Half Past Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

ago from Boston. He won two Pulitzers while he was there.”
    â€œYou’re saying Noyes will ask tough questions.”
    â€œHe could put on the heat. He did a whole series on how the casino was polluting the river. Stirred up a whole lot of folks around here. I don’t want everyone going ballistic, thinking there’s a killer on the loose.”
    Justin smiled inwardly. Politicians. Weren’t they a trip? “What are they supposed to think? A woman was murdered.”
    â€œI’m guessing a transient or a tourist at the casino committed the crime. Someone long gone.”
    â€œIt’s possible.” Justin got the message. He was supposed to tell Noyes this was his theory so it would appear in the paper and calm Twin Oaks.
    â€œOne other thing,” Peebles added. “Judge Kincaid wants to see you.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œDidn’t say, but he’s not happy you’re sheriff. He wants to have a special election now. I told him, no way. The city is too broke. You’re acting sheriff until the next election.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œHe understood my reasons, but the judge is one tough dude. Don’t rile him. You hear me, Radner?”
    Cross my heart and hope to die.
    Justin snapped his cell phone shut. Judge Kincaid was Buck Mason’s best friend. Might as well take the bull by the horns, he decided.
    Turner Kincaid like Buck Mason had old money, which in this neck of the woods meant their families had been plantation owners at one time. They socialized together and married each other. Even those who’d lost their money along the way were still part of the group. Ancestors were what mattered, what made you important and acceptable. In their eyes, he was poor white trash from the trailer park—and always would be.
    Judge Kincaid’s law offices were on Acorn Street just off the town square. Technically, a judge wasn’t supposed to practice law when he had a position on the bench. Kincaid claimed his son did all the work, but everyone knew the judge still worked for friends.
    Justin parked his Silverado in the shade and walked past Kincaid’s black Cadillac. Every year Kincaid purchased a new Caddy from the dealership in Jackson. He looked down on foreign cars and made it a point to tell everyone his opinion. Justin doubted Kincaid did this out of patriotism. More likely, Kincaid thought this would enhance his political career. It was an open secret Judge Kincaid intended to run for Senator Foster’s seat when the senator retired next year.
    He walked into the oak-paneled office. Classical music played softly from speakers Justin couldn’t see. Pictures of Kincaid with every political figure in the state and several past presidents paraded across the walls in silver frames.
    He quickly glanced around. There wasn’t a single photograph of Clay Kincaid. Go figure. The judge just had one child. You’d think there would be at least one picture, but you’d be wrong.
    â€œChief Radner to see the judge,” he informed a blond receptionist with Texas hair and enough makeup for a dozen porn stars. “I’ve got about two minutes for him.”
    â€œI’ll let him know.” The woman teetered off on spiked heels that matched her screaming red lipstick.
    He wondered how much work the woman actually did. Kincaid’s wife, May Ellen, had a reputation for popping pills and drinking too much. Rumor had it the judge kept a mistress in Jackson. Justin wondered if he even bothered to go that far.
    The receptionist reappeared. “You may go in now. The door at the end of the hall.”
    Justin walked down the hall, rapped his knuckles on the door, then opened it without waiting to be invited in. Kincaid was seated behind a desk the size of an aircraft carrier, with more pictures of himself with dignitaries on the wall behind him. Tall and patrician with a thick head of silver hair, Turner Kincaid