Cement Stilettos by Diane Vallere

Author:Diane Vallere [Vallere, Diane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mafia mystery, romcom mystery, chicklit, humorous mystery series, madcap caper, fashion mystery
ISBN: 9781939197313
Publisher: PublishDrive
Published: 2017-06-13T04:00:00+00:00

16

Wednesday night

“You knew?” I said. I flung his hands off me and put mine palm side up in full defensive mode. I stepped backward. “So, Angela’s murder? That wasn’t random, was it? All this time you’ve known what was going on?”

“Kidd, calm down and lower your voice. We can talk about this later.”

“No, I’m not going to calm down! All the times you’ve told me I should be careful—stay away from trouble, let the cops handle crime—all the times you got mad when I didn’t tell you I was involved in a homicide investigation, you were involved with the mob? Don’t you think maybe you should have mentioned that before you asked me to marry you?”

“You’ve got it all wrong—”

I cut him off. “No, I don’t think I do. Does Loncar know?” Nick stared at me. “I don’t believe this.” I shook my head and stormed away from the fire hall.

“Where are you going?” he yelled after me. I ignored him.

Anger, shame, frustration, and adrenaline fueled me. I reached the fence that separated the parking lot from the two-lane road out front. The road curved around to the left and right, making it difficult to see if traffic was heading our way. I pulled my phone out of my skirt pocket and scrolled through my contacts until I reached the police.

“Loncar,” the detective answered.

“This is Samantha Kidd. Do you need an informant? Against the mob? Because I just found out I’m on the inside. These people trust me. I’ll get whatever information you need but I’m going to need protection.” The other end of the phone was quiet. “Hello? Detective, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Okay, listen. I’m at a fire hall about half a mile from the factory district. The place is swimming with them. You come out here, pretend you’re a patron. Park in the lot. Pay at the door and you can see everything for yourself.”

“What is it I’m supposed to see?”

“Organized crime! They’re all right here at the fire hall and trust me, this thing is organized like nobody’s business.”

“You heard them planning something?”

“No. I’ve been stuck behind the marinara pot since I’ve been here, but they’ve got to be planning something.”

“Ms. Kidd.” Funny how he said my name, not like a greeting or a pleasantry, but a burden. “I’m going to need a little more information. Where are you?”

“The fire hall at Bingaman and Sixth.”

“Why are you there?”

“Fundraiser for Nick Taylor’s window.”

“What illegal activity have you witnessed?”

“Nothing yet. Well, there’s a boy scamming people out of five dollars to watch their cars, and behind the building a couple of kids are playing three-card monte.”

“Kids.”

“Well, yes. The adults are inside eating Clemenza’s spaghetti.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll see when you get here.” I looked behind me to make sure I wasn’t being eavesdropped on. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

“Is Mr. Taylor there?”

“Yes.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“I can’t. He’s inside. He’s one of them. I had no idea.”

Loncar cursed. “Ms. Kidd, go back inside, do whatever it is you did to get them to trust you in the first place, and wait until I get there.

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