Steamed (A Maid in LA Mystery) by Holly Jacobs Read Free Book Online

in paying.  He drives a tiny red sports car that screams I-have-money and he only eats at the best restaurants—we know because he was famous for telling whoever cleans his house all about it.  He’ll pay eventually, but we need to be paid on a regular basis in order to pay our own bills. 
      No, neither of us would kill a man who paid his bill on time.
      “Well,” Tiny said slowly, then paused for another sniffle, “some might theorize that I might want to get rid of an ex-lover who wasn’t happy to find out I was getting married and threatened to show my fiancé some photos.” 
      Dramatic pause . 
      I knew it was a dramatic pause, not just a sniffle pause, because of Tiny’s dramatic expression.  Even if you’re not an actor in Hollywood, you can’t escape learning a bit of drama. 
      “Photos of a personal nature ,” she explained.
      “Oh, Tiny.”  It seemed like every woman in Hollywood had some photos-of-a-personal-nature floating around town, just waiting to get picked up by one tabloid or another.  Maybe that’s why I’d never made it big.  The most personal-nature photo of me was one of my breastfeeding Miles.  And everything was covered in that photo.  I don’t think any tabloid would be interested in it.
      And I realized that thinking about my lack of photos-of-a-personal-nature was easier than thinking about Tiny having them.
      “Yeah.  Oh,” she said. “Being investigated for murder will really put a damper on my wedding.”  She sniffed dramatically.
      My mind sped.  What if Cal found out about the pictures?  I knew how horrible it was to be considered a suspect.  I didn’t want that for Tiny.  I didn’t want my best friend, like my favorite uncle, being sent up or down the river without a paddle for a crime that I knew in my heart of hearts Tiny could never do.
      “Don’t worry, Tiny.  I’m going to find out who did it.”
      Tiny laughed.  “Good one, Quince.”
      “No, seriously.  I planned on clearing my own name.  I have a file and everything.”
      “A file?” she asked.
      “Yes.  I’ve started investigating on my own.  I’m going to clear both of our names.”
      “How?  I can help.”
      I shook my head.  “No.  You’ve got all you can do to keep the business running and plan your wedding.  Let me do this for you.”
      Tiny sniffed.  “Really?  You’d do that for me?”
      I hugged her.  “Hell, if you told me you had indeed murdered someone, I’d offer to help hide the body.  That’s what best friends do.”
      “Best friends help you bury the body...and prove you didn’t murder someone.  There’s a t-shirt in that.”
      We both laughed, because the only alternative was crying, and I didn’t want to go there.  I had too much to do.
      I’d missed something basic like noticing if there was forced entry.
      Maybe my file wasn’t going to cut it.
      I needed to see the big picture.  I thought about The Closer . It was my favorite cop show, and I really liked cop shows so that was saying something. The Closer gang used a big whiteboard where they displayed pictures and timelines so they could study them.  Oh, and JD Robb’s cop character, Eve Dallas, did the same.
      Now, those were two women cops I admired.  If a murder board was good enough for them, it was good enough for me.
      I left Tiny with assurances that I’d solve this case.
      I had a plan...of sorts.
      First thing on my list was a big whiteboard.
     
     Later that morning, I swore as I propped the stupid whiteboard against the bush. I fumbled through my purse for my keys.
      Yes, I know I should have simply left them out when I took them out of the ignition.  That would have made sense.  But the whiteboard was cumbersome and required both my hands to half drag, half carry it from the car to the house, so I’d dropped the keys in my purse without thinking.
      Here’s two basic truths no one ever tells women.
      Number