Read Online Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4) by Joanne Pence - Free Book Online
Authors: Joanne Pence
has me feeling paranoid.”
“No kidding,” Richie said as he went back to stewing over which part of Rebecca’s conversation with him had been a lie. Or, was all of it? Then he realized Travis was still staring at him. “Okay, I’ll find a security crew for you. And after that, I’d say our business is finished.”
“Maybe,” Travis said and then he sauntered out of the bar.
“Good riddance,” Richie murmured. He slowly finished his drink. It hadn’t helped. He thought about ordering another, but decided the best thing to do was to go home.
The hell with all of them, he thought, as he went to the bar and put some money on it to pay for his drinks. He then turned around … to come face-to-face with two young, skinny, Latino-looking thugs.
“Richie?” The “spokesman” had long black hair and a thin, wispy mustache so long it reached to his even stringier-looking goatee.
Richie nodded.
“Good. Outside.”
Richie almost said, “No,” when he saw the flash of a steel blade in the man’s hand.
Richie glanced at Johnny and gave a small shake of the head.
Next thing, Johnny aimed a shotgun at the two punks. “I’d say it’s time for you fellas to leave.”
The few other bar patrons saw the firearm and ran for the exits.
The thugs eyed each other.
“Right now,” Richie said, “the people who left are calling the cops. I think you’ve got about ninety seconds, max.”
Without another word, they left.
Richie faced the bartender and sat back down on a stool. “I think I’ll have another drink after all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rebecca left her desk the next morning to walk to the San Francisco Beat magazine office. For once, the sky wasn’t gray and foggy, but bright with sun. The tabloid’s office wasn’t far from the Hall of Justice. Sometimes it was easier to walk than to fight traffic and then hunt for parking.
It was strange, Rebecca thought, as she walked, how quickly things could change in life. She’d thought her life might be moving in one direction, and then, at the drop of a hat—or a magazine article—it had made a complete U-turn. She hadn’t thought, until she faced Richie at the steakhouse, how deep the sting of the San Francisco Beat article had hit. And then, out of her mouth, came words that were both hateful and unfair. As soon as she’d said them, she regretted it, but was too angry to say so.
Well, it was probably for the best. This way, they could end it now, before things became even more complicated between them.
But now, she had work to do and the magazine article was, so far, the only solid connection she had between the two arsons and Tanaka’s death. And that was the reason for her morning stroll.
The address she sought was in an old building on the ground floor, right behind a tattoo parlor. She knocked and then pushed open the door.
She entered a large open space with two women working at a table in the back of the room, and a third sitting at a computer near the door. The woman at the computer glanced up. “Yes?”
Rebecca explained who she was and that she would like to speak to the editor.
She had hardly finished when a tall, thin Chinese woman, probably in her forties or so, left the back table and approached her. “I’m the editor,” she said. “Plus the owner, manager, and chief writer. Liv Wong.” She held out her hand.
They shook, and then Rebecca explained why she was there. Liv Wong had heard of the arsons and the deaths, and she was concerned, but she found it far-fetched to imagine her article had anything to do with them.
“The article has a by-line, Connor Gray,” Rebecca said. “Does he work here?”
“No. He’s a free-lancer, as are all our writers except me. When I heard of the story idea, I decided to run with it. I’d used Connor before on an investigative piece, and called him. He jumped on it.”
“Where did you get the photographs used? And where did you find out the names of former girlfriends and
“No kidding,” Richie said as he went back to stewing over which part of Rebecca’s conversation with him had been a lie. Or, was all of it? Then he realized Travis was still staring at him. “Okay, I’ll find a security crew for you. And after that, I’d say our business is finished.”
“Maybe,” Travis said and then he sauntered out of the bar.
“Good riddance,” Richie murmured. He slowly finished his drink. It hadn’t helped. He thought about ordering another, but decided the best thing to do was to go home.
The hell with all of them, he thought, as he went to the bar and put some money on it to pay for his drinks. He then turned around … to come face-to-face with two young, skinny, Latino-looking thugs.
“Richie?” The “spokesman” had long black hair and a thin, wispy mustache so long it reached to his even stringier-looking goatee.
Richie nodded.
“Good. Outside.”
Richie almost said, “No,” when he saw the flash of a steel blade in the man’s hand.
Richie glanced at Johnny and gave a small shake of the head.
Next thing, Johnny aimed a shotgun at the two punks. “I’d say it’s time for you fellas to leave.”
The few other bar patrons saw the firearm and ran for the exits.
The thugs eyed each other.
“Right now,” Richie said, “the people who left are calling the cops. I think you’ve got about ninety seconds, max.”
Without another word, they left.
Richie faced the bartender and sat back down on a stool. “I think I’ll have another drink after all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rebecca left her desk the next morning to walk to the San Francisco Beat magazine office. For once, the sky wasn’t gray and foggy, but bright with sun. The tabloid’s office wasn’t far from the Hall of Justice. Sometimes it was easier to walk than to fight traffic and then hunt for parking.
It was strange, Rebecca thought, as she walked, how quickly things could change in life. She’d thought her life might be moving in one direction, and then, at the drop of a hat—or a magazine article—it had made a complete U-turn. She hadn’t thought, until she faced Richie at the steakhouse, how deep the sting of the San Francisco Beat article had hit. And then, out of her mouth, came words that were both hateful and unfair. As soon as she’d said them, she regretted it, but was too angry to say so.
Well, it was probably for the best. This way, they could end it now, before things became even more complicated between them.
But now, she had work to do and the magazine article was, so far, the only solid connection she had between the two arsons and Tanaka’s death. And that was the reason for her morning stroll.
The address she sought was in an old building on the ground floor, right behind a tattoo parlor. She knocked and then pushed open the door.
She entered a large open space with two women working at a table in the back of the room, and a third sitting at a computer near the door. The woman at the computer glanced up. “Yes?”
Rebecca explained who she was and that she would like to speak to the editor.
She had hardly finished when a tall, thin Chinese woman, probably in her forties or so, left the back table and approached her. “I’m the editor,” she said. “Plus the owner, manager, and chief writer. Liv Wong.” She held out her hand.
They shook, and then Rebecca explained why she was there. Liv Wong had heard of the arsons and the deaths, and she was concerned, but she found it far-fetched to imagine her article had anything to do with them.
“The article has a by-line, Connor Gray,” Rebecca said. “Does he work here?”
“No. He’s a free-lancer, as are all our writers except me. When I heard of the story idea, I decided to run with it. I’d used Connor before on an investigative piece, and called him. He jumped on it.”
“Where did you get the photographs used? And where did you find out the names of former girlfriends and
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