The Incumbent Read Online Free PDF Page A

fruit, I found some grapes and two oranges. A minute later I sat next to Celeste, stirring my coffee.
    “I’d suggest sitting on the deck, but the rain has left all the outdoor furniture wet.”
    “That’s okay.” She sipped her coffee. It was black. She screwed up her face at its strong taste.
    “You better put something in that. I tend to make coffee strong. Peter liked it that way.”
    “How did you do it?”
    I was puzzled. “You mean the coffee?”
    She turned to face me as if I had just asked a profoundly stupid question. “No. Your husband. Mom said he was killed.”
    “Ah. It wasn’t easy. No sense in lying about that.”
    “How did it happen?”
    I told her about the carjacking, trying to remain detached. Detachment was impossible. She was attentive, shifting her gaze from the ocean beyond the French doors to her coffee, which she had now whitened with the Carnation milk.
    “Didn’t you just want to up and die?”
    “Yes, I suppose I did. In my darkest moments I still do. I push on anyway.”
    “Why?”
    “It does no good not to. Besides, Peter would want me to live out my life, just as I would have expected him to if it had been me that day. Sometimes we live for our loved ones whether they’re alive . . .”
    “Or dead.”
    “We don’t know that your mother is dead, Celeste.”
    “We don’t know that she’s alive, either.”
    She had me there.
    “Did they get the guy who shot your husband?”
    I nodded. “They got him and his partner. There were several witnesses, and my husband’s car was distinctive—a yellow BMW Z3 roadster. Are you familiar with the car?”
    “It’s a fancy sports car, right?”
    “That’s right. It was a flashy thing and Peter loved it dearly. I sold it after the funeral. I couldn’t drive it . . . too many memories. Anyway, the LAPD spotted the car and gave chase. After a high-speed pursuit through city streets, the carjackers finally gave up. Two junkies, both in their early twenties. One struck a deal with the DA. The prosecution charged him with murder-two in exchange for testimony against the man who pulled the trigger. Both are in jail.”
    “So they’re alive and your husband is dead. It doesn’t seem fair.”
    “It’s not, Celeste. There are many things in life that are not fair.”
    “So we just have to accept it? I’m not going to just accept it.”
    I searched for the right words but found none. I was out of my element. I had no children of my own and I had no experience as a grief counselor.
    There was a ring at the front door. My first thought was relief: saved by the proverbial bell. But I was puzzled about who could be on my stoop this early. I had checked the clock when Celeste came downstairs. It said 7:10. Not more than ten minutes could have passed since then. I put a hand on her shoulder, indicating she should stay put. Her face was hopeful as I rose and headed for the door.
    The bell rang again.
    My hope was that Maria had come early. Maria Rodriquez cleaned house for me once a week. She was a whiz, the best there was. I was glad that this was her day, because she could stay with Celeste while I went into the office for a few hours. I planned to pump Webb for more information.
    My front door has a peephole and I made use of it. On the other side was a man, a stranger. He wore a tie and a suit. I turned the dead bolt, unlocking the door, then put my hand on the doorknob. I paused. Was this Lisa’s last action the night before? Did she open the door to a stranger? I removed my hand.
    “Who is it?” I called, pulling my terry cloth robe tighter.
    “Detective Judson West, Santa Rita police.”
    I looked back through the peephole. He was holding up a badge in a leather case. Reassured, I opened the door. The man before me was tall, maybe six foot two. His hair was anthracite black with no sign of gray, an enviable trait. Dark eyes peered back at me from his narrow face, and a smile of Hollywood teeth spread above a chiseled chin. His