Beautiful Lie the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

do this.
    I need to feel normal again, start thinking like a police officer again. How am I ever going to recover…?” She grabbed his chin and turned his face to hers. “How am I ever going to be a hundred percent?”
    That simple phrase proved the key. She suppressed a small smile of triumph as she followed him up the icy street, trying to disguise the slight drag of her left foot. The family would not want a cripple assigned to their daughter’s search.
    The snow on the front walk had been trampled by dozens of boots and as soon as Bob rang the doorbell, the door was flung open. A look of expectation followed by surprise raced across the face of the man who opened it. The loud buzz of voices could be heard inside.
    â€œMr. Kennedy? I’m Detective Gibbs of the Ottawa Police.”
    The man didn’t answer. His jaw dropped and he stepped back to yell into the house. “Reg, it’s the cops!”
    A roly-poly sparkplug of a man rushed up. He had a crooked nose, curly silver hair and that Irish leprechaun face Sue had seen in dozens of small Ottawa Valley towns. Minus the jaunty grin and the twinkle in the eye. This man’s eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was bruised grey with fatigue and fear. Behind him came a dumpling of a woman with mousey hair all askew and the same hollow panic in her eyes. Others anxiously crowded into the tiny hall.
    â€œThere’s nothing new,” Bob said quickly, and their faces sagged. He lowered his voice. “Just a few questions. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
    The Kennedys led them through the crowd to the tiny kitchen in the back, which was probably outfitted before Sue was born. Only the massive gas stove looked modern. Sue remembered from the file that Norah Kennedy was a housewife and Reginald was a chef by trade, although he was now a bartender at a pub on Merivale Road. It obviously didn’t pay well enough for them to replace the painted white cabinets and arborite counter.
    Two women were hunched over the small counter, making sandwiches. Reg Kennedy asked the women to leave then invited the officers to sit in the homemade bench built under the window overlooking the backyard. The father squeezed in opposite them, but the wife seemed too jumpy. She fussed around, wiping sandwich crumbs from the counter. Reg tilted his head towards the crowd in the living room.
    â€œWe got a search on, everyone wants to help. We’ve lived here almost thirty years, and they all watched Meredith grow up. We’ve checked all her friends and the places she usually goes. Right now we’re checking along the route she would have walked from the bus to home. She could have slipped on the ice, and with the snow the last couple of days...” He broke off as if he couldn’t say it aloud.
    Taking out her notebook, Sue waited dutifully while Bob took up the interview. He looked efficient and in control. No hint of the stutter that sandbagged him when he was nervous. “Any leads from her friends on the places she went? We need to track her latest movements. We know she called her friend Monday evening. Anyone see her yesterday?”
    The father shook his head. “She didn’t go to work, didn’t call in sick. She never answered the emails and texts people sent her asking where she was. Jessica, her maid of honour, left her three messages on her cell and two texts saying ‘call me.’ No answer.” “Was the maid of honour concerned about something?”
    â€œNot at first. Meredith had called her, upset, and they were supposed to meet. It wasn’t like Meredith not to show up.”
    â€œWhy was she upset? Did Jessica know?”
    â€œIt was probably about the bridesmaid who quit.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    Reg grimaced. “My nephew’s wife. She’s always taking offence, and I think Meredith said something to upset her.”
    â€œThey don’t get