Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (best management books of all time txt) 📕

“I’m Emily,” she said, extending her hand and walking across the porch.

Kimberley quickly jogged up the stairs and reached for hers, shaking it. “I’m Kimberley.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you,” she said with a wide smile, taking a step back. “Your mother has been telling me all about you and your daughter… Jessica, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“She’s just a little one. How old again?”

“Sixteen months.”

“Oh, yeah. Such a good age. She’ll be having you pull your hair out in no time though. When they hit two, all hell breaks loose, and I don’t think it gets better until they’re thirty,” Emily said with a laugh.

“I heard your boys are a handful.”

“A handful? That’s putting it lightly. Let me guess, my dad said that? To him, those boys can do no wrong. Grandparents, am I right? Oh… where are my manners?” She flicked her hand. “Would you like some lemonade? I’ll get us some,” Emily added before Kimberley could refuse.

Kimberley typically only drank coffee, water, beer, and cheap whiskey. The occasional glass of wine at dinner was the only other liquid that ventured into her life. Emily disappeared inside, telling her she’d be right back. Kimberley walked to a pair of rockers with a small table between them and took a seat. She slowly rocked back and forth, taking in everything she could see from the wraparound porch. It really looked like a scene out of The Grapes of Wrath. Beyond the sparse wild grass of the front yard, the dirt road marked the edge of the property, and tall fields of wheat stretched as far as the eye could see. A few trees were randomly scattered throughout, as if they were there only by accident. It appeared as if the birds had an unspoken rule not to defecate on this stretch of land and scatter seeds throughout, and only a few rulebreakers who couldn’t hold their bowels had left permanent remembrances of their poor planning.

Not more than a couple of minutes later, Emily emerged from the house with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade that looked as though it was freshly squeezed. She poured Kimberley a glass first and handed it to her before pouring herself one.

“Cheers to new neighbors.” Emily smiled holding up her glass.

Kimberley pulled the glass from her mouth and tapped it against Emily’s. “Cheers.”

Emily beamed, took a small sip and sat down.

As soon the liquid hit her tongue, the sweetness perfectly balancing the bright sour acidity, Kimberley knew the lemonade was freshly squeezed. This was the southern hospitality she was expecting. She immediately liked Emily. She was kind and welcoming, albeit a little old-fashioned, but so far from what she had seen in Oklahoma, everything here was a bit antiquated.

“Must be different here… ya know, from the city,” Emily said as if she were just making small talk, but Kimberley noticed she had said it in a way like she was missing out from a whole big world outside of Oklahoma, dying to know what lay beyond the amber waves of grain.

“It is. It doesn’t have the energy that the city has. It has a calmness to it instead, which is nice. It’s good to slow down, take a look around, smell the roses as they say.” Kimberley took another sip of the refreshing lemonade.

The energy from the city wasn’t always exhilarating for Kimberley. At times, it was downright chilling. The fact that a single person could move undetected in a sea of millions taking life, as if they were the Grim Reaper, was haunting. Kimberley had finished pinning up a handful of the crime scene photos across from her desk in her small cubicle. She stared at them intently, hoping something would jump out at her. A woman in her mid-twenties with a blond pixie haircut was shackled to a mattress. A slit six inches in length ran horizontally across her lower abdomen.

Detective Lynn Hunter stepped into the cubicle, taking a seat across from Detective King, blocking the view of the crime scene photos that Kimberley couldn’t take her eyes off of. She had golden blond hair that was pulled back in a low bun at the nape of her neck and dark blue eyes that looked like blueberries. She was five years older than Detective King and had been her mentor since she joined the NYPD. Unlike Kimberley, she dressed in a black pants suit, muting her striking appearance. Detective Hunter set a couple of files on the desk in front of Kimberley.

“What have we got?” Kimberley asked, opening them.

“Victim’s name is Jenny Roberts. She’s a twenty-six-year-old waitress from Harlem. She worked at the Blue Devil Diner. Her boyfriend reported her missing two nights ago, but apparently she had been missing for three days prior to that.”

Kimberley arched an eyebrow. “Odd. Why didn’t he report it sooner?”

Lynn shook her head. “I’ve got a couple officers verifying his alibi. Cause of death is the cut on the abdomen. She bled out after that.”

Kimberley took a deep breath. “So, the boyfriend is looking like our main suspect?”

“As of now, yes. But what have I taught you?” Lynn tilted her head.

“Never jump to conclusions.”

“Exactly. This wasn’t a crime of passion—whoever did this took their time. This was planned well. Snatched her after a work shift. Last person to see her was a cook at the restaurant by the name of Mario.”

Kimberley flipped a few more pages. “What about him?”

“Pulling background check and verifying his whereabouts the night she went missing.”

Kimberley nodded.

“There’s one more thing. She was pregnant. Around fifteen weeks. She wasn’t showing yet.”

“Fuck. Did the boyfriend know?”

“He says he didn’t know.”

“Do you believe him?” Kimberley leaned forward in her chair.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It matters what we can prove. Remember that, Detective King.”

Kimberley loosened the grip on her glass of lemonade when she realized how tightly she had been holding it… it was how she held onto the past. She shook the memory away.

“Calmness. Yeah, that’s a nice way of putting it.”