Read SIREN'S TEARS (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 3) for Free Online

lurking about, and I recognized no one in the crowd.  There wasn’t a polar bear in sight, and I had lost that feeling. So I went shopping. Maybe I had been wrong. I hoped I was. Because by the time I reached my car I was so overburdened with boxes and bags a Girl Scout with an attitude could have taken me out.

CHAPTER 3 – FATHER ZAPO
     
    The next day I was sitting in my office reading Doonesbury when a large black fly landed on my newspaper. I didn’t know flies lasted into November. It had been unseasonably warm, but still. I suspected it might be last fly of the fall. A survivor. I didn’t care. I hate flies, almost as much as I hate mosquitoes. I didn’t care if it was the last fly on Earth. We weren’t talking spotted owls or Florida panthers here.
    I hadn’t moved a muscle but the fly must have sensed my intent, because it flew to the window and started buzzing around its rims and slamming against the glass. Great. A loud fly.
    I didn’t have a fly swatter. I think they are disgusting. I rolled up the paper and walked slowly to the window. I didn’t like my chances. Fly swatters work because their business end has holes that let air pass through. Flies, incredibly sensitive to changes in air pressure, lose that extra step they need when a fly swatter heads their way.
    I heard someone come into my outer office and say something to Habika Jones, who was now working full time as my assistant, having quit the security firm responsible for my building. Even though I had banked some good money on some recent cases and was able to match Abby’s previous salary, it was still a leap of faith on her part. But as a former Army M.P. she was being wasted patrolling the security desk in the lobby and we both knew it. Her insight and experience had helped solve the Olsen case a few months earlier, and she was only a part-timer then, moonlighting from her regular job.
    I hoped she’d keep my visitor busy until I finished with the fly. I waited until my target quieted down. Then I struck. November flies apparently don’t even have that step to lose, because I mashed this one against the window. It made an impressive smear.
    “Got you, you son of a bitch.”
    “Nice work, Ramar of the Jungle.”
    It was Abby, standing at my office door. An elderly priest stood smiling in the doorway just behind her. He had a thick manila envelope in his hand.
    “You must have incredible eyesight, Mr. Rhode,” the priest said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “To be able to tell that the fly was a male.”
    “You’re losing me, Father.”
    “You said, ‘son of a bitch’.”
    Abby laughed.
    “Alton, this is Father Zapotoski.”
    I don’t get many priests coming to the office. In fact, he was the first that I could recall. Probably looking for a donation. I couldn’t very well say I gave at the office. I was in my office. Then I looked closer at him. It was the full head of white hair, neatly combed, that jarred my memory.
    “My vision is good enough to know we’ve met, Father. Or, should I say, almost met?”
    “You remember, then, Mr. Rhode,” he said. “That’s good, very good.”
    Abby looked a little confused, then shrugged.
    “Would you like some coffee, Father,” she asked.
    “No thank you.”
    “I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “Don’t forget to clean that window, boss.”
    Abby walked back out to her desk, shutting the door behind her, and the priest came over to me and put out his hand. He had nicotine stains on his fingers. He was smaller and thinner than I remembered, his roman collar too big for his neck.
    “I almost didn’t recognize you, Father.” He was the same priest I’d seen at the mall, looking at guides at the travel agency kiosk. “So, it was you who was following me.”
    “Yes.”
    “And I presume you are a real priest.”
    “Almost 40 years. I’m assigned to Our Lady of Solace in Tottenville.”
    “I’m glad. If you had been a hit man in priestly garb, I might be as dead as that fly.”
    He