Finding Harmony (Katie & Annalise Book 3) by Pamela Fagan Hutchins Page A

Report this morning.”
    “Good. Someone will get back to you to assist you. Will that be all?”
    Shit!
    “Oh, no—please. I hoped you could talk to me. Nick was investigating the death of Eddy Monroe on behalf of Petro-Mex. Yesterday he left our home at five a.m. to interview witnesses on that case, and he never came back.”
    “Yes, well, if Petro-Mex want to throw their money away and mock the results of my investigation, they free to do so. But it sound as if your husband on a fool’s errand. Monroe clearly kill himself. I doubt Mr. Kovacs’ disappearance anything sinister, and I see no reason it relate to a suicide.”
    His sour tone curdled my blood. I tried to reason with him. “I met with the widow. I can’t believe any newlywed man would kill himself with her waiting for him.”
    “What? You mean the mail-order mamí that his refinery friends give him as a retention bonus? Please.” He flipped his hand away dismissively.
    My jaw opened and fell an inch. Oh. That was certainly relevant, at least. And appalling.
    “I understand your position, Detective Tutein, but—”
    He cut me off. “There no ‘but,’ Mrs. Kovacs. An officer will call you in to process your Missing Persons Report. You should wait in the lobby until this happens. I cannot help you.”
    “I’ve waited for four hours already. My husband is missing!”
    “You continentals all the same. You expect special treatment. You think we locals stupid and incompetent.”
    The memory of Olive Oyl and her redneck friend at the Yacht Club made me cringe. This was what locals thought of us. But I was not like that. Nick was not like that. “Detective Tutein, I’m—”
    “Enough! It not the concern of the police when a man cat about.”
    That did it. Red hair trumped common sense. “ Cat about , Detective Tutein? You have no right making accusations about something you know nothing about. And I assure you, you know nothing about me or my husband.”
    “I know you, I know your husband, I know your parents, Mrs. Kovacs. And you should ask why Eddy Monroe kill himself in front of your house. Good day.” He flipped his fingers to shoo me away.
    I couldn’t process his words. How did he “know” my parents? And how should I know why Eddy Monroe died in front of Annalise? I gulped air. Could I do nothing to enlist the help of this man? I stood with my purse and coffee in hand, staring at the top of his close-cropped head, ready to put my anger aside and beg if necessary, but no strategy came to mind. I turned and walked to the door.
    He stopped me. “One more thing, Mrs. Kovacs.”
    Hope. “Yes, Detective?”
    “About the dead bodies under your house. I hate to think you haven’t reported this to the proper authorities.” He tapped his pen three times on his desk.
    No. Please, no . All the saliva in my mouth dried instantly and I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t answer.
    He continued, “I think I have to look into this matter of desecrating a graveyard myself. You hear from me soon.” At that, he resumed reading and marking the papers on his desk as if I was not standing before him with my very existence in his hands.
    My steps echoed down the barren halls as I returned to reception. Sweat beaded my forehead. I stepped back into the waiting room, and the receptionist pointed me to an open door to her left. I obeyed and with my last reserves of strength propelled myself into another hard-backed folding chair at a small table in a windowless room. My head landed on the table with a thump. I closed my eyes and left it there.
    “Good day, Mrs. Kovacs,” a woman’s voice said.
    I jerked my head up, out of the habit of island manners, and replied, “Good day.”
    For five minutes, Officer Ferber worked with me to take down the Missing Person Report, professionally, kindly even. Between my stress over Nick’s disappearance and the meeting with Officer Tutein, I was operating with minimal brain activity, but if she thought me a simpleton, she