Read The Dead Past for Free Online

one until she got the answers. I even felt a bit sorry for Broghin because, for whatever reason, he was trying so hard to be a nice guy.
    "I can appreciate your feelings, my friend, but with deepest sincerity I can promise you that I will not—"
    "You won't anything," he told her, "because you're going to stay at home and read your books and cook for your grandson and not get in my hair this time, Anna."
    I did not point out that he only had nine or ten hairs on his head.
    "I have no intention of interfering with any police matters."
    "No, not you," he said.
    "Not us," I said.
    Anna checked her Christie collection and found further resolve. She wheeled closer. "But you cannot argue that I do have a certain amount of personal involvement, and I am naturally curious to know as much as possible about the events that have transpired on my property. I believe it is my right to know."
    Broghin groaned. "I—"
    "Or is it that you find me incapable of accepting the truth because of some notion that I am merely an elderly woman who should be watching soap operas and knitting baby booties?"
    "No," Broghin said. "No, nothing like that."
    Of course not, and she knew it, but she was leading him into an argument when there was nothing to argue about, the same as she'd done to me on the phone last night. Backing off from that dead-end, she cut through the repartee and asked an outright question, "Did Harraday die from a broken neck?"
    "No."
    "Was his murder premeditated or—"
    "Goddammit!" the sheriff shouted, and it did me good to see he remained the same man beneath his newfound veneer of soft-spoken- ness . "I knew you'd start giving me the third-degree the minute I set foot in here. Why is it that you never let me do my job without running me through your gamut of inquisitiveness?"
    "Oh my," Anna said, and burst out laughing. "Gamut of inquisitiveness. That's very nice. Oh, I enjoy that immensely, Franklin. That's a fine effort. Gamut of inquisitiveness."
    "C'mon, give me a break."
    "I am merely trying to understand our current situation. It may be your job, but it might very well be my life."
    Broghin frowned and couldn't meet her eye. He had a hard time figuring out where to set his gaze and decided the dog's water dish was as good as any. "He died of natural causes."
    "And what naturally caused him to slam-dunk himself into a garbage can?" I asked.
    "I believe the sheriff meant he died an accidental death of sorts."
    "Yup, it was an overdose."
    "I see," Anna said. "Of what?"
    "What difference does that make?"
    "It could make a world of difference, as you already know, Franklin."
    "Alcohol and barbiturates and cocaine," he admitted. "That's why I said it was a drug deal that went bad. He and his partner were probably trashing themselves and it got out of hand. Harraday overdosed and the other guy panicked and dumped the body. It only makes sense."
    Anna's gaze caught mine.
    "No," I said. "I don't think it does. Why would someone party with cocaine only to undermine it with the come-down effects of barbiturates? It doesn't seem like he'd do it in one sitting, anyway."
    Broghin tried shifting to face me and couldn't quite heave himself around. "Not usually, but it happens. Listen you. Just stay put and don't go running around town trying to play cop."
    "Somebody has to."
    He went, " Hemphh " as though he'd caught an uppercut.
    It was the wrong thing for me to say, and I knew it when I said it. Broghin's Bing Crosby quality went diving out the window. Now he sounded more like Ethel Merman. "You just let me handle this! You get in my way and I swear I'll throw your ass back in jail and keep you there until your social security checks come in!"
    "You don't want me to run my gamut of inquisitiveness?"
    Broghin's lips puffed into bloodless leeches. He hefted himself to his feet in a jumble of chins and spare tires and stuff clinking on his gun belt. "You think I'm kidding?"
    "No."
    Anna rolled the chair between me and the sheriff, her hands