Read Online Finders Keepers Losers Die by Carolyn Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Scott
Tags: Chick lit, Mystery, hollywood, Romantic Comedy, romantic suspense, funny, cozy mystery, private investigator, actor, woman sleuth
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from Knight Investigations.
I’d like to speak to Detective Stankovic."
The officer was all arms and legs as if he
hadn't grown into his body yet. He stared down his nose at me but
couldn't quite pull off the air of authority he was probably hoping
for. "Why?"
"I have some information regarding Lou
Scarletti’s murder." I chewed the inside of my cheek as he radioed
up to Stankovic.
I waited fifteen minutes before a man in
worse physical shape than Lou had been when he was alive came down
the stairs. Sweat trickled from his hairline and damp circles
spread under his armpits. He took out a handkerchief from his
inside jacket pocket, unfolded it, wiped his forehead, and
re-folded it before tucking it away.
"I’m Stankovic," he puffed. "What do you
want?"
I looked him in the eye and lied my ass off.
"Cat Sinclair, Knight Investigations. Roberta Scarletti, the
deceased's wife, has retained our services." At least it was sort
of the truth.
Stankovic’s straight eyebrows forked.
"Really? And what has she employed your services for?"
"Surveillance."
Stankovic nodded. He probably assumed
Roberta wanted to find out if Lou was seeing someone else. I wasn’t
going to enlighten him about the jewelry. No need to complicate
things until absolutely necessary.
"And you wanted to see me because…"
"The transmitter under the coffee table is
mine."
His brows spiked again before flat lining.
"Now it's mine."
"But—"
"You’re wasting my time." He turned and went
back inside.
I tried frantically to think of something
else that would get me into his confidence. "Wait!" He stopped and
cast a glance back, impatience printed all over his moon face. "I
saw him with his associates. I can identify them for you."
His eyes flickered to mine. "You’ve just
become useful."
He escorted me upstairs to Lou’s apartment.
A layer of fingerprint dust sprinkled the surfaces and crime scene
investigators crawled around with tweezers and plastic bags. I
wondered if any of my epithelials had become evidence along with
the transmitter.
"Hey, Gina," said a voice behind me. "Or is
it Sylvia?"
I spun round and froze. Standing in Lou’s
kitchenette, his hands behind him and flanked by two uniformed
cops, was Scarface.
CHAPTER 5
"You!" I said.
"The one and only." Scarface's voice sounded
richer, deeper, away from the noise of The Grotto, but he looked
just as creepy in the daytime. And it wasn't only from the scar. It
was the way he held himself, with a sort of forced casualness as if
trying to contain an abundance of energy. I wondered what would
happen if his self-control snapped. Would the cops be able to
control him?
"You know this woman?" Stankovic looked at
me then at Scarface.
"Yes."
"Not really," I said at the same time.
Scarface smiled knowingly. "Come on now,
we're on first name basis. Not the right first name…"
He was making fun of me. "We met briefly in
a bar once," I said to Stankovic. "No big deal. I didn't want
anything to do with him so I left—" I cut myself off because my
mouth was getting ahead of my brain and from past experience I knew
that could lead to big trouble.
"Very wise," Stankovic said. "The less you
have to do with him the better."
"Hey," Scarface said, "is that any way to
talk to your colleague?"
Colleague? My acting skills let me down. I
stared ga-ga at Scarface as he moved toward me. His hands swung
freely at his sides. No handcuffs. And on second look, the cops
weren't guarding him, they were just relaxing against the kitchen
bench.
Jeez, I sucked at the P.I. game. Will or
Carl would have known Scarface was a cop.
Still, he didn't look like a cop. He
wore black jeans that hugged a nice behind and a tight black
T-shirt that showed off a lean frame with impressive bulges in all
the right places. His black hair stuck out at angles from his head
and the stubble on his chin was way past five o'clock.
"You don't look like a cop," I said
lamely.
He stood right in front of me, an amused
gleam in
I’d like to speak to Detective Stankovic."
The officer was all arms and legs as if he
hadn't grown into his body yet. He stared down his nose at me but
couldn't quite pull off the air of authority he was probably hoping
for. "Why?"
"I have some information regarding Lou
Scarletti’s murder." I chewed the inside of my cheek as he radioed
up to Stankovic.
I waited fifteen minutes before a man in
worse physical shape than Lou had been when he was alive came down
the stairs. Sweat trickled from his hairline and damp circles
spread under his armpits. He took out a handkerchief from his
inside jacket pocket, unfolded it, wiped his forehead, and
re-folded it before tucking it away.
"I’m Stankovic," he puffed. "What do you
want?"
I looked him in the eye and lied my ass off.
"Cat Sinclair, Knight Investigations. Roberta Scarletti, the
deceased's wife, has retained our services." At least it was sort
of the truth.
Stankovic’s straight eyebrows forked.
"Really? And what has she employed your services for?"
"Surveillance."
Stankovic nodded. He probably assumed
Roberta wanted to find out if Lou was seeing someone else. I wasn’t
going to enlighten him about the jewelry. No need to complicate
things until absolutely necessary.
"And you wanted to see me because…"
"The transmitter under the coffee table is
mine."
His brows spiked again before flat lining.
"Now it's mine."
"But—"
"You’re wasting my time." He turned and went
back inside.
I tried frantically to think of something
else that would get me into his confidence. "Wait!" He stopped and
cast a glance back, impatience printed all over his moon face. "I
saw him with his associates. I can identify them for you."
His eyes flickered to mine. "You’ve just
become useful."
He escorted me upstairs to Lou’s apartment.
A layer of fingerprint dust sprinkled the surfaces and crime scene
investigators crawled around with tweezers and plastic bags. I
wondered if any of my epithelials had become evidence along with
the transmitter.
"Hey, Gina," said a voice behind me. "Or is
it Sylvia?"
I spun round and froze. Standing in Lou’s
kitchenette, his hands behind him and flanked by two uniformed
cops, was Scarface.
CHAPTER 5
"You!" I said.
"The one and only." Scarface's voice sounded
richer, deeper, away from the noise of The Grotto, but he looked
just as creepy in the daytime. And it wasn't only from the scar. It
was the way he held himself, with a sort of forced casualness as if
trying to contain an abundance of energy. I wondered what would
happen if his self-control snapped. Would the cops be able to
control him?
"You know this woman?" Stankovic looked at
me then at Scarface.
"Yes."
"Not really," I said at the same time.
Scarface smiled knowingly. "Come on now,
we're on first name basis. Not the right first name…"
He was making fun of me. "We met briefly in
a bar once," I said to Stankovic. "No big deal. I didn't want
anything to do with him so I left—" I cut myself off because my
mouth was getting ahead of my brain and from past experience I knew
that could lead to big trouble.
"Very wise," Stankovic said. "The less you
have to do with him the better."
"Hey," Scarface said, "is that any way to
talk to your colleague?"
Colleague? My acting skills let me down. I
stared ga-ga at Scarface as he moved toward me. His hands swung
freely at his sides. No handcuffs. And on second look, the cops
weren't guarding him, they were just relaxing against the kitchen
bench.
Jeez, I sucked at the P.I. game. Will or
Carl would have known Scarface was a cop.
Still, he didn't look like a cop. He
wore black jeans that hugged a nice behind and a tight black
T-shirt that showed off a lean frame with impressive bulges in all
the right places. His black hair stuck out at angles from his head
and the stubble on his chin was way past five o'clock.
"You don't look like a cop," I said
lamely.
He stood right in front of me, an amused
gleam in
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