3 Malled to Death by Laura Disilverio Read Free Book Online

Nordic-blond hair was brushed back from a high brow and a resigned look settled on the handsome face as he recognized me.
    “Officer Ferris. I might have known.”
    “Detective Helland. Known what?” I pulled away from his grasp, putting a couple of feet between us. I wasn’t sure I liked Detective Anders Helland much, if at all, but something about him set me on edge in a not entirely unpleasant way.
    “That you’d be mixed up in this. Do you realize I haven’t investigated a single homicide in the last two months in which you weren’t involved?”
    “It’s not a homicide,” I said, refusing to let his tone irritate me. “She’s still alive.”
    He shook his head. “Died on the way to the hospital. You haven’t messed up the crime scene, I hope.”
    I stood, stunned and saddened, as he pushed past me to get to the men’s room. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said over his shoulder.
    Crime scene technicians trooped after him, as did two uniformed officers belaying black-and-yellow tape to cordon off the area officially. All I could think was that I’d failed the young woman by not finding her sooner, by not doing enough to keep her alive. The sensible part of me recognized that I’d done all I could do, but I felt wretched nonetheless.
    “Emma-Joy, are you okay? What happened?”
    I glanced up at Grandpa Atherton, concern shadowing his face. His fedora was tilted at a cocky angle and I stared past him, noticing other movie people milling around.
    “Fine. Are you done filming?”
    “Never mind that. Why is there blood on your shirt? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
    I looked down to see the dried red streaks on my white uniform shirt. “Not me,” I assured Grandpa. “Someone else. A woman. I found her in the men’s room.”
    “Is she going to be o—”
    I was shaking my head before he finished. “She died.”
    He eyed me closely. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    Someone bellowed “Places!” and Grandpa looked over his shoulder.
    “Go,” I told him, making shooing motions. “I’m fine. I’ll fill you in when you’re done doing your Cary Grant shtick.”
    “I do look debonair, don’t I?” he said with a grin, poking one finger under the fedora’s brim to nudge it to a jauntier angle. “If I hadn’t been recruited by the CIA, I could have made a go of it in Hollywood.”
    “It’s never too late,” I said, smiling for the first time since entering the bathroom.
    With a two-fingered salute to the hat’s brim, he headed back to the movie set, moving with the slouchy ease of a Rat Packer. Maybe the CIA’s gain was the movie industry’s loss, I thought with a small smile.
    It vanished when a hand gripped my arm above my elbow and Helland’s voice spoke from behind me. “Let’s find a place to talk,” he said. “I understand you found Ms. Winters.”
    I looked up at him. He topped my five-six by a good six or seven inches. “Was that her name?”
    He nodded. “Yes. Zoë Winters.”
    Zoë! That was the name of the woman—
    A gunshot broke into my thoughts and Ethan’s voice yelled, “Gun!”

Seven
    • • • 
    Detective Helland swept me behind him and drew his weapon. Every cop in the vicinity now had a gun in his or her hand. Two of them had started toward where Ethan’s voice had come from. Terrified that some trigger-happy cop would shoot my dad, I grabbed Helland’s wrist. He shook me off with a furious look.
    “It’s a movie,” I said urgently. “They’re filming a movie.”
    Helland lowered his weapon slightly. “You’re sure?” His voice was tight.
    I nodded so hard my chestnut hair swished around my face. “Absolutely. That was Ethan Jarrett.”
    He gave me an inscrutable look, told his team to stand down, and motioned me toward the set. He knew Ethan was my dad because my family had descended en masse on the hospital when Grandpa had been shot and I’d been concussed stopping a murderer a few weeks back.
    “Why the hell are they filming a movie