Free No Place Like Home - A Camilla Randall Mystery (The Camilla Randall Mysteries) by Anne R. Allen Page B

was time to get rid of the moldy drywall, expose the beams, and do a complete remodel. She'd done it before.
    It might even be fun.

Chapter 28—Mafioso
     
     
     
    I tried to ignore Brianna's bruiser boyfriend and gave the girl what I hoped was a sympathetic smile.
    "Isn't it awful that our paychecks bounced? Mr. Ryder is mortified about it. But he's getting together the money to pay us. I know he'll have it by next week."
    Brianna wouldn't look me in the eye. "I can't wait until next week. We need it now. In cash. It's my money and you owe it to me."
    "But it's Sunday," I said. "Even if he had the money, Silas couldn't get it for you in cash today."
    "Jason needs to get his truck fixed, like, you know—today?" Brianna sounded like a whiny child. "It's missing like crazy and he needs sparkplugs and we're supposed to meet a bunch of people for a birthday pizza party tonight. It's a surprise. We are not going to miss a party for Jason's best friend just because Mr. Ryder wrote a rubber check. That guy is a billionaire. He doesn't care about the little people."
    Jason loomed over me and gave a menacing grin.
    "You heard the chick. It's her money. She's entitled. So hand over the cash."
    The man's breath smelled of semi-digested beer.
    "I can't give what I don't have." I gave him a cold smile.
    Jason pounded a fist down on the cash register. A nasty tattoo of a yellow-faced dog bulged on his bicep as his arm came down within inches of my nose.
    "Then what's in here, lady?"
    "Only the change I need to open the store tomorrow." I kept fifty dollars in small bills, ones, fives and tens. "It's not enough to cover the bounced check, I'm afraid."
    "Yeah, well you go on being afraid. Very afraid. Give it here. Whatever the hell is in there. A down payment. I gotta fix my truck."
    Something in the young man's eyes gave me a chill. No humanity there. Nothing but need and rage. Maybe I should give him what he wanted. Who knew if I'd be opening the store tomorrow anyway? It might belong to the L.A. people by then.
    "I don't have the key. I don't open to customers on Sundays…" The key to the register was back in my cottage. I pondered whether I should get it and sacrifice the fifty dollars.
    But before I had a chance to think, he grabbed my wrist and squeezed so hard I winced.
    "No more bullshit. Open it."
    "Let me get the key. Stay here. I'll be right back."
    I figured if I moved fast, I could dial 911 and get the police. Jason was a like a loaded gun. He needed to be in jail.
    Who knew what he'd do to Brianna, poor thing.
    "You're not going anywhere, bitch." Jason's voice lowered to a feral growl. He lifted his big hand as if he was going to hit me. That explained why Brianna had been wearing a lot more make-up than usual. This creep liked to hit women.
    I tried to step back to dodge the blow, but I only got myself pinned against the counter.
    The slap landed full across my face and knocked me backward against the counter. I slid down, collapsing in a painful heap on the floor. My face stung and my vision went fuzzy.
    "You didn't have to do that, Jason." Brianna's voice squeaked somewhere above my dizzy head. "Why don't you take the whole cash register? You can figure out how to open it later."
    Jason grunted. "This sucker is heavy. You gonna help me or what?"
    I fought nausea. I thought I saw a blur behind Jason. Somebody moving.
    "Hands above your head, Mister," said a voice.
    Ronzo's voice.
    "Your guts would make one helluva nasty mess all over these nice books. I'd hate to have to do that."
    Jason gave another grunt. In a higher register this time.
    "Feel that?" Ronzo said. "That's a little Smith and Wesson 642 Airweight .38 revolver between your shoulder blades." I thought I heard a click. "You get those hands up too, girly." This seemed to be directed at Brianna. "Camilla, are you okay?"
    Ronzo's voice sounded different. Mean. Without a hint of his cocky charm.
    I tried to make an "I'm okay" noise, but had trouble forming words.