Detective Wade Jackson Mystery - 02 - Secrets to Die For Read Online Free PDF Page A

years and needed more supervision than he’d realized. So he would mull it over some more.
     
    Jackson stopped at the gas station on the corner of Greenhill and Highway 126. He bought lousy coffee and drank it while he questioned the clerk who worked in the little store. She had not been on duty the day before and didn’t have much to say. Jackson headed outside.
     
    The gas attendant was a frail, fifty-something man with a nasty cough. Tuberculosis was probably eating his flesh and here he was outside on a damp, 35-degree evening. Every time Jackson encountered someone older than himself pumping gas or pushing French fries, he silently thanked God for the good fortunes of his life.
     
    “Were you here yesterday about a quarter to five?” Jackson reached for his notepad.
     
    “Yes. Why?”
     
    “Do you remember a green Volvo?”
     
    The cougher looked stumped for a moment, then smiled, showing a gap in his teeth. “There was a young, pretty girl in the car. She was nice. She asked how I was doing.”
     
    “Was anyone in the car with her?”
     
    “Nope.”
     
    “Did you see which way she went when she left?”
     
    “Nope. I was real busy. Lots of people were headed home from work then.”
     
    The station was dead quiet now. “How did she seem?” Jackson pressed. “Was she happy or maybe worried? Did she look like she might have just had a fight with her boyfriend?”
     
    The attendant shook his head. “She seemed fine. Friendly, like I said. I’d like to have customers like her all day.”
     
    Jackson handed him a business card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
     
    “Is she okay?” the attendant asked between coughs.
     
    Nope, Jackson thought and shook his head.
     
    The address Evans had given him was on 12th Avenue. As soon as he pulled up, Jackson realized it was a house he had driven by, and noticed, many times. Although it was too dark to see much now, he knew the house was Easter egg purple and had a garish collection of yard art—hand-painted wooden ducks, pink flamingos, assorted wind chimes, and wine barrels planted with tulips and yellow plastic windmills. Some very good-natured people lived here, and he was about to crush them. He rang the doorbell and checked his watch. It was 10:15; the occupants could be in bed. Moments later, the door popped open and a pint-sized older woman with a long gray braid and purple velour track suit said, “This had better be good; I’m watching ER.”
     
    “I’m Detective Jackson with the Eugene Police Department. And this is not good. May I come in?”
     
    She didn’t move. Jackson could see her brain working, processing the information, her body stiffening for the blow. This poor woman was a seasoned receiver of bad news. As deeply as he felt for her, Jackson was also relieved that she would not be the type to wail and throw herself on the ground.
     
    “Are you Martha Krell?”
     
    “Yes. Is it Raina?” Her voice wavered as she said the young woman’s name.
     
    “I’m very sorry. Let’s go in and sit down.”
     
    She led him into a cluttered living room, pungent with potpourri. The brightly painted walls failed to compensate for the lack of windows. Jackson pushed some newspapers aside and sat on an overstuffed couch. Martha sat across from him in a well-worn rocker, her eyes tightly closed.
     
    “We found a green Volvo tonight at the wildlife observation point on Greenhill Road. A young woman’s body was in the back of the car. The purse in the car had Raina Hughes’ driver’s license.”
     
    “Oh God.” Martha’s face crumbled and she fought for control. “What happened?”
     
    “It looks like she was murdered. Is Raina small, with dark curly hair?”
     
    The old woman nodded, unable to speak.
     
    Jackson took out his notepad. Martha would have to identify the body later, but for now he needed details he could act on. He needed a suspect in custody tonight. “When was the last time you saw