Free Island of Bones by P.J. Parrish Page A

Louis said.
    “You promised me one more week.”
    Louis shook his head. “There’s no point . I’ve followed your father everywhere he goes, which isn’t too many places. He does nothing, and I mean nothing, suspicious.”
    “But he had the newspaper clippings.”
    “So what? Why don’t you just ask him why he cut them out? Jesus Christ, Diane, he’s your father.”
    She looked away, her eyes falling on the glass of gin. He knew she wanted to take a drink but something was stopping her. Could she possibly think he didn’t know she was drunk?
    She lowered her head into her hand, her fingers splayed across her forehead. “I can’t talk to him.”
    “But you can think him capable of murder.”
    She closed her eyes, her chest rising with a deep breath. “Get out. Quit if you want.”
    Louis sighed, and turned toward the door. He heard her slurp softly. When he looked back, her cheeks were flushed and the glass was empty.
    “Okay,” Louis said. “I’ll finish out the week.”
    She looked up at him, her eyes trying to focus. “Do what you want.”
    Louis opened the door, and let himself out. He paused at her window, peering through the slats in the blinds.
    Diane was wobbling back to the kitchen. Louis watched as she pulled open three different cabinets before finding the gin. She raised the bottle to her mouth and slugged down a shot.
    He turned away and started down the steps. A car door slammed in the parking lot and a man got out.
    Louis froze on the top step. Shit, it was Frank. And there was nowhere to go, no place to hide before Frank saw him.
    Louis stopped on the top step as he watched Frank Woods lock his car. He turned and looked up at his daughter’s apartment, his eyes settling on Louis, fully illuminated in the amber light.
    Frank spun and hurried back to his car, jumping inside. Louis started to call to him, but stopped.
    Hell, what could he say? I was just here telling your drunk daughter I wanted to quit spying on you?
    Frank threw his car in reverse and squealed out of the parking lot. For a second, Louis thought about following him. But what was the point?
    Louis rubbed his gritty eyes. The hell with it. He was tired and he was going home. There was one Heineken left in the fridge and it had his name on it.
     
     

CHAPTER 12
     
    One Heineken hadn’t been enough. After a fitful night, he was awake but just lying there, sweaty and tired. The sheets were kicked to the floor and even Issy, who usually slept by his side, had retreated to the cool of the terrazzo floor.
    The phone rang and he glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty a.m. He let it go ten times but it wouldn’t stop. Finally, he rolled out of bed and picked it up.
    “Mr. Kincaid? This is Diane Woods.”
    She was speaking carefully. He knew that meant hangover.
    “He’s disappeared,” she said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “My father. He’s gone.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I called him first thing this morning. He didn’t answer, and when I called the library, they said he hadn’t come in. I am on my way over to his house now. Will you meet me there? He might be inside. He might have done something to himself.”
    “Look, Miss Woods, you really should go —- ”
    “Please. I don’t want to go in there alone.”
    Louis had been leaning on his knees, head down. He sat up. “Where are you?”
    “I’m at home.”
    “Okay, meet me at his house in a half hour.”
    Dian e’s Honda was in the drive of Frank’s home, and she got out as he pulled up. She was dressed in a dark skirt and red blouse, her hair neat around a made-up face. She was wearing sunglasses despite the fact it was overcast.
    “Thank you,” she said softly.
    “Maybe we should call the police.”
    She shook her head. “Please, just come in with me.”
    He followed her to the porch. It was covered with leaves and there were a couple of copies of the News-Press. A white plastic planter hung by the door but there was nothing in it but dirt. Diane reached up