Free Murder Take Two by Charlene Weir Page A

it until the drugs finally tore it. Her friends, used to him, got more and more open about what they were smoking, shooting, or snorting. Finally, they got so blatant, he couldn’t turn his head anymore. His job put him on the other side of the fence. One evening he lost patience and dragged her out of there. They slung words at each other that ricocheted around the enclosed car.
    That night he came close to hitting her, close enough it scared the shit out of him. He had a temper, legacy from a drunk, abusive father, about the only inheritance he got. And at that exact moment he knew he was losing her. Anger and frustration grew in his belly and built a hot rage so fierce it roared through his head. His mind flashed on the old man, face red, fist raised. He lit out and walked for miles, then walked some more, solemnly promising himself it would never happen again. Never would he get that close, never would he become his father.
    He and Laura had stayed together a few more months, shouting at each other, inflicting pain, but he didn’t ever come near to hurting her with his hands. Feelings ran high between them. They rolled around in bed with a hot passion, then lay dripping and spent, not speaking a word. Through it all, he had the sense she was standing to one side and observing: this is the way tragic, doomed love is played.
    *   *   *
    â€œAnother dark and stormy night,” he said to Susan, “she had enough of my mundane character, my repressed personality, my provincial thinking, and my exceptionally closed mind. She took off for California.”
    â€œYou have any unfinished business?”
    â€œNo.” Before today he’d have bet his life on it. He shouldn’t be so careless with his life.
    â€œAnything else you need to tell me?”
    â€œWhat do you want to know?”
    â€œWhether you have any reason, real or imagined, old or new, for trying to harm Laura Edwards.”
    â€œNo.” Embarrassment. He’d known when he heard she was rolling into town that someday she’d land him in a shitload of embarrassment. And she came through like the trouper she was.
    â€œNo conflicts? No, she took your collection of baseball cards and you vowed to get them back?”
    â€œNo.” Laura took her dancing and dazzling and curious and exciting self and left him sad and ashamed and failed and relieved. “We didn’t have anything except our clothes. She took hers and left mine.”
    Susan let her feet drop to the floor and leaned forward. “As I see it, we have two paths to explore. Someone tried to kill Laura Edwards and we need to prevent another attempt and find out who.”
    She picked up a pencil and threaded it through her fingers, tapped eraser end and sharpened end alternately. “Or Kay Bender was the intended victim. In which case the perp could be Laura Edwards. She didn’t show up when she was supposed to. Who better than Laura could manage that?”
    Parkhurst took a breath, let it out. “Yeah,” he said, “I realize that.”
    â€œYou realize that because of your relationship with Laura Edwards I have to consider you a suspect?”

7
    It was after eight, with only an hour or so of daylight left, by the time Yancy turned in the squad car and got into his own vehicle. Rolling his shoulders to work out the knots left by the fourteen-hour day, he cranked the windows down to let the hot air inside mingle with the tepid air outside and fired up the Cherokee. It idled rough. He needed to take care of that.
    Shoving the gear in reverse, he backed out and took Eleventh Street for a block, then swung right on Vermont to get out of town. He was late. Beyond the city limits, he accelerated past barbed-wire fenced fields of buffalo grass and wild flowers, a few dark green cedars dotted over the hills.
    What should he do about the little nugget Clem Jones had tossed him? Ask the lieutenant? Yeah, right. With all due