Read Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) for Free Online Page A

mirror.”
    She stood up. Even though she held the tissues in front of her face, I could see that her makeup had smeared. The pretty eyes were now more Halloween than beauty queen.
    “May I use your window for light?” she said, a little catch in her voice.
    “Certainly.” The only window in my office was behind my desk. Spot and I were blocking it. I stood, pushed my chair to the side, took hold of Spot’s collar, and took him to stand by the door with me.
    Nadia walked behind my desk, pulled a little makeup case out of her purse, and flipped open the mirror. She stood at an angle to the window, looked in the tiny mirror, and made a gasp.
    Eventually, she focused. She patted and blotted with the tissues. She found a cotton ball in her purse and rubbed it around her eyes. She used a miniature brush to draw with blue pigment. Then she pulled out a little tin and an applicator to dab at what looked like light chocolate parfait. She rubbed it on her cheeks and under her eyes. The cotton swab came out once again for touch-up. Then came a Q-tip for fine tuning. She blinked hard. Blotted some more. It was a long time before she put her tools back in her purse.
    I’d once had two rusted fenders repaired and the entire Jeep repainted with less work.
    Nadia went back to the chair and sat down, her back to Spot and me where we were still standing at the door.
    I let go of Spot and went back to my desk chair. Spot tried to sniff Nadia’s face. She held her hand up and ducked.
    “Spot, c’mere.” I patted my thigh.
    He didn’t even look at me.
    “C’mere,” I said again.
    Spot glanced at me, then looked back at Nadia. His head was taller than hers when she was sitting. She kept her hand up as a barrier.
    Spot walked over to the rug by the door, turned one and a half circles, lay down, and sighed, no doubt wondering why people put on strange-smelling stuff and then didn’t even let him smell it.
    “I’m a bad mother,” Nadia said. “I know that. But Trudy has been a difficult child to love. She’s hard in every way. Hard acting, hard personality, even hard looking.”
    “What does that mean, hard looking?”
    Nadia closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if to calm herself. She let it out and said, “Trudy was born with a cleft lip. They did surgery, of course. But it didn’t turn out very well. The scar kind of pulls at her lip. I’ve suggested several times that she could get it fixed. She could have pretty lips. If she got braces, she could have pretty teeth, too. But she won’t hear of it.”
    “How old is Trudy?” I asked.
    “She’s fifteen. Plenty old enough to know how important it is to look good.”
    “You mean, look good on your terms, like you,” I said.
    “What does that mean?”
    “Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect makeup. What you like. Maybe Trudy looks just fine according to what she likes.”
    “With a scar on her lip? How could that ever be fine?”
    “There are some famous actresses with scars or at least some imperfections. Most people think they look great.”
    “They’re famous.” she said. “And they’re beautiful otherwise.”
    “They achieved in spite of their scars,” I said. “They can afford to get surgery, but they decide that their marks are part of who they are.”
    “But Trudy is young,” Nadia said. “She needs all the help she can get. She’s got her entire life in front of her. And she’s never going to be famous. She’s weird. Normal girls play with dolls. Trudy likes to make videos of weird stuff. Normal girls practice singing along with popular songs. Trudy recites rap lyrics. And she plays softball. She’s not very athletic, yet she wants to be a softball pitcher. How could I ever connect with a girl like that?”
    “I don’t know, Nadia. You said Trudy lives with her father?”
    “Yes. In Sacramento.”
    “What’s Merrill’s last name?”
    “O’Leary.”
    “What’s Merrill like?”
    Nadia looked down at her lap. “He’s pretty rough on