Free Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery by Joanne Pence Page A

spider in my room!” she cried. “A huge, black hairy one.”
    “I thought I heard some screeching. Hairy, you said? Sounds like a tarantula.” He held her shoulders, trying to stop her shaking as he looked her in the eye. “They’re real dangerous, and once they get inside a home, it’s often hard to find them. If you want to leave now, I unnerstand it. Won’t even charge you none extra.”
    “Leave?” As she looked at him, a suspicioncrept over her. “No, I don’t want to leave. I think I killed it.”
    He went inside to check. And, in fact, she had.
     
    Paavo stood on the dock peering out at Ned’s rental fleet. The dam-created lake was of good size, though not nearly as large as he remembered it. As a boy, he’d imagined it to be the size of San Francisco Bay. It didn’t come close.
    Foolishly, he found himself scanning the water for Ned. Many times as a child he had run to the lake to see a tanned, towhead boy out there waving skinny arms and telling him to “Come on in, the water’s warm!” And it was. They’d splash around in it for hours of fun and laughter.
    Paavo turned away.
    It was easy to see why this business had occupied so much of Ned’s free time. His house, a double-wide trailer, was right behind the shop where the boat rentals were made.
    The doors to both were locked, and the shop had a sign in the window that simply said CLOSED . A truck was in the driveway and a couple of dogs ran around and barked, but other than that, all was quiet.
    Joaquin confirmed that Ned’s motorcycle was gone.
    As Paavo unlocked the door to the shop and entered, regret flooded him—regret for all the times he’d thought about picking up the phone and calling Ned, but didn’t. Regret for not continuing to join Aulis on visits as Paavo grew older; regret for not finding time to visit after he left the army, or even while he was a cop.
    Ned had been an important, joy-filled part of his childhood. But he knew nothing of the man his friend had become, and that was the worst regret of all.
    The shop was orderly and surprisingly neat for a place that dealt with boat rentals, repairs, and parts. That was typical of Ned. Even as a boy, he’d preferred taking apart appliances and rebuilding them over playing with toys. A memory of Ned taking apart one of Doc’s radios swirled in slow-motion in Paavo’s mind: Ned sitting on the floor with pieces spread all around him; Doc standing over him exasperated. In the end, Ned had put the radio back perfectly.
    But no more.
    Everything at the shop appeared strictly business-related, and Paavo moved to the house.
    It was sterile. Furniture by Levitz and goods by Target were inexpensive and practical, nothing more. “Every penny Ned made went into his business,” Joaquin said, as if reading Paavo’s thoughts. “He wanted it to become big and important—to make some money for …” Joaquin suddenly stopped speaking.
    “For Teresa?” Paavo asked.
    Joaquin said nothing, but gave a quick nod.
    The trailer consisted of one large living, dining, and kitchen combination in front, and two bedrooms and a bathroom in the back. One of the bedrooms had been made into a den. Paavo tried the telephones first. Stored incoming numbers and last-number redial were boons to homicide inspectors. Unfortunately, neither of the phones in Ned’s house had those features.
    The answering machine was full of messages from Doc, Paavo, Teresa, and even LaVerne from the coffee shop. Teresa was apologetic and tearful.
    There was also a call from Sanderman Stables hoping everything was okay, and surprised Ned hadn’t return Lightning last evening.
    Lightning, Joaquin explained, was Ned’s horse. Paavo expected they would find the missing motorcycle at Sanderman’s. That answered another question—how Ned had gotten to the caves.
    Paavo searched for Ned’s cell phone. At the crime scene, he’d convinced the sheriff to check Ned’s pockets for anything that might give some clue as to why he