Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

all do it suntimes. Don’t make a habit of it, dat’s all.”
    “I don’t intend to,” I said with a grin.
    From his back pocket he pulled out a bottle of water. He flicked back the lid and offered it to me. I declined. Shrugging, he stuck the opening into his mouth and guzzled down. He splashed a little water on to his face and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    Smoothed back his tangle of black hair with strands of white and copper, he put his hat back on and looked up at the sky. “It’s gonna get a lot hotter today. They’er predictin’ the hottest day in twen’y-five years. You’ll be dry in no time, missy.”
    I smiled and nodded.
    “Yer, heard ‘bout the goings on with the Walters killin’?”
    “Yes, I did hear about it.” I didn't say I was there when Ryan was arrested because I wanted to find out what he knew.
    “Nasty, nasty hap’nins. In all me days, I never did see som’in’ so nasty. Mis’er Walters was a gentleman if yer ask me. He’d always nod ’n’ smile at me when I was roun’, poor fella, he would've taken the cup tomorrow fer sure. Some folks are sayin’ its ’em bookmakers who wanted ’im dead,”
    “Who? Who’s been saying?”
    “It’s jus’ some folks, staff, dey probably know nutin’.”
    “Can you let me know if you hear anything more, Earl?”
    “On hot days like dis, anythin’ could happen, missy. So yer take care, yer hear?”
    It seemed like he had not heard me. “You will let me know, Earl, if you hear anything else? Please it’s very important,” I repeated.
    “Ah sure will, missy. Ah sure will.”
     

     
    After a long night of high rolling, some stragglers ambled through the reception area of the casino. There were resort guests among them, and also locals and tourists from other holiday accommodation facilities around the area. Big-name professionals came in for a game or two, others came only for tournaments. They used the casino’s rooftop helipad to fly in and out, while some chose to stay in the purpose-built suites on-site.
    A girl, who I guessed was in her early twenties, came out to where I sat, waiting for the go-ahead from the receptionist, Kimberly White. She wore a pair of large brown-framed glasses. The plastic lenses were at least an inch thick and they had a gentle tint.
    She wore a battered pair of dark blue denim jeans and a white shirt with multicolored pin dots. Her face was ashen and her matted hair was mousy-colored. It seemed like it had not been washed or brushed for days. She stopped at the reception and stretched her body up like an arrow, throwing her arms out wide, and expelled a ferocious yawn.
    “Long night, but totally worth it,” she said to Kimberly. “Cleaned the suckers right out.” She punched her fist in the air. “Yes, again.” She winked and this time stifled a yawn. “Time to hit the sack.”
    Kimberly had picked up a call from an irate guest who had left a handbag on the premises, so she couldn't speak, but nodded in response to the girl’s comments.
    Then almost to herself she muttered, “Damn midterms. At least this pays the bills.” She pointed toward the gaming area and called out, “Back tonight.” Kimberly responded with a thumbs-up.
    I wondered who the girl had cleaned out. Was it the short, stocky, and pensive man in the Armani suit? He looked disappointed. Was it the lady in the slinky sequined dress and silvery laugh, who carried her lucky pooch Peaches under her arm? They both somehow looked like they fit right in, but the girl from college didn’t. Who knows, maybe that was how these two had started out as well.
    “Excuse me, he’s free now,” said Kimberly. She looked at the monitors around her and pointed at one and said, “See, table number nine? Walk straight into the main area, keep to the left. It’s all the way down on the back wall.”
    “Thanks, you've been great,” I said, relieved she was not the common tyrannical gatekeeper who made you jump through hoops when