Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

to escape lie-free.
    “Excuse me,” a woman said. Damn.
    “Yes?” I turned and saw her at the front desk. Either she’d beamed herself there or librarians really know how to be silent.
    “I noticed you by the yearbooks. What are you looking for?”
    I hated and loved how fast my answer flew out. “I’m a sports reporter. I don’t want to miss any events or misspell any names.”
    “Oh.”
    Before she could continue, I hightailed it out of there, sweating long before I reached the afternoon heat.

      
    It wasn’t until I pulled out of the parking lot that I realized the lie wasn’t necessary. The truth might have been helpful. I’m looking for a girl named Beth Myers. She’s missing. Do you know her? How about April Johnson? What about Marcus Gomez?
    I recalled that at one time in life, I was good at telling lies, and I hadn’t minded at all. It was in high school. Few things had mattered more than having fun and staying out of trouble. Something to remember when investigating kids.
    I made my way back toward downtown, retrieved my phone from its cupholder storage spot, and eyed the drivers around me. A turbaned man in an ancient Chevy. An Asian woman in a champagne SUV. A shirtless guy in a yellow Jeep. Everyone appropriately focused on the road. Normally I didn’t make calls while driving, but if I waited until Jack and Sophie were home, I’d end up saying “What?” and “Hold on a second” endlessly, so I compromised by waiting for a red light, speed-dialing Kenna and using my Bluetooth speaker.
    “I just left the high school,” I told her. “The birth mother’s name is Beth Myers.”
    “Really? It’s so weird to know that.”
    “I’m sorry. You were going to find out anyway, right?”
    “Yeah. Our adoption was semi-open, so we didn’t share last names and addresses and stuff, but we were going to eventually. I just wasn’t quite ready.”
    “I’m sorry. I feel awful. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. I’m hurrying because I’m at a red light. Do you want me to give you some time and call back in a little while?”
    “No. It’s okay. Keep going.”
    I told her what I knew and agreed to touch base after dinner. I wanted to review Dean’s advice, and she needed to consult Andy.
    It always struck me when people had to run something by a spouse. I didn’t have that responsibility—or that luxury. I always got my way, but it was a heavy burden to make every decision, and I still had to compromise with myself. I wanted to ask Kenna, my go-to advisor, Is it okay to be dishonest for a good cause? What about invading Beth’s privacy? Am I being horribly insensitive to everyone involved? But she needed my help, not my confusion.
    Uneasiness drew me like a magnet to the kids’ camp and their sweaty, sunscreened faces, stories about the day, and nonstop needs. They make it impossible to focus on anything else. A challenge, yes, but also an incredible blessing.
    The minivan went from empty to full. Backpacks and lunch bags crowded the kids’ feet. Art projects made their way forward and sprinkled glitter on the empty passenger seat. The silence was broken by Sophie’s, “I’m thirsty!” and Jack’s, “Reggie said atomic wedgie today. What the heck is an atomic wedgie?”
    I fished a water bottle out of the summer “supply” bag between the front seats, a disorganized tangle of goggles, lotion, drinks, pool passes, dive sticks and half-read magazines.
    “I want to go home,” Jack said. “I’m pooped.” This was his new favorite expression, since it involved legitimate use of a bathroom word.
    “I’m pooped too,” Sophie laughed. “Can we listen to Aladdin ?”
    “Yes. Buckle up.”
    Both kids struggled into seatbelts and made song requests. I uncapped the water, handed it to Sophie, found the Aladdin CD, negotiated an agreement on song twenty-three, gingerly defined atomic wedgie, prayed my definition would not be tested, and headed home.

      
    By eight