Three Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page A

was?”
    “Sarah Frank,” Moon said. “First the memory goes and then the hearing….”
    Parris leaned forward. “What?”
    Moon repeated the statement at full volume.
    “Charlie, nobody likes a big smart aleck.”
    “That’s not so, pardner. I like you.”
    Parris snorted, pushed a pair of shiny Tennessee quarters to the center of the table. “There’s not a thing wrong with my memory.”
    “Okay, then what’s Sarah’s cat’s name?”
    “That’s not fair. Nobody should have to remember the name of a cat.”
    “Don’t let Sarah hear you say that.” Moon glanced at his hand, then: “I’ll see you.” He sweetened the pot with a crisp new dollar bill. “And raise you four bits.”
    Parris folded, glumly watched the Ute rake in his winnings. “Charlie, how come we never get to play any big-time high-stakes poker like them high rollers on TV?”
    “Because we ain’t got the ante.”
    “‘Ain’t’ ain’t good grammar,” Parris muttered. The cop, who had been dating an English major, was attempting to improve himself.
    “Okay, we isn’t got the ante, and even if we did—” The Indian’s response was interrupted by the rude warble of his guest’s cell phone.
    “Who’d be calling me this time of night?” Maybe it’s Sweet Thing. The chief of police glanced at the caller ID. “It’s dispatch.” The middle-aged man pressed the instrument against a once presentable ear that now sprouted unsightly tufts of reddish brown hair. “Why’re you buggin’ me on my poker night, Clara?” He listened to the dispatcher’s terse report. “Okay, I’m practically on my way.” Aiming a sly grin at his best friend, he added, “No, I won’t need any backup—I’ll be taking Charlie Moon along.” I’d rather have the Ute with me than a battalion of National Guard. He thumbed the End button.
    Moon shed his poker face, which enabled him to assume a mildly inquisitive expression. “Taking me where?”
    “Old man Spencer’s Yellow Pines Ranch.”
    “I thought the place had been vacant since Mr. Spencer died.”
    “Not since Astrid—his youngest daughter, who inherited all six thousand acres of Daddy’s ranch—moved in with her new husband.”
    Moon searched his memory. Came up with “Andrew Turner.”
    “That’s right. And Turner, who’s in Denver tonight, just called in a report, claimed that while he was talking to his wife on the phone she was assaulted. It’ll probably turn out to be a false alarm, but I’ve got to go check it out and I might need some backup.” Parris had pulled on a jacket, was jamming a decades-old felt hat down to his hair-sprouting ears. “So don’t give me no static about how a big-shot tribal investigator like you ain’t—hasn’t got any jurisdiction offa the Southern Ute reservation.” The broad-shouldered man lumbered down the hallway to the parlor. “Grab your revolver, Charlie—and consider yourself duly deputized!”
    Moon was unlocking the gun cabinet. “What’s the compensation?”
    “Twelve fifty an hour and the pleasure of my company.”
    Strapping on a heavy pistol belt, the brand-new deputy grinned. “Make it ten bucks per and I’ll take the call by myself.”

    Six miles north of Castle Rock, Andrew Turner made the second call to GCPD, interrupted the dispatcher’s standard greeting: “Clara—it’s me. Andy Turner. What’ve you found out about my wife?”
    “Nothing yet. But Chief Parris is on his way to your home.”
    “The moment you hear from him, call me.”
    “Will do. What’s your cell number?”
    The husband recited the requested digits. Twice.
    As he sped south along the interstate, Turner attempted to gain control of his emotions. I have alerted the police. Now, I must call Astrid’s sisters. He entered the preprogrammed number for Beatrice Spencer. No answer. Bea is out rather late . He tried Cassandra. Seven rings of the TV celebrity’s unlisted number got him Cassie’s answering machine. I’ll call them again