Free MURDER TUNED IN (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 4) by Leslie Leigh

whispered, "...breaking in to my Medicare."
                  "Oh my."
                  "The check's late again," she whispered. "I just wanted to see what was wrong. Awful of me, I know."
                  "Mrs. Needleman. Please stop talking about this. I can’t hear this."
                  "I'm so sorry. And where are my manners? Come in, come in."
                  She entered the home, which was cozy and antiquated and smelled like it.
                  "I'll wake him up."
                  "Tell him I'm really sorry."
                  The old woman went upstairs and Allie heard her knocking on Jimmy's door. She heard faint, muffled mumbles in response.
                  Mrs. Needleman hobbled back down the stairs. "He’ll be right down. I'm going to make him a fruit cup. Would you like one?"
                  "No thank you."
                  A minute later, there was Jimmy Welles, all stubbly and puffy-eyed, and wearing a raggy T-shirt with a picture of the Incredible Hulk peeling off it in dime-sized flakes. He wore ripped jeans stained with what looked like tomato sauce. He scratched at his belly, sending a few more Hulk flakes flurrying to the floor.
                  "Hey," he said groggily. "What time is it?"
                  "It's one o'clock," Allie said, unable to stifle a smile. "Maybe you can get up and join the living now."
                  "Where is she?"
                  "She's making you a fruit cup."
                  "What do you need?"
                  "A small favor again."
                  Without hesitation, he said, "Follow me."
                  Jimmy's room was an electronics geek's Mecca. Every part of every kind of device lay exploded across some part of the floor. Even his unkempt bed was sprinkled liberally with a few of such parts. Allie wondered how he could possibly sleep in that. Then she noticed the small piece of motherboard near his pillow, and the red impression from said piece across part of his cheek.
                  "Oh, Jimmy," was all she could say.
                  "Cut it out. What do you need?"
                  "A guy was sent these weird phone calls. One a day at different times. All that was on the line was a tone. Each day a different tone. A sine wave? Is that what it's called?"
                  "Sine wave."
                  "Right."
                  "Ok."
                  "So?"
                  "So what?" said Jimmy.
                  "So I need to know how someone made those calls. Where they came from."
                  Jimmy sighed wearily and walked over to his computer. With a jiggle of the mouse, the screen came to life.
                  "I need more info."
                  "We think the calls were automatic. Like what political candidates use. You know, pre-recorded."
                  "Robo-calls."
                  "That's it."
                  "There's no mystery there. Anyone can set up a system to do that."
                  "Can you figure out who was making these?"
                  "Give me the number they were calling and a couple of the dates and times."
                  She did as he asked, and he went to work, typing and punching furiously at the keyboard like a virtuoso pianist.
                  "Ok," he said, dropping his hands into his lap. "Here's where they went." He pointed to the screen. "And here's where they came from."
                  "What is that?"
                  "That's the robo-call server IP. You want to know the exact location where it came from?" He typed for a couple of minutes more. "Burlington.