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

was paid to do it by someone who refused to give his name."
                  Allie's brain kicked into overdrive. Who could it have been? Was Tad Mills faking this threat? She'd seen this sort of thing before, on the Honey Reilly case.
                  "Are we done?" asked Jimmy.
                  "I guess so."
                  "I want scotch eggs."
                  "What are scotch eggs?"
                  Jimmy's eyes grew wide. "You never heard of scotch eggs? Oh man. You take a hard-boiled egg, right? Then you cover it with ground sausage. You really gotta pack it on there. Then you dip it in an egg wash and breadcrumbs. Then you deep-fry the sucker."
                  "Then I go lie down in the hospital waiting room while you eat it."
                  "You only live once."
                  "With a heart condition, for sure."
                  "Just a nice green salad on the side. With a fig and espresso balsamic vinaigrette."
                  Allie rolled her eyes. "Anything else?"
                  He thought for a moment. "You dating anyone?"
                  "That's all then," said Allie. "Thank you, Jimmy dear."
                  "Come again."

4.
                  No.
                  Tad wasn't a murderer.
                  Allie prided herself on her ability to read people. There were those who struck her as folks whom one should keep at arm's length. Tad Mills wasn't one of those at all. In fact, whenever she'd been in his company, she'd not been able to resist him. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he had a bright soul or a colorful aura, but she believed in neither of those things, or at least she didn’t believe that anyone could see them if they existed. But she had to resort to poetry when trying to define the undefinable. Tad Mills fell into that category. She thought it in the forefront of her mind for the first time. She was falling in love with him. He was gay and she was in love with him.
                  She slumped deeper into her chair. Dinah the cat jumped up onto her lap, battering her legs with 22 pounds of feline flab and paws like ice picks.
                  She now found herself faced with the one true dilemma of her new life as a would-be detective: How does one press through bias to arrive at the truth?
                  Let's say Tad was guilty. "Let's put that hat on for a moment and see if it feels comfortable, shall we, ma chatte ?"
                  The cat responded with a flexed claw in her knee. Allie was used to fulfilling the detested role of kitty cat pincushion, and so did not even flinch.
                  Dinah did, however, pick up her little head, the radar ears honed in on some sound undetectable by human ears, and then jumped down and darted off into the bedroom as fast as her little feline legs could carry her.
                  And that's when Detective Harry Tomlin came up the walkway to the house.
                  With an exasperated sigh, she opened the door.
                  "Hi there," he said cheerily. "Can I come in for a sec?"
                  "No."
                  "Oh, Ms. Griffin, don’t be like that. I have a few questions about Sally Kane's murder and I just want to chat a bit. Certainly if you have nothing to hide, you wouldn’t mind having a tête-à-tête ?"
                  " Tête-à-tête ? Well, since you put it that way. Entre, monsieur ."
                  He entered her house and looked around, nodding. "I forgot how cozy and nice it is here. Nothing like my little place."
                  "It's home."
                  "Mm. How's the cat? Dino?"
                  "Dinah. She's fine. She's hiding