A Dose of Murder Read Online Free Page A

and get comfortable.”
    As I walked to the door where Adele stood leaning against the dark brown paneled wall, Fabio stuck his head out of what I assumed was his office. The royal blue carpet smelled of mildew and had more spots on it than Adele’s collar had polka dots.
    â€œMiles sent her here. Have her fill out the paperwork for taxes and shit like that, then send her to me,” he said, and then pulled his head back into his office like a giant ostrich hiding in the sand.
    I figured Fabio might have good reason to hide.
    She waved a “don’t pay attention to him” hand at me. “Come in here.”
    Adele proved to be as warm as her smile. She got me coffee and a donut that resembled a
pczki
. I took the coffee and passed on the donut and learned that Fabio had taken over the business when his father passed away two years ago. Everyone missed him, she’d said.
    And by her tone and the actual things she said, no one was too fond of Fabio. Duh.
    â€œBut . . . Adele will give him credit for not running the place into the ground,” she said in her adorable Canadian accent, which she’d told me she couldn’t shake, having spoken French since birth. “He’s a shit most of the time, but so filled with greed,
chéri
, that he actually has this place making money. One thing his father wasn’t too good at. No, Mr. Scarpello wasn’t a greedy man. God rest his soul to all eternity.” She made the sign of the cross on her head.
    I felt compelled to join her.
    After mounds of paperwork had my John Hancock on them, I took the donut Adele had again offered, knowing what I needed was a good sugar high. Now I had to go see Fabio and find out what the hell I’d actually be doing.
    â€œWhat?” My voice came out so high pitched I might need to change to soprano from alto in the church choir. Naw. It was only a logical gut reaction to Fabio’s words. “I have to do
what
?”
    His forehead wrinkled like the prunes my uncle Walt ate on a daily basis, claiming regularity is how he lived so long, and said, “Shit. Don’t you listen . . . Oh , that’s right. Ear infection.”
    I was ready to say “What infection?” but remembered my earlier lie. I wasn’t good at lying. Catholic-school-induced conscience and all. How good could I be at spying? And all by myself, as Fabio had just explained. Lord, what was I doing?
    Fabio shoved a folder across the desk. Of course it had to make several detours on the way since his desk was covered in files, dirty napkins, filled ashtrays, old donuts on paper plates and who knew what else—I sure didn’t want to find out.
    â€œYou read through the information in the file. Your first one stiffed Workers’ Comp. Fake back injury. I need you to prove the fucker is faking it. You get yourself some detective equipment, like I said before. Video, camera, those kinds of things. No need for a gun yet—”
    My throat constricted so I squeezed out, “Gun?!”
    He shook his head. “Miles is going to owe me big time, doll, if you keep this up. No gun, I said.”
    â€œBut you also said ‘yet.’”
    â€œYeah, right. Some suspects don’t want their little money-making schemes found out. They get a little testy about it.” He shrugged. “Sometimes you need protection.”
    I took a long sip of now-cold coffee. When it settled enough that I was certain it wouldn’t spew out of my mouth, I managed to say, “Testy? I’m guessing someone who is crooked enough to commit fraud, wouldn’t
ever
want to be found out.”
    Fabio winked. “Atta girl, doll. You’re catching on. Brains
and
boobs. Miles said you were smart.”
    How smart could I be if I was sitting here talking about spying on criminals?
    â€œAny questions?” He took a partially smoked cigar from an ashtray overflowing with butts of cigarettes and dead