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Carole Fowkes
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: CreateSpace
ISBN-10: 1983551635
Type: Fiction
Pages: 273
Copyright: January, 2018
ISBN-13: 9781983551635
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
A famous literary critic is found dead, covered with hundreds of paper cuts. The only witness is PI Claire DeNardo, who spots her own client fleeing the crime scene. When this client insists she was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time, Claire sets out to discover the truth.
A famous literary critic is found dead, covered with hundreds of paper cuts. The only witness is PI Claire DeNardo, who spots a well-known author and one of Claire's clients fleeing the crime scene. When this client insists she was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time, Claire sets out to discover the truth.
As the body count rises and the danger mounts, Police Detective Brian Corrigan pressures Claire to step back from this case and step up their romance. But can't a girl have it all?
Excerpt
Excerpt from Eclairs and Executions
Chapter 12
(In which PI Claire DeNardo seeks out ruthless bookie, Martin Beckman to whom the murder victim reportedly owed a large sum of money. She found the guy, all right, but she’s not sure the encounter is lucky!)
Being Saturday and with the adjacent casino going full steam, Whistledown was busier than ever. After trolling for ten minutes looking for a parking spot, I hiked to the front gate along with at least twenty other people hoping not to lose their shirts. Me, I was hoping not to lose my life.
Once inside the gates, I headed toward the area I recognized in the photo. Chances weren’t great Beckman would be in that spot, but I had to start somewhere.
Luck did not favor me. Beckman was nowhere to be seen. I slouched against a pole and chomped down on the second chocolate piece. Now thirsty, I pulled out my wallet, which contained $1.32 and a button. Swallowing my pride, I found the least busy concession stand and bargained with the guy for half a cup of a diet cola. As I crumpled the empty cup to toss out, I felt someone’s eyes on me. It was Martin Beckman.
Surprised, I busied myself with the racing schedule I picked up. Had he been watching me all this time? If so, like a not-too-bright finalist in a spelling bee, I couldn’t understand how I’d gotten this far. My plan had been to locate and observe him, not the other way around.
Beckman’s companion, who was big enough to double as a door, approached me. Sounding like he’d had his nose broken more than once, he said, “Mr. Beckman over there wants to know if you’d like to join him in his box seats.”
Surprise gave way to fear and I stalled. “Are you sure he meant me?” My voice came out Mickey Mouse squeaky.
“You wanna come or not?” The glint in his eyes told me turning Beckman down would be unwise.
“If you put it that way, I’d love to join your friend.” I
followed him to where his boss was standing.
Beckman held out his delicate hand. His long fingers wrapped around mine. “Hello. I’m Martin Beckman. You wanted to meet me?”
My eyes opened wide and without thinking, I stepped back. “How did you know?”
He wore a predatory smile. I could almost swear he sharpened his teeth into points. “Let’s discuss it in more comfortable surroundings.” He nodded at his goon to help me find my way to his box seats.
“Please, sit down.” Beckman motioned to a folding chair and I collapsed into it before my shaky legs could give out. He primly lowered himself into the seat next to me and crossed his legs. “Now, why are you here?”
Sometimes words shoot out of my mouth like cannon balls. This wasn’t one of those times. My throat turned dry and my words stuck in my gullet. All I managed was a croaking noise.
If a snake could smile, it’d look like Beckman. “Let’s start again. Why are you here? Please don’t insult me by saying it’s to gamble.”
“I don’t know…”
“Ms. DeNardo. Can I call you Claire?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued in a light tone, as if we were discussing the lunch menu. “A certain restaurant’s bartender learned it’s not wise to keep secrets.”
Dennis cracked his knuckles. I wondered if he’d cracked Tommy Columbo’s head, the bartender from Beef and Brew.
Beckman continued, “You want some information on George Dixon? Here it is. He owed me money…A lot of money. But a dead man don’t pay his debts. End of story.”
I nodded like a bobble head version of myself. “But Marco Conti was killed too and—”
His face clouded and his voice turned to ice. “Dennis, help this lady out of here.”
Dennis grabbed my arm. When I hesitated, he twisted it and I winced.
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