Dirty Laundry (Cole McGinnis Mysteries) by Ford Rhys

Dirty Laundry (Cole McGinnis Mysteries) by Ford Rhys

Author:Ford, Rhys [Ford, Rhys]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2013-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

I SPENT the rest of the next day chasing down dead-end leads and paying bills. Wong wasn’t answering any of my calls about the case, and I was hitting a dead end on Gyong-Si. There was nothing on the Internet about why he left Korea, or if there was, it wasn’t in any language I could read. By midafternoon, Martin’s kids hit the office for a couple of hours, bringing with them a blueberry pie their grandmother, Claudia, baked for me. I thanked them profusely, and I got a patented Claudia smirk in return.

“Are you kidding? It’s all Nana’s doing,” Sissy snorted at me. “If she doesn’t go back to work soon, we’re all going to be rolling around like Violet Beauregarde.”

“That was my favorite book as a kid….” I trailed off when I caught the looks of confusion the teens threw me.

“There’s a book?” Mo cocked his head. “I liked the first movie. The remake was kind of weird, but hey, a river full of chocolate. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, um… okay.” I waved them off, feeling old. “I’m going to take my pie and go home now.”

People were starting to flow back into the neighborhood, coming home from their day jobs or from carting their children to soccer. The granola chick coffee shop across the street from my office was having a brisk business, the early tide of bearded hipsters and their fuzzy-armpitted girlfriends taking up most of the café’s outdoor seating. A particularly enterprising beanpole of a man had set up his guitar in the hopes of filling his case with tips. From the screeching twang coming from his instrument, he’d be there a long time before he made enough to get a single cup of joe.

Juggling the pie, I hopscotched over my front lawn, taking note of where the newly laid sod wasn’t catching. One of the bushes blown to ribbons by Grace Kim seemed to be thriving, sending out green shoots from its stubby branches. I patted it as I went by. The landscapers wanted to yank it up by its roots, but I’d wanted to give it a chance. We were both survivors, although from the looks of things, the bush was doing better than I was. My side ached a bit from sitting in traffic, and I promised my tense back and legs a run once I fed the cat and put away my pie.

That all went to shit when a car door slammed behind me and I turned my shoulders to see who it was, still tuned up to violence so soon after the shooting that took Claudia down. The sedan parked by my curb had the look of a rental car, a nondescript beige two-door chunk of metal no one with any personality would buy for themselves.

The car quickly faded from my attention. No, what held me firmly to the ground, clutching a plastic-film-wrapped pie as if it were my long-lost teddy bear, was the young man coming around the trunk side of the vehicle.


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