Killing Kate: A Novel (Riley Spartz Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

register as I walked in mouthing “Nordeast?”
    Ed knew why I was there and had told me a couple of weeks earlier that deliveries were unpredictable, but he’d put a case aside for me if they got any. He smiled ruefully as he gave a big thumbs-down.
    “Sorry, sweetie, nothing so far. Check back later in the week.”
    We chatted about neighborhood crime, particularly a recent headline in the Minneapolis newspaper that essentially told readers that, not counting all the recent murders, crime was actually down in the city.
    “Reassuring, huh?” he joked.
    Then, because the place was empty, and probably because hewas an old man who didn’t get many chances to act macho, he showed me a small revolver he kept handy under the counter.
    “Is it loaded?” The glint of metal reminded me that not long ago I weighed carrying a handgun myself for personal protection. But these days, if you want to do it nice and legal, there’s lots of paperwork involved as well as firearms training. I never seemed to have time for either.
    Ed’s piece looked like it predated those kind of inconveniences. He flipped the cylinder open and revealed a full round of bullets.
    “Ever had to pull the trigger, Ed?”
    “Not in your lifetime, dearie.”
    “You’re charming, but I’m older than you think.”
    “Not old enough.”
    We might have flirted back and forth a bit more, but we heard some commotion outside. Then an agitated woman rushed in asking if either of us owned the black pickup truck in the parking lot.
    “There’s a dog inside the cab. It was there when I went in the drugstore ten minutes ago and it’s still there now.”
    We shook our heads and I followed her outside, even more aware of the heat. The temperature clock had climbed another degree and now read ninety-four. I knew her concern for the animal was valid from hearing Channel 3’s veteran meteorologist annually lecture viewers that the interior of a car parked in the sun can reach a hundred and forty degrees in minutes, turning into a deathtrap for pets and children.
    The woman pointed to a black-and-white mixed breed laying across the floor on the passenger side. The animal was panting uncomfortably.
    The woman explained she had checked for the driver inside the corner cafe and the hardware store of the strip mall, but didn’t have time to go into the other shops because she had to get back to her job. She wore a cashier’s smock and looked like she might work in the drugstore down the block.
    “But first, I’m calling 9-1-1,” she said.
    While she dialed the police, I phoned the station assignment desk, explaining the situation. I didn’t own a dog myself, but had a history of turning hounds into headlines. Geographically, we were less than ten minutes from the station, so the odds were favorable a camera crew might be cruising nearby.
    “Malik is out shooting weather video,” Ozzie said, “I’ll route him in your direction; he should be there in just a couple minutes. Keep us posted. This is the kind of real-life story Noreen prizes.”
    The woman relayed that police were also en route. She glanced at her watch. “I can only wait a little longer.”
    The animal seemed lethargic, its eyes now half closed. I opened my car trunk looking for a tire iron to break the windows on the vehicle. I found odds and ends including a sleeping bag in case I got stuck in a rural blizzard, but nothing with enough heft to break auto glass.
    Suddenly Malik was peering into the cab with a camera on his shoulder. By now other shoppers were gathering to watch.
    “Anybody got a baseball bat?” yelled the woman who first spotted the trouble. She looked in a mood to swing it, too.
    No answer.
    “Malik, where’s the tripod?” I asked.
    Tripods are virtually indestructible. The same can’t be said for high-definition television cameras. My cell phone started buzzing, but I ignored it when I saw the station calling. Let them wait thirty seconds until we had something to