Read A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) for Free Online

Bernadette was rushing around getting things done. She would leave, tomorrow, after Sunday Mass for a few days, celebrating the holiday with family members living just outside the Coachella Valley in Beaumont.
    Jessica sat on the patio after a lengthy workout in the pool. The floral print bathing suit she bought in Maui dried quickly. Feeling alone and adrift, she sought solace in the beauty of her surroundings. Less lavish than the tropical splendor of Maui, the Coachella Valley, in the Sonoran Desert, captivates in its own way.
    Some of what holds sway is the contrast between the austerity of the desert and the lushness of oases, natural and manmade, that populate the valley. The seven desert resort cities, str ewn along Highway 111 south of Interstate 10 beckoned, each in its own way. Wilder, mostly unincorporated areas north of I-10 possess their own fascination. Especially to those who regard themselves as true “desert rats.”
    Encircling the valley, mountains cradle desert-dwellers in their embrace. They keep the rain at bay, and help create the desert climate. Jessica liked to imagine that the mountain ranges also staved off danger. She was not the first to regard the Coachella Valley as a sort of Shangri-La. Even now, after so much evil had found its way into her life, Jessica took comfort from the steadfastness of those ancient craggy peaks.
    Two of them, Mt. San Jacinto and Mt. San Gorgonio, stood watch like gargantuan sentinels, posted on either side of I-10 at the Banning Pass. It was a marvel to behold them when they were covered with snow in winter, while inhabitants below cavorted among the swaying palms in shirts sleeves and shorts. When overtaken by the urge to play in the snow that was possible, too. The Palm Springs Aerial Tramway moved revelers from palms to pines, depositing the chill-seekers near the top of Mt. San Jacinto, in a matter of minutes.
    This morning, the green of the manicured golf course posed in startling contrast to blue skies, magenta bougainvillea, and mountains cast in varied hues of browns, gold, russets, pinks and purples. The palette of colors shifted depending on the angle of the sun and the time of day. Golfers darted here and there in speedy little carts, determined to get in 18 holes before the triple-digit heat stomped them into the ground. Cries of triumph and tragedy followed in their wake. Jessica had added another kind of color to her vocabulary, early in life, by overhearing encounters with errant balls and unyielding holes on the course. But their banter was generally cheery, the sound of happy humans at play. Jessica welcomed their presence today.
    While she was b rooding about what to do with the day ahead, her phone rang. She cast about for a moment trying to find it. Pulling it out from under a nearby towel, she answered on the third or fourth ring.
    “Hello , Jessica speaking.”
    “Jessica, this is Frank. Frank Fontana.” She could not have been more surprised. Until he showed up for Roger’s funeral, Jessica had not seen him for years. The past few weeks had been marked by a number of strange comings and goings, to say the least.
    “Frank, what a nice surprise, how are you doing?”
    “I’m fine, Jessica. But, we need to talk.”
    “Oh shit,” Jessica thought, flashing on the words Jim-the-swine-hearted had uttered as he sat down beside her. Right before he delivered his let’s-get-this-marriage-over-with speech. Grrr! That was not Frank’s fault. “Down girl” she said to her inner pit bull.
    “Of course, Frank. What’s up?”
    “I need your advice—legal and otherwise. Any chance I could drop by tomorrow? I was planning to bring the kids out to the desert for a visit with Mom and Dad. Could you free up some time for coffee or a drink?”
    Frank, a police officer with the Riverside County Sherriff’s Department, lived in the city of Riverside about sixty miles west of the desert. His dad, Don Fontana, was a Sergeant with the Palm Springs police