Free Barbara Graham - Quilted 05 - Murder by Sunlight by Barbara Graham Page B

she wasn’t downstairs on the sofa in the parlor. Dammit had grudgingly decided he could sleep in his and Theo’s room. At least for a while. Tony made his way to the window and pushed Dammit away, shushing him. Seemingly satisfied by Tony’s presence and wide-awake condition, the dog flopped back down on the rug.
    Through the open window Tony realized he could hear hushed voices. He climbed out the window and onto the small balcony built long ago by an early one of his wife’s relatives. Now he not only heard soft human voices but he could see lights flickering in the park. At first, he thought they looked like fireflies, but then he was able to discern the reflection of light on human faces. Candles? He tried to judge the size of the group. Between the park’s lights and the ones being carried, the illusion formed was almost like watching moonlight and ships’ running lights reflected on a choppy sea.
    He dragged some clothes on, found his cell phone and flashlight, and removed his gun from the safe. Even as he headed out the door he was in contact with dispatch. Wade’s sister, Karen, was on duty. “Have you received any calls about activity in the park?”
    Karen said, “Not exactly. I did get a call from a woman claiming there was a coven of witches having a meeting tonight. She did not specify a location before she hung up.”
    Oh good, Tony thought. “Witches?”
    “Yessir, she said they were chanting spells outside her bedroom window and trying to lure her into joining them outside. I recognized her voice.”
    Tony was pretty sure he could guess who made the call. “Mrs. Fairfield?”
    “Yessir.” Karen laughed. “She was most insistent so I sent J.B. over to check it out. He’s calling in now.” She flipped the switch allowing Tony to listen in.
    J.B. preferred working the night shift. Amusement threaded his voice as he said, “There’s a group of twenty young adults having an impromptu memorial service for their recently deceased surfing friend, Miles Curry.”
    “Do you foresee any problems?” Tony walked briskly through the park, following the group.
    “No sir. Some of them have been drinking but they are being well behaved and there’s several sober ones as well. I don’t think what happened to Mr. Curry is going to create any copycats.”
    Tony was now fairly close to the group. They were singing softly and several of the young women were crying. His girlfriend was surrounded by friends, standing near the tiny pond. Several picnic tables had been moved closer together. While Tony watched, the mourners formed a line, and one at a time each launched a small, paper boat onto the still water and touched it with the candle to light it on fire. For just a couple of seconds, the pond seemed filled with fireflies.
    There seemed to be no reason to interfere with their memorial so he went home and back to bed.
    After an interrupted night’s sleep, the last person Tony wanted to see at the Law Enforcement Center was Orvan Lundy.
    Tony hadn’t even sorted through the mail on his desk when Ruth Ann appeared in his doorway. “Mr. Lundy has something he wants to confess.”
    “Really?” Tony felt acid drip into his stomach as he wondered what he had done to deserve having the old sinner enjoy confessing to him on a regular basis. He might feel differently about it if Orvan would tell him what he really wanted to know. Tony was sure the old guy had killed a number of people, maybe forty years ago, but there was no time limit on murder. “Did he give you any hints?” He wasn’t surprised when she shook her head.
    “He looks terrible,” Ruth Ann whispered.
    “Okay, let’s get this done.” Tony called Wade on his radio. “Orvan’s here.” He headed for the greenhouse, their interview room, nicknamed for the impressive humidity level achieved by more than two people speaking for any length of time. The tiles and drain in the center only augmented the title but they made it easy to