Midnight Pass: A Lew Fonesca Novel (Lew Fonesca Novels) Read Online Free PDF

relationship to Sally Porovsky and Adele’s baby.
    “Time,” she said.
    I pulled one of the twenties Wilkens had given to me out of my pocket. She accepted it and looked at it.
    “Lucky bill,” she said. “There are four ones in the serial number. A liar’s poker bill.”
    “Now you believe in omens?”
    “Oh yes,” she said, reaching for the phone. “The universe is connected down to the smallest segment of an atomic subparticle. Past, present, and future are part of a continuum.”
    “I love it when you talk dirty,” I said, moving toward the door.
    I heard Ann chuckle and say, as I opened the door, “Lewis Fonesca made a parting joke. I’m making a note of it. Bring me three jokes on Friday. That’s an assignment. At least three jokes.”
    I closed the door. There was no one in the tiny waiting room.
    The homeless black guy wasn’t sitting on the bench. I had decided to break precedent and give him a dollar. It might open the door to him expecting more from me in the future, but since I didn’t have a lot of faith in the future, a buck in the present wouldn’t hurt.
    But he wasn’t there.
    I found a phone and a phone book at Two Senoritas Mexican Restaurant a few doors down from Sarasota News & Books. William Trasker was listed.
    I called. After five rings, a woman picked up and said, “Hello.”
    “Mrs. Trasker, my name is Lew Fonesca. Is your husband home?”
    “No.” She had a nice voice, a little cold but deep and confident.
    “Could I stop by and talk to you?”
    “You can but you may not,” she said.
    I was going to ask if she had been a grade-school teacher, but I said, “It’s about your husband.”
    “Who are you?”
    “A man looking for your husband,” I said. “All I need is a few minutes of your time. I could talk to you on the phone but I’d rather—”
    “I don’t care what you’d ‘rather’ or who you are.”
    She hung up.
    I didn’t know Trasker’s wife, but I did know when someone was frightened. She was frightened.
    I got back to my car, pulled out carefully, and headed for Flo Zink’s.
     
    I took Tamiami Trail down to Siesta Drive, made a right, crossed Osprey, and then took a left onto Flo’s driveway just before the bridge to Siesta Key.
    The white minivan was in the driveway. Flo couldn’t legally drive it. This was the third time her license had been taken away. Adele could drive. She wasn’t sixteen yet, so she needed an adult supervisor with her. In Florida, even though she had no license, Flo qualified as copilot.
    The door opened before I could knock or ring the bell.
    “Baby’s sleeping,” Flo said.
    Flo was wearing one of her country-and-western uniforms: her favorite denim skirt, blue-and-red checkerboard shirt. Her hair was white, cut short, and looking frizzy. Flo always reminded me of Thelma Ritter.
    Patsy Cline, Roy Orbison, Garth Brooks, or Faith Hill were usually playing backup for conversation at the Zink house, but not today, not now. The baby was sleeping.
    Flo was carrying a drink in her hand. It was in a wineglass. The liquid was amber. She caught me looking.
    “Diet Coke,” she said, handing me the glass. “Smell it.”
    I did.
    “I thought you’d take my word,” she said with disappointment.
    “Can’t afford to,” I said as we moved out of the late morning heat and into the air-conditioned house.
    “Can’t afford to?”
    “I’ll get to that in a little while,” I said.
    “There’s no alcohol in the house,” she said, leading me toward the kitchen. “Not the drinking kind anyway, just some baby kind. Want a Diet Coke? Iced tea?”
    “Diet Coke,” I said.
    She got me one from the refrigerator. I popped the tab and took a sip as I followed her through the living room and down the hallway to a half-open door. She motioned me in ahead of her and put her finger to her lips to let me know I had to be quiet.
    The curtains were drawn but there was enough light coming through for me to see the face of the baby Adele had