Cruel Comfort (Evan Buckley Thrillers Book 1) by Harper James Page B
Authors: Harper James
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photographs and commendations. Lots of
them showed Faulkner with a good looking, dark haired woman.
'That's me and the wife, God rest
her soul,' Faulkner said, joining him and pointing to one of a younger version
of himself and the woman, smiling brightly on vacation somewhere. It looked
like Switzerland or Austria. He pointed to another one of an even younger
version of the same women standing with an older couple in front of an old, red
barn. 'That's her and her folks before we got married.' He stared silently at
the photograph as he must have done a thousand times before. 'She died last
year. A blessing really, she'd been ill for a long time.'
'I'm sorry,' Evan said. 'I know what
it's like to lose someone you love.'
CHAPTER 9
Evan knew he didn't have any choice
now but to speak to Linda Clayton. He wasn't comfortable with the fact that
he'd spoken with Faulkner under false pretences. More than that, it was obvious
that Faulkner wouldn't have given him the time of day if he hadn't told the
lie. Other people he wanted to talk to would probably be the same way. Besides,
he wanted to meet her and help her. He certainly wasn't expecting her to pay
him. He didn't have anything else to do with his time after all.
He drove straight to her house after
leaving Faulkner. There wasn't going to be any fooling around this time, so he
parked directly outside the house, walked up the path and knocked on the door.
Her car was in the driveway and Tom Jacobson had told him she didn't like to go
out in the daytime, so he was confident she was at home. That didn't mean she
was going to answer the door, though. He knocked a couple more times, and then
peered through the window. He couldn't see anyone moving around inside.
He didn't want to draw too much
attention to himself but it looked like he would have to talk to her through
the door and try to persuade her to let him in. He looked up and down the
street but there wasn't anyone around.
He cupped his hands round his mouth
and put them to the door. 'Mrs Clayton, my name is Evan Buckley. I'm a private
detective. I believe you came to my office a couple of times. I would very much
like to talk to you. Please let me in. I'm not going away until I've talked to
you.'
The door remained firmly shut, so he
tried again. 'I've just spoken to Matt Faulkner...'
The door was pulled open so fast he
almost fell on top of her. She must have been standing right on the other side
of it. Obviously there was some kind of reciprocal arrangement with her and
Faulkner's names. All you had to do was find the right button to push. He
managed to regain his balance and stood upright. 'Mrs Clayton..' he started
again.
'Yes, yes, I heard all that garbage
through the door. What are doing talking to that old bastard Faulkner?'
Evan got his first good look at her.
She was tall and slim with shoulder length blond hair. Evan couldn't tell if it
was natural or out of a bottle. He couldn't see any tell tale roots. She had a
strong nose and eyes that should have been clear blue and sparkling if it
wasn't for something behind them that stole the light from them. He wouldn't
have called her beautiful, but she was definitely striking. The mention of
Faulkner had brought a flush to her cheeks. He hadn't been exaggerating about
soured relationships, Evan thought. Most of the sourness seemed to be going in
one direction, but that was understandable.
'I had to start somewhere. I tried
you first, but you seemed a little reluctant to talk.'
'You didn't have to start with that
horse's ass. You might as well come in, now you're here.' It wasn't said with
what he'd call good grace, but at least he was in.
She led him down the hallway to a
small lounge at the back of the house. She waved her hand at an armchair for
him to sit. She didn't offer him a beer. Evan sat down at looked round the
room. It was clear
them showed Faulkner with a good looking, dark haired woman.
'That's me and the wife, God rest
her soul,' Faulkner said, joining him and pointing to one of a younger version
of himself and the woman, smiling brightly on vacation somewhere. It looked
like Switzerland or Austria. He pointed to another one of an even younger
version of the same women standing with an older couple in front of an old, red
barn. 'That's her and her folks before we got married.' He stared silently at
the photograph as he must have done a thousand times before. 'She died last
year. A blessing really, she'd been ill for a long time.'
'I'm sorry,' Evan said. 'I know what
it's like to lose someone you love.'
CHAPTER 9
Evan knew he didn't have any choice
now but to speak to Linda Clayton. He wasn't comfortable with the fact that
he'd spoken with Faulkner under false pretences. More than that, it was obvious
that Faulkner wouldn't have given him the time of day if he hadn't told the
lie. Other people he wanted to talk to would probably be the same way. Besides,
he wanted to meet her and help her. He certainly wasn't expecting her to pay
him. He didn't have anything else to do with his time after all.
He drove straight to her house after
leaving Faulkner. There wasn't going to be any fooling around this time, so he
parked directly outside the house, walked up the path and knocked on the door.
Her car was in the driveway and Tom Jacobson had told him she didn't like to go
out in the daytime, so he was confident she was at home. That didn't mean she
was going to answer the door, though. He knocked a couple more times, and then
peered through the window. He couldn't see anyone moving around inside.
He didn't want to draw too much
attention to himself but it looked like he would have to talk to her through
the door and try to persuade her to let him in. He looked up and down the
street but there wasn't anyone around.
He cupped his hands round his mouth
and put them to the door. 'Mrs Clayton, my name is Evan Buckley. I'm a private
detective. I believe you came to my office a couple of times. I would very much
like to talk to you. Please let me in. I'm not going away until I've talked to
you.'
The door remained firmly shut, so he
tried again. 'I've just spoken to Matt Faulkner...'
The door was pulled open so fast he
almost fell on top of her. She must have been standing right on the other side
of it. Obviously there was some kind of reciprocal arrangement with her and
Faulkner's names. All you had to do was find the right button to push. He
managed to regain his balance and stood upright. 'Mrs Clayton..' he started
again.
'Yes, yes, I heard all that garbage
through the door. What are doing talking to that old bastard Faulkner?'
Evan got his first good look at her.
She was tall and slim with shoulder length blond hair. Evan couldn't tell if it
was natural or out of a bottle. He couldn't see any tell tale roots. She had a
strong nose and eyes that should have been clear blue and sparkling if it
wasn't for something behind them that stole the light from them. He wouldn't
have called her beautiful, but she was definitely striking. The mention of
Faulkner had brought a flush to her cheeks. He hadn't been exaggerating about
soured relationships, Evan thought. Most of the sourness seemed to be going in
one direction, but that was understandable.
'I had to start somewhere. I tried
you first, but you seemed a little reluctant to talk.'
'You didn't have to start with that
horse's ass. You might as well come in, now you're here.' It wasn't said with
what he'd call good grace, but at least he was in.
She led him down the hallway to a
small lounge at the back of the house. She waved her hand at an armchair for
him to sit. She didn't offer him a beer. Evan sat down at looked round the
room. It was clear
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