Coldwater Revenge by James Ross (best e reader for android .txt) 📕

“We were working on a three billion pound tender offer. You leave the room with chips like that on the table, and they don’t ever ask you to come back.” Can’t you be home more than one minute without showing off?

She dismissed the preening. “Your father risked his life for strangers. I never understood that. I was always after him to stop.”

“He should have listened to you.”

“Your brother, too. There’s too much testosterone in this family.”

She’d skipped a few questions. ‘You look tired. You should rest. Maybe you should stay another week. The last usually signaled the end.

“You worried about someone blowing me up?”

“Killing yourself with work is more like it. You look exhausted.”

A carousel of images triggered by finding Billy’s body, and the phone call from New York that might mean he would have to cut this visit short, clamored for Tom’s attention. He hadn’t wanted to mention any of it right away. But the dead body of a childhood acquaintance is not something that can go unmentioned for long. “Look, mom. On the way in from the airport…”

“Is that why your hand’s hovering over your pocket like there’s a pack of cigs in there and you just quit this morning?”

He sighed, reminding himself to be patient. “Joe delivered your warning about the phone.”

She placed her fingers on his forearm. “Leave it, Tommy. Just for a week. You need your family time.”

“And happy to have it.”

The opening was small, but she plunged. “And about time you started your own, don’t you think?”

He laughed. “No.” And not fair asking questions out of order.

“You’re wearing yourself out.”

He shrugged.

“You’re obsessed.”

That wasn’t part of the usual litany. He smiled, hoping it didn’t encourage.

“With money,” she pressed.

Ouch! Then the words slipped out. “I wonder why?”

Her chin jerked up and back as if he’d slapped her from below. But before he could sweep question and subject back under the rug where they belonged, one of the wireless gizmos on the table beside the couch began to trill. Lost among the bottled water, snack packs and piles of paperbacks, it was a moment before either of them could find the source. Mary grabbed the phone first. “No, I’m afraid he’s not,” she said. “I would try him at the station house… No, I really don’t… As I told you before, Miss Pearce, this is his home not his office.” Click.

Tom lowered his chin and peered at his mother from beneath compressed eyebrows. “Susan Pearce?” The name of his high-school girlfriend came out a rasp.

“Three times in the last half hour.”

“She’s here? Already?”

“She’s been back a year.”

“What? The Dooley brothers just fished her brother’s body out of Coldwater Lake less than an hour ago. Joe got the call on our way here. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

Mary’s hand moved to the top of her forehead where her long white fingers combed a meticulous hairdo. “Oh, dear. No wonder you’re so testy. I wish you’d told me. And the poor girl’s just after losing her parents, too.”

“What? Dr. Pearce is dead?” It came out nearly a shout. “And Mrs. Pearce?”

Mary closed her eyes, sighed and then opened them again. “Didn’t you know? That’s what brought Miss Pearce back to Coldwater. The parents drowned in a boating accident in Wilson Cove last year. She and her brother inherited that beautiful estate.”

* * *

Susan’s back in Coldwater?

Tom felt like a kid who’s just heard the jingle of an ice cream truck rolling down the street—alert, excited, ready to blast off. But the sound of an SUV coming to a stop, a door flying open and cries of, ‘Uncle Tom! Uncle Tom!’ forced him to tuck the feeling away for later.

Two pairs of sticky hands wrapped around his neck. Four gangly legs slid into his arms. He staggered upright like an out-of-shape circus strong man. “Girls!” he groaned. “You make your daddy do this?”

“He can lift us over his head!”

“Well, I can drop you!” Tom flexed his knees and a staccato of pink flip flops slapped the hardwood. Squeals of laughter blasted his ears.

“And who’s this? Somebody’s new boyfriend?” A dark haired boy of about six ducked behind his sister’s legs and peered shyly around them. Tom bent at the waist and held out his hand.

“That’s Luke, Uncle Tom!”

“No way! Luke’s about yeah high.” Tom turned his palm upside down over his knee. “Are you Luke?”

The boy nodded.

“Let me feel your muscle.” Tom reached toward the boy, who lifted his arm slowly while holding tight to his sister’s leg. Tom wrapped his fingers gently around the boy’s bicep. “Wow! You’ve grown, buddy.” The boy smiled. “Where’s your mom?” He pointed toward the door. “She got packages?” He nodded and stepped cautiously from behind his sister. “Okay, let’s put those muscles to work.”

Tom and the kids helped their mother carry groceries to the kitchen, then she sent them off to play and do homework. Rising on her toes, Joe’s pretty wife gave Tom a quick peck on the cheek, and whispered, “Good to have you back.” A petite girl-next-door type with a slim figure and short brown hair, Bonnie Morgan was even-tempered, competent and forgiving of her husband’s many shortcomings, including his family. Tom didn’t often see that combination in his colleagues’ marriages. If his brother’s wife had been a tall redhead, there might have been some fraternal competition.

Joe came home an hour later and pulled Tom aside. “I got a call from somebody who saw Billy’s picture in this afternoon’s Coldwater Gazette and claims it looks like the guy who broke into his business a few weeks ago. I told him we’d meet him in an hour.”

Bonnie came out of the kitchen and gave her husband a hug and a kiss, saying that dinner would be ready in five minutes.

Joe took her hand. “Did Tommy tell you about Billy Pearce?”

“We’ve been whispering about it all afternoon. It’s terrible. But don’t say anything in front of the kids. Please. We don’t want nightmares.”

Joe squeezed