A Shot to Die For Read Online Free PDF Page B

restaurants?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I don’t have much of an expense account. Burger King and McDonald’s are more my style. Why?”
    “The Flynn girl worked at a place called the Grandview.”
    “The Grandview? Isn’t that in the Geneva Inn?”
    “That’s the one.”
    The Geneva Inn was the only hotel actually situated on the shores of Lake Geneva. Most of the shoreline was privately owned. The town elders—in an effort to preserve the lake if you listened to some, or keep it exclusive if you listened to others—had restricted the number of boat slips available to property owners. With only one slip per twenty feet of shore, it made no sense for a resort to build; they’d have precious little water access. But the Geneva Inn was an elegant bed-and-breakfast with a spectacular view of the lake. It also housed a five-star restaurant that drew customers from as far away as Chicago and Milwaukee. Boat slips weren’t a priority.
    “I’ve never been there,” I said to Milanovich. “But I’ve heard it’s exquisite. Was she a waitress?”
    He didn’t answer for a moment. I pictured him blinking. “No. She was one of the cooks. Excuse me. Chefs.”
    I swallowed my surprise. To be a chef at one of the finest restaurants in Lake Geneva took talent. And hard work. I hadn’t realized there was that much substance to Daria Flynn. I’d pictured her as a woman who, by virtue of her beauty, was used to “winning” fights and getting her own way.
    “You’re sure you never ran into her?” Milanovich asked.
    “Detective, I’ve told you—several times—that I only laid eyes on her for the first time at the rest stop.”
    He didn’t reply.
    “Oh, come on. You can’t—” I cut myself off. He was a cop, and cops are trained to investigate anyone close to the victim at the time of their death. I qualified. Then again, if he had checked me out, he’d know who I was. And that I’d been involved in murder investigations before. I started to pace. “Detective, is there something else you’re trying to get at? Because if there is, just come out with it. I’ll try my best to help.”
    He drew a long, uneven sigh. “As a matter of fact, there are a couple of”—he paused—“anomalies. Maybe they mean something. Maybe they don’t.”
    “What kind of—anomalies?”
    “Well, for starters, it seems there was only one shot fired. Why only one?”
    I remembered Homer Simpson’s comment. “The guy was a good shot?”
    He cleared his throat. “Maybe. But then why was the Flynn girl the only victim?”
    There had been only one victim during the first sniper attack, I recalled. Why would it be so noteworthy this time? “Detective, I’m not sure I understand the question.”
    “You were standing right next to her, Ms. Foreman.”
    Now I got it. “In other words, why am I still alive?”
    “Ms. Foreman, do you have any enemies that could do something like this?”
    I stopped pacing. “Do you think someone was trying to kill
me
? And missed?”
    “I don’t think anything. I’m just asking questions.”
    First I was a perpetrator, now a victim. My head was spinning. I glanced over my shoulder. Rachel was in the hall listening, her head cocked to the side. I’d been in some dangerous situations in the past. It was possible someone was bent on revenge or some form of vigilante justice. But that assumed I was someone who mattered enough to harm. I wasn’t. I was just a video producer with a daughter, a father, and perhaps, a disproportionate amount of curiosity.
    “I did some checking,” Milanovich went on. “You have a ‘relationship’ with the local police. They know you.”
    That much was true. “And that means.…”
    “Maybe nothing,” he admitted. “But the fact remains that you were standing next to her. You were the last person to talk to her. I just keep thinking there may be a reason for that.”
    “And I keep telling you I don’t know what that could be.” I paused. “Detective,