Free Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4) by Joanne Pence Page B

article get printed. If, as a result, our businesses suffered, then we’d revisit suing the tabloid. And we’d have proof that financial harm was done.”
    “In the course of the meeting,” Rebecca asked, “did you get any sense of danger? That any of them were worried about their personal safety if the article was printed?”
    “Not at all,” Moss said. “That’s why it came as such a shock to hear about the arsons and Shig’s murder.”
    “Tell me, did the writer interview you?”
    “He tried, but I wasn’t about to talk to anyone from that rag.”
    “Did you ever see him?”
    “No. He called. I never returned the calls.”
    “Okay.” Rebecca drew in her breath. “Tell me what happened to you. Why are you afraid you’re in danger?”
    “I’ve got my tour boat but I also own a cabin cruiser. I use it for my own pleasure, up and down the coast mainly, although I have sailed all the way to Panama a couple of times. Fortunately, I’ve learned with my tour boat not to rely on any instruments but to always have back-up data. I headed out early this morning and planned to spend a couple of days cruising up around Mendocino when I saw a discrepancy in the fuel level. The shipboard instrument said the tank was full, which is where it was supposed to be. But my back-up gauge—the one that was supposed to be simply redundant, showed the tank down to only a quarter full. That made no sense, so I turned the cruiser around. It was all but empty by the time I docked. Once docked, I checked it over. I haven’t found anything yet, but I know the fuel line and gas gauge were tampered with. That’s the only explanation. I wanted to get to the police and report this before anything else happened. I also want to make sure if anything happens to me, it’s not thought of as an accident. There’s clearly some sort of maniac out there going after those of us in the magazine article. And I don’t like it one bit!”
    “I understand your worry,” she said, her voice soothing. “I would suggest you double your private security efforts. I can ask that some patrol officers drive by your home as often as possible—and that’ll help as long as you’re home.”
    “What about police protection wherever I go?”
    “Unfortunately, most police work is finding out who committed a crime, and not to prevent a personal attack.”
    “Bull shit! I see police protecting people all the time.”
    “At public events and for public officials, not one-on-one for private citizens. But I’ll see what I can do. I’m only suggesting—”
    “You’re suggesting you sit around and twiddle your thumbs until I’m dead like Tanaka, or have my tour boat torched like Bosque and Amalfi’s businesses were.” He rose to his feet. “Thanks for telling me I just wasted my afternoon here, Officer.”
    “Wait.” She stood and handed him her card. “You’ve been very helpful. I need you to tell me exactly what you find when you check your cruiser. I can send a crime scene team to the boat to look for any clues as to who might have done the tampering.”
    “Fat lot of good that’ll do. Thanks for nothing.”
    He stormed from the station, leaving Lottie looking after him in bewilderment, and Rebecca steamed. Another egotistical “enticing bachelor” had just walked out on her.
    And, adding insult to injury, Logan Travis and Pierre Fontaine still hadn’t bothered to respond to her insistent calls.

 
    CHAPTER NINE
     
    Rebecca woke up to the insistent ringing of her doorbell. It was already nine o’clock, and the sun was streaming through the window. She sat up, unable to believe how she had slept so late, but working a murder case with only a head was quite labor intensive, especially when she’d stayed at it until after one in the morning.
    The doorbell chimed again. She put on a bathrobe and slippers and went out to the breezeway to see who was bothering her. She pulled open the door and stared in shock. It was her Los Angeles-living,