Read Hot for Free Online

how is he?”
    “Some broken bones, and the surgeons are gonna do some work on him tomorrow. But I think he’ll be all right.”
    “I sure hope so.” She was plainly concerned, maybe recalling the pain of losing her grandfather. Fourteen was young, all right.
    “Do you think there’s anything to Mr. Tiller’s suspicions?” Carver asked.
    “Suspicions?”
    “About something being wrong here on Key Montaigne.”
    “Of course there’s something to those suspicions.” Now she propped her fists on her narrow hips, ready to defend Tiller. “Mr. Tiller used to be a policeman, you know, in Milwaukee and then in Fort Lauderdale.”
    “I know.”
    “I mean, if he sees smoke—”
    “Okay, okay. Then you believe he’s—thinking okay these days?”
    “Ha! I know what you mean, but you take the trouble to listen and wait when Mr. Tiller tells you something, you’ll see how smart he really is. He sorta stops and starts and gets off on side roads when he talks, but don’t you ever bet he don’t know what he’s saying.”
    Carver remembered Desoto’s bus-in-traffic analogy. Henry made a lot of U-turns, too.
    “The person who ran over Mr. Tiller,” Effie said, “you think they did it on purpose?”
    “I’m gonna find out,” Carver told her. “In fact, if anybody asks you, that’s what I’m here to investigate—Mr. Tiller being hit by a car that kept going.”
    “You bet!” Her eyes widened brightly; she liked secrets.
    “Have you discussed Mr. Tiller’s suspicions with anybody else?”
    “Oh, no! He asked me not to. Only ones who know about them are Mr. Tiller, me, and the police chief, Lloyd Wicke. Mr. Tiller said it’d be best not to let anyone know somebody was suspicious of em; that way they’d destroy evidence or whatever, and might even sue for slander.”
    “Something to remember,” Carver said. “Mr. Tiller must trust you a lot.”
    Her freckled chin lifted. “He does.”
    Carver smiled. “I guess I will, too, then.”
    “You gonna be staying here awhile?”
    “Probably.”
    “I been coming in to clean three days a week. What I dropped by for was to ask if you wanted me to keep doing that.”
    “Sure,” Carver said. “That’s what Mr. Tiller would want.”
    She smiled and started to back away.
    “Effie,” Carver said, “you never did tell me what you figured was wrong on Key Montaigne.”
    She looked thoughtful. “I only know Mr. Tiller thinks there’s something. Could be a lotta things, I guess.”
    “Drugs?”
    “Huh?”
    “Is there much drug use on the island?”
    She didn’t hesitate. “There’s some, even among kids my age. I don’t know as there’s more here than anyplace else, though.”
    “What about the boy they found drowned, washed up on the beach? He was about your age.”
    “He was lots younger.” She sounded indignant. “At least a year. And I didn’t know him. He was from up north.”
    “Miami,” Carver said.
    “I only drove—been driven through—Miami now and again. Don’t know a solitary soul there.” When she saw he was finally finished questioning her, she started backing away again. Maybe shyly, but Carver wasn’t sure; few things were harder to read than a fourteen-year-old girl. She wore her joggers untied, with the shoelaces trailing. He wondered how she kept from tripping over them. “I got a door key,” she said, “so you don’t have to worry about letting me in if you wanna be someplace else. And my number’s circled in Mr. Tiller’s directory in by the phone, case you make a mess and need spur-of-the-moment cleaning. I live not far down Shoreline and can get here on my bike pretty fast.”
    “You charge extra for emergencies?” Carver asked, half jokingly.
    She took him seriously and a calculating expression came over her freckled, girlish features. She’d apparently never considered the idea of overtime pay. “No,” she said, “cost is just the same.” Youthful virtue had conquered greed.
    He grinned. “Okay. See