Living with the Dead Read Online Free PDF

"Okay."
    "It's not like you have a lot of choice, Rob."
    "I know. I just feel like an idiot. I ran from a crime scene."
    "Trying to get a look at a fleeing killer. After you called 911. And when that girl saw you, you tried going back to explain. Even banged on the door. You've got scrapes and bumps to support your story, ones that wouldn't come from a run-in with Portia. And you have a photo."
    "Oh, yes. The amazing photo." She took the cell phone from the table, looked at the blurry picture again and put the phone into her pocket as she shook her head. "I'm not even sure that is the killer. For all I know, I accidentally ambushed a street kid."
    "But it still supports your story."
    Robyn wasn't so sure. She knew Judd was trying to make her feel better. Like he'd said, she didn't have much choice. She had to turn herself in.
    "Can you call the detective now?" she asked. "Get this over with."
     
    Judd had phoned a contact at the station and discovered that Detective Findlay was indeed assigned to the case. He left a message with the dispatcher. Findlay would call him back.
    "So," he said as he sat again. "Do you have any idea who this woman might have been?"
    "If it was a woman. I didn't get a good look. But I still wouldn't know. Portia didn't make enemies. People loved to hate her, but no one really hated her."
    "Maybe someone wanted something?"
    Robyn shook her head. "If they did, she gave it to them – she was so desperate to be liked."
    "What about tonight? Did anything out of the ordinary happen?"
    "I spent most of the evening talking to my girlfriend. And Portia was too busy flirting with my friend's boyfriend."
    Judd's brows shot up. "Your friend couldn't have liked that."
    "Honestly, she wasn't the least concerned. He stayed right beside us and didn't flirt back. Portia asked me for his number afterward. I said I didn't have it. She wanted me to get it. Not exactly a fight – she just snapped at me and – " Robyn looked up sharply. "Could they use that against me? Proof of a fight?"
    "Just explain it to Findlay before he brings it up."
    Judd prodded for recent incidents, but Robyn couldn't remember anything. Portia would have mentioned it – she told Robyn more about her personal life than she ever cared to know.
    Eventually Judd said, "We'll leave the speculating to Findlay. He should be here in a few minutes. I'll start another pot of coffee."

 
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    ROBYN
     
    Robyn was in the bathroom holding a cold cloth to her face, listening to Judd grinding more coffee beans, when she heard a bang. And the grinder stopped.
    She froze, not thinking, not moving, heart slamming against her chest. It couldn't be what she thought. She had guns on the brain and her nerves were shot. She opened her mouth to call for Judd, but she couldn't get his name out.
    She crept to the door and opened it just enough to hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Judd had been in bare feet.
    A loud crack, like a door smacked open.
    "Damn it," someone muttered. A male voice, young, and definitely not Judd.
    She backed away from the door, clicking off the light. The footsteps and mutters continued. He was searching the house.
    As she retreated toward the shower, she scoured the counter for a weapon. Not much to choose from. She grabbed an aerosol can of deodorant and a heavy silver toothbrush holder.
    She set one foot in the tub and stopped. Hiding behind a shower curtain? Was she nuts?
    Robyn crept to the door. Across the hall she could see a bedroom. There had to be better hiding places in there. She took one step... and the footsteps moved toward the hall. She darted behind the door and shrank back, the aerosol can lifted to eye level, her finger on the trigger.
    The footsteps continued past the door, then squeaked as they turned into the spare room where she'd left her dress. Robyn slipped out. As she tracked the footsteps to make sure they stayed in the spare room, she hurried toward the kitchen. The front door was on the other side of it.