The Alibi by Sandra Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

Mundell's
    harrumph of disbelief and kept her eyes on Smilow.
    "Sometimes we went for days without seeing one another."
    "You didn't sleep together?" Steffi asked.
    Davee turned to her. "Where up North are you
    from?"
    "Why?"
    "Because you are obviously ill-bred and very
    rude."
    Smilow intervened again. "We'll invade the PettiJohns'
    private life only if we need to, Steffi. At this
    juncture it isn't necessary." Back to Davee, he asked,
    "You didn't know Lute's schedule today?"
    "Not today or any day."
    "He hadn't indicated to you that he was meeting
    someone?"
    "Hardly." She set her empty glass on the coffee
    table, and when she straightened, she squared her
    shoulders. "Am I a suspect?"
    "Right now everyone in Charleston is a suspect."
    Davee locked eyes with him. "Lots of people had
    good reason to kill Lute." Under her penetrating
    stare, he looked away.
    Steffi Mundell stepped forward as though to remind
    Davee that she was still there, and that she was
    somebody important, somebody to be reckoned with.
    "I'm sorry if I came on a little too strong, Mrs. Pettijohn."
    She paused, but Davee wasn't about to forgive her
    for her many infractions of the unwritten rules of
    decorum. Davee kept her expression impassive.
    "Your husband was a prominent figure," Steffi
    continued. "His business concerns generated a lot of
    revenue for the city, the county, and the state. His participation
    in civic affairs--"
    "Is all this leading somewhere?"
    She didn't like Davee's interruption, but she persisted
    undaunted. "This murder will impact the entire
    community and beyond. My office will give this top
    priority until the culprit is captured, tried, and convicted.
    You have my personal guarantee that justice
    will be swift and sure."
    Davee smiled her prettiest, most beguiling smile.
    "Ms. Mundell, your personal guarantee isn't worth
    warm spit to me. And I've got unhappy news for
    you. You will not be prosecuting my husband's murder
    case. I never settle for bargain-basement goods."
    She gave Steffi's dress a look of blatant distaste.
    Then, turning to Smilow, the former debutante
    mandated how things were going to be. "I want the
    top guns on this. See to it, Rory. Or I, Lute Pettijohn's
    widow, will."
    CHAPTER 5
     
    A hundred big ones, right here." The man slapped
    the stained green felt, flashing a beery and obnoxious
    grin that made Bobby Trimble shudder with revulsion.
    Pinching his wallet from the back pocket of his
    trousers, Bobby removed two fifties and passed them
    to the stupid bastard, a cracker if he'd ever seen one.
    "Good game," he said laconically.
    The man pocketed the bills, then eagerly rubbed
    his hands together. "Ready to rack 'em up again?"
    "Not right now."
    "You pissed? Come on, don't be pissed," he said
    in a wheedling voice.
    "I'm not pissed," Bobby said, sounding pissed.
    "Maybe later."
    "Double or nothing?"
    "Later." Winking, he fired a fake pistol into the
    other guy's expansive gut, then ambled off, taking his
    drink with him.
    Actually he would love to try and win back his
    losses, but the sad fact of the matter was, he was
    strapped for cash. The last series of games, all of
    which he'd lost, had left him several hundred dollars poorer. Until his cash flow problem abated, he
    couldn't afford to gamble.
     
    Nor could he indulge in the finer things of life.
    That last hundred would have gone a long way toward
    taking the edge off his nerves. Nothing fancy.
    Just a few lines. Or a pill or two. Oh, well...
     
    It was a good thing he still had the counterfeit
    credit card. He could cover his living expenses with
    that, but for extras he needed cash. That was a little
    harder to come by. Not impossible. It just required
    more work.
     
    And Bobby had his heart set on less work and
    more relaxation. "It won't be long now," he told himself,
    smiling into his highball glass. When his investment
    paid off, there would be years of recreation to
    look forward to.
     
    But his smile was short-lived. A cloud of