A Candidate for Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

official investigation into the quality of materials being used in the construction of this overpass.”
    Mr. Cragmore’s face flushed red, but he was very much aware of the cameras and reporters. He took a deep breath and said, “You’re fishing, Amberson. Your only reason for being here at the scene is to get a little glory for yourself.”
    I was furious! “That’s not true!” I yelled.
    Mr. Cragmore wasn’t sure who had spoken up. He stared with surprise at the reporters, as though one of them had said it.
    “Cary!” Dad said, looking as though he’d temporarily forgotten I was with him. “I’d better get you to school. You’re going to be late.”
    Mr. Cragmore didn’t answer me, but I knew he remembered who I was, and I hoped he could tell that I recognized him, too. Jerk! To talk like that to my dad!
    Dad nodded toward the reporters. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll prepare a statement, and my campaign manager will see that you get it as quickly as possible.” Clasping my hand, he strode toward his car.
    I ran to keep up with him, taking two steps to his one.
    As we passed the mobile office, the man at the door turned and said to someone I couldn’t see, “I don’t care what you do. Get those reporters out of here.”
    It was the same strange, rough voice I’d heard on the country club terrace.
    I froze, tugging my hand from Dad’s, and stared at the man in the brown suit.
    His eyes met mine, and the wary expression on his face told me he was aware that I had recognized him.
    The door closed with a bang as Dad asked, “Cary? What’s the matter?”
    I just wanted out of there—as fast as possible. “Come on, Dad,” I said, running ahead. “Let’s get in the car.”
    Once we were inside I asked him, “Did you see the man who was standing inside the door of that trailer?”
    “No,” Dad said. “What about him?”
    “He was at the country club with Mr. Cragmore. I overheard them talking about business and about staying in the ball game. I don’t remember most of it because I didn’t understand it.”
    Dad shot me a quick look. “Then what are you getting at?”
    “Well, if they’re in business together, why did the man in the trailer act like he didn’t want to be seen?”
    “I have no idea,” Dad said, and I knew his mind was on the accident and on what the worker had told him, so I was quiet and let him think.
    I had things to think about, too. Those men—Ben Cragmore and the other one. There was something about them that scared me.

Cha p ter 4
    D ad was somewhere in his own thoughts as we drove to school, so we didn’t talk, but as we pulled up in front of Gormley Academy and I opened the door on the passenger side, Dad reached over and rested his hand on my arm. “I hope I can make things clear to you, Cary,” he said. “As you know, Governor Jimmy Milco is one of ‘The Good Old Boys.’ He’s firmly entrenched with long-time supporters. The best way—probably the only way—to stop Milco from what he’s doing is to put him out of office. That’s what I’m trying to do. You understand that, don’t you?”
    “I understand,” I said.
    I hopped out of the car and walked briskly across the grass. The first bell would ring at any moment.
    The campus was crowded—a sea of blue slacks and skirts and white shirts and blouses, the school uniform—but I had no trouble finding Justin. Tall people stand out, especially tall people with red hair. Justin was saying something, and at least half a dozen kids were crowded around him, leaning in to hear him with grinson their faces. Justin has a great sense of humor and was probably entertaining them with another new joke. I ran up behind Justin, but the group was so intent on what he was saying, no one noticed me.
    “So he says, ‘Homeless? Then obviously, they need to be put in touch with the right real estate agents.’ ” As Justin delivered the punch line, everyone laughed.
    I tried to take a deep breath, and my heart