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

Francine set up might be her only legacy. It would be something others could aspire to. There’s not a lot of that in the world right now. She died for it.”

She bellowed laughter into the phone. “So what, how’s that my problem? I need to live, Boise. I need to live. Some selfish old lady has some dream of what, confessing at the end and making up for all the bad shit she did?”

“You’ll have enough to live.”

“You mind contributing?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Well, big shot, if I can give up millions, you can give up what we owe you. Junior did send one text to me. Just one. He said we should pay you what we owe you. You believe that? He vanishes like the Loch Ness Monster and that’s all he says to his mother. As if this was all my fault. I always get the blame.”

She had a point. I should put my money where my mouth was. It was a couple thousand dollars. Was it worth fighting over? I stared at the green paper in the wastebasket, and was furious about something else. Why couldn’t this goddamned building get a decent cleaning crew? Why was a sheet of paper I’d thrown in my wastebasket still there after a goddamn month? I had to call them and tell them what was what.

“Sure, Hill, keep it. Give it to the people who were wronged. Just remember, I supported and continue to support Francine and Kendal’s cause. I just proved it.”

She laughed again. A spiteful laugh full of pepper and grease. “Here’s hoping I never see you again, Detective.”

The line disconnected. Even when it was derisive, I got a jolt out of being called, “Detective.”

I dialed my building management company to complain about my wastebasket. By the time the nighttime voicemail finished talking about leasing opportunities and listing a special number to call about after-hours emergencies, my anger had wilted. I hung up, fished the green paper out of the wastebasket and dropped it back on top of the desk.

I muttered to myself, “If not now, when?”

THAT HAD BEEN THREE days ago. I arrived at Dana’s party to shouts of laughter and blaring music. Dana stood in the back, serving drinks while she watched Annie dance in the middle of her living room, her arms around one of the men who worked at the paper.

“What’ll it be, Boise?” Dana asked, reaching behind her into a cooler and pulling out a Guinness. I put my hand on top of hers before she opened the can.

“Annie’s back, I see.”

“Yup,” Dana said with a smile of contentment only a profound and long-lasting human relationship can bring.

“You got any seltzer?”

She laughed as if I’d just told her the best joke of the year, then the grin fell off her face like the glue had melted. I pulled out the green paper without unfolding it.

“Why you pirate!”

“Arrrrr.”

I shoved the paper back into my pocket.

Then she asked, “How many days?”

“Two.”

“Good for you, Boise. I’m proud ... ”

“Don’t get excited. I’m not much of a joiner. Nice party.”

I didn’t feel like spilling my guts right now to Dana, so I took my seltzer and wandered away, saying polite hellos and laughing with whomever I ran into. I was only looking for one person. She wasn’t there, so I flopped on the couch between a vampire who smelled like stale menthols and a devil-nurse whose mascara had started to run. I scooped party peanuts from a bowl and munched. I’d nearly finished the seltzer. Nervous energy. God, I wanted a drink.

Leber appeared followed by some guy I didn’t recognize. Neither of them wore a costume.

“You too good for a costume?” I asked, then shook Leber’s hand. The guy with him said something I couldn’t hear, then excused himself. Leber eyed my nearly empty cup.

“What you drinking?” he asked.

“Gin and tonic,” I replied.

“What kind of gin?”

“Tanqueray,” I said after a slight pause. He probably saw I had no lime and knew I was full of shit. Detectives.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you talk to Dana?” I asked.

“’Course, she’s the hostess, isn’t she?”

“Leber, I’m tired of seeing so much of you. You did me right, saving my life and all, but I need a break, what say another week before we chat.”

“One thing, Boise. That whole Sherlock move on the boat.” I stared at him blankly. “You don’t remember? When were we out viewing Francine’s crime scene. The nick in the side of the Bacon boat, High Hopes. You thought it was from Francine’s shoe.”

“Leber, you never seemed like the ‘I told you so’ type.”

“I’m not, but you must admit, it was a big error. Gilroy did it on Distilled in Paradise. There was a nick from her shoe on his boat too, but also a little drag along the outer hull as she went in.”

“Distilled in Paradise. That’s the name of Gilroy’s boat?” I asked. He nodded. “I never got a good look at the name. So, you’re giving me a backhanded compliment? Like Boise got the evidence right, but the location wrong?”

“No man, I’m giving you a compliment-compliment. Because of you, I was on the lookout for that evidence on Gilroy’s ride. Barnes was impressed when I figured it out.”

“You tell him you got the idea from me?”

He laughed. “You kidding? Hells, no. I’m taking full police custody of that deduction.”

That’s when I spotted Irene, seething sex. She had something, even if years of booze had used up some of her glow, she still had a way of putting a charge into me. She had her tattooed arms draped over the shoulders of a guy wearing a Ronald Reagan mask who was probably twice her age, if I knew Irene’s taste.

I swatted at something tickling my ear. It tickled me again, and I jerked around. Someone in a bear costume was running her furry bear finger gently over my ear.

“Hey, man, what gives?”

“Your ear smells like honey, I was about to bite it,” said the voice of Yarey Gilroy