Comeback (Gun Pedersen Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

steel in them. “Mr. Pedersen. Do you know why I wanted someone in my house while I was gone?”
    “It’s Gun. No, I don’t.”
    “I’ve had some trouble with vandals. And I was threatened.”
    “It’s a virus around here lately,” Gun said.
    “So far just a few well-chosen words spray-painted across my picture window, but I got a phone call promising worse. I suppose you can guess what it’s about.”
    “Mmm. I could.”
    “You do read the Journal I suppose.”
    “I’m sure it’s a good paper,” said Gun.
    Carol stiffened, then said, “I’ve been running edito rials against the Loon Country development.”
    “Hedman wouldn’t appreciate that.” Gun lifted his coffee, looked at Carol over the cup. “Did Mazy know why you wanted somebody at your place?”
    “Of course. Look, she’s been poking around enough to get some people upset. Good reporters do that. I just thought...” She let the sentence die on the table.
    “You think she got somebody upset enough to do something damn stupid,” Gun said. “All right. Let’s be sensible. You say her car’s still there, her typewrit er. What about her other stuff, clothes and things?”
    Carol looked at Gun, red coming up under her tan. “God, I didn’t even look, I didn’t think. I’m sorry, it just seemed so weird and empty in the house, that old IBM of hers humming on the table all by itself—I came straight out. I thought maybe you’d picked her up, spur of the moment, go get some breakfast, I don’t know.” She stood abruptly and went to the door. Gun followed.
    “I live twenty minutes from here. I’ll call you.” Carol smoothed her hair, showed emerald ring, green eyes.
    “She’ll be there waiting for you,” Gun said. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Long.”
    “Not Mrs.,” Carol said, and went.
    Gun went back to the kitchen, opened a drawer and removed a narrow red can of tobacco and a match- book of papers. He quickly rolled a cigarette, lit it, then sat down at the table to smoke. The clock above the old round-top refrigerator said quarter of eight. Between drags Gun twirled the cigarette like a baton in his big fingers and blew smoke rings up toward the open-beam ceiling. He told himself his daughter knew how to take care of herself, that she wasn’t a kid any longer, that she was subtle enough and smart enough to keep people from feeling threatened. She knew how to put folks at ease, unlike most journalists Gun had known. And he’d known far too many. Anyway, she was probably just out running.
    The phone rang and Gun picked it up. “Hello.”
    “Carol Long.” Now her voice was low and controlled. “I checked in the bathroom, and her makeup and toothpaste and cosmetic case, it’s all there. But it’s strange. I looked in the bedroom, in the dresser and closet. Most of her clothes are gone, underwear, socks, jeans, all six pairs of them—I was talking to her when she unpacked. Her suitcase too. She shoved that under the bed, and it’s not there now. Mr. Pedersen, Mazy left in a hurry. I think you’d better call the police.”
    Gun shifted the receiver from one ear to the other and started rolling a new cigarette. “Carol, didn’t Mazy tell me you’ve been a reporter in Hawaii for the last twenty years or so?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I suppose over there people call the cops when they think someone’s in trouble. Here in Stony it’s not that simple.”
    “Oh?”
    “How well are you acquainted with the police here—Chief Bunn?”
    Gun waited while Carol drew a slow breath. “He seems ... competent enough.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes.” Firm now.
    Gun put the unlit cigarette between his lips, took his time, reached for a kitchen match. “Carol, I shouldn’t, but I’m going to tell you a story. True one.” He scratched the match on the black burner of the stove. He lit the cigarette and waved the match out. “You know Harley Arnold, the grocer.”
    “Sure.”
    “He’s a neighbor of Bunn’s half a mile or so down