Steamed (A Maid in LA Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

for murdering Mr. Banning, am I facing life in prison, or death row?  I already know that if I go to jail I’ll end up tattooed like Uncle Bill.  I’m thinking a unicorn...a permanent statement of my innocence. But I’m not sure a unicorn tattoo would age well.  What do you think?”
      “Listen, lady—”
      “Quincy.  You were going to call me Quincy, remember?”
      “You are not going to jail, Quincy.  You are not going on death row.  And you are not getting a tattoo, unicorn or a skull and cross-bones.  You’re going for pasta.  My buddy makes the best in LA.  You look like crap.  I’m going to feed you and then you’re going to tell me everything you can remember about Banning’s place.  Then I’m taking you home and hopefully that will be the last you hear from me.”
      “But about the death penalty?” I pressed.
      “Just sit there and be quiet will you?”
      “First you want me to talk, then you want me to shut up.  You need to make up your mind.”
      He didn’t respond to that.  He just made this strangled, growling sound.
      “Do men have PMS?  If so, I think you’ve got it.  I recognize the symptoms.  Short tempered, surly.  You have those two nailed.”
      “Real men don’t get PMS, but they do get surly with suspects who won’t shut up.”
      “Ah ha, you just admitted I’m a suspect.”  Despite the fact he thought I was a suspect, I felt triumphant.  I got him.  Man, I was going to make a great detective.  I’d wrap up Mr. Banning’s murder in a week and clear my name no problem, no death row and no tattoos.
      “Yes, I suspect you,” he said, pausing a moment before adding, “Suspect you of severe stupidity, and possibly of having some sanity issues, but I do not suspect you of murder.”
      “See, surly.  Very, very surly.  And you just called me dumb.  I’m not, you know.”  Even in the dim light, I could see his lips moving, even though he was silent.  I think he was praying.  That made me feel a bit better. 
      A guy who talked to God, probably wasn’t in favor of the death penalty and maybe that would help my case.
      He pulled up in front of Big G’s Italian Restaurant .
      “Big G’s?” I asked.
      “Yeah.  Tony’s last name is Garrakowski.  That doesn’t exactly say Italian food, does it?  And Tony’s is a bit cliché as far as names go.  So he went with Big G’s.”
      “Oh.”
      Detective Parker—Cal—got out and walked around the car as if he were going to open my door for me, but I didn’t wait.  I opened the door myself and got out.
      He just shook his head and said, “Come on.”
      He led me into the small, dim restaurant.  He didn’t wait to be seated, but took me right through the restaurant and into kitchen. 
      “Hey, Tony,” he said to the man at the big stove. 
      The man turned.  He was shorter than Cal, but unlike the detective, he smiled at me.  All Cal did was scowl.
      Cal introduced me.  “This is Quincy.  She needs food, and I need your office.”
      “Help yourself to the office,” Tony said.  “Although why you’d want to hide away a woman like that, I don’t know.”
      He took my hand and shook it.  “Tony.  Tony Garrakowski.  They call me the Big G.  Want to know why?”
      It was such an outrageous statement that I couldn’t help but smile.  “Quincy Mac,” I said.  “And I don’t think you should tell me why...at least not the first time we meet.”
      To be honest, the Big G wasn’t all that big.  Maybe five nine, but he had a nice smile and dark black hair that was peppered with the lightest hint of grey.  He must be the same age as male-PMSing Detective Cal Parker.
      I liked Big G better.  He was going to feed me, not send me to death row. 
      “I’ll save it the explanation for the next time then,” he promised.  “Are you married?” 
      Cal didn’t seem to like Tony’s promise to tell me next time, or maybe he