THE COED MURDER CLUB. Ken Salter
Читать онлайн.| Название | THE COED MURDER CLUB |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Ken Salter |
| Жанр | Крутой детектив |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Крутой детектив |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9781587904400 |
THECOEDMURDERCLUB
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
FICTION
Gold Fever Part One / San Francisco 1851
Gold Fever Part Two / San Francisco 1851-1852
Gold Fever Part Three / The Path to Civil War 1853-1860
Dancing With The Ice Lady
Murder In The Campanile
NON-FICTION
The Pentagon Papers Trial
The Trial of Inez Garcia
The Trial of Dan White
THE COEDMURDERCLUB
by
Ken Salter
AN R. C. BEAN MURDER MYSTERY
REGENT PRESS
Berkeley, California
Copyright © 2018 by Ken Salter
[paperback]
ISBN 13: 978-1-58790-438-7
ISBN 10: 1-58790-438-1
[e-book]
ISBN 13: 978-1-58790-440-0
ISBN 10: 1-58790-440-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018938198
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any reference to an actual place, any similarity to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter heading drawings courtesy Martha McEvoy
First Edition
Manufactured in the U.S.A.
REGENT PRESS
Berkeley, California
Contents
CHAPTER 1
My secretary, Juanita, buzzed me on the intercom while I was trying to finish a report on a complicated skip trace investigation for an attorney client.
“R.C., your two o’clock appointment is here. You better come quick. They’re starting to fight with each other.”
“Damn, tell them I’ll be right there.” I sighed. I needed to finish writing the report so Juanita could type it this afternoon. I had about twenty hours of billable time in the case and I needed to get paid. Barney Schultz, my attorney client, needed the report to justify paying me. As Barney says, “No tickee, no laundry. No report, no pay.” It’s as simple as that. He’s a real tight-ass when it comes to paying for my investigation services out of retainer accounts. Even though I sublet office space from him, he won’t cut me any slack.
I removed the cassette from the dictating machine to give to Juanita. She could type what I’d done so far. I’d have to find time to finish it later. My two o’clock clients were new and I’d already kept them waiting over 20 minutes. Time to put on my smile and face the music.
The yelling assaulted my ears the moment I opened my office door. A middle-aged man on the far side of the waiting room was carrying on. “Goddamn it! I can’t take any more of this silence shit and you taking sides with your whore of a daughter. It’s her damn fault, anyway!”
He was bullying and haranguing an attractive but sad looking woman dressed in black who was seated next to a college-aged young woman who appeared to be her daughter. The two women shared prominent facial features – high cheekbones, oval faces, strong chins, rosy cheeks and straw-colored hair. The older woman showed stress wrinkles around her eyes and on her furrowed brow. The young woman’s eyes and nose were red from crying. She snuffled into a handkerchief and stared at the floor.
“Stop it, Arnold. You are only making matters worse. How do you expect Mindy to cooperate when you fly off the handle at the drop of a hat?” The wife pressed the hand of her daughter and threw a glaring look at her husband.
“Well, I’m not going to shut up. I’m fed up with you both. What the hell am I going to tell everyone at work? Huh? That your daughter is a drunk and a whore?”
Juanita’s eyes were glued