Read Online One O'Clock Hustle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 1) by Joanne Pence - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joanne Pence
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Danny.”
He sipped more beer and let a moment pass. “I know you'd like to think that, but the truth is, Danny was a bookie. He took money from people and placed bets. That meant that if they lost, they had to pay up. Sometimes people don't like to shell out when the money's due, you know?”
“You're right.” She walked to the bar and poured a whole lot of bourbon directly into her Pepsi can, not spilling a drop, as if she had done it often. “I don't like to think of that stuff, but you're right.”
“Somebody trashed my house,” Richie said. “They tried to blow it up. Someone shot my date in Danny's office. Now, nobody seems to know where Danny is, and I'm supposed to take the fall for the dead woman's murder. All that happening within a few hours has to mean it's all connected. What if Danny is involved? What if he's in trouble? In danger? Look, if some guys are after him and I don't stop them, they might come here. They might be after you next.”
Carolina's eyes rounded like saucers. “Oh, God! You think so, Richie?”
He nodded.
She swirled the can, brows crossed as if from the strain of thinking. “Danny acted worried, but I'm having trouble remembering why. It was, you know, like not all that interesting to me.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “He said, 'Boy, this'll fry 'em.' Then he'd laugh.”
“What would fry who?” Richie asked.
She took a few swigs, then brightened. “Maybe you can call me sometime, and I might remember.”
“Listen,” Richie said, “I don't have time for games.”
“Aw, Richie!”
He spoke the next words slowly. “Carolina, tell me right now. I won't ask again.” A chill went down Rebecca's back at his harsh and threatening tone. She had never seen that side of him before.
Carolina paled and studied him to see if he was joking. He wasn't. “Hey, now I remember!” she cried, then hurried across the room to sit on the sofa beside Richie, thigh to thigh, her hand on his knee. The sofa had become pretty crowded. “He worried about his book.” She smiled, thrilled she could be of help.
“Book?” Richie said. “You mean like his records? His bookie info?”
“No, not that kinda book. A real book. He was writing a book about his life, and gambling, and all the big shots he knew—that kinda tell-all stuff. He even thought about putting in a epi—, uh, epilode? Epilodge? Epi—”
“Epilogue?” Rebecca ventured.
“Yeah, one a those, to give pointers about how to beat the odds. Then, he was gonna retire off of all the money he'd make on the book. And even royalties. And maybe a movie deal. He figured it'd be a best seller for a long time, and him and me could live someplace nice like Aruba. I didn't believe that last part, but he was nice to say it, doncha think?”
“Nice.” Richie pondered her words. He glanced at Rebecca. She could tell from his expression how potentially dangerous it could be to write a book about his life as a bookie, especially if he planned to name those so-called “big shots.” Danny couldn't be that stupid. Carolina had to be wrong. “Wait a minute,” Richie said. “Danny was a great guy, but he was no writer. I mean, he'd send a text message and it'd be damn dull. He was a numbers guy, not a wordsmith.”
“Yeah, that's what worried him. But he found somebody to work with. He called him something like, uh, his ghost. Yeah, that's right. His ghost. Jeez, Richie, do you think that was, like, prophetic?”
CHAPTER SIX
“What's going on, Mayfield?” Bill Sutter demanded hotly. Rebecca had shut off her cell phone ringer when she went into Carolina Fontana's apartment, but while there she had felt it vibrate every five minutes. Once outside, she found a flurry of missed calls from her partner.
“I'm sorry, Bill,” she said as she and Richie walked along the sidewalk towards her SUV.
“I need you here! We're the weekend on-call team!”
“Any new cases?”
“Not yet, but at any
He sipped more beer and let a moment pass. “I know you'd like to think that, but the truth is, Danny was a bookie. He took money from people and placed bets. That meant that if they lost, they had to pay up. Sometimes people don't like to shell out when the money's due, you know?”
“You're right.” She walked to the bar and poured a whole lot of bourbon directly into her Pepsi can, not spilling a drop, as if she had done it often. “I don't like to think of that stuff, but you're right.”
“Somebody trashed my house,” Richie said. “They tried to blow it up. Someone shot my date in Danny's office. Now, nobody seems to know where Danny is, and I'm supposed to take the fall for the dead woman's murder. All that happening within a few hours has to mean it's all connected. What if Danny is involved? What if he's in trouble? In danger? Look, if some guys are after him and I don't stop them, they might come here. They might be after you next.”
Carolina's eyes rounded like saucers. “Oh, God! You think so, Richie?”
He nodded.
She swirled the can, brows crossed as if from the strain of thinking. “Danny acted worried, but I'm having trouble remembering why. It was, you know, like not all that interesting to me.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “He said, 'Boy, this'll fry 'em.' Then he'd laugh.”
“What would fry who?” Richie asked.
She took a few swigs, then brightened. “Maybe you can call me sometime, and I might remember.”
“Listen,” Richie said, “I don't have time for games.”
“Aw, Richie!”
He spoke the next words slowly. “Carolina, tell me right now. I won't ask again.” A chill went down Rebecca's back at his harsh and threatening tone. She had never seen that side of him before.
Carolina paled and studied him to see if he was joking. He wasn't. “Hey, now I remember!” she cried, then hurried across the room to sit on the sofa beside Richie, thigh to thigh, her hand on his knee. The sofa had become pretty crowded. “He worried about his book.” She smiled, thrilled she could be of help.
“Book?” Richie said. “You mean like his records? His bookie info?”
“No, not that kinda book. A real book. He was writing a book about his life, and gambling, and all the big shots he knew—that kinda tell-all stuff. He even thought about putting in a epi—, uh, epilode? Epilodge? Epi—”
“Epilogue?” Rebecca ventured.
“Yeah, one a those, to give pointers about how to beat the odds. Then, he was gonna retire off of all the money he'd make on the book. And even royalties. And maybe a movie deal. He figured it'd be a best seller for a long time, and him and me could live someplace nice like Aruba. I didn't believe that last part, but he was nice to say it, doncha think?”
“Nice.” Richie pondered her words. He glanced at Rebecca. She could tell from his expression how potentially dangerous it could be to write a book about his life as a bookie, especially if he planned to name those so-called “big shots.” Danny couldn't be that stupid. Carolina had to be wrong. “Wait a minute,” Richie said. “Danny was a great guy, but he was no writer. I mean, he'd send a text message and it'd be damn dull. He was a numbers guy, not a wordsmith.”
“Yeah, that's what worried him. But he found somebody to work with. He called him something like, uh, his ghost. Yeah, that's right. His ghost. Jeez, Richie, do you think that was, like, prophetic?”
CHAPTER SIX
“What's going on, Mayfield?” Bill Sutter demanded hotly. Rebecca had shut off her cell phone ringer when she went into Carolina Fontana's apartment, but while there she had felt it vibrate every five minutes. Once outside, she found a flurry of missed calls from her partner.
“I'm sorry, Bill,” she said as she and Richie walked along the sidewalk towards her SUV.
“I need you here! We're the weekend on-call team!”
“Any new cases?”
“Not yet, but at any
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