Death by Lotto Read Online Free PDF Page B

This is his real name?”
    “Yep. What’s the problem?”
    “It’s just he has the same name as the character in Double Indemnity .”
    “Never read the book but saw the film with Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. Lots of people have the same name as famous characters in books and movies.”
    “Yeah? Ever run into anyone with this name before?”
    “So – he’s a mystery nut.”
    “Apparently his mother was.”
    “You’re making too much of it.”
    “I just hope this detective’s character is not like the guy in the book. A double crosser.”
    “He probably doesn’t even know about his name. It’s nothing. Just a coincidence.” Goetz reached for the casserole dish and, finding it empty, looked disappointed. Taking his fork, Goetz scraped his plate free of any remaining cheese. Satisfied that he had eaten the last bit possible, he looked up smiling and asked, “What’s for dessert?”
    Thank goodness I had a chocolate mousse cake with caramel icing ready with ice-cold milk from the Farmers’ Market.
    Like I said – the man loved to eat.

4
    Giles scratched on the door of the drawing room where Lady Elsmere, Mrs. Bradley and I waited.
    “I hate that old French custom of scratching on doors,” I complained. “It’s like fingernails on a blackboard.”
    “Yes, Giles?”
    “A Walter Neff to see you, Madam,”
    “Please send him in. Oh, Giles, please knock next time. Mrs. Reynolds dislikes the continental way of doing things. She has the bad habit of blaming things she doesn’t like on the French.”
    Giles nodded and went to fetch Mr. Neff, who was cooling his heels in the foyer.
    “Now, Josiah, you do all the talking,” coaxed Lady Elsmere.
    “Yes, please,” echoed Mrs. Bradley. “I don’t know what to ask.”
    Our heads swiveled toward the massive walnut door as it opened. Giles and a squat balding man, with what little hair he had left pulled back into a ponytail, strode into the room. I am also very sorry to inform you that he was wearing a white t-shirt under a pale green suit coat and expensive slip-on shoes with no socks. Apparently he had never gotten over Miami Vice . And to make matters worse, a gold chain hung from his neck.
    “Oh,” squeaked Mrs. Bradley in obvious disappointment. I had to agree that Mr. Neff didn’t look much like a detective. Where was the trench coat?
    Mr. Neff, not noticing our dismay at his appearance, quipped, “You can tell my sidekick here that he can leave now. I’m not going to steal the family silver, at least not with you dames in the room anyway.”
    “Dames?” I repeated. That slang sent a shiver up my spine. I knew of another man from my past that had used ’40s slang and might be indirectly responsible for my fall . . . and another man’s murder. You remember Larry Bingham.
    “You may go now, Giles,” said Lady Elsmere.
    “Yeah, thanks for the jollies, Jeeves, Giles, James, whatever your name is,” sneered Neff as he unwrapped a piece of chewing gum. After sticking gum between his wide puffy lips, he chewed as a cow chewing her cud while observing us. “Which one of you broads thinks she’s being knocked off soon?”
    “Mr. Neff, are you late for a belated Halloween party?” asked Lady Elsmere, gazing at him above her Versace glasses.
    “Why would you ask that?”
    “I should have thought it was rather obvious,” stated Lady Elsmere, her expression hardening.
    “She wants to know what in the hell . . . I mean, Lady Elsmere would like to ascertain if this is your regular mode of dress?” I asked, cutting in.
    Neff gave a wide grin. “So you’re the one I really talk to,” he spouted, grinning at me. “Is there something wrong with my attire?” Neff held open his jacket and pranced around in a circle like a runway model.
    “It’s just that your outfit went out in the late ’80s. How do you blend in when you are shadowing someone? Don’t you stick out?”
    “Ladies, this is my going-to-meetin’-clients outfit. I have