at the time of her death. She was survived only by a half sister, Alice Fulton. Half sister sounded distant. It didn’t convey Alice’s obvious grief. Her eyes were always anxious and sad.
As I went back to my payroll, I sent up a prayer that Gusta wouldn’t be too difficult and Alice would have fun on their trip.
Then my mind returned to where Walker might have known Slade.
“Maybe he went to scout camp or church camp with you,” I suggested aloud.
“Let it alone, Mama. It’ll come to me one day.”
I didn’t say any more, but it kept niggling at me. Walker’s reaction to Slade was utterly out of character. You don’t build up a good insurance business if you aren’t the kind of man who likes and gets along with almost everybody.
I looked out the window. The weather was so gorgeous that as soon as Walker left, I’d mosey over to the newspaper office. I needed to take my column, anyway.
Hopemore is a pretty town, with elevated sidewalks and trees lining all the streets. I paused to admire our own sidewalk display of mums, cornstalks, gourds, and pumpkins, then set off for the newspaper office on foot. It was only a couple of blocks, but stretching my legs made me realize how little
I popped the tab from my chilly can as I thought about that. “Maybe he went to Davidson? He’s from North Carolina.”
“Nope. He took a long swallow of Coke, emitted a belch, and gave me a grin to say it was designed only to irritate his mother. “I checked my annuals. Even hauled down my old high school annuals, in case he attended high school here a year or two.” He flung himself into his daddy’s chair but didn’t turn back to the computer. “I’ve thought about all the logical places—insurance conventions, Rotary, Jaycees. It’s not any of those. I keep connecting him with huge buildings, but if it wasn’t at college—” He shook his head like he was trying to clear it.
I turned back to my desk and asked absently, “But you think you have met him?”
“I’m sure of it. The first time I laid eyes on him, I thought he looked familiar, and when I heard his name was Rutherford, I immediately asked, ‘Slade?’ It’s not exactly a name you pull out of the first barrel.” He gave an embarrassed little chuckle. “The weirdest part is, as soon as I said his name, I wanted to knock him down.” He made a fist and rammed it into his sore palm, then winced.
Now he had my full attention. Walker had always been a pounder, but he pounded furniture and pillows, not people. “For what?”
“I don’t know.” He swiveled his chair toward the computer. “Oh, well. We’ve got enough on our plates without worrying about that.”
I eyed my own screen thoughtfully. It wasn’t like Walker to dislike somebody. Was there something about Slade I ought to know as a magistrate? Walker’s back was to me, so instead of continuing to work on payroll like I ought to, I went on-line and checked the Asheville paper archives. Slade was listed as one of their editors up to six weeks ago, but I couldn’t find a bio.
As long as I was reading papers on-line, I might as well look up another article I’d been wanting to read. I found the Clearwater paper and the archive article on page one: “Novice Diver Trapped in Coral Rock.” As I read, I squirmed that I’d harbored even a suspicion that Alice killed her sister. The story was worse than she’d told. Several other divers had been interviewed, and the writer pulled out all the stops telling about beautiful young Teresa Civilis frantically trying to release her foot, panicking, fighting off her helpers, ripping off her mask, and drowning right before their eyes. “We could have saved her,” one man was quoted, “if she’d stayed calm. We could have gotten her free. It was panic that killed her, not danger.” Terri had a degree in business administration from Georgia State, but was unemployed at the time of her death. She was survived only by a half sister, Alice Fulton. Half sister sounded distant. It didn’t convey Alice’s obvious grief. Her eyes were always anxious and sad.
As I went back to my payroll, I sent up a prayer that Gusta wouldn’t be too difficult and Alice would have fun on their trip.
Then my mind returned to where Walker might have known Slade.
“Maybe he went to scout camp or church camp with you,” I suggested aloud.
“Let it alone, Mama. It’ll come to me one day.”
I didn’t say any more, but it kept niggling at me. Walker’s reaction to Slade was utterly out of character. You don’t build up a good insurance business if you aren’t the kind of man who likes and gets along with almost everybody.
I looked out the window. The weather was so gorgeous that as soon as Walker left, I’d mosey over to the newspaper office. I needed to take my column, anyway.
Hopemore is a pretty town, with elevated sidewalks and trees lining all the streets. I paused to admire our own sidewalk display of mums, cornstalks, gourds, and pumpkins, then set off for the newspaper office on foot. It was only a couple of blocks, but stretching my legs made me realize how little
Similar Books
