Trace (TraceWorld Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

murder.’ You didn’t say this murder. I take it that was on purpose.”
    Nola sipped her coffee at length to buy herself some time. Finally, she put her cup down. “It was, but that doesn’t mean I can clarify it for you. All I know is what I said: Grayson Bryant has something to do with murder.”
    He had a habit of looking down and away from whomever he was questioning, as if he himself were the one who needed confidence and encouragement to continue talking. It wasn’t a strategy that would work for everyone, and it probably wasn’t even one he used in every situation, but it worked when he did use it. By mirroring the way the other person felt, he somehow managed to build a sense of trust. She could see him doing it now, looking down at his coffee as though he were the one struggling with something unfathomable. “This doesn’t give us much to go on,” he finally said.
    She read the expression he was clearly trying to conceal. “Yeah, I know how all this sounds,” she said. “I know it’s impossible to put any of this stuff on official records unless you want to be the biggest laughingstock in three counties.”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he joked, though he obviously wasn’t in much of a joking mood. “No, I won’t be putting any of this on official records, but it is something to keep in mind. It’s useful information, Nola. Thank you.”
    She felt absurdly pleased at his gratitude. At the same time, she knew he wasn’t finished with her yet and kept her smile a wry one. “But?”
    Now his smile mirrored hers. “Yeah. But.”
    “But don’t mess with the case?”
    “Don’t be worried about the case. Don’t let it take over your life. I’ve seen it happen to nearly every detective. For whatever reason, one particular case gets them in its grip and won’t let go. It isn’t fun to watch, so for me, Nola, go home and relax a bit and get your mind off all this as much as you can.”
    “OK,” she said, “I will, for you.” She hoped it didn’t sound too infatuated. Then she hoped it didn’t sound too sarcastic. Then she gave up, got up, and left.

 
     
     
     
     
    3
     
    Nola watered her ficus. It seemed to be doing well, she thought with cautious optimism, putting down the watering can and picking up her glass of Chianti. “First you drink, then I drink. Salud ,” she said, then sighed. Talking to houseplants. It’s come to this. After draining her glass, she returned to the kitchen to refill it. She was becoming one of those people, single and solitary on a Saturday night, drinking too much and talking to plants, or cats, or furniture. She shrugged it off. Lots of people did this. There was hardly any shame in it. And the wine was good, anyway, and about a tenth of the price of what she’d have to pay if she went out to yet another crowded bar filled with the same bunch of people, all being harshly critical of each other, all fearing themselves to be the biggest loser of them all, something she knew from experience. She’d stay in and have a big bowl of pasta with her wine and then watch some trash on TV and make sarcastic comments about it. The ficus would listen without judgment.
    A neighbor had given her the plant as a gift when she moved into this apartment a year ago. Nola would never have bought houseplants herself. It wasn’t because she hated them but because she’d never had a green thumb. She used to joke about it with friends, but privately she worried. What if the ability to detect trace came with a sort of compensatory inability to sustain life? All those goldfish she’d begged for as a child going belly-up one after another mere days after their purchase. Did her connection to the recently dead give off some sort of death vibe?
    Whenever she caught herself thinking this way, she gave herself a mental shaking. Lots of people failed to provide adequate care for houseplants. Pet goldfish always died on kids. They might have been made just for that purpose,