There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) by Wendy Delaney Read Free Book Online

you’ve been anywhere near Duke’s today I’m sure you heard about Marty McCutcheon.”
    “Yeah, that he had a heart attack,” Steve said, chewing.
    “Technically, it was cardiac arrest, but based on what his family members have told me I wouldn’t be so cavalier about what caused his heart to stop.”
    He turned to me, a tic above his jawline keeping pace with the seconds of stony silence between us. “Seriously? Frankie asked you to speak with the family?”
    “It was to placate his ex because she was making some accusations about Marty being poisoned.”
    Steve blew out a weary breath. “Poisoned.”
    “That’s starting to look like a possibility.”
    He wiped his fingers on one of the napkins I’d stuffed into the takeout bag. “In your educated opinion as an experienced death investigator.”
    “Okay, I know I’m not—”
    “Where did he die?”
    “At the hospital.”
    “I assume that someone from your office talked with the attending?”
    “Frankie spoke with the doctor who treated Marty in the ER.”
    “And?”
    “He told her that Marty had a bad heart and a history of cardiovascular disease, and that led to his cardiac arrest.”
    Standing, Steve tossed the remnants of my lunch into a nearby trash can. “I think this conversation is over.”
    “But I have two witnesses who were there at dinner when Marty got sick, and they both think he was poisoned.”
    “Dinner at his house out in Clatska?”
    I nodded.
    “Outside of my jurisdiction, so I can’t help you, Chow Mein,” Steve said, using the nickname he’d given me back in the third grade. He glanced at his wristwatch. “And I need to go.”
    I tried to keep up with his long strides as he headed for the parking lot. “But what if they’re right?”
    “People around here don’t die from being poisoned.”
    “There’s always a first time.”
    “I repeat—not likely, but if he ate something that killed him it should show up during the autopsy, and then Frankie will hand this case over to the Sheriff.”
    “There’s not going to be an autopsy.”
    Standing in front of his car, Steve met my gaze. “Because Marty died at the hospital after he went into cardiac arrest. That’s what the doctor said, and that’s good enough for Frankie, right?”
    Especially since she didn’t want to bust the county’s budget by calling in a forensic pathologist for an unnecessary autopsy.
    “Pretty much.”
    “Then I’d say your work should be about done, Deputy.” He tweaked my nose like we were siblings instead of lovers who had been sharing a bed most of the last month. “See you later. Wear something sexy,” he said with a wink.
    Despite the mixed messages, he left me feeling like the gooey s’mores we used to make as kids. But as I watched Steve drive away a cold reality washed over me, dousing the sexual fire he had ignited. One, because other than a pair of four-inch stilettos I had nothing in my closet that qualified as vixen attire—at least nothing that I could squeeze my bloated carcass into. That meant I was going to have to do some emergency shopping. And two, since I was pressed for time with few local options, that shopping would have to take place at the Valu-Mart south of town, where I’d heard that Austin Reidy worked.
    I sucked in a breath, girded my loins, and popped an antacid for good measure. “Austin Reidy,” I said as I walked toward my car, “ready or not, here I come.”
     
    ∗ ∗ ∗
     
    A half hour later, after finding a swingy black wrap dress with a plunging neckline that hugged me in all the right places, I handed my purchase to the cashier. “Do you know if Austin Reidy still works here?”
    “Austin? Oh, he’s dat guy in sporting goods,” she said in a Slavic accent. “Rear of store.”
    The sporting goods guy. That seemed somehow appropriate for the former jock, I thought as I ran my credit card through the scanner.
    What didn’t seem appropriate was me showing up where he worked without