Dead Men's Tales (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

interviewed Rose, but you typed up the whole conversation?" He dropped the folder on the desk and stood, as if what I'd done required some flattering comment. "This is remarkable."
    I took on a modest look. "I know you didn't ask me to do that, but it seemed like the right thing. If you didn't need that information at the moment, you might later."
    "You don't understand." He came close to where I stood and looked earnestly into my eyes. "You see, I just came from Warren's office, and we talked about you doing this very thing."
    "You and Warren talked about me?" I knew he referred to his mentor, the PI he'd worked with for six months.
    "What did you tell him?"
    "I just said you were helping out as my secretary, and he asked questions about you."
    "What kind of questions?"
    "Like were you reliable, discreet, trustworthy."
    "Did you tell him I'm your sister?"
    "Of course. Right away he assumed you were loyal…"
    "That's encouraging."
    "He repeated a few things I'd heard him say before about women investigators, that they were often better than men at getting information from reluctant witnesses. They were often easier to talk to and definitely less confrontational."
    "Goody. Let's hear it for women."
    "Did I say immodest?"
    I laughed. "Sorry." I turned aside. "Did he suggest I might type up my notes from the visit with Rose?"
    "Not in so many words. He just asked if you could be relied on to share anything you learned so you could help with a case of mine."
    "And I just did." I sat in the chair in front of the desk until Brad approached and resumed his place. While he went back to turning pages, I asked a question. "Who did you talk to while I was gone?"
    He pulled out his pocket recorder and handed it to me. "Here you go."
    "How about a summary? Now that I'm helping you, I need to be up-to-date."
    "Since you're typing up my notes, you'll find out anyway." He grinned, then sighed loudly, as if doing this under duress. My brother, the actor.
    "First I visited my buddy on the police force, Tom Ortega. You remember him, don't you?"
    I did. He and Brad had become friends in high school, although Tom was a year older. Now, both were detectives, but Tom had remained on the police force.
    Brad leaned back in his chair. "He couldn't give me much, but he did say they're sure the murderer used one of the awards statues as the murder weapon. It's heavy, about a foot tall, with a square pedestal. He said they found no fingerprints."
    "No fingerprints? The murderer wore gloves?"
    "Maybe. It's more likely he wiped his prints off afterward or used a napkin to pick up the statue. The room where Hammond died is filled with tablecloths and napkins. I went over there, leaned over the yellow police tape blocking the door, and managed to get a look inside."
    "Did the police find a wrinkled napkin?"
    "No, but it's possible the killer took it away with him. At first, they didn't even find the statue he used. He replaced it in the box with the others."
    I visualized someone entering, maybe talking briefly. Then Harry turned away for a moment, and the murderer picked up one of the heavy metal statues and struck Harry with it. He wiped off his fingerprints, put the statue back in the box, pocketed the napkin, and left. Pretty cold-blooded man. Or woman.
    "On closer inspection, they found one of the statues had bits of hair and skin on the pedestal."
    I winced at the thought of searching for tissue from someone's head, but then that's why I wasn't a doctor or nurse. I didn't like to see a needle go into my arm, or anyone else's for that matter. I even turned away when they did it to some actor in a film.
    However, I didn't mention that to Brad. I needed to look and act like a fearless woman of the 21 st century. "I can understand the murderer leaving the statue behind. After all, it couldn't be stuffed in a pocket. Still, what about the napkin? Can they get prints from cloth?"
    "I don't know. If he left any of his own blood or hairs on it, they might be