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Camino Winds (Camino Island, #2) by John Grisham Read Online (FREE)

7.
Monday morning, Bruce followed Polly to the Jacksonville airport where she returned her rental. They drove to the funeral home where she finished some paperwork and wrote a check. Nelson’s body would be transferred to the airport for the flight home, with his sister riding above him in coach. Back at the airport, Bruce walked her inside and they found a coffee shop in the main terminal.

 

Nelson’s condo was still guarded by police tape, and Butler wasn’t sure when it would be released. Bruce knew the best mover on the island and agreed to oversee the removal of Nelson’s furniture and possessions. He would get it cataloged and stored, and in a few weeks Polly would return to deal with it. Bruce knew several of the good realtors on the island and would arrange for them to look at the condo and discuss a listing, but cautioned her that the market would be soft for some time. He had a friend who dealt in German imports and could probably sell the car at a fair price.

They sipped coffee and watched the foot traffic. She said, “Nelson’s memorial service is this Saturday. I don’t suppose you could be there.”

Bruce had been contemplating several ways to avoid a trip to the West Coast for what would be a dreadful event, but in the split second he had to come up with a believable response he completely choked. Whether he wanted it not, he was the Kerr family’s point man on the scene and they needed him. “Of course,” he managed to say with just enough conviction.

“I’ll send along the details as they come together. It will mean a lot to my parents. They’re so desperate for information.”

Can’t wait, thought Bruce. How could his presence possibly mean anything to her parents, people he had never met, and, after the service, would never see again?

“Sure, I’ll be there. San Francisco?”

“Dublin, east of the city.”

 

“Will there be a crowd?”

“Who knows? He had friends in the area, and the old gang from Stanford, but they’ve scattered. Could you possibly say a few words?”

The dreadful event just got a lot worse. Bruce, though, was suddenly quicker. “I can’t do it, Polly. I’ve tried before and just can’t maintain my composure. Sorry.”

“No problem. I understand.”

“The cops didn’t ask about Nelson’s manuscript,” he said.

“I know. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking the book needs to be read, but not by you, not by me. Not by anyone even remotely connected to Nelson.”

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to send it to a writer named Mercer Mann. She’s from the island but didn’t know your brother. These days she’s teaching at Ole Miss. She can be trusted. She’ll read it, share it with her boyfriend, a former journalist and writer himself, then I’ll talk to them.”

She shrugged as if she would do whatever he asked. “And you think the manuscript will lead the cops to the killer?”