One False Move - By Harlan Coben Page 0,55

film. The low murmurs ceased as if somebody had snapped off a radio. Everyone turned and glowered. For a half a second Myron thought it was a racial thing - he being the only white guy - but then he saw the animosity was aimed directly at the grieving daughter.

Brenda was right. They thought she did it.

The room was crowded and sweltering. Fans whirred impotently. Men were hooking fingers into collars to let in air. Sweat coated faces. Myron looked at Brenda. She looked small and alone and scared, but she would not look away. He felt her take his hand. He gripped back. She stood ramrod straight now, her head high.

The crowd parted a bit, and Mabel Edwards stepped into view. Her eyes were red and swollen. A handkerchief was balled up in her fist. They all swung their gazes toward Mabel now, awaiting her reaction. When Mabel saw her niece, she spread her hands and beckoned Brenda forward. Brenda did not hesitate. She sprinted into the thick, soft arms, lowered her head onto Mabel's shoulder, and for the first time truly sobbed. Not cried. These were gut-wrenching sobs.

Mabel rocked her niece back and forth and patted her back and cooed comfort. At the same time, Mabel's eyes scanned the room, mother wolf-protective, challenging and then extinguishing any glare that might be aimed in the direction of her niece.

The crowd turned away, and the murmur returned to normal. Myron felt the stomach knots begin to loosen.

He scanned the room for familiar faces. He recognized a couple of the ballplayers from his past, guys he had played against on the playground or in high school. A couple nodded hellos. Myron nodded back. A little boy just past the toddler stage sprinted through the room imitating a siren. Myron recognized him from the pictures on the mantel. Mabel Edwards's grandson. Terence Edwards's son.

Speaking of whom, where was candidate Edwards?

Myron scanned the room again. No sign of him. In front of him Mabel and Brenda finally broke their hold. Brenda wiped her eyes. Mabel pointed her toward a bathroom. Brenda managed a nod and hurried off.

Mabel approached him, her gaze on him and unwavering. Without preamble she asked, "Do you know who killed my brother?"

"No."

"But you're going to find out."

"Yes."

"Do you have a thought?"

"A thought," Myron said. "Nothing more."

She nodded again. "You're a good man, Myron."

There was a shrine of some sort on the fireplace. A photograph of a smiling Horace was surrounded by flowers and candles. Myron looked at the smile he had not seen in ten years and would never see again.

He did not feel like a good man.

"I'll need to ask you some more questions," Myron said.

"Whatever it takes."

"About Anita too."

Mabel's eyes stayed on him. "You still think she's connected with all this?"

"Yes. I'd also like to send a man around to check your phone."

"Why?"

"I think it's tapped."

Mabel looked confused. "But who would tap my phone?"

Better not to speculate right now. "I don't know," Myron said. "But when your brother called, did he mention the Holiday Inn in Livingston?"

Something happened to her eyes. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Evidently Horace had lunch with a manager there the day before he disappeared. It was the last charge on his credit card. And when we stopped by, Brenda thought she recognized it. That she may have been there with Anita."

Mabel closed her eyes.

"What?" Myron asked.

More mourners entered the house, all carrying platters of food. Mabel accepted their words of sympathy with a kind smile and a firm hand grasp. Myron waited.

When there was a free second, Mabel said, "Horace never mentioned the Holiday Inn on the phone."

"But there's something else," Myron said.

"Yes."

"Did Anita ever take Brenda to the Holiday Inn?"

Brenda stepped back into the room and looked at them. Mabel put her hand on Myron's arm. "Now is not the time for this," Mabel said to him.

He nodded.

"Tonight maybe. Do you think you can come alone?"

"Yes."

Mabel Edwards left him then to attend to Horace's family and friends. Myron felt like an outsider again, but this time it had nothing to do with skin color.

He left quickly.
Chapter 20
Once on. the road Myron switched his cellular phone back on. Two incoming calls. One was from Esperanza at the office, the other from Jessica in Los Angeles. He briefly debated what to do. No question really. He dialed Jessica's hotel suite. Was it wimpy to call her right back? Maybe. But Myron looked at it as one of his