Free The Cursed by Heather Graham

guess so. Karaoke doesn’t start until eight.”
    “Hannah, you can take me to meet your neighbor and see what he can tell us,” Agent Samson said. “If you don’t mind?”
    She shook her head. As soon as Katie gave the staff some instructions, the two of them left with Liam and Dallas Samson.
    Liam drove the few blocks south down Duval and then around the corner to drop off Hannah and Dallas.
    “Do you want me to call Bentley and see if he’ll come over here?” Hannah asked.
    “No, let’s just see if he’s home. I’d like to see his place.”
    Holloway’s property was separated from Hannah’s by tall cherry hedges. Hannah looked at Dallas for a moment, shrugged and started up the old coral pathway to the house. They climbed the two steps to a small porch.
    “Do we let him know that you’re a Federal agent?” Hannah asked.
    “I think he’s figured that out already, since you said he was in the alley this morning,” Dallas said.
    “Probably. But the body is still officially unidentified, right?”
    “Yes, until we say otherwise. You can handle that, can’t you?”
    “Oh, yes, I can handle that.” She knew that her voice had attitude again. She couldn’t seem to help herself, but then he couldn’t seem to help being obnoxious.
    Hannah knocked on the door. Dallas had a feeling that Bentley Holloway had been watching them from inside, because the door opened almost immediately.
    The man was wearing khakis and a Doors T-shirt. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight, and his eyes were sharp as he studied them. He appeared to be about forty-five or fifty, bronzed deeply with features lined by years in the sun. He was leanly muscled, and his arms bore a number of tattoos. He looked like a seaman, as so many Key Westers did.
    There didn’t appear to be any defensive wounds on his arms, neither did he appear to be in any pain, as if he’d been in a fight.
    There really was no reason to suspect the man. Still, Dallas studied him carefully.
    “Hey, Hannah. And...?” Holloway asked, looking at Dallas.
    Dallas offered Bentley Holloway his hand. “Dallas Samson.”
    “You’re a cop, huh?” Holloway asked.
    “Agent—Federal,” Dallas said.
    “Oh. I saw you out in the alley this morning. How come the Feds are on a local murder case?”
    “Oh, there aren’t many of us in the office down here,” Dallas said. “We step in wherever we might be needed.”
    “Liam is a good detective,” Holloway said defensively.
    “The best. He’s a friend,” Dallas said. “Okay if we come in and ask you for some help?”
    “Help? Hell, I wish I could,” Holloway said. “But sure, come on in.”
    The door opened right into the living room. Dallas quickly noted that it was filled with plain furniture that looked as if it had come from the mix and match department at the Salvation Army, but he’d spruced it up nicely. The walls were decorated with watercolors of various scenes of Key life: sailboats in the harbor, kids playing on a beach and also an arresting picture of the local lighthouse. At first glance, it sure as hell didn’t appear that he was living the high life.
    “Sit down, sit down,” Holloway said. “You want lemonade? Iced tea? Something stronger?”
    “Sure, I’d love iced tea or lemonade—anything you have handy,” Dallas told him.
    He sensed that Hannah was surprised that he’d accepted the offer, but he wanted to see as much of the house as he could without a warrant. There was no reason in particular to be suspicious of Holloway. He was just suspicious of everyone, and he was pretty sure Rodriguez had cut through Holloway’s yard after he was attacked.
    Which meant the killer had probably come through, too.
    “Make yourself at home—have a seat,” Holloway said, heading toward the kitchen.
    But Dallas didn’t sit; he followed Holloway, with Hannah at his heels.
    “Great place,” Dallas said.
    The house wasn’t as old as Hannah’s. Originally built in the shotgun style, you could