Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job Read Online Free PDF Page B

tucked the pass in my dash and I sped down Sugar Hill Drive toward the Atlantic Ocean. I’d only been to the Goodsen’s once before, five years earlier for a meet and greet at their new house, and after only three wrong turns and one close call with a speeding golf cart, I parked the Mini in the Goodsen’s circular driveway. Right behind a slick silver Mercedes McLaren Roadster. Nick Ransom. Our cars resembled a brief pictorial of the convertible food chain. Both sporty and spectacular, but one priced four-hundred and fifty thousand dollars more than the other. Guess which was which.
    The brick pavers in the drive were slightly cracked and enough pine needles to mulch a golf course littered the drive. The house looked quiet, abandoned. The windows were dark, and the Goodsens favored a pair of front doors with glass insets and sidelights, so I could see the entire front of the house all the way through to the lagoon in the backyard.
    “See anything interesting?” Ransom said from behind me.
    He was leaning against the front of his car. Feet crossed at the ankles, hand on the hood. His silky shirt pulled tight across his broad chest. His cologne floated over. Sandalwood and ginger, with a hint of Cuban tobacco.
    Where did he come from? I thought. He’s a sneaky one, and I needed to remember that. I casually turned around and walked down the front steps. “Not looking, knocking. Doesn’t seem like she’s home.”
    “It’s strange to see you here. Especially after we agreed just this morning you weren’t going to get involved with the Goodsens.”
    “So you’re saying Jaime is involved in the shooting?”
    “You look good, Red,” he said. “Your legs healed nicely.”
    I had a small run in with a fire back in May during that first murder investigation. Turned out killers didn’t like to play nice, and both of my calves ended up in bandages.
    Ransom’s gaze lingered on my legs and I was happy I remembered to shave. And put on clean shoes.
    I smiled. “If you’re going to check out my body parts, you’re going to have to answer my questions. Give and take, remember?”
    He laughed and put his hands up. “Just being friendly. I’m the law enforcement officer here. I’m the one who asks the questions.”
    “Fine. Have it your way.” I walked past him to the path along the side of the house. Slim brick pavers in a herringbone shape directed me to a door, then the back gate.
    “Lisbon, this isn’t a joke,” Ransom said from behind me. “This shooting has nothing to do with you or the Ballantyne.”
    “I’m not here for the shooting, big shot. I’m here on a completely unrelated matter.”
    The side of the house looked as quiet as the front. I turned to go back and noticed a plastic tray next to the door. Half filled with water and half with a brush. For scrubbing your shoes. I smiled. “Anyway, I was just leaving.”
    He followed me to my car. “I like your new matchbox. You finally decided to part with the white one?”
    After the discreet inquiry that turned into the incident which nearly cost me my life, I’d been rattled. So much so, that not once, but twice, I accidentally left the top down whilst working at the Big House, only to have major storms crop up and soak the interior. I took it as a sign of bad juju and traded it in for an almost new ice blue one. This time I got the turbo.
    “I didn’t think I’d love it as much as the white one, but I do. Even more.” I checked my watch and opened the driver’s side door. “Gotta run.”
    “What’s this ‘unrelated’ matter you’re handling?”
    “Well, unlike you, I’m awfully cooperative, so I’ll share. It’s a marital dispute involving a Fabergé egg. I need to talk to Jaime. So, if you’ll excuse me.” I plopped into the seat and dug in my handbag for the key.
    “You know where she is?”
    “As a matter of fact, I do. Good luck with your shooting. I have a very valuable heirloom to track down. A priceless Fabergé, not so