Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

had gathered floated about in my head. As they did, I tried to hold on to the nuggets that would help make sense of it all. It felt like I was unraveling a ball of twine; the more I unwound, the more knots I found. It had been three short hours since Ryan was arrested. In that time I had discovered at least three people who could have wanted him dead.
    There was this Burns fellow. Had he killed Frank because of what happened in the bar last night? Was the match-fixing rumor that Earl spoke of true, and if so could it have led to Frank Walters’ murder? Perhaps it was his wife, whose earring Catalina discovered in Frank’s room. Had she been invited into Frank’s room or had she crept in without his knowledge, and if so why? In any case, how would they have been connected to Ryan?
    My mind kept churning the possibilities around and around, and it made me quite dizzy. I saw Millie sitting in her usual spot in the lobby. She had an iPad on her lap and she called me over to her with her fingers and customary smile.
    Millie seemed relaxed despite the chaos of the morning. She reached into a deep pocket that hung on the arm of her chair, pulled out a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, and asked me to put them on. When I was ready, she tinkered with a remote control device. With a nod of her head and a lift of a brow toward the TV screen, she signaled me to watch.
    Ryan’s image flashed on the 152-inch TV screen. Despite dominating the entire screen, his face was small. It seemed like the life had been sucked out of it. There were no tears now, though the trip down to the Police station had left his eyes bloodshot, eyelids swollen, and saddled with two puffy bags under them.
    His nose quivered like a hare that had smelled a fox, and on occasion his lower lip trembled. Officer Flint shoved him through a crowd of reporters, who pounced on him and asked random questions.
    Officer Ormond walked ahead through the crowd, his head lowered and arm raised in response to the reporters’ questions. He pushed a few unrelenting ones aside and made room for the other two.
    Cameras flashed around them. Ryan blinked several times and squinted. Officer Flint walked behind him with his chest puffed out and his head held high. He stopped once to indulge the cameramen with a smile that showed off a blackish-silver second premolar.
    A Channel 10 correspondent almost rammed a microphone into Ryan’s nose and asked, “Mr. Evans, why did you kill Frank Walters?”
    “I tell you I didn’t. It’s all some kind of misunderstanding,” said Ryan. Once again his eyes filled with tears.
    I groaned and hoped he wouldn't break down. Tell them no comment or just say nothing, Ryan, you don’t want to stop to chat with those media monkeys.
    With that, Channel 10 cut over to older footage. Frank Walters’ face flickered on the screen, then a long-angled shot featured him in a black tuxedo. The images were dull and grainy. Even then, Frank with his blond hair and deep blue eyes cut a dashing figure, and I could imagine him being quite a catch in his time.
    By his side was a young Katherine Walters in a long white dress with an embroidered bodice that clung to her tall, willowy figure. Its sleeves were puffed and a full flared skirt bellowed around her delicate waist. A gust of wind could have carried her off had it not been for a bouquet of white arum lilies that was large enough to keep her grounded.
    The clip featured the young couple on the steps of Saint Anne’s Catholic Church in Houston where they had been married twenty-eight years ago. Frank’s golfing superstar status had brought adoring fans to line the street in a show of support. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her toward him, and planted a kiss on her lips that were painted a soft shade of pink. Red-faced and out of breath, she gazed at Frank with adoring eyes then turned her head to the onlookers and together they waved to their supporters.
    The TV station then cut across to more