Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas Read Online Free PDF Page A

visit to her potential landlords was starting to feel like a first step toward her new life.
    Joanne Galvin, defense lawyer…and renegade cowgirl.
    Ready for a second chance.

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    A grandfather clock chimed one o’clock as Joanne and Gloria walked into Fossen-Chandler Investigations, the front duplex of a renovated corner bungalow in downtown Las Vegas. Gloria wore skin-tight jeans, studded boots and a cropped leather jacket she nicknamed “Bad” after the Michael Jackson album. Her short brown hair was spiked, her make-up heavy. Walking next to her, Joanne felt like the Strawberry Patch Kid.
    As they passed a mirror in the entranceway, she made the big mistake of glancing at her reflection. Gusts of wind had pummeled her scrunchie-do, which now looked like a Koosh ball stuck on her head. The old Joanne would have laughed it off. But the new Joanne saw it as yet another inadequacy. She couldn’t manage her career, her relationship, or even her damn hair.
    Determined to not give in to a bout of insecurity, she pretended she was riding in on her horse Cherry Garcia, fearlessly hittin’ a new trail.
    The front office of Fossen-Chandler Investigations had the ambiance of an upscale antique store. A tasteful chandelier, tapestry rugs and heavy, ornate furniture from an elegant bygone era. A Christmas garland decorated with red and gold bows decorated the top of a bookcase.
    At the desk sat a thirtyish guy wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, his curly brown hair exploding from a ponytail at the back of his head. A computer, several notepads, and an electric Christmas flickering candle sat on his desk. A large framed photograph of the Tennessee Titans football team hung on the wall behind him.
    As he was deep into a phone conversation, Gloria and Joanne stood at a discreet distance to give him some privacy, although the room, which reeked of popcorn, was too small to not overhear.
    From his side of the conversation, Joanne knew he was trying to hire a criminal lawyer for someone charged with a felony B, the second-highest category of crimes in Nevada, punishable by imprisonment up to fifteen years and a possible $15,000 fine. Serious stuff. Felony Bs were one rung below murder, and included crimes like assault with a deadly weapon, battery with intent to kill and malicious arson.
    He complained about a news story linking the defendant to other violent criminals—if true, a judge could spike that bail another ten or fifteen thousand at arraignment. The bigger and messier the case, the bigger the legal retainers. Defense lawyers were probably asking for ten to fifteen thousand, maybe more.
    He ended the call and looked at them, his face clouded with worry.
    “I have an appointment to see Ms. Chandler about an apartment,” Joanne said gently.
    “Well, looky here…it’s our new neighbor-to-be! Darlin’, I’m Kimberly, but all my friends call me Kimmie,” said a young woman in her twenties who sailed into the room from a kitchenette to their right. She wore a loose top the color of tomato soup, black pants that matched her black bobbed hair and ballerina slippers. They quickly made introductions. “My hubby, Hal, is working a case in Henderson today, but he said to tell you welcome!”
    Based on Kimmie’s drawl and the photo of the Titans, Joanne figured she hailed from Tennessee or thereabouts.
    “How’s it goin’, Lenny?” Kimmie asked.
    “Last dude wanted twelve thou, all upfront.” He rubbed his stomach. “Haggling with lawyers about money is givin’ me odjidda.”
    “Od-what?” Kimmie asked.
    “Indigestion,” Gloria explained.
    “Heartburn,” Lenny said at the same time.
    They looked at each other.
    “Brooklynite?” she asked.
    “Moved to Williamsburg when I was fourteen.”
    “Bensonhurst. My dad’s Sal Falco.”
    He did a double take. “Man, that dude was righteous ...busted some major cases.” He turned somber. “My condolences…”
    Gloria looked around the room as though taking it in, but