Read Online EMBELLISHED TO DEATH by Christina Freeburn - Free Book Online Page B

you finally confess.”
    â€œMiss Hunter, you cannot park that there.” An angry voice boomed.
    The manager. I was saved. Though, I wished it was Detective Bell coming to scold me.
    â€œIn the trailer!”
    Morgan yanked me right up against him. He leaned his head forward and whispered into my ear. “I know how you operate. You won’t get to play victim on my watch. No one but you will take the fall for that woman’s murder.”
    I knocked into Morgan. He careened sideways, smacking his shoulder into the side of the trailer. I scurried out from the dark enclosure and into the welcoming heat and bustle going on in the parking lot.
    More croppers had arrived and dragged, tugged, and finagled bags of various sizes and colors into the conference center.
    Morgan exited right after me, carrying a box. He slid a look, a mix of keep-your-mouth-shut and a leer, at me. “I’ll take this one in for you. Glad I can be of some assistance.”
    â€œ I hope you’re not planning on leaving this parked here.” The manager slapped his palm near the toilet.
    â€œThere’s nowhere else.” I embraced my annoyance, wanting the emotion to push out all the fear. Fear never did me any good.
    â€œYou can move it behind the building.” He pointed toward the side of the conference center.
    The alley was small. Tight. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œIt’ll fit.”
    â€œNot with me driving it.”
    â€œI’m sure you can drive straight.” The manager heaved up the lift gate and secured the latches. “I don’t want to see this thing here for another minute. You croppers have been nothing but trouble.”
    I opened my mouth to argue then shut it. Since our arrival, the manager had dealt with a murder in the parking lot, questions and demands from the police, banking issues, and questions about the resorts plumbing systems. He was right. We were burdens.
    â€œI’ll move it right now.”
    â€œGood.” He stood back and crossed his arms.
    I heaved myself into the driver’s seat and drove the beast toward the alley. I could just make it. Traveling slower than a snail, I continued down the small fairway. At the end of the makeshift road, a bumper stuck out from a thicket of prickly bushes and weeds.
    Sliding out of the truck, I glanced around, making my way to the vehicle. I pushed through the weeds, taking care of where I placed my feet. A small amount of heat rose from the hood of the dirt-coated white compact car. I peered into the window. Clothing. Empty fast food wrappers. File folders. Professional camera with a telephoto lens. Someone was using the vehicle as a home base for spying. I was leaning toward Morgan not being an FBI agent. The FBI would’ve sprung for a room for an agent on assignment.
    Morgan’s threat rattled through me. The guy was either lying or a rogue. Both options were bad. I had to do something before I once again found myself at the mercy of a scheming man. The months in Germany where I followed the advice of counsel and remained quiet, waiting for the police to sort it out, only increased people’s suspicions of me. The prevailing thought was an innocent person railed against her accusers, shouted “I’m not guilty” from every rooftop at every opportunity afforded them.
    The truth was that even though the legal system had the motto “innocent until proven guilty” most people viewed it as the opposite. Once a finger of guilt, or an accusation was made, a person was guilty until they proved otherwise–and as I learned today–sometimes not even then.

FIVE

    Â Â 
    I removed my cell out of my pocket and called Bob. “I located your hit man.”
    â€œWhat?”
    I tripped my way to the back of the vehicle, bracing myself on the bushes. The sharp leaves pricked my fingers. There was no way I wanted my prints on the car. “The man sent to take out your thief. Think