Read Online Red Hot Murder: An Angie Amalfi Mystery by Joanne Pence - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joanne Pence
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sneered.
“Listen here, Merry Belle—” Doc took a step forward, but Paavo had hold of him. He bit back a curse, and looked away, eyes brimming with tears.
Merry Belle? Surely Angie hadn’t heard right.
“Don’t you yell none at the sheriff,” a green-looking Buster said, patting his mouth with amonogrammed handkerchief—WW in royal purple script lettering. “You okay, Aunt Merry Belle?”
Yes, she’d heard right …
“Of course I’m okay!” Merry Belle swatted the deputy in the chest with the back of her hand. “Better than you! Now, make yourself useful and go back down there and radio the county for the coroner and see if we can’t get a helicopter from Yuma to fetch the body. Probably can’t land, but it could hover and drop a line.”
She then cast a sheepishly guilty look at Doc. “Cool off, Doc. I’m sorry about Ned, I really am. But I don’t know what the hell’s going on around here! Must have been an accident … but up here …”
Doc shook his head and walked away.
Slowly, as the sheriff looked around trying to determine how the accident might have happened, she revolved in the direction of her deputy, who had remained rooted to the spot. Her face darkened.
“I still see you,” Merry Belle barked.
Buster was staring at Angie.
“Have your legs failed you, boy?” the sheriff bellowed. “Or do I have to shoot?”
“I’m going,” Buster mumbled. “But who’s that woman?”
“I’ll do my investigation once you’re on your way,” Merry Belle yelled, ever more exasperated.
“I do like her red hat, though,” Buster mumbled, then went off to begin his downhill slide.
Chapter 8
Much later that day, Angie found herself back at the guest ranch, alone. She’d taken the SUV and returned, while Paavo did some investigating on his own.
He clearly had no confidence that the sheriff would investigate properly or soon—it was all he could do to stop her and Buster from completely destroying the crime scene. He told Merry Belle he was a homicide inspector in San Francisco and offered to help. She bristled at the suggestion. Neither did she buy that he was vacationing in Jackpot “just by chance.”
When Paavo found out Doc had an extra set of Ned’s house and business keys, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
Angie expected she’d only be in the way. She decided to leave, let those who knew Ned mourn his loss together in their own way.
She stood in the shade of the little porch in front of the door to her cabin, hunting in her purse for the key.
“Junior!” Clarissa called suddenly. “Junior Whitney, come here right now!”
Angie turned to see what was going on.
Clarissa was on the veranda outside the common room. “Junior” as the man had been called, had been walking toward the stables. Angie wondered if he could be another relative.
As Junior slinked near, Angie saw that his hair was long and unkempt, and his clothes had never known an iron. He seemed to be in his fifties, tall, skinny and blond, with painfully bloodshot eyes and puffy skin.
His jeans and boots were covered with dust, his hands and face grimy.
“Where have you been?” Clarissa demanded, marching to the middle of the plaza. “I haven’t seen you in two days! Lionel has some work for you to do.”
“Now?” he whined. “I been workin’ up at Hal’s cattle ranch, an’ I’m tired.”
“Now!”
Junior spun on his heel and Angie was sure she heard murmurs of “too damned cheap to hire enough help” as he headed toward Lionel’s trailer. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar.
Clarissa looked up to see Angie watching her. “I’m afraid you see, now, what I have to deal with.” Clarissa’s lips tightened. “Help is so egregious these days! And, by the way, I haven’t heard what you plan to prepare for the cookout.”
Clarissa sounded as if Angie were nothing more than untrustworthy help herself. She curbed theimpulse to stick her tongue out at the woman and felt
“Listen here, Merry Belle—” Doc took a step forward, but Paavo had hold of him. He bit back a curse, and looked away, eyes brimming with tears.
Merry Belle? Surely Angie hadn’t heard right.
“Don’t you yell none at the sheriff,” a green-looking Buster said, patting his mouth with amonogrammed handkerchief—WW in royal purple script lettering. “You okay, Aunt Merry Belle?”
Yes, she’d heard right …
“Of course I’m okay!” Merry Belle swatted the deputy in the chest with the back of her hand. “Better than you! Now, make yourself useful and go back down there and radio the county for the coroner and see if we can’t get a helicopter from Yuma to fetch the body. Probably can’t land, but it could hover and drop a line.”
She then cast a sheepishly guilty look at Doc. “Cool off, Doc. I’m sorry about Ned, I really am. But I don’t know what the hell’s going on around here! Must have been an accident … but up here …”
Doc shook his head and walked away.
Slowly, as the sheriff looked around trying to determine how the accident might have happened, she revolved in the direction of her deputy, who had remained rooted to the spot. Her face darkened.
“I still see you,” Merry Belle barked.
Buster was staring at Angie.
“Have your legs failed you, boy?” the sheriff bellowed. “Or do I have to shoot?”
“I’m going,” Buster mumbled. “But who’s that woman?”
“I’ll do my investigation once you’re on your way,” Merry Belle yelled, ever more exasperated.
“I do like her red hat, though,” Buster mumbled, then went off to begin his downhill slide.
Chapter 8
Much later that day, Angie found herself back at the guest ranch, alone. She’d taken the SUV and returned, while Paavo did some investigating on his own.
He clearly had no confidence that the sheriff would investigate properly or soon—it was all he could do to stop her and Buster from completely destroying the crime scene. He told Merry Belle he was a homicide inspector in San Francisco and offered to help. She bristled at the suggestion. Neither did she buy that he was vacationing in Jackpot “just by chance.”
When Paavo found out Doc had an extra set of Ned’s house and business keys, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
Angie expected she’d only be in the way. She decided to leave, let those who knew Ned mourn his loss together in their own way.
She stood in the shade of the little porch in front of the door to her cabin, hunting in her purse for the key.
“Junior!” Clarissa called suddenly. “Junior Whitney, come here right now!”
Angie turned to see what was going on.
Clarissa was on the veranda outside the common room. “Junior” as the man had been called, had been walking toward the stables. Angie wondered if he could be another relative.
As Junior slinked near, Angie saw that his hair was long and unkempt, and his clothes had never known an iron. He seemed to be in his fifties, tall, skinny and blond, with painfully bloodshot eyes and puffy skin.
His jeans and boots were covered with dust, his hands and face grimy.
“Where have you been?” Clarissa demanded, marching to the middle of the plaza. “I haven’t seen you in two days! Lionel has some work for you to do.”
“Now?” he whined. “I been workin’ up at Hal’s cattle ranch, an’ I’m tired.”
“Now!”
Junior spun on his heel and Angie was sure she heard murmurs of “too damned cheap to hire enough help” as he headed toward Lionel’s trailer. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar.
Clarissa looked up to see Angie watching her. “I’m afraid you see, now, what I have to deal with.” Clarissa’s lips tightened. “Help is so egregious these days! And, by the way, I haven’t heard what you plan to prepare for the cookout.”
Clarissa sounded as if Angie were nothing more than untrustworthy help herself. She curbed theimpulse to stick her tongue out at the woman and felt
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