Read Skeleton in a Dead Space (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) for Free Online Page A

crime scene tape up.”
    Darn. That house is jinxed. I’ll never sell it even if I get it fixed. And it will cost me an arm and a leg. Even if I sell it, I’ll lose money.
    Joanie came out of the downstairs bathroom, where she’d gone to “put on her face,” a much more elaborate procedure for her than me. “Thanks, Kelly, for the talk…and the couch. I don’t think you helped at all.” She gave me sad smile.
    “Sorry, Joanie.” Nobody can help. You’ll have to figure this one out for yourself. “Come back anytime.”
    I got the girls to school, on time for once, and then ran by the office to tell Keisha where I’d be and grab a handful of papers that I could work on. I forgot about Anthony and my promised nine o’clock meeting with him in the office. He came to the house just before nine-thirty. I was sitting on the porch on the collapsible chair I always kept in the car, staring off into space, enjoying the cool October breeze and being thankful it wasn’t cool enough to drive me inside that smelly house.
    “Miss Kelly? I got something to show you.” He fished in the pocket of his coveralls and handed me a gold locket, with a delicate monogram: M.W.M., scrolled in elaborate letters. The points of the letters were heightened by diamond chips. The gold felt good in my hands. This was a valuable piece.
    “What’s this?”
    “Found it in the kitchen. I didn’t quite tell the truth last night. I rooted around in that kitchen, searched the corners of that dead space. Figured you were so intent what was in that box, we never looked any more. And this is what I found. Stuck it down in my pocket just before I got hit.”
    I opened the locket and found a picture of a woman on one side and a man on the other. The pictures were black and white, but I could tell that the woman was young, quite young, maybe early twenties. She was smiling slightly, and expertly used makeup made her eyes look large and mysterious—the whole effect was that she knew a secret. Her dark hair hung just below the chin, turning up in a pert flip while the top of it seemed teased slightly. I took a deep breath—the ’60s. The hair was the ’60s—not the rebellious side of the ’60s but not everybody was a hippie in those years. I remembered pictures of my own mother, who was born in 1945 and came of age during that decade.
    The man was older—thirty-five, perhaps—and wearing a business suit, white shirt, and tie. His eyes looked intently at the camera but I could tell nothing from looking at him—I saw no joy, no intensity, just a dark look. He was handsome, if you liked the almost perfect, wavy dark hair kind of good looks. I never trusted men like that—especially after Tim.
    “It’s evidence,” I said, looking at Anthony. “Maybe important evidence.”
    “Yeah. You gonna give it to the police?”
    “Not before I think about it.”
    “That’s what I thought. You want me to start tearing out tomorrow?”
    “I’ll call you. There’s another property you might go look at. Meantime, you got work?”
    “Yeah, I got work. Don’t worry about me.”
    “Anthony,” I started, and then let his name hang in mid-air.
    “What is it, Miss Kelly?”
    I started to tell him about that threatening phone call because now I’d connected it to the fire—I just couldn’t figure out why someone would care so much about the skeleton and that house. But I told myself there was no sense worrying Anthony. “Nothing,” I said. “I thought of something to ask you…but it isn’t important.”
    He gave me a puzzled look and turned to go. “You call me if you think of it,” he said.
    The adjustor was thorough, slow, and not talkative. I spent the morning on the porch—not wanting to follow him around inside where the smell was overpowering—and felt like I’d wasted the time. I went through the stack of paperwork, made the calls I could on the cell phone, and stared down the street until I’d memorized every house on the