Read Online Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery by Joanne Pence - Free Book Online Page A

everything but name; and especially for Ned, as all the hope she’d heard in Doc’s voice about him and his future would never be fulfilled.
    Watching their sorrow, her own eyes filled with tears.
    In the distance, the vehicles drew ever nearer.
    “They’re almost here,” Paavo said, standing at the edge of the ledge. “Two of them.”
    “Two?” Doc struggled to his feet. “That means the sheriff is dragging Buster along.”
    “Buster?”
    “Also known as Wallace Willis, the deputy.”
    Below them, the vehicles came to a halt—a Hummer followed by an old Jeep, both with flashing red beacons and long aerials whipping the desert air. From the Hummer emerged Sheriff Hermann, wearing an oversized beige cowboy hat that shielded his face, a bulky jacket, and khaki slacks over surprisingly short legs and very wide hips. A phone, gun, and nightstick hung from a thick belt.
    Slightly behind the Hummer, Buster leaped from the open Jeep and began swatting dust from his clothing. He was nearly a head taller than the sheriff, and more muscular. His uniform matched the sheriff’s, though he wore no jacket.
    “You all got a body up there?” the sheriff bellowed. His voice, Angie thought, was peculiarly high-pitched.
    The four yelled back variations on “Yes.”
    “We’re coming up!” the sheriff shouted back.
    With fascination, the four watched the progress of Sheriff Hermann and Buster up the steep ridge. The sheriff gasped, swore, and kept slipping, kicking dust and sand in the deputy’s face. As the climb grew more difficult, Buster sometimes boosted the sheriff along with a two-armed shove of the buttocks. Near the top, Joaquin and Paavo edged themselves down to offer arms to help yank the sheriff to the flat clearing. Buster clambered behind.
    When Sheriff Hermann reached the landing, panting and weary, he took off his hat and then his jacket. Angie gaped. “He” was a woman.
    She was in her forties or fifties—Angie couldn’t tell—heavyset and solid, with gray-flecked straight brown hair pulled back into a rubber band at the nape of her neck. She wore no makeup, and her face was round, red, and sweaty from the ascent. Her eyes were pale blue, and her lashes and brows so thin they all but disappeared. An upturned, almost pert nose and a tiny mouth were completely at odds with the rest of her build.
    Along with the khaki uniform, she wore combat boots and as deep a scowl as Angie had ever seen.
    Buster would have been a decent-enough-looking man, mid-thirties with a muscular physique and large blue eyes, if not for his dull expression and protruding lower lip. To Angie’s surprise, the collar and front placket of his shirt were edged with maroon piping, and his hat had a small yellow feather stuck in the band. She couldn’t help but stare.
    As soon as he spotted her, he gazed back with equal fascination.
    Eyes bulging, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, the sheriff said, “All right, now, where’s the body?”
    The four pointed, and she marched off.
    Buster didn’t follow until the sheriff ordered him to. Soon, the sound of vomiting came from behind the bushes. Paavo cringed. Angie knew he was thinking of what the two were doing to the crime scene.
    Doc glowered after them. “Our delightful sheriff,” he explained, “is the orneriest cuss west of the Mississippi. She got the job because nobody could match her in being mean and hard-nosed. It’s a toss-up as to which is worse, her temper or Buster’s incompetence.”
    Doc’s little speech made Angie stiffen as the sheriff returned. “Damnation, he’s dead,” she said, still huffing, jowls quivering, hands on hips and glowering at them as if one of them had been responsible. “What the hell’s going on around here? I didn’t take this job expecting people to drop like flies!”
    “That’s Ned! Show some respect!” Doc snapped, and Paavo put a restraining hand on his arm.
    “Don’t you think I know who it is,” she