Death at the Trade Show: Target Practice Mysteries 3 by Nikki Haverstock Read Free Book Online Page A

scratched a few notes. “Timeslots, sponsors, networks, rivals.”
    “What does that mean?” I leaned over to scratch Moo’s shoulder; he flopped onto his back, exposing his pink tummy.
    “Motives, suspects, things to investigate.” She gave a wave of her hand. “I need to see what network his show was on and what timeslot. What if he bumped another show? What if he stole someone’s sponsor?”
    “You’re really excited about this.”
    “I am. There is so much to learn and so many options. It’s different than what we’ve done before.”
    A man’s voice from the bar behind us called out. “Hey, Princess Di. Hey, Bloody Mary.”
    With a groan at the nickname I hated, I turned around to see Loggin walking over to us. He towered over head and had the muscle to make him an impressive sight. I couldn’t help but smile at his boy-next-door good looks. “Hey, Loggin.”
    He had three drinks held between his two hands. “The greeting is from Minx.” He put the three glasses down on a tiny table. “Come here; this is from me.”
    He gave us each a hug, lifting me off my feet easily. When he hugged Mary, who was shorter than me, she looked like a doll flopping in his arms, and he spun her around once.
    “I brought you both a drink.” He grabbed one of the pint glasses and sat down. He took a long draw of the amber liquid. “I hope you like it. I asked the bartender for something that two classy ladies would enjoy. It’s a hard cider.” He gave us a wink and a smile. On someone else, that might be sleazy, but he had an innocence that made me laugh instead.
    Mary and I picked up our drinks and lifted them. “Cheers.” The liquid had a bite of tart apples but was smooth going down. The muscles in my neck, which I hadn’t realized were tight, loosened. Maybe it was the act of having a casual drink with friends, but already I felt more relaxed, holding the glass in my hands as we sat in silence. It felt companionable rather than awkward.
    Loggin had an Andersson Archery shirt on. Last time I had seen him was at the Westmound Center, trying to track down some money. “New sponsor?” I pointed at his shirt.
    “Yes, and better—new job. I’m the pro-staff coordinator at Andersson. I’ve been there three days.” He beamed.
    “What a first week.” I laughed.
    He took another sip of his cider. “Tell me about it. This job is the bomb.”
    Mary took a sip of her drink and wriggled her nose. “Tangy, but I think I like it. Thank you, Loggin. What are you doing at the trade show? Signing new athletes?”
    “No, most of the pro-staff contracts for the season have been signed for a while. I spent the first half of the week sending out the new season’s equipment to some shooters. In fact, I sent a few packages to both of you. At the show, I’m here as an extra body to show the product line to buyers.”
    “Will you handle the hunting pro staff, too? And sending their equipment?” Mary took another drink from her rapidly disappearing cider.
    “Yes, I will get them equipment, but no, I don’t do the money part—that’s the marketing peeps. But hopefully this spring I’ll be able to start making some decisions.”
    I extended a leg and rotated my foot. I hadn’t realized how stiff I was from sitting in a folding chair all day. “What happens this spring?”
    He drained the rest of his drink then set the glass on the table. “I’ll be hitting not only the 3-D circuit but the target tournaments as well. In fact, now that I live in Salt Lake, it’s a quick drive over to the center to train with you guys. You’ll teach me everything I need to know to shoot targets, right?”
    I was ready to tease him a little. “If you ask Minx—” But I was cut off mid-sentence by a man calling out Loggin’s name.
    Turning, I saw Cold, an archery video journalist I had met last month and instantly disliked. He was as tall as ever but more gaunt. His cheeks clung tightly to his bones, and his sleeves no longer