Free BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead by Kate George Page A

strength, but they were both grinning. When they broke the grip Grant maneuvered himself so that he stood between Hambecker and me and threw his arm around my shoulder. He planted a kiss on my cheek and I watched to see if Hambecker would object.
    But Hambecker launched into a discussion of some other Formula 1 driver they apparently both knew. My eyes glazed over and I wondered if I could slip out from under Grant’s arm and go sit down. But when I went to disengage myself Grant tightened his hold and I drifted, not paying attention to the shop talk.
    I felt Grant’s arm loosen about the time he said, “Nice meeting you, man. Let me know if you want to come to the races and I’ll get you a hot pass.”
    I want a hot pass .
    “Thanks, Grant, I’ll do that,” Hambecker said, and he draped his arm across my shoulder during the pass off. He led me back to the table where Claire was chatting with one of Grant’s pit crew. My drink had disappeared and I was about to go up to the bar for another when Hambecker plunked a beer in front of me.
    “Thanks,” I said, “but I can’t. I already had a beer.”
    “That had to be a couple of hours ago, you could probably have another.” He tipped back his mug and drank.
    “One’s my limit when riding, thanks.”
    “You can ride home with me.” He leaned against the window watching me. He had that danged half-smile on his face again and alarm bells were going off in my head. There be monsters here .
    Only it was more like there be heartbreak here .
    “You’re going the wrong direction.” I smiled and kicked myself down off the stool. “Anyhow, it’s time for me to go home. I forgot to feed Stripes before I left. Wouldn’t want the resident skunk getting mad, would I?”
    “Guess not.” He looked sorry I was leaving. Huh. I was kind of happy about that.
     
    ***
     
    The little bit of information that Hambecker had thrown my way the day before got me thinking about connections. Ronnie’s brother was connected to the mob in New York City. Ledroit came from New York looking for a man named Puccini. A Bulgarian assassin was found dead in the Planet Hair, which Ronnie cleaned. Someone dangerous and powerful had smuggled the assassin over the border. The mob was dangerous and powerful and could be from New York. A coincidence? Maybe, but I didn’t think so.
    Instead of parking in the lay-by the next morning, I pulled onto a dirt track that the farmer used to pull his tractor into the orchard. The shrubs along the edge of the road were overgrown and all I had to do was park behind them and my truck was invisible. I tossed the paper plate from the sticky bun I’d picked up at the café on the seat, got out and followed the same path out through the field, but this time I headed straight for the house. I’d taken a good look at the yard when I’d driven by and I knew from my earlier experience that the shed was too full of junk to hold a vehicle.
    I walked straight up to the door and knocked loudly before I tried the handle. I pressed my ear to the door and listened intently for a couple of minutes, hoping nobody came driving by and wondered what I was doing. As I expected, the door was unlocked and I slid in and shut it behind me. I stood in the quiet kitchen for a moment, contemplating locking the door from the inside. I decided that locking it would be a huge red flag to anyone coming to the door, so I left it.
    I stood in the kitchen listening to the silence for several minutes. I heard my heart pounding and a tractor chug by out on the road, but nothing else. I stepped quietly through the kitchen to the living room. The shades were drawn against the summer sun making the room dim and cool. The floor was odd, bare wood, which was pretty normal except it was shiny and new in the middle and dull around the edges. The couch looked old and comfy, draped with a tan slipcover and dotted with throw pillows.
    A child’s stuffed doll was hanging off the cushion, its arms and