Read Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job for Free Online Page A

tables lined the long veranda. Women drank chilled cocktails and ate cheese from delicate plates while sitting in white Adirondack rockers overlooking a field of tennis courts.
    I followed the path to the pro shop, adjacent to a pair of large tennis courts. Each had tall light posts and a short rack of benches. The stadium courts.
    “Elliott, you finally taking lessons?” asked Jake, the resident tennis pro for Haverhill. He arranged a display of custom monogram tennis towels outside the pro shop door.
    “The last time I played, Jake, you kindly asked me to leave the court for the safety of the spectators. Listen, is Jaime Goodsen around?”
    “She’s finishing up on court fifteen. Fall doubles started and they’re going to States this year.”
    I thanked him and led Ransom along the brick path between courts. Tall chain-link fences covered in custom covers bordered each one. The soft thwacks as rackets smacked balls accompanied us to the back of the complex. Jaime Goodsen and her partner were shaking hands with their opponents across the net.
    Jaime was petite with spiky dark hair gone mostly gray and an athletic body Anna Kournikova would envy. I pointed her out to Ransom right when Jaime saw us and walked over with her doubles partner, Alicia Birnbaum.
    “Is he dead?” Jaime asked with wry interest. She spun her racket in her hand.
    “Miserly bastard should be,” Alicia said.
    “Ladies,” Ransom said with a nod and a quick flash of his badge. “I’m Lieutenant Ransom with the Sea Pine Police, and I think you know Elliott Lisbon.”
    I smiled sweetly.
    “You realize those little plastic badges they hand out as souvenirs aren’t real,” Alicia said to me. She pulled off her visor and shook out her soft brown hair, then smiled up at Ransom. Another petite, athletic little dynamo. Man I hated sports. “But I bet yours is real,” she added.
    “Yes, very real, and no, Mr. Goodsen is not dead. Minor wound to his upper right arm. Should be out of the hospital tomorrow.”
    “That’s a shame,” Alicia said.
    “Not a fan?” Ransom asked.
    “He’s put Jaime through years of embarrassment, about time someone shot the asshole.”
    “Are you confessing?” Ransom pulled out a slim notebook and started taking notes. “Or maybe an accomplice?”
    “Hey, don’t look at me for this,” Jaime said. “I’ve been here the whole time. He frustrated the life out of me for twenty-seven years. He’s not getting another minute of my time.” She packed her racket into a soft bag with Babolat stitched on the side.
    “I’m her alibi,” Alicia said. “We’ve been playing all day, since this morning. Two different leagues.”
    “Look, I don’t want him dead, just out of my life,” Jaime added as she stuffed two white towels into the bag and stood. “And my house.”
    “I hear you, Jaime,” I said, trying to get chummy. “Gil’s definitely quirky.”
    Alicia stepped in front of Jaime. “Quirky? Why don’t you skip on back to your Big House and let the grown-ups do the talking.”
    Jaime placed her hand on Alicia’s arm. “Gilbert’s a pain in the ass. An embarrassment, a letdown. I’ve waited and supported and spent two decades putting up with his hair-brained get-rich-any-minute ideas. I’m done. I did my best, now I’m out.”
    I was losing her and fast. She and Alicia grabbed their tennis bags, and Ransom put away his notebook.
    “Do you know where his egg might be? He’ll give you twenty-five thousand for it. Half the value,” I said as I followed them to the edge of the path.
    She turned around and laughed. “The whole half, huh? Listen, if you want to be some kind of negotiator, more power to you. I admire the Ballantyne and the work you do—”
    Alicia scoffed so loud I thought she might choke.
    “—but I don’t want the egg or half the value, I want half the assets. Only what’s mine. Tell him that.”
    I watched them walk down the path. Jaime may not have taken his egg, but she