Read Online Devil Wind (Sammy Greene Mysteries) by Deborah Shlian, Linda Reid - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah Shlian, Linda Reid
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second ex a few months ago, Susan had mentioned something about her father moving to Century City as his business grew. Now that Sammy was in L.A., she made a mental note to pay Susan a personal call. That summer between freshman and sophomore year, Sammy had come here to reach out to her father, but it was her stepmother who’d made the visit bearable. Sammy’s father? Well, people could be unavailable even if they lived in the same city or the same house.
Wiping a tear from her eyes, Sammy muttered, “Damn winds!” and pushed the dashboard button switching the ventilation to recirculate.
After swinging west on Santa Monica Boulevard, she arrived in Westwood within minutes. A right on Sepulveda brought her to the gates of L.A. University. The Schwarzenegger Hospital and its emergency room, a small part of the enormous LAU Medical Center, were located just inside the south gate off Montana. Sammy parked the Tercel in the hospital parking lot beside two media vans and walked around to the emergency entrance. At least a dozen teenaged Courtney Phillips fans, some looking as stoned as their idol, were standing vigil behind yellow police tape, waving and mugging for the local reporters filming updates on Courtney’s condition in the ER driveway.
Sammy pushed past the group and strode toward the entrance.
The uniformed guard held up a hand to block her. “You can’t come in unless you’re a patient.”
Experience had taught Sammy to try honey before vinegar. Flashing a warm smile, she reached into her purse and pulled out a paper bag holding her uneaten dinner sandwich and banana. Looking at the sea of press and groupies, she shook her head sympathetically. “Tough job, I don’t know how you do it. I’m Dr. Reed Wyndham’s fiancée. He said he was hungry.”
“Heart doc, right?” the guard asked, squinting.
Sammy nodded. “It’s been a long night.”
“I’ll say. Go ahead on in.” He winked, “And, hey, next time, I’ll take a ham on rye.”
Sammy waved and returned his smile. “You got it,” she promised as she stepped inside the ER’s double doors.
Sylvie’s apartment was in one of the older buildings on Ashland Street, surrounded by tiny aging boxes—single-family bungalows with grills on the windows—that sold for over a million dollars. Despite its vintage, this former working-class neighborhood’s proximity to the beach and good schools now attracted upwardly mobile young professionals who gladly paid hefty monthly rents for a westside address.
Ana scurried through her building’s unlit courtyard and up the side stairs to the third floor. Even before she reached 3B, she sensed something amiss. The door to her apartment, which she was sure they’d locked, was slightly ajar. Beyond, only darkness. Ana paused, waiting, listening for any sounds, but all she could hear were the violent winds rustling through the leaves and branches of the nearby trees.
Tentatively, her body pressed against the wall, she nudged the door open with her foot and waited. Nothing happened. She carefully inched her head closer to peek inside, ready to jump back at a moment’s notice. Again, nothing. Finally, after scanning the hallway one more time, she tiptoed over to the doorframe and reached in to flick on the light switch.
Her jaw dropped as she viewed the scene. The entire living room had been trashed. Papers were tossed everywhere, bookcases upended, and CDs scattered all over the floor. Even the cushions on the sofa bed where she slept had been slashed. Neither kitchen nor bathroom had escaped the devastation. My God, what were they looking for?
It’d been over a year since Sylvie had stopped dealing. She and Ana had been doing so well with clients, it was no longer worth the risk. The coke Sylvie used herself appeared untouched, still in the sugar bowl next to the tea cozy. They must have been after money. Ana checked inside the box of tampons under the bathroom sink. The four hundred dollars
Wiping a tear from her eyes, Sammy muttered, “Damn winds!” and pushed the dashboard button switching the ventilation to recirculate.
After swinging west on Santa Monica Boulevard, she arrived in Westwood within minutes. A right on Sepulveda brought her to the gates of L.A. University. The Schwarzenegger Hospital and its emergency room, a small part of the enormous LAU Medical Center, were located just inside the south gate off Montana. Sammy parked the Tercel in the hospital parking lot beside two media vans and walked around to the emergency entrance. At least a dozen teenaged Courtney Phillips fans, some looking as stoned as their idol, were standing vigil behind yellow police tape, waving and mugging for the local reporters filming updates on Courtney’s condition in the ER driveway.
Sammy pushed past the group and strode toward the entrance.
The uniformed guard held up a hand to block her. “You can’t come in unless you’re a patient.”
Experience had taught Sammy to try honey before vinegar. Flashing a warm smile, she reached into her purse and pulled out a paper bag holding her uneaten dinner sandwich and banana. Looking at the sea of press and groupies, she shook her head sympathetically. “Tough job, I don’t know how you do it. I’m Dr. Reed Wyndham’s fiancée. He said he was hungry.”
“Heart doc, right?” the guard asked, squinting.
Sammy nodded. “It’s been a long night.”
“I’ll say. Go ahead on in.” He winked, “And, hey, next time, I’ll take a ham on rye.”
Sammy waved and returned his smile. “You got it,” she promised as she stepped inside the ER’s double doors.
Sylvie’s apartment was in one of the older buildings on Ashland Street, surrounded by tiny aging boxes—single-family bungalows with grills on the windows—that sold for over a million dollars. Despite its vintage, this former working-class neighborhood’s proximity to the beach and good schools now attracted upwardly mobile young professionals who gladly paid hefty monthly rents for a westside address.
Ana scurried through her building’s unlit courtyard and up the side stairs to the third floor. Even before she reached 3B, she sensed something amiss. The door to her apartment, which she was sure they’d locked, was slightly ajar. Beyond, only darkness. Ana paused, waiting, listening for any sounds, but all she could hear were the violent winds rustling through the leaves and branches of the nearby trees.
Tentatively, her body pressed against the wall, she nudged the door open with her foot and waited. Nothing happened. She carefully inched her head closer to peek inside, ready to jump back at a moment’s notice. Again, nothing. Finally, after scanning the hallway one more time, she tiptoed over to the doorframe and reached in to flick on the light switch.
Her jaw dropped as she viewed the scene. The entire living room had been trashed. Papers were tossed everywhere, bookcases upended, and CDs scattered all over the floor. Even the cushions on the sofa bed where she slept had been slashed. Neither kitchen nor bathroom had escaped the devastation. My God, what were they looking for?
It’d been over a year since Sylvie had stopped dealing. She and Ana had been doing so well with clients, it was no longer worth the risk. The coke Sylvie used herself appeared untouched, still in the sugar bowl next to the tea cozy. They must have been after money. Ana checked inside the box of tampons under the bathroom sink. The four hundred dollars
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