Gone Crazy Read Online Free PDF

that mean?”
    “You knew she had money and stocks hidden,” I pointed out. “It’s a yes or no, Mr. Collier. Did you have reason to kill your mother?”
    His hands were fisted. His jaw set. “No,” he said, but I caught the two quick flicks of Boris’s tail.
    I picked up Boris. He braced his hind feet in the bulletproof vest. It felt like I was carrying a sack of flour. “Thank you, Mr. Collier. Ken. Can I have the phone numbers for your brothers and sisters? I’d hate to drop in unannounced a second time.” I didn’t add that I wasn’t sure my nerves could take it.
    He handed me a list of neatly printed numbers, quickly jotted on a pink piece of paper bordered in green vines, that read “Grocery List” on the top. I shook his hand. He nodded crisply at Boris, and politely watched the dogs to be sure they didn’t attack. I settled Boris in his seat, pressed my forehead to his momentarily. “Well, sweetie,” I said as we drove away, “that is one angry man. What do you think?”
    Boris mewed. Then he tapped the bolted-in container that usually holds some crunchy kibble. It was empty. I sighed. Never ask a cat for an opinion when he’s hungry.

4.
    I rolled back to Crazy in a quiet mood. Domestic disputes are common enough in my line of work, but this had gone far beyond some sibling squabble over who got Mama’s nice dishes. I swear I could smell it, that’s how badly it stank.
    I’d just gotten to the little shopping plaza when I saw something in the Food Mart parking lot. Five-six people, maybe seven, and they were in a tight knot. I recognized Bobbi. She was yelling at the top of her lungs. So was everyone else. I caught a glint of sunlight on metal, and hit the lights and siren. Just a quick whoo-whoop, enough to scatter a couple of people and get Boris’s tail lashing with anticipation. Ken Collier’s dogs had put him in a bloodying mood.
    I hopped out, shouldered my way to Bobbi. “What’s going on?” I demanded.
    It’s amazing how people who were, twenty seconds ago, screaming obscenities can manage to all look like put-upon bystanders when a cop shows up.
    I let my eyes move from one person to another. Mike Spivey, who’d once been a Crazy deputy, and now lived off his wife; Josie Shifflett, my least-favorite chronic traffic offender, and her ratty son, Chris; Joe Brady, related to town nuisance Eddie Brady; Al Rush, a retiree; Maury Morse’s brother, Delbert. Bobbi, fuming. And a tall guy who reminded me of Gary Cooper, by way of Bollywood. Who opened his mouth, and instead of the Indian accent I expected, I got pure Midwest anxiety. “Look, I just wanna go home.”
    A growl from someone, and Mike Spivey‌—‌genius that he isn’t‌—‌snarled, “Yeah, go on back to al-Qaeda.”
    Bobbi opened her mouth again. I stepped in. Literally. Mike’s a big guy, but not that much taller than I am. Bobbi, by comparison, is a pipsqueak. “You want to back off now.”
    He didn’t, not really. Josie Shifflett shifted her weight, joggling hard against me in an accidental not-at-all-accidental way. Boris was mewling near my feet, uneasy at all the people crushing close. His tail was stiff and low, never a good sign.
    “Get outta the way, Lil,” said Delbert. “We got to see if he’s some damn Muslim.”
    I’d like to say this is a purely small-town mentality but the truth is, it’s a human mentality. As Aunt Marge will say now and then, in a rare fit of pessimism, you can’t cure xenophobia when it’s built into the DNA.
    I snapped around, hand out to the stranger. “Can I see your ID?”
    He gave me his whole wallet. Trusting guy. Crazy was going to eat him alive.
    I checked his driver’s license. Legitimate Virginia license. “Rajiv Vidur,” I pronounced with care. I glanced at a second card. “You’re the new vet, then.”
    You could hear the mini-mob deflate behind me.
    “Yeah,” he said. I pegged him for Ohio, maybe Indiana. “Just got here.”
    “I told you!”