Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

wasn’t he wearing his wedding band? “We transplants need to stick together. Give her my best.”
    “Doubtful. We only speak when I pick up my sons. I’m
divorced.”
    “Sorry.”
    Unsure how to smooth over this conversational speed bump, I
kept my mouth closed until we reached our final destination, the island’s
Disney-esque security gate.
    “Thought you’d like to see the visitor logs. I’ll run in and
get them.”
    “Mind if I come along? I’d like to see your security setup.”
    “Not at all, but there’s not much to see. It’s all form, no
function. Something tangible to foster a private island cachet. Mom used to say
we had a one-butt kitchen. Our guardhouse qualifies as a two-butt affair.”
    Braden laughed. I opened a side door facing the
exit-the-island lane and spoke to the young guard on duty as we squeezed
inside. “Hey, Joey. Don’t mind us.”
    Joey stood facing incoming traffic, the top half of his
Dutch door open to dole out visitor passes.
    A computer console corralled Braden and me on our side of
the gatehouse. Our bodies touched. His breath warmed the back of my neck. He
placed his hands on my shoulders, stroked down with his thumbs. “In quarters
this tight, I figured you’d want to know where my hands are,” he whispered,
giving my shoulders a squeeze.
    The contact triggered decidedly impure thoughts. Hope he
isn’t a mind reader. Braden didn’t seem to notice my quickened pulse.
    “How hard is it to get onto this island?” Braden shuffled
through a stack of car passes waiting to be filled out. “How private is
private?”
    “Not very,” I admitted. “In theory, only homeowners with
auto decals, their guests, and renters with resort passes can enter. No
deterrent for a smart thief—or murderer. If I wanted in, I’d pick a name and
address out of the phone book. Then I’d call security saying I was Jill Schmo
of 544 Turtle Cay, expecting my aunt, Dana Schmo. An hour later I’d drive up,
flash a grin, and claim to be Dana Schmo. The guard would smile, hand over a
pass, and wish me a nice visit.”
    To make my point, Joey sang out “Have a nice day” and waved
on a carload of tourists.
    “Here’s yesterday’s log.” I held out the book. “Dixon said
he’d fax a copy of the paperwork to the sheriff. We’ll canvass every owner who
supposedly called in guests. Of course, dozens of folks come on island every
day in vans with contractor decals. Guards just wave them through. No one pays
attention to the working blokes inside. Someone could even sneak in by boat.
Our security sieve has too many leaks to narrow your suspect list.”
    Braden glanced at his watch. “Shoot. I need to be in Charleston
by two for the autopsy. I’d better scoot.”
    We bid Joey goodbye and filed outside. I drove Braden back
to his car. He thanked me for the tour and asked for my cell number in case he
had questions.
    “I’m one of North America’s last holdouts—no cell.” I
scribbled my landline home number on the back of a security office business
card.
    “Will you be home tonight?” he asked.
    I hesitated. “A friend asked me to attend a real estate
banquet. But I’m in no mood.”
    “Real estate? Bet they’ll talk plenty about Stew.”
    “I guess. Developers, agents, bankers, Dear’s financial
backers—they all knew him.”
    “Then you should go. You might hear something. Unlike me,
you’ll blend in. I could call tomorrow, see if you picked up any interesting
tidbits.”
    Janie, you’ve got a date. My sudden change of heart
would delight my neighbor, who didn’t need to know the reason for my
three-sixty.
    Braden was pleasant company despite the somber
circumstances. The contrast between his lazy accent and no-nonsense manner
intrigued me. He was a straight shooter. He told you what he was thinking, and
expected you to do the same. An admirable trait.
    I tried not to think about his clean leather scent, those
strong hands, or whether he was always so quick on the