Read As Gouda as Dead for Free Online

didn’t ring through. I glanced at the readout; my cell phone had lost its signal. I reflected on the conversation with Violet and Paige back at the pub. We really could use another cell tower in the area. What if we decorated it with those fake trees to mask it? Would Councilwoman Bell get on board then?
    My cell phone trilled. Heartened, hoping it was Tim—maybe he’d glimpsed that I had called him at home, and he was returning the call; crisis averted—I answered.
    â€œCharlotte,” Rebecca said. She sounded out of breath. “Where are— Where’s Dev—” Her words kept cutting off. A wheeze of what sounded like air but had to be electric static echoed in the background. “I’m at the pub with Delil— We came looking for— We got worr— What’s going on?”
    My insides felt cinched tight. “We’re on our way to Jordan’s place. Urso’s there.”
    â€œWhy do you—” More dead air. “Urso?”
    â€œI can barely hear you, and I can’t talk now. Tim’s missing. I’m hanging up. I’ll call you when we learn something. It’s probably nothing.” Another icier-than-all-get-out chill coursed through me. I chalked it up to me channeling the deputy’s worry. Nothing was wrong. Nothing.
    At the top of the drive, O’Shea swerved around the many cars and trucks parked in front of Jordan’s ranch-style house and screeched to a halt. We bounded from the SUV at the same time.
    â€œLook!” He pointed. “That’s my uncle’s truck.”
    At the far left of the driveway, a blue 1995 Chevy Silverado stood at an angle. I remembered when Tim bought it. I was still in high school, but my grandparents took me into the pub for a burger. Tim was behind the bar bragging about the truck and how he was going to rebuild the engine and upgrade the radiator from a single-core to a three-core because the lesser wasn’t good for towing. Like he towed anything, his conversation mate had teased. Now I recalled a more recent boast by Tim; the Silverado had over two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. He claimed it was the most reliable buddy a guy could ever have. My grandfather said Tim would make a great spokesman for Chevrolet.
    O’Shea darted to the truck and peeked through the driver window. “He’s not inside. Follow me.”
    Not one to argue with the law—okay, sometimes I did, but I wasn’t about to tonight—I obeyed.
    O’Shea sprinted to the main house and up the triplet of steps to the porch. He lifted the lion’s-head-shaped doorknocker and rammed it against the wood. From inside, I heard men laughing.
    When Delilah and Meredith had
kidnapped
me, they hadn’t let me grab my gloves. I rubbed my fingers to warm them. Not good enough. I cupped them and blew into them. “Deputy . . . Devon . . .” Were my teeth chattering? “I think we might be overreacting. I’ll bet your uncle came here to join the party. He and Jordan are friends. Maybe he was trying to tell you he saw an invitation. He forgot to RSVP. He was going to call Urso to tell him he was on his way. Maybe this party was a surprise like mine was. Maybe—”
    â€œNo.” O’Shea was adamant. “Uncle Tim refuses to go to bachelor parties. He hates them. He hates all celebrations.”
    â€œYou’re kidding. He owns the most rousing place in town.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd he was the one who talked you into posing at my bachelorette party.”
    â€œ
I
can celebrate.
You
can celebrate. Not him.”
    â€œI don’t get it. Why does he hate celebrating so much?”
    â€œYou don’t know?” O’Shea rammed the doorknocker into the wood again. “He got dumped at the altar twenty years ago.”
    â€œWow. I had no idea. I barely knew him then. I was in high school.”
    â€œYeah, of course. Dumb