Bingo Barge Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

barge?”
    Eddy snorted. “You got a lot to learn about the police, Nicholas. They been there and did their crime scene stuff, and they’re long gone.” She rubbed her hands together like a kid about to dive into a birthday cake. “When are we gonna do the job?”
    No way in hell was I traipsing out on a barge on the Mississippi River tonight. I said, “With Coop hiding out up here, time’s not as critical as it would be if he were wandering the streets. Tomorrow night. I don’t think it would be wise to go skipping in there during the daylight.”
    Coop said, “How are we going to get in? Don’t you think the cops will have it locked up?”
    Eddy rolled her eyes. “Boy, where is your head? Why did you go back to that barge this morning?”
    Coop shrugged. “I went to talk to Kinky again and try to convince him to give me one more chance.”
    “And?” Eddy stared at Coop expectantly.
    Comprehension flooded Coop’s narrow face, and his cheeks flushed. “To give him back the keys.”
    Eddy sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Bingo.”
    I shook my head. “Coop, I love you, but sometimes you’re a big dope.”

I rolled out of bed after drifting in and out of sleep most of the night, a familiar honey-laden voice haunting my dreams, teasing me, taunting me to tell the truth. Awake and out of bed, I imagined that voice whispering things that weren’t related to interrogating, arresting, and booking me. I tried to shake off the lingering thoughts of a certain Minneapolis detective as I automatically pulled the covers up and fluffed the pillows—thanks to years of listening to Eddy harp, “Child, you need start the day out on the right foot, and the best way to do that is to make your bed like a civilized person.”
    After a quick shower, I stuffed myself into a worn-at-the-knee pair of Levi’s and a Rabbit Hole t-shirt. I shook out a sweatshirt and tugged it over my head as I walked out of my bedroom.
    I fancied my interior décor spartan, but Eddy called it just plain cheap. A seldom-used TV and a ratty couch took up most of the living room. My other furniture consisted of my mother’s antique roll-top desk and an old wooden, swivel-type office chair. I settled into the chair, its familiar creaking as comforting as it was irritating. I picked up a bill from our advertising guru Amy Connolly and whipped out a check. Amy was one person I didn’t mind coughing up the dough for. When we’d hooked up with her a couple years ago, our customer count went through the roof, and our return business remained rock solid.
    Done with that task, I briefly allowed myself to fall into the memory of my mom working at this very desk, trying to pay bills with money we didn’t have while I happily Crayola’d secondhand coloring books on the floor next to her, never for a moment feeling like we didn’t have enough. The strength of her love hadn’t faded with time and could still wind around me like a warm blanket. With a deep sigh, I funneled those bittersweet thoughts neatly back into the recesses from which they’d drifted and trotted downstairs, past Eddy’s French doors, through a short hall, and into the Rabbit Hole.
    A few customers quietly conversed at the tables, and Jim Brickman’s piano playing gently swirled from speakers mounted to the walls. Sinking into one of the cushioned chairs in the corner, I closed my eyes and rubbed my face, trying hard to convince myself that yesterday’s events had been a strangely lucid and horribly vivid nightmare.
    Kate stood behind the counter, her spiked fuchsia hair bobbing behind the espresso machine as she finished off a drink. She caught my eye, smiled, and moments later appeared by my side with a newspaper and a steaming hazelnut latte.
    “What would I do without you?” I gratefully took the mug from her.
    She perched on the padded arm of my chair. “Go out of business.”
    Kate was right. The woman was a human hummingbird, a front-of-house queen. When she