Read No Cure for Death for Free Online

you know, you mention the name Janet and I subconsciously confuse her with a Janet I knew once.”
    “Who the hell
was
this Janet you knew?”
    “Just a friend of my sister’s, back when I was still in high school.”
    “High school. Should I have known her?”
    “No, this was after you graduated. You were a year ahead of me, remember.”
    “No, hold on, this is impossible. My Janet lived in Des Moines. She only moved to Port City within the last few months.”
    “That’s just it, Mal. My Janet lived in Des Moines. She was only in Port City for one summer.”
    “How did your sister know her?”
    “They worked together, at some summer job. I don’t remember what.”
    “Christ, her last name, what was her last name, can you remember that?”
    “Uh... Ferris, I think. I think her name was Janet Ferris.”
    I sighed. I drained my glass of orange juice and poured another out of the jug. I was awake. “That clinches it then. You
were
just imagining things. My Janet’s last name was Taber.”
    “Maybe that was her married name.”
    “Don’t think so. This guy she lived with, it was just a common-law thing, I don’t figure she ever took his name. I...”
    The clomp of footsteps in the hall cut in, announcing that the head of the house was on his way for a visit. Moments later Brennan’s bulky frame filled the kitchen doorway, and he said, “What the hell are you doing here, Mallory? I thought I told you to leave the boy sleep.”
    “I was up, sir,” John said.
    “Well, okay.”
    I said, “What’d you find out?”
    Brennan gave me his slow look, tension tightening his jaw muscles; he was getting ready to have another go at me, but John stopped him.
    “Why are you coming down so hard on Mal, when he’s just trying to help you out?” John asked him, dropping the “sir” as though it had just occurred to him that Brennan wasn’t his commanding officer.
    But Brennan ignored John and held his gaze on me. He was trying to keep an expression of control, of confidence on his face, but it wasn’t working out for him.
    Finally he said, “Before you ask me any more questions, Mallory, I got something to lay on you: just keep your damn butt out of my business. And this whole deal is
my business.
You had some information, you delivered it, now go on home, damn it. Shoo.”
    And I said, “I’m not a bystander, Brennan. Whether you like it or not, I’m an active participant. If you find any evidence of foul play, I’ll be a top prosecution witness, you know. So be nice to me, Brennan. Satisfy the curiosity of this concerned citizen.”
    He came over and sat down at the table with us, changed his expression to one that was about as friendly as he could muster for me. Sort of a warm grimace.
    He said, “I appreciate you letting me know about the circumstances surrounding that accident last night. I really do. I’m obliged to you for that much, don’t get me wrong.”
    “Then tell me about the autopsy.”
    He started to get mad all over again, then sighed in momentary defeat. “We’re trying to contact next of kin. After a reasonable attempt’s been made, we can go on ahead with it.”
    John said, “What about the girl’s mother?”
    Brennan shook his head. “Called the University Hospital just before I came up here. Old lady Ferris is out of the picture.”
    “Who?” I said.
    “The mother,” Brennan said. “Renata Ferris, age fifty-nine. She died around four this morning.”

SEVEN
    John’s sister Lori and her husband and newborn child lived in a duplex on East Hill, just a few blocks from my trailer—the lower floor of a paint-peeling gothic two-story.
    When John knocked, we heard “Come on in,” and did, finding Lori sitting on the couch, with her blouse unbuttoned, holding her baby to one beautiful, mostly exposed breast. She apologized for not rising. Lori is a pretty, shapely little thing, with long brown hair highlighted with red, and milky white skin freckled here and there. Her breasts,