Read Online Murder Over Cocktails: The 2nd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) by Nancy Skopin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nancy Skopin
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my favorite, but seriously, I need to do a couple of restaurant and bar surveys.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend.”
We disconnected moments later, and as I dressed to go out I thought about my relationship with Bill. I haven’t had the best of luck with men—just ask my three ex-husbands—but Bill was intelligent, funny, kindhearted, and easy on the eyes, plus I really enjoyed spending time with him. Who was I trying to convince, anyway?
I snatched up the pizza box and stuffed it in a garbage bag along with my empty Guinness bottle, grabbed my shoulder bag and made a dash for the dumpster. The phone started ringing again as I was sprinting away from my boat. I stopped to give D’Artagnon a few bites of sausage and cheese, and then continued toward the gate. I heard Elizabeth calling my name before I made it halfway up the ramp.
Elizabeth and I met not long after I moved aboard my boat. I was doing laundry one night and saw her sitting out on her dock steps with her cat, K.C., which is short for “Killer Cat.” He’s a beautiful big ball of orange fluff. I was immediately enchanted with the kitty and introduced myself to Elizabeth, because it would have been rude to ignore her while I was mooning over her cat. Elizabeth is just over five feet tall and weighs about a hundred pounds. She’s thirty-three years old, but looks closer to twenty-three, with strawberry blonde hair, a dusting of freckles over her nose, hazel eyes, and dimples. She’s divorced and childless, as am I. We’d bonded quickly, which was uncommon for both of us.
“Hey, I was just calling you!” she shouted at my retreating posterior.
“Be right back,” I yelled, holding up an index finger in the universal one minute sign.
I slammed out the gate and power-walked to the dumpster. When I came back down the companionway, Elizabeth was perched on her dock steps, sipping her customary Kahlua, vodka, and milk through a straw. She twinkled at me.
“What?” I asked, sitting down next to her.
“Who’s the hunk?” she said.
“Which one?” I asked, knowing perfectly well who she meant.
“Red hair, mirrored sunglasses, muscular physique, pizza box. Who is he? Spill!”
“Oh, you mean Jack. He’s a client.”
“Since when do you entertain clients on your boat?”
She had me there.
“He wanted to talk over the case and neither of us had eaten.”
“What’s the case about? Lily told me you borrowed her black Chanel and her red Jil Sander.”
Elizabeth and Lily have been friends since high school. They’re so close, in fact, that when Elizabeth decided to move from Louisiana to California for college, Lily followed.
“There are no secrets in this marina,” I complained half-heartedly. “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
Elizabeth made a face that translated to who do you think you’re kidding? In truth, I discuss all my interesting cases with her. She’s my sounding board.
“Okay,” I said. “But you can’t say anything to anybody.”
“No problem.” She held up her right hand in a pseudo pledge.
“Jack has stumbled onto some tapes of a woman killing her lovers,” I whispered.
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God. What does he expect you to do?”
“Find a way to get the evidence to the police, so she can be stopped before she kills again.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “How did Jack stumble onto these tapes? Videotapes, I assume?”
“Yes. He was in her house without her knowledge.”
“I see. And how are you supposed to arrange for the police to find them?”
“That’s kind of the problem.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her drink and tilted her head to one side. “What if the police pursued a criminal onto her property? Would that constitute probable cause for a search of the house?”
This is why I discuss my cases with Elizabeth.
“A search of the premises maybe, but not of the locked cabinet that contains the videotapes, unless the criminal
“Okay. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend.”
We disconnected moments later, and as I dressed to go out I thought about my relationship with Bill. I haven’t had the best of luck with men—just ask my three ex-husbands—but Bill was intelligent, funny, kindhearted, and easy on the eyes, plus I really enjoyed spending time with him. Who was I trying to convince, anyway?
I snatched up the pizza box and stuffed it in a garbage bag along with my empty Guinness bottle, grabbed my shoulder bag and made a dash for the dumpster. The phone started ringing again as I was sprinting away from my boat. I stopped to give D’Artagnon a few bites of sausage and cheese, and then continued toward the gate. I heard Elizabeth calling my name before I made it halfway up the ramp.
Elizabeth and I met not long after I moved aboard my boat. I was doing laundry one night and saw her sitting out on her dock steps with her cat, K.C., which is short for “Killer Cat.” He’s a beautiful big ball of orange fluff. I was immediately enchanted with the kitty and introduced myself to Elizabeth, because it would have been rude to ignore her while I was mooning over her cat. Elizabeth is just over five feet tall and weighs about a hundred pounds. She’s thirty-three years old, but looks closer to twenty-three, with strawberry blonde hair, a dusting of freckles over her nose, hazel eyes, and dimples. She’s divorced and childless, as am I. We’d bonded quickly, which was uncommon for both of us.
“Hey, I was just calling you!” she shouted at my retreating posterior.
“Be right back,” I yelled, holding up an index finger in the universal one minute sign.
I slammed out the gate and power-walked to the dumpster. When I came back down the companionway, Elizabeth was perched on her dock steps, sipping her customary Kahlua, vodka, and milk through a straw. She twinkled at me.
“What?” I asked, sitting down next to her.
“Who’s the hunk?” she said.
“Which one?” I asked, knowing perfectly well who she meant.
“Red hair, mirrored sunglasses, muscular physique, pizza box. Who is he? Spill!”
“Oh, you mean Jack. He’s a client.”
“Since when do you entertain clients on your boat?”
She had me there.
“He wanted to talk over the case and neither of us had eaten.”
“What’s the case about? Lily told me you borrowed her black Chanel and her red Jil Sander.”
Elizabeth and Lily have been friends since high school. They’re so close, in fact, that when Elizabeth decided to move from Louisiana to California for college, Lily followed.
“There are no secrets in this marina,” I complained half-heartedly. “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
Elizabeth made a face that translated to who do you think you’re kidding? In truth, I discuss all my interesting cases with her. She’s my sounding board.
“Okay,” I said. “But you can’t say anything to anybody.”
“No problem.” She held up her right hand in a pseudo pledge.
“Jack has stumbled onto some tapes of a woman killing her lovers,” I whispered.
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God. What does he expect you to do?”
“Find a way to get the evidence to the police, so she can be stopped before she kills again.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “How did Jack stumble onto these tapes? Videotapes, I assume?”
“Yes. He was in her house without her knowledge.”
“I see. And how are you supposed to arrange for the police to find them?”
“That’s kind of the problem.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her drink and tilted her head to one side. “What if the police pursued a criminal onto her property? Would that constitute probable cause for a search of the house?”
This is why I discuss my cases with Elizabeth.
“A search of the premises maybe, but not of the locked cabinet that contains the videotapes, unless the criminal
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