Southern Charm Read Online Free PDF Page A

go.
    As Max drove away, his heart racing, the salty taste of his sweat on his lips, he kept imagining his own body curled on that disgusting floor. All over a nothing painting. "Not nothing anymore," he said. Turning onto the highway, heading back to the office, he knew there were several avenues to pursue, but one demanded immediate attention — Howard Corkille.
    It took Max twenty minutes to get back to the office, and halfway there, his anger boiled up again. Blood-soaked images of Curtis flashed through his mind. He had to do something about that or somebody else might get hurt — maybe even him. By the time he parked his car, Howard Corkille had been pushed to the number two priority.
    Max slammed open the door to Deacon Arts. Mr. Gold, fawning over a customer, jumped at the sound, saw Max, and let out a babyish yelp. "Mr. Porter," he said, backing up with his hands out. "I just delivered the message."
    "I'm going to fucking kill you."
    The customer scurried out fast, and Mr. Gold could not hide his disappointment at losing a sale. When Max moved in, Mr. Gold's disappointment turned to fear. He stumbled over himself as he rushed back to his desk. Max followed right behind, grabbed Mr. Gold's arm, yanked him around, and punched him in the eye.
    Mr. Gold cried out and fell into his seat. "Please, don't. I'm sorry. I had to do it. I'm sorry."
    "Where's the painting?"
    "I don't know."
    "Do I have to hit you again?"
    "I swear I don't know," Mr. Gold said, tears and snot flowing down his face. "I never heard of the painting. I was just told to give you that address."
    "By who?"
    With an incredulous frown, Mr. Gold said, "By Mr. Modesto, of course. Who would you expect?"
    Breathing hard, his fist poised to strike again, Max stepped back, stunned by the name. Mr. Modesto. The Hull family representative. And if they were involved, this whole case became far more complicated.

Chapter 6
    When Max entered the office, Sandra gasped. "What happened to you?" she asked as she rushed to his side. "Are you hurt?"
    Max glanced down — blood marred his shirt. "It's not mine," he said, thinking of Curtis the US Postal Service guy and his wrecked body.
    Sandra helped Max to his chair. Without a word, she then pulled one of Drummond's fake books from the bookcase, grabbed the flask inside, and poured a glass of whiskey. Max drank fast, coughed, sputtered, and drank again.
    "Don't you look all spiffy?" Drummond said, gliding through the front wall. "Can't say I'm surprised."
    "You say anything else remotely resembling 'I told you so' and I swear, ghost or not, I'll find a way to make you sorry."
    To Sandra, Drummond said, "Little touchy. What happened?"
    "I don't know."
    Max rubbed his sore knuckles — punching a person hurt. "What'd Corkille have to say?"
    Drummond settled in the client chair and put his feet on the desk. "I couldn't find him."
    "What do you mean?" Sandra said.
    "Sugar, the netherworld of ghosts is larger than you'd imagine, and there's a lot of us. Of all people, I'd expect you to understand that much. So I looked, asked around, but I couldn't find him. If he wasn't already dead, I'd suspect somebody got to him."
    "Don't you think it's odd that Corkille would hire us and then not be available?"
    "Like I told the amateur pugilist, by the time somebody's desperate enough to come to us, things are a lot more complicated and a lot more people are involved."
    Max barked a sharp laugh. "Let me tell you how complicated things are." He shared everything that had happened to him that day — meeting Melinda Corkille, chasing Melinda Corkille, discovering Curtis the beaten US Postal Service guy, punching Mr. Gold, and hearing the troubling confession of the Hull family's involvement.
    Sandra fell into her chair and whispered, "Shit."
    "Not a very womanly way to say it," Drummond said, "but I agree with the sentiment."
    "There's no way to back out of this, is there?" Max asked.
    Drummond shook his head. "You know better. When you