Read The Old Blue Line: A Joanna Brady Novella (Joanna Brady Mysteries) for Free Online Page A

a file called Faithless Faith,” I said sheepishly. “I thought that writing it down would help me put it in the past.”
    “Did it?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “No such luck.”
    “Unfortunately,” Charles said, “Faithless Faith seems to have found a way back into your present. What about your dealings with that developer? Are there any records of your dealings with Mr. Jones in here?”
    “Yes,” I replied. “There have been a number of e-mail exchanges about that.”
    “In other words, this computer makes your whole life an open book for anyone who cares to take a look-see. Do you happen to have one of those floppy disk drives around here?”
    “It’s in the top drawer on the right along with a box of extra floppies. I use those to make backup copies of the business records on the computer’s hard drive. Why?”
    “I want you to come over here right now and make copies of all your essential business files and anything else you want to keep, including those unfinished novels. After that, we’re going to reformat your computer. When the cops come back with a search warrant—and I’m saying, when not if—they’ll grab your computer and use everything on it to put you away. Not having your files won’t stop them, but it’ll sure as hell slow them down. Reformatting is the best way to get rid of everything you don’t want anyone else to see. If they ask, tell them your computer crashed and reformatting was the only way you could reboot it. You get busy copying your files. In the meantime, give me the keys to your car.”
    “Why?” I asked.
    “Because you’re caught up in a complicated plot here, Mr. Dixon,” he said, holding out his hand, “and you’re about to go down for it.”
    Reluctantly, I fished my car keys out of my pocket and handed them over. It seemed to take ages to go through the computer, copying the necessary files. The whole time I was doing so, I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. If Charles Rickover was right, one of the people who worked for me—someone I trusted—was trying to frame me for killing Faith. So who was it?
    Charles came back upstairs a long time later. He was empty-handed and his face was grim. “Just as I thought,” he said. “There’s a bloody bat hidden under the mat in the trunk of your car. I believe I have a pretty good idea about where that blood might have come from.”
    “Did you get rid of it?” I asked shakily.
    “Hell no,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it’s the murder weapon. I’m not touching it, and neither are you.”
    “You mean we’re just going to let the cops find it?”
    “Absolutely. In the meantime, you and I are going to do our damnedest to figure out who’s behind this.”
    After returning my car keys, he picked up our empty coffee mugs and went over to the counter where he refilled them. By then I was too stunned to play host. Besides, I was still copying files. Working with floppy disks isn’t exactly an instantaneous process.
    “Okay,” he said, handing me the cup I assumed was mine. “What’s in the file cabinets? Are your personal papers there by any chance?”
    I nodded. “That’s where I keep paper copies of job applications, tax returns, court decrees—bankruptcy and divorce included. That’s also where you’ll find my birth certificate, Grandma Hudson’s death certificate, and a copy of my last will and testament.”
    “How often do you open those files?”
    “Not often, why?”
    “With any kind of luck, I think there’s a slight chance that those file folders may hold some fingerprints that will work in our favor, unless of course whoever is behind this was smart enough to use gloves. And if the prints are there, the only way they’ll work for us is if we can point the cops in the right direction.”
    “Fat chance of that,” I said. “If they come in with a search warrant, I’m toast.”
    “Not necessarily,” Charles said. “While I was downstairs, I called Pop. You’ve got a