Free MURDER on the ROCKS (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 2) by Leslie Leigh

some tool they use down there. I don’t know. Who knows? But it will give me a chance to feel the place out. Again, I don’t know."
                  "You sound real sure of yourself," Del said, replacing the book on the shelf and pulling out another.
                  "That's just the thing. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach – like I swallowed something that's hardened into a rock. Everywhere I turn it feels like it's getting harder, which means I'm getting further away from where I need to be."
                  "You think too much."
                  "No," Allie said abruptly. "I'm not thinking enough."

6.
     
                  Verdenier Granite was a noisy place.
                  Machines whirred and squealed at a constant level, every so often rising in pitch, every so often accompanied by a foreign sound that had something to add to the song, but all of the sounds screeched together as part of some grand, mechanized opera.
                  It was an imposing place, cordoned off by fences with cautionary signage. Beyond the fences she could see the dip of the granite bowl, a huge chasm carved out over a century, with deep, horizontal cuts in its walls like archeological strata extending all the way to the bottom.
                  About ten feet away from where she stood, a line of three trailers sat like unnatural growths on the land. Workers of every stripe entered and exited. Some looked like they had some urgent purpose, somewhere to get to quickly. Some lingered lazily by the doors, either awaiting instructions or just stealing a moment or two in order to pad their shift until it was time to quit and hit the bar before heading home.
                  She approached the third trailer on the right, where a large man with a clean, tucked shirt and a hardhat (they all wore hardhats) barked out orders in a fearsome baritone just outside the door. He gestured and pointed, yelling hard syllables to four employees, who then sauntered off together as soon as he was through.
                  "Mr. Brugel?" She extended her hand. "Allie Griffin. I spoke to your boss on the phone yesterday?"
                  "That's right. He said something about The Clipboard's wife?"
                  "Yes, I just need a little information, if you don’t mind. And I'd like to have a look around the place. A tour or something?"
                  "Well, we're a little busy." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "And the guy who does the tours, he comes in once a month – once a week during tourist season. He ain't here today. But I guess I can show you around."
                  "I'm sorry to impose."
                  "Nah. I can talk a bit."
                  "Can we go somewhere maybe less noisy?"
                  "Yeah, come on in."
                  One side of the trailer's interior was cozy enough, with a couch, a miniature fridge, and functional space for all the basic human necessities. The other side was the office, complete with a desk, chairs on each side, computer, file cabinet, and a calendar with this month's model sporting an outfit that would get her banned from most public places.
                  "Charming office," she said.
                  "What can I do for you? Have a seat."
                  He pointed to the front of the desk and then maneuvered his huge frame behind it. He plopped down into his leather chair, which creaked in protest.
                  "Well, uh, to start, how long have you been foreman?"
                  Once again, Allie Griffin realized she was woefully underprepared for an interview.
                  "Listen," Brugel said, "I'm happy to answer any questions, but I'd just as soon leave my name out of any official records.