Dying for a Deal by Cindy Sample

Author:Cindy Sample [Sample, Cindy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A Laurel McKay Mystery
Publisher: Cindy Sample
Published: 2018-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Multiple screams assaulted our ears. Since our car was stopped only a foot above the ground, I hopped out, Gran following on my rubber-soled heels. A teen continued to shriek, her high-pitched cries reverberating around the square. Her mother wrapped an arm around her in an attempt to console her. An employee, his face whiter than fresh snow, attempted to push back the oncoming passengers anxious to board the gondola.

Angry shouts and glares mixed with confused expressions as additional employees came to assist the young man. They extended a long gold braid between two poles, blocking anyone from entering the gondola area.

“What’s going on?” Gran asked a staff member who insisted on guiding us away from the ride.

Freckles dotted his pale face as he pushed a thatch of bangs from his forehead. “Someone’s had an accident.”

“Is the someone dead?” asked Gran.

That’s my grandmother. Subtlety is not her middle name.

His face grew even paler. “I can’t say, ma’am.”

I stood on my tiptoes trying to look into the gondola car where I’d last seen Gino, but it was closed off for now. A solemn-faced employee stood guard in front of the car.

My stomach plummeted. “This doesn’t look good. We need to find out exactly what’s going on,” I said. Sirens in the distance indicated an ambulance and other rescue vehicles were on the way.

“Maybe that big dude bumped off Gino,” Gran suggested.

I shivered. “I certainly hope not. But we may be the only witnesses to see that guy with Gino.”

“Whoa. If we tell the cops what we saw, will we hafta go into witness protection?”

“Of course not,” I said emphatically before stopping to consider her question. Wasn’t witness protection just for eyewitnesses of mob or drug lord types of killings? Certainly Gino wasn’t involved with the mob. Or drug kingpins.

Or was he? There was that odd meeting with the biker dudes. And his two companions last night seemed a tad on the seedy side. Especially the cigar-chewing fellow. What had we gotten ourselves into?

Navy blue uniforms arrived on the site and began milling around the square. One police officer was attempting to corral the gondola riders into a separate area cordoned off with crime scene tape. I walked up to him and tugged on his arm.

“I was riding on the gondola just three cars behind that one.” I pointed toward the car that had carried Gino. “I’m a private detective working on a case. My grandmother and I may have witnessed something important.”

“If there’s been a murder, we know who done it,” Gran said.

“Hey,” he protested, looking around to make sure none of the bystanders overheard Gran’s remark. “Nothing’s been said about murder. This situation is being viewed as an accident.”

I nodded. “Got it. My husband, Tom Hunter, used to be a homicide cop. You guys have to be careful what you say to the public.”

The officer’s face brightened. “You’re married to Tom? He’s a good guy. Tell him Frankie Vallejo said hi.” He looked around the crowd. “One of our detectives is already here.

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