Free T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality by T. Lynn Ocean Page A

you can learn the ropes enough to stick with that for ten years, then you can learn how to deal with being the wife of Samuel Chesterfield.”
    Our salads arrived. Lolly asked for fresh ground pepper and grated Parmesan. “Now I can see why Bill loves you,” Lolly said after a miniature bite of romaine lettuce.
    “Hmm?” I was here to talk about Chesterfield and Lolly, not my love life.
    “Well, you’re pretty. But you’re also smart and you understand things, you know? Even if you do guzzle beer and follow people around and stuff.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut for a second to keep from rolling them upward. “Let’s get back to why we’re here.”
    “Is Sammy in trouble?”
    “I don’t know. But I am going to try to find out. And if it turns out that he is, well, we’ll just deal with it then. All right?”
    She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
    “You trust me?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re not going to go run off and chat with the media?”
    “No.”
    “You understand that he’s not cheating on you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good girl,” I said and purposely changed tack to catch her reaction. “By the way, where are your parents now? Are they still together?”
    She looked startled. “Uh, they’re in Europe. Traveling.”
    We finished our lunches and I wasn’t sure whether Lolly was better off after our little meeting or not. I hoped that I had helped her somehow, regardless of the outcome.
    I walked Lolly to her car, a blue BMW, before climbing into my own vehicle. Feeling bad about dumping everything in herlap, I decided to stop by the agency to see how Rita was holding up.
    What was wrong with me? First I felt bad about scolding Lolly and then I’m suddenly feeling guilty about bailing out on my partner? I, Jersey Barnes, was developing a conscience? This was a first. As I navigated the roads, I wondered if I was approaching a midlife crisis. I hadn’t experienced the urge to run out and buy a red convertible sports car, get my eyelids done, or have an affair with a young college football hero. Although Bill was younger, I didn’t purposely date him because of his looks. Not entirely, anyway. I’d have to ask Ox about my new conscience sometime, get his take on things.
    The Barnes Agency is located in what was previously a two-story residential home in the heart of Wilmington. If traffic was moving, it was only a ten-minute drive from the Block and would take just slightly longer to get there from Paddy’s Hollow. The agency’s central location also put it near the airport, which came in handy since Rita and I frequently traveled by air. Although the Wilmington airport was small and had very few direct flights to anywhere, the benefits of living in Wilmington more than made up for minor inconveniences.
    I had just pulled into the flow of traffic when my cell rang. Few people had the number, so it was usually something important. Or Spud, needing a ride somewhere. Or Bill, just to say hello. Since I’d announced my retirement, he’d been keeping closer-than-usual tabs on me.
    “You might want to check this out,” Trish told me when I answered. She was sitting inside the agency’s mobile surveillance unit, an old Chevy van with a variety of magnetic door signs and license tags. It was currently a TOOL-TEK HOME REPAIR van.
    “Chesterfield just got a call on his wireless. It was his assistant,Darlene, telling him that Eddie Flowers was found dead. Apparently, Flowers was one of Chesterfield’s top people. The vice president of accounting. He flew into Wilmington for some reason and got himself shot.”
    I aimed the Benz in the direction of Chesterfield Financial and, during the drive, called Dirk at the police station to fish for information. He didn’t know anything, but made a few calls and dialed me back within minutes.
    Flowers had been found dead inside his car. Apparently the man had gone to Taco Bell for a fast-food lunch. He purchased two burritos inside the store and returned to his car,