Lost Souls by J. Bishop (the giving tree read aloud txt) 📗

wasn’t a happy man. Trick got in his car, pulled out of the driveway, and with a squeal of tires, took off. Valerie started up her vehicle, and smiling, she followed.

Chapter Eighteen

Mason pulled up outside Kyle Morrow’s apartment, and for the thousandth time that morning, cursed at himself. He’d planned to go straight to the office and figure out where to start his day. He’d postponed too many appointments already, but when he’d gotten in his car, he couldn’t help but think of Trick and his friend’s stupid situation. Trick had done some ridiculous things in his history with Red, but this one took the top prize as by far the dumbest, and Red believed if Bevins and Winkler kept digging, that his former partner might end up in prison.

That thought bothered him, and the appearance of Trick’s grandmother standing in the kitchen while Trick tried to defend and justify his actions hadn’t helped. She’d smiled at Mason, as if knowing Mason would help her grandson, no matter how mad Mason might be. That perhaps, had made him the angriest.

Sitting in the parking lot, he picked up his phone and called Mikey, who answered on the first ring. “Mason?”

“Mikey, forget what I said last night.” He paused. “Hold off making the appointments.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t called anyone. You at Morrow’s?”

“How’d you know that?”

“Just a hunch.” She paused. “You want me to call Cissy? Get her side of the story?”

Mason nodded. “You up for that?”

“You bet. I figure she might confide in me more so than you. We can commiserate over our poor choices in men.”

“That’s true.”

“You didn’t have to agree that quickly.” He heard a rustling of papers. “Have you heard from Trick?”

“No. And I don’t expect to.”

“What if he went to see Cissy last night?”

Mason laid his head back. “Then God help him. There’s only so much I can do if he keeps digging his hole. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Meet Cissy for coffee. Don’t talk on the phone. Trust that gut of yours to see if she’s telling the truth. And one more thing. Check online and see what you can find on Valerie Vain. I need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

“Good idea on both. And good luck with Morrow.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you.”

“See you.”

Mason hung up and got out of his car, still thinking he should forget this whole thing and let Trick find his own way out of this mess. He approached Kyle’s door and knocked.

The lock jiggled, and the door opened. A man in his early thirties with razor-cut blonde hair, a muscular build, and wearing sweats studied him. Mason held out his ID. “Kyle Morrow? I’m Mason Redstone, a private investigator looking into the deaths of Lydia Stanford and Chad Howard. Do you have a few minutes to answer a few questions?”

He opened the door wider and frowned. “What? You, too? How many of you are there? I just talked to some other guy an hour ago.”

Mason squinted. “Tall man, with a stupid grin, and a cowboy hat?”

“That’s the one. Can’t you two compare notes?”

**

Mikey hung up and found Cissy Howard’s phone number. Dialing, she felt a sliver of worry tingle in her belly when she imagined Trick answering. A woman picked up, though, and Mikey sighed in relief. They talked and Cissy agreed to meet Mikey in a nearby coffee shop.

Thirty minutes later, Mikey sat at a table with her cup, when Cissy walked in. Mikey waved and Cissy stopped at the table. “Let me get a coffee.”

Mikey nodded, and waited until Cissy returned.

“Thanks for meeting me,” said Mikey.

Cissy sat across from her. “You said it was urgent.” She traced the lid of her drink with a finger. “Your brother is a nice man,” said Cissy. “I hope he can help Trick clear my name.”

“He’s nice, but he has his moments.” She leaned in, debating where to begin. “About Trick─”

Cissy spoke softly. “You know, don’t you?”

Mikey picked up her coffee. “Yeah. We do.”

Cissy pressed her fingers over her mouth. “It was stupid. I know it.”

“I’m not here to judge you.”

“You should be.”

Mikey gave Cissy a second to adjust. “When did you talk to Trick?”

“Last night. He called.”

Mikey nodded. “He didn’t come by, did he?”

“No. God, no.”

“Good.”

Cissy stared off. “How’d you find out?”

“Carla saw you two at the funeral.”

Cissy closed her eyes and groaned.

“And once those detectives talk to her, they’ll know, too, which is why we need to get ahead of this.” Cissy’s eyes shined as they filled with tears. Mikey handed her a napkin. “Hey, you’re not first woman to do something stupid with a man.”

She sniffed. “I think this goes way beyond stupid. I thought I was in love with him.”

“And you know now you aren’t?”

Cissy shook her head. “I was just lonely, and liked the attention. He’s good at that, you know?”

“He can be a charmer.”

“After the funeral, I…I…I don’t know what I was thinking. We just had a moment of…of…weakness…need? It felt good to be wanted.” Another tear threatened and she wiped it away. “It was dumb.”

Mikey let her drink some coffee and compose herself. “What did he say last night when you talked to him?”

She dabbed her nose with the napkin. “He broke it off. Told me we couldn’t talk anymore, or see each other. He’d keep working to prove my innocence, but we couldn’t be together. Ever. I didn’t argue, because I knew he was right. I just never had the courage to say it, but he did.” She chuckled softly. “He asked for one thing, though – Chad’s cowboy boots.”

Mikey frowned. “Doesn’t Trick already own a slew of them?”

“Of course, but he gave Chad a pair of brown Justins before we left Texas. Chad wore them into the ground. They’re beat up, but Trick wants them, I guess for sentimental reasons.” She wiped away another tear. “I actually went to look for them this morning. That’s where I was when you called. My parents put