Bombshell by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page A

reminded him of Abby on
NCIS
, but without the tattoos. “Delsey’s a sweetheart. Was it a robbery?”
    “We’re not sure yet.”
    “Can we see her?”
    “She has a concussion, so she’s not up to visitors yet,” Griffin said.
    “Please tell her we’re all hoping she gets well soon.”
    “Thank you.”
    “It’s awfully cold out. Would you like some coffee?”
    “No, thank you. I prefer to wait for Barbara and that Starbucks nonfat mocha cinnamon latte.”
    There were nervous laughs.
    “This is terrible,” Salazar said, stubbing out his cigarillo in an ashtray held out to him by another woman, this one about Delsey’s age. Salazar’s accent grew exponentially thicker as he said, flapping his hands, “My beautiful Delsey, how could such a thing happen here in Maestro? This is hardly New York, where robberies take place every second. Who would do this? She should have been safe here, but then again, this is America, and who knows what can happen anywhere in America? There is too much violence on your television. It is disgraceful.
    “Poor Delsey would have stayed here if Elliot had left her alone, but no, he was all over her, getting her to drink his deadly margaritas—and that is why she went home and interrupted a robbery, is this correct? It is his fault this happened.” Salazar caught himself when he realized every ear in the living room was wide open and receiving.
    “We don’t know yet whether or not it was a robbery.”
    Salazar shrugged that off. “Come with me, Agent Hammersmith. We will go to my study and I will answer all your questions.” He gave a general nod to the women in his living room and walked out.
    Griffin smiled at the women. “After I’ve spoken to the professor, I’d like to speak to each of you. Please don’t leave.”
    “We cannot leave at all until we finish cleaning up this pigsty,” Gabrielle said.
    Skinny Black Pigtails said, “How did this stain get on the sofa?”
    Gloria, the little fairy, sang out, “Who could even get in Delsey’s apartment? She has a gazillion locks on the door.”
    She got that one right,
Griffin thought. Delsey always locked up tight ever since a kid had broken into her apartment in Santa Monica, looking for dope. Delsey, of course, had walked in on him, belted him with a lamp, and called the cops. Last night she never realized the back door had been broken open.
    Gabrielle said, “I know who you are now, Agent Hammersmith. You’re Delsey’s brother. She looks like you. She also talks about you all the time.” She turned away, said to no one in particular, “Perhaps she was involved in something very bad, I think, knowing she has this beautiful FBI brother to protect her.” He heard her add, a bit of venom lacing her words, “You know she is all about trying to steal other women’s men. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
    Sounds like you’ve got an enemy here, Delsey. Who is she jealous about?

Griffin followed Salazar down a short hallway and through a soundproofed door on the right. It was a music room, not a study. Four different beautifully crafted antique classical guitars, all polished to high brilliance, were placed with obvious care by a loving hand throughout the room. A music stand with open music on it stood by a shining black baby grand piano, and folding chairs were lined up side by side against a wall, as if Salazar practiced for an audience. Probably the group in his living room.
    Griffin walked to the small fireplace, leaned against the mantel, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me what you know about Delsey. You said someone called Elliot was showing her too much attention at your party last night. Who is that, Professor Salazar?”
    Salazar gave a Gallic shrug to rival Gabrielle’s and walked to the grand piano. He paused a moment, pulled a white handkerchief out of his smoking jacket pocket, and lightly rubbed it over a small spot on the piano lid, then moved to stand behind a small, hypermodern ebony desk