Camino Winds (Camino Island, #2) by John Grisham Read Online (FREE)
“After the divorce, which, as I said, happened after his departure from the law firm. Severe depression or a nervous breakdown or whatever they called it. We locked him away in a fancy joint for six months and he made a nice recovery. Still in therapy, though.”
For the first time, her eyes were moist. She removed her glasses and blinked a few times. “About a month ago, I received an overnight package from Nelson. In a letter he said he was enclosing his latest novel on a thumb drive, wanted me to hold it for safekeeping. He asked me not to read it until further notice. He gave me his new phone number. I wrote him back and asked why he was changing his phone number again, but he never answered, never explained.”
“Where’s the thumb drive?”
“In my pocket.”
“Let’s keep it there. And you haven’t read the novel?”
“Not a word. And you don’t want to?”
Bruce looked at her untouched tomato soup and asked, “Are you finished?” She’d had two sips and two crackers.
“Yes, I’m sorry. My appetite vanished.”
“Let’s go back to the den where it’s cooler.”
They moved to the den and he closed the door to the kitchen. Out on the veranda, Bob’s bare feet were visible dangling from the hammock.
Bruce said, “I’d rather not read the novel, not now anyway, because I want to answer no if I’m ever asked by the police.”
“Will the police find it?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll confiscate his computers and get search warrants to look at everything. But if I were a gambler, I’d bet the desktop hard drive was snatched about the same time Nelson was murdered.”
“Should I hand over the thumb drive?”
“For now, let’s say no. You can always do it later, or not.”
“I’m confused. Under your theory, Nelson was likely murdered because of this novel I’m holding in my pocket, right?”
“It’s just a theory, and a shaky one at best.”
“But it’s all you have, right?”
“Right. He was killed by a professional for a reason.”
“Got that. So someone has to read the novel to begin unraveling the crime. Who? You? Me? The police?”
Bob’s feet slowly dropped to the tiled floor of the veranda. The rest of him followed, and he stood for a long minute stretching and rubbing his eyes like a bear leaving hibernation. As things slowly came into focus, he got his bearings and lumbered toward the door.
Bruce said, “Bob’s done with his nap. He’s a member of the team so we’ll need to brief him.”
“And the thumb drive?”
“Sure. He’ll have an opinion or two. Plus he’s a convicted felon with a brilliant criminal mind, who doesn’t trust cops and prosecutors.”
Bob stepped into the den and introduced himself to Polly.
The lights flickered, came on, went off, came on again, and Bruce and Bob held their breath. When it was apparent that the electricity was back for good, they exchanged high fives and couldn’t stop grinning. Bruce quickly adjusted thermostats and left to turn off the generator, whose constant rattling had gotten under his skin. Civilization was back, with hot showers, cold water, clean clothes, television, the works. The camping trip was over. However, they managed to temper their excitement in the presence of a grieving sister.