Blood Ties Read Online Free PDF Page A

urries.

    Th
    e story about the unidentifi ed victim was not the headline, but fi gured prominently on page one, overshad-owed by early projections for the upcoming agricultural season. Seemed Samantha’s demise had rated the same level of coverage as the Native American drowning deaths.

    31

    Hair combed, teeth brushed, dressed in fl annel-lined jeans and a sweater, I was ready to rock-n-roll. My Nissan Sentra didn’t warm up until about halfway into the twenty minute drive into Rapid City. On Main Street, I whipped into the fi rst open parking space.

    Kevin’s business is nestled in one of the historic buildings downtown. Around here, historic can mean anything from buildings built during the 1876 Deadwood gold rush, to ones erected in time for the 1941 completion of Mount Rushmore. Architecturally the building looks Russian, with a spire resembling a jumbo Christmas orna-ment. It doesn’t have that slightly seedy look I associate with fi ctional PI’s. Th
    e rent is cheap, probably because the
    owners haven’t updated the plumbing or electrical since the 1930’s.

    Th
    e narrow staircase in the back led to the third fl oor.
    Th
    e door to Kevin’s suite was closed against the rank smell of permanent wave solutions drifting up from the downstairs salon.

    I crossed the reception area to Kevin’s offi ce and left
    the door ajar.

    Kevin sat at his desk, phone glued to his ear. He motioned me to a brand-spanking new chair before refocusing on the conversation. My hand caressed the butter-soft yellow arm. Buff alo skin. It fi gured. Not that I could aff ord the indulgence. Th
    e PI business pays better than
    lowly secretarial work; consequently Kevin has the money 32
    to back up his great taste.

    My opportunities to study Kevin the way he likes to scrutinize me are limited, so I reckoned that entitled me to a little open leering. Pathetic, I know, but what else was I gonna do to kill time without a TV?

    Dressed in casual clothes today, he seemed approach-able, the kind of guy you’d share a beer with, not the attractive, professional-looking type of man I avoid like church.

    In junior high, my girlfriends labeled him cute, with his unremarkable brown hair, mossy green eyes, and easy smile. As a man, “cute” no longer applies. Quite simply, he’s striking. Tall, muscular, and confi dent, he’s grown into his angular features, pumped up his once-slight frame, and success fi ts him as well as the double-breasted suits he favors. His smile, no longer quick and easy, is more potent because of its rarity.

    He favored me with one of those smiles after he’d hung up. “Morning, beautiful. You look chipper for a rainy day.”

    I decided showers were overrated. “I assume everything with your client is A-okay?”

    “Yep, he’ll be here any minute.” He reached in the small fridge behind him and tossed me a Diet Pepsi.
    “You ready?”

    “For what?” I popped the top, slurping foam from around the rim.

    33

    “You are leading the interview.” Kevin’s eyes searched mine. He started to add something else, but a soft knock had him looking away.

    Th
    e client wasn’t what I expected. A young man, nineteen or so, an unshaven baby-face marred by black smudges of grief. Th
    at same look stared back at me in the mirror most mornings, and my sense of unease rose accordingly.

    “David LaChance, my associate, Julie Collins. Julie works for the Bear Butte County Sheriff ’s offi ce. When
    I’m lucky, she also works for me.”

    I pumped David’s hand and skipped the usual “nice-to-meet-you” bullshit, reluctantly off ering him the deep-cushioned chair. Cold metal stung my behind as I settled into the cheap folding variety shoved against the wall.
    “LaChance? Any relation to Charles LaChance?”

    “My father. Mr. Wells said you know him.”

    “Yes,” I said, keeping my face neutral.

    With grace born of athleticism, he slid into the seat I’d vacated. “You don’t like him, do you?”

    Charles