Read Online Plateful of Murder by Carole Fowkes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carole Fowkes
Tags: Mystery
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time, but on my drive over, guilt over my selfish gluttony replaced my food lust. I didn’t know what Dwayne was up to, but it could turn ugly. If Michael got hurt, it’d be my fault. This had to be one of the dumbest things I’d ever done. Michael was a client, a really sweet, adorable one who cooked like a male Julia Child.
I shook my head hard. Gino warned me about letting my heart overrule my head. He didn’t say anything about my stomach, though. I fully intended to reverse my rash decision when I got to Michael’s home.
Michael was already outside with what looked like a picnic basket when I pulled up. His look of excitement was so cute I couldn’t change my mind and disappoint him. Okay, maybe that was just an excuse, but either way, I now had company.
Once we parked close to Dwayne’s apartment building, I explained my assignment and recited Gino’s advice, “Be close enough to spot him, but far enough so’s the pigeon don’t notice you.”
Michael half smiled and nodded. “Got it.”
My stomach felt weighed down, as if each Cheerio I’d eaten earlier had swelled to the size and weight of a marble. Even the scent of glorious veal piccata didn’t whet my appetite.
Dwayne finally got into his car and as soon as he pulled away from his apartment, we followed at a discreet distance. Luckily traffic was light and he went the speed limit, making it easy to track him. Michael knew enough to stay silent. I blew out a breath as Dwayne’s car pulled up to a row of buildings: one, a convenience store, another, a cleaners, and at the end, a bar that looked like a neighborhood joint where no one knows your name.
I cruised by and observed as Dwayne got out and started toward the bar. Some guy opened the tavern’s door, lit a cigarette and watched Dwayne walk past. A lump sat firmly in my throat. This part of the job scared the knickers off of me.
Dwayne continued his trek behind the front building and disappeared. I parked and jumped out of my car, but before I could tell him to stay put, Michael was next to me. We trailed Dwayne and I snapped a photo of him entering a building with red awnings. When he opened the door, lively Latin music blared.
Michael, his eyes wide, whispered, “Do we follow him?”
Staying out of the range of flying fists, just close enough for the camera to get the goods, was my way. But in this case, the blinds were drawn, allowing no way of peering inside. I waited too long to decide, and a stranger approached us from behind. He opened the door and his voice boomed like a carnival barker, “Go on in, folks. We don’t bite. I’m Randall Jones, owner of this place.” When we didn’t move, he smiled. “Cold feet, huh?”
I came out of my haze. “No, no. We were just…walking by.”
He let loose with a hearty laugh. “That’s what they all say.” He hustled us inside and casually blocked the door, making a quick escape difficult. Trapped in the foyer, the music’s beat vibrated in my skull. I’d never been this close to the mark, and we only had until the music stopped for good to get any low down on Dwayne.
Before I could throw a plan together, the music abruptly ended. Then, “Well if it ain’t Miss $17.95.” It was Ed, the lean-and-mean security guard, without his uniform.
Chapter Seven
E d sidled up to me and chuckled. “Didn’t take you for a salsa dancer.” He leaned in and his stale-cigarette breath made my nose curl. Spotting my camera, his mouth twisted. “Or are you working a case?” He tilted his chin in Michael’s direction. “You’re her brother. Constance’s, I mean.”
The man who’d rushed us in interjected. “Well since you seem to know each other, we’re all set.” He bustled toward an office in the back.
Michael recovered quicker than me and stuck out his hand to shake Ed’s. “Michael Adler. We’re just here to dance.” Although they shook hands, they reminded me of boxers before their match, each eyeing the other for
I shook my head hard. Gino warned me about letting my heart overrule my head. He didn’t say anything about my stomach, though. I fully intended to reverse my rash decision when I got to Michael’s home.
Michael was already outside with what looked like a picnic basket when I pulled up. His look of excitement was so cute I couldn’t change my mind and disappoint him. Okay, maybe that was just an excuse, but either way, I now had company.
Once we parked close to Dwayne’s apartment building, I explained my assignment and recited Gino’s advice, “Be close enough to spot him, but far enough so’s the pigeon don’t notice you.”
Michael half smiled and nodded. “Got it.”
My stomach felt weighed down, as if each Cheerio I’d eaten earlier had swelled to the size and weight of a marble. Even the scent of glorious veal piccata didn’t whet my appetite.
Dwayne finally got into his car and as soon as he pulled away from his apartment, we followed at a discreet distance. Luckily traffic was light and he went the speed limit, making it easy to track him. Michael knew enough to stay silent. I blew out a breath as Dwayne’s car pulled up to a row of buildings: one, a convenience store, another, a cleaners, and at the end, a bar that looked like a neighborhood joint where no one knows your name.
I cruised by and observed as Dwayne got out and started toward the bar. Some guy opened the tavern’s door, lit a cigarette and watched Dwayne walk past. A lump sat firmly in my throat. This part of the job scared the knickers off of me.
Dwayne continued his trek behind the front building and disappeared. I parked and jumped out of my car, but before I could tell him to stay put, Michael was next to me. We trailed Dwayne and I snapped a photo of him entering a building with red awnings. When he opened the door, lively Latin music blared.
Michael, his eyes wide, whispered, “Do we follow him?”
Staying out of the range of flying fists, just close enough for the camera to get the goods, was my way. But in this case, the blinds were drawn, allowing no way of peering inside. I waited too long to decide, and a stranger approached us from behind. He opened the door and his voice boomed like a carnival barker, “Go on in, folks. We don’t bite. I’m Randall Jones, owner of this place.” When we didn’t move, he smiled. “Cold feet, huh?”
I came out of my haze. “No, no. We were just…walking by.”
He let loose with a hearty laugh. “That’s what they all say.” He hustled us inside and casually blocked the door, making a quick escape difficult. Trapped in the foyer, the music’s beat vibrated in my skull. I’d never been this close to the mark, and we only had until the music stopped for good to get any low down on Dwayne.
Before I could throw a plan together, the music abruptly ended. Then, “Well if it ain’t Miss $17.95.” It was Ed, the lean-and-mean security guard, without his uniform.
Chapter Seven
E d sidled up to me and chuckled. “Didn’t take you for a salsa dancer.” He leaned in and his stale-cigarette breath made my nose curl. Spotting my camera, his mouth twisted. “Or are you working a case?” He tilted his chin in Michael’s direction. “You’re her brother. Constance’s, I mean.”
The man who’d rushed us in interjected. “Well since you seem to know each other, we’re all set.” He bustled toward an office in the back.
Michael recovered quicker than me and stuck out his hand to shake Ed’s. “Michael Adler. We’re just here to dance.” Although they shook hands, they reminded me of boxers before their match, each eyeing the other for
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