Read Lethal Bond: Jamie Bond Mysteries Book #3 Online
Authors: Gemma Halliday,Jennifer Fischetto
Tags: #Mystery, #Private Investigators, #Thriller & Suspense, #Cozy, #Literature & Fiction
"So what do you want?" I asked.
"I need to ask you some questions about your father. Richard King."
"Why?" I challenged, hoping my voice came out more confident than I felt. My head was swimming, going over a dozen different scenarios where the FBI might be interested in my father. None of them good.
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Two years ago."
This caused him pause, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly.
"We weren't overly close," I explained. Then felt silly for feeling like I owed him an explanation. "Why do you want to know?
But again, Agent Ryder didn't answer my question, instead shooting me another of his. "Have you talked to him recently?"
I chewed my lower lip again, trying to remember when the last time I had talked to him was. Christmas? My birthday maybe? "I… I'm not sure."
"You're not sure if you've talked to him or you're not sure it was recently?"
"Right. The second one."
The other eyebrow went up. "You don't seem very confident in that statement."
"Well, you're making me a little nervous," I confided.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward, the small movement transforming his face. I had a feeling that if he actually allowed that smile to grow, it had the potential to be kind of charming.
"Tell me where you were last Tuesday," he said.
I tensed. Tuesday. The day my father died. "I-I don't know. At work. At home. Why?"
"Can anyone verify your whereabouts?"
"Whereabouts?" I shook my head. "Look, what is this? My dad died of a heart attack."
But Agent Ryder just stared at me, his eyes dark, assessing, so penetrating I had the wild thought he could see right through my now very thin feeling robe.
"He
did
die of a heart attack, didn't he?" I asked, dread building somewhere in the center of my chest.
He answered very slowly and deliberately, as if choosing his words carefully. "The M.E. has yet to determine a ruling."
I swallowed. Hard. "Wait. Are you saying there's a chance that my dad's heart attack wasn't from natural causes?" I asked, the words coming out forced even to my own ears. "That there's a chance he was
murdered
?"
Agent Ryder paused. "We're investigating all angles at the moment."
"Oh my God…" the words tumbled out as I tried to wrap my brain around the idea of someone wanting my father dead. While I'd often heard him joke about the competition or the teamsters wanting to "bump him off," the reality that someone actually
had
was jarring enough to make my head spin. "So someone deliberately stopped my dad's heart?"
As was beginning to become an annoying habit, he answered with another question again. "Do you have any idea if your father had a recent disagreement with anyone?" he pressed. "If there was anyone who might have been upset with your father?"
While his face was as void of emotion as any I'd seen at the poker tables, I could feel his eyes taking in every nuance of my posture as I answered. I shifted self-consciously from one bare foot to the other.
"Not especially. But roll the dice. He ran the biggest casino on the South Shore. I'm sure there were a lot of people who resented not having a piece of that pie."
"Like you?"
"
Me
?" I sputtered. "You're kidding, right?"
"You now have the whole pie."
I shut my mouth with a click, eyes narrowing. I took it back. He was
not
charming. "I don't need this pie."
"Really? Because that art school wasn't cheap. You have quite a few student loans."
"Wait—have you been investigating me?" I asked.
His mouth threatened a grin again. "That's kind of my job."
I shook my head. "Look, I do have student loans. So what? So does most of America. I pay my bills. I have a decent job. Trust me, this casino is one thing I don't need."
If he believed me, he made no sign of it, instead switching gears abruptly. "What about your step-mother?"
It took me a moment to realize who he was talking about, the words "mother" and Britton never quite going together in my mind. "You mean Britton?"
He nodded. "Death is a lot less messy than divorce. Especially when there's a pre-nup involved."
I shook my head. "No way. You've got her all wrong," I told him. "There is no way Britton would hurt my father." Defending Britton was the last thing I expected to do. But despite the fact that she dressed somewhere between a stripper and an oversize tween, I couldn't imagine Britton actually hurting my father. As strange as it seemed, I got the impression that she had actually cared about him.
But Agent Ryder didn't seem convinced. "How well do you know Britton?"
I could feel him watching my body language. I did my best not to give anything away. Which was ridiculous because I had nothing incriminating
to
give away.
"We aren't best friends, if that's what you're asking."
"Did you know her before she married your father? I understand she was a cocktail waitress here."
Honestly? This was the first I'd heard of that. I guess I'd never really asked much about their relationship or how they'd met. I shook my head. "No. I never met her before they married."
"But you didn't approve of the marriage?"
I hesitated to answer. The truth was I hadn't. But somehow I felt like that was the wrong answer here.
"My father didn't need my approval," I finally settled on.
"Is that what caused the rift between you?"
"There was no rift," I shot back.
"Yet you haven't seen him in two years."
"I-I've been busy."
"Hmm." Agent Ryder narrowed his eyes at me.
I pulled my robe tighter, willing myself not to fidget under his assessing glare.
Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Verlana hovering in the hallway and jumped on the welcomed interruption.
"Are we done here?" I asked Agent Ryder.
He paused and turned to see Verlana. Then he nodded in my direction. "For now. But I'd appreciate it if you'd stay in town."
Unfortunately, I planned to.
I watched him turn and leave, his back stiff, his posture on alert as if expecting a killer to jump out at him from behind the rack of colored nail polish by the pedicure room.
Verlana entered, apologizing about the delay. I assured her I was fine. But the truth was, there was no way I was going to relax now.
Someone had killed my father.
And it was as clear as the crystal blue waters of the lake at our doorstep that the FBI thought that someone was me.
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