Lying in Wait (9780061747168) Read Online Free PDF

should I talk to someone else? One way or the other, I’m going to find out what’s happened.”
    Two distinct red splotches of irritation and anger spread out from both prominent cheekbones. With nostrils flaring and both hands glued to her hips, she looked fully prepared to take on all comers. She glowered at me, waiting for me to let her have her own way.
    â€œI’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Mrs. Gebhardt,” I said quietly, moving toward her, reaching in my pocket, pulling out my I.D. I held it up to her, but she stared across it without ever allowing her eyes to leave my face.
    â€œWhat kind of bad news?”
    â€œA dead man was found on board your boat about an hour ago now. It’s possible he’s your husband.”
    One hand flew unconsciously to her breast. “His heart,” she murmured, eyes wide. “It must have been Gunter’s heart. I’ve told him time and again that he had to lose weight. I tried to tell him it was bad for him to go on living the way he always had with all that butter on his bread and all those mashed potatoes. I tried to tell him he needed to go to the doctor to be checked out, get some exercise….”
    â€œI’m afraid it wasn’t like that at all,” I said.
    â€œWasn’t like what?”
    â€œThe man on the boat didn’t die of a heart attack, Mrs. Gebhardt. We believe he was murdered.”
    â€œMurdered!” she echoed in shocked disbelief. “That can’t be.”
    â€œBut it is. The investigators are down there now—taking photographs, gathering evidence.”
    â€œElse…” someone said tentatively behind her.
    Mrs. Gebhardt spun around. A man stepped up out of the clutch of fishermen behind her. He was tall and lean and wearing a blue baseball-style cap with a Ballard Oil Company logo on the front. Worn Levis were held in place by a pair of wide red suspenders. The arms of his faded, still vaguely plaid flannel shirt were cut off halfway between the elbows and wrist.
    â€œAlan?” she wailed in despair, moving toward him as she spoke. “Did you hear what he said? This man says Gunter may be dead. It isn’t true, is it? It can’t be true!”
    â€œI didn’t say we knew for sure,” I corrected. “It is her husband’s boat, though, and there is a dead man on board.”
    Else Gebhardt fell against the newcomer’s chest. He gathered her to him with one hand and whipped off the cap with the other. As soon as he did so, I recognized him, even after all the intervening years. Alan Torvoldsen’s ducktail was missing. In fact, only the smallest fringe of russet-colored hair remained in a two-inch-wide border from just over his ears and around the base of his skull.
    â€œAl?” I said doubtfully. “Alan Torvoldsen? Is that you?”
    He cocked his head momentarily, then a broad grin creased his face. “Beaumont? I’ll be damned if it isn’t J. P. Beaumont! Damned if it isn’t!” He slapped the cap back on his balding head and thenreached out to pump my hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”
    I held out my I.D. close enough so he could see it, and he nodded. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re a cop. I remember seeing the name in the papers. I kinda wondered if it wasn’t you.”
    â€œIt’s me, all right,” I said.
    And then I looked at Else Gebhardt, sobbing brokenheartedly on Alan Torvoldsen’s shoulder. I remembered Else Didricksen then; remembered her from years gone by as a tall, slender girl—a talented athlete in the days long before there had been any collegiate basketball programs for girls. There were few girl players back then, and even fewer scholarships.
    I remembered that Else had started school at the U-Dub, as locals affectionately call the University of Washington, two years ahead of me, but I didn’t remember ever seeing her on campus