Sweet Paradise by Gene Desrochers (most read books in the world of all time .txt) 📕

“Wilma, I tire of your tone. Please escort this policeman to the drive.”

“I’m afraid I need you all to answer some questions.”

Herbie swung around on Leber, like Dracula in a bad vampire film.

“We do not have to speak to you. Is anyone under arrest?”

Leber remained seated, his body and face stoic. Junior piped up again, with more determination. “Dad!”

“I told you...”

“Dad, I’m eighteen. You cannot stop me from discussing this matter with Detective Leber. He’s been a pro since he showed up at Boise’s office that first day.”

Herbie sent a chair skittering across the rug that stood between him and Junior. “How dare you ... ”

“Stop, right there, Mr. Bacon.” Herbie froze. Leber had silently risen to his feet, his hand across his torso, resting on his still-holstered gun. “There is no need to escalate this situation. I’m merely here to get some answers that only those closest to the deceased can provide. Can we all please sit down and discuss this in a calm fashion?”

Hillary stared at Junior, her lips wet with wine. “What did you say, Junior? Why was Leber at Boise’s office?”

“I was there when Adirondack Kendal was murdered.”

“What?” Hillary screeched, bolting to her feet. She moved to the young man and put his head against her bosom. “Please stop this. Please don’t keep after this.” She lifted his face to hers with both hands. “Promise me you’ll stop pursuing this, this inquiry.”

“I can’t, Aunt Hill.”

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and turned to Herbie. “This is all your fault. If we’d done things differently back then.”

“Shut up!” he yelled, his hand raised. He stopped mid-slap, realizing the cop was still there.

Chapter 13

When I got back down to my office, I heard snoring. Daryl was sprawled across my desk, his beige safari hat had slid down over his spongy features. He snorted awake when I tapped his shoulder.

“My man, Boise. What’s up?” He held up his hand like he wanted a high five. His breath smelled like chewed lettuce and dried ketchup.

“Sorry, took longer than expected with Walter.” I gave him a half-hearted pat on the hand.

“No problem. Jet lag’s a sombitch.”

“Is there even a time change right now?”

“Don’t matter. Still messes me up. Seats are so damn small these days.”

“Tell me about Junior,” I said, pulling my burger out of the white bag next to his elbow.

“You owe me eight fifty-seven,” he said rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a crumpled receipt. My business card tumbled to the floor. He snatched it up.

“You need a professional business card. Wha’d you do, print this at home?”

I handed him a ten and told him to keep it.

“So, tell me about Junior and Francine.”

“I’m not in the habit of telling guys I just met about my clients.”

“What if I buy you a beer?” I said.

By the time I’d returned with a six-pack of Red Stripe, he’d dozed off again. I plonked a bottle next to him. He groaned, toasted to my health and chugged half the bottle in one pull. I followed suit. He tilted the bottle again and finished it, setting it hard on my desk with a glassy clang.

He held a second cold bottle of beer against his neck before popping it and chugging. This time he nearly emptied it. Warming up.

“Ahh! Damn, boy, what kind of beer’s this?”

“Jamaician.”

“Well, them Jams know how to make beer.”

“Can we get back to Junior and Francine?”

“Francine, that woman, she’s a piece.” He belched loud and long out the corner of his mouth, then winked at me. “A bit paranoid or something. Tightly wound broad.”

“Oh, yeah? Why do you say that?”

“She acts like a man, you know. Don’t know about you, but women like that, they aren’t really my thing. I like me nice southern girls. Make-up, nice, long hair.” He belched again.

He reached for his third beer as I finished my first. Although I wasn’t ready to drink it yet, I snagged one of the two remaining bottles and parked it next to my elbow.

“Did you meet with her in person?”

“Nope. She contacted me through my website. Said she had a little basic job for me as long as I kept it to myself.”

“So why are you telling me?”

“Professional courtesy. I looked you up. You did some investigating out in L.A. and then headed here after your wife passed. Sorry, by the way. Is that her?”

I stared at him a while, then said, “Yeah, that’s her.”

“Nice lookin’ lady.”

“How’d you know all that?”

“I’m good at what I do, friend. I know I don’t look like much, but I been in this game a while. One piece of advice: that door might be a bit loud for a private deuce, you know?” When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Now, hows about you tell me what you got?”

The words came out of his mouth slowly from a distance, then picked up weight and speed as they approached shore and crashed. It seemed strange how sharing this guy was after a couple beers. Was I plying him, or was he plying me?

“Francine Bacon is dead.”

He took another long swig then shook his head sadly. “I didn’t mean to speak ill of the dead. Guess my job’s done here. I delivered the letter and made sure Junior arrived safely. You know any good watering holes around town? Better yet, you know any with scantily clad women and a card game?”

I knew about Lucy’s card game at The Manner on Wednesdays, but I didn’t want this man that deep in my world.

“What triggered you delivering the letter if it wasn’t Francine?”

“I didn’t say that. It was her. She emailed me last week and instructed me to hand deliver the letter to his mailbox and watch that he got it. I was all ready to come on down to make sure he got here safely when, as I told you ... ”

“Right, you had that emergency.”

“Don’t say it