Played to Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

as soon as he regained full consciousness. He rolled to a sitting position and dangled his legs over the side of the platform bed, scrubbing his face with his hands.
    Interminable wedding. Elena, strangled. Kevin Brodie. Brent.
    And on top of that, he’d eaten a burger and fries last night.
    At least he could do something about that one. He put on shorts and a t-shirt, shoved his feet into his running shoes, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and rode the elevator to the top of the building, where the gym was located.
    He had the place to himself, thank God. He wasn’t in the mood for neighborly small talk this morning. He chose a treadmill that faced the windows overlooking the Hollywood Hills - green and serene in the Sunday morning air. He walked for a minute to warm up then set a pace - eight miles per hour, nice and steady - and began to run.
    It occurred to Scott to wonder whether anyone had called Wiley about Elena’s death. He considered doing so, then thought better of it. Let the cops do that. He was already on Kevin Brodie’s permanent shit list thanks to the way he’d broken up with Jamie. No need to engrave the inscription even more deeply.
    He ran for an hour, then punched the button that would gradually slow him to a walk and let him cool down. He was feeling better - vaguely hungry. Maybe he’d make Belgian waffles. Then he’d get the rest of Brent’s shit bagged up for the concierge. Then he’d play.
    When he stepped off the elevator, his improved mood disintegrated.
    Kevin and another guy were lounging against the wall next to his front door.
    Both of them were holding huge coffee cups. Kevin was his usual rumpled self, hair sticking out in several directions - an overgrown Dennis the Menace, with a gun instead of a slingshot. The other guy was tall and slender, sandy-haired, wearing jeans, desert boots, a t-shirt and a Dolce and Gabbana blazer that should have been out of reach for a public servant. He grinned when he saw Scott. Kevin scowled. “Scott. Might we have a word?”
    There wasn’t any point in complaining that he hadn’t had his breakfast. “Sure.” He unlocked the door and let them in. “Can I eat breakfast while we have our word?”
    Kevin plopped onto a barstool; Dolce and Gabbana sat down beside him. “Don’t let us stop you.”
    Scott tried to control his facial expressions. He was not going to let Kevin Brodie ruin this morning for him. He took the waffle maker out of the appliance garage and began gathering his ingredients. “What can I do for you?”
    “Let me introduce my partner.” Kevin indicated Dolce and Gabbana. “Detective Jonathan Eckhoff, Scott Deering.”
    Scott saluted Eckhoff with a mixing spoon. “Detective.”
    Eckhoff raised his coffee cup. “A pleasure, Mr. Deering.”
    Yeah, right. Scott started measuring flour, sugar and baking powder. “What can I do for you?”
    Kevin sipped his coffee, watching Scott. Eckhoff said, “We’d like to pick your brain about Elena Morales.”
    Scott cracked his eggs and separated them. “I told you yesterday, I didn’t know her at all.”
    “We realize that. We’re only talking about your interactions with her yesterday and the night before.”
    Scott sighed. “Okay.”
    “First, tell us about this quartet. How did you happen to be part of that?”
    Scott explained again - he’d already done this last night - about Wiley and his quartet while he was beating his egg yolks. Eckhoff said, “So this quartet has a rotating cast of characters.”
    “Right, except for Wiley. The students play for a year or two and then move on.” Scott added milk, melted butter and vanilla to the egg yolks. “Wiley can tell you a lot more about them.”
    “Of course. But we wanted the perspective of someone who didn’t already know the kids.” Eckhoff sipped his coffee. “Was she any good? On the violin?”
    “No.” Scott stirred his wet ingredients into the dry ones. “She was the weakest player of the three, to