Free Beneath a Buried House (Detective Elliot Mystery Book 2) by Bob Avey Page A

polished and free of dust; the oak floors, covered in places with lush rugs, clean and shiny. He found the same care had been taken in the kitchen. Everything was in its place except for a coffee mug in the sink. A gardening magazine, its open pages displaying pictures of spring flowers, rested on the small table, beneath a window.
    Elliot backtracked to the dining area, where the fragrance of cinnamon and apples lingered, which preceded a sensation of presence, that of the young lady who’d lived there, and it tiptoed through Elliot’s imagination as he came to a door along the south wall of the dining room. He opened the door and stepped inside.
    Candles dotted the floor around the bed, and posters of curious, mythological creatures hung from the walls: depictions of a beast, half man and half animal, with a rack of horns growing from its head, and a lady who appeared to be facing in three different directions. But it was the bold design painted onto the wall that grabbed Elliot’s attention: a five-pointed star with a circle around it.
     
    Elliot called Robert Arnold in vice to see what he knew about Brighid McAlister. He said he’d look into it, and asked Elliot to meet him for lunch at Goldie’s across from Utica Square. Elliot didn’t have much of an appetite, but a cup of coffee sounded good. He saw Arnold sitting in a booth at the front of the restaurant, near a large window that overlooked 21st Street.
    A middle-aged waitress with her hair tied up grabbed a menu as she walked by. “Be with you in a moment, sweetie.”
    “I’ll be joining the gentleman in the corner. Could you bring some coffee, please?”
    She stuck a pencil in her hair, just above her ear. “Sure thing.”
    Elliot walked over and slid into the booth, then looked across the table at Arnold. He’d already started on a hamburger. He put it down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Glad you could make it.”
    The waitress brought Elliot’s coffee and set it in front of him, and he was just getting settled in when he looked through the window and saw Cyndi Bannister. It took a moment for the recognition to register, and it seemed bilateral, this feeling of surprise. Once again he found himself staring, mesmerized by the face of Michael Cunningham’s girlfriend. Her path indicated she had intended to come inside but had changed her mind upon seeing Elliot.
    She turned and walked away, her pace quickening as she headed east. She triggered the light at the corner, then crossed the street, disappearing behind the trees and shrubs that lined that part of Yorktown Avenue.
    Arnold turned to see what Elliot was looking at, but Cyndi was already gone. “So what are you doing, working vice now?”
    Elliot took a moment to clear his head, get back to the work at hand. “Not exactly. This one’s dead. Turned her last trick today.”
     “Disgusting business we’re in, ain’t it?” Arnold’s throaty voice slid under the murmur of conversation coming from the other booths.
    “Yeah. What have you got?”
    Arnold wiped his mouth again, then shook his head. “I couldn’t find anything on her. If she was working, she was doing it independently. Probably had a select clientele.”
    “How select?”
    “You know, a high-priced piece, only worked conventions or something.”
    Elliot slumped. “It’s hard to keep track of girls like that.”
    Arnold took another bite of burger. “It is if they’re careful, don’t get busted, especially if they ain’t connected, don’t have a pimp.”
    Elliot thought about his own nightmares and suddenly it was difficult for him to imagine Arnold with a family, being able to turn it off at the end of the day, and almost before he realized what he was saying, the question came out: “How’s Karen?”
    Arnold set his half-eaten burger on the plate and took a drink of soda. “She’s good. Started back to school, sociology classes, something she’s been thinking about for years.” He paused and nodded.