Bingo Barge Murder Read Online Free Page A

matches that mustardy-looking smear there by your pocket.”
    “I don’t know why I try.” He sighed. “I heard Bordeaux and Johnson are on that one. By the way, Bordeaux’s still footloose and fancy-free, on the market.” He raised an eyebrow at me.
    Doyle knew I’d been fascinated from afar by JT when she used to stop in, and for some reason he felt it was his lifelong duty to try to hook me up with someone. In all actuality, he sucked as a matchmaker.
    I pointedly ignored his addendum. “Any suspects?” I asked.
    “I’m just sayin’.” He held his hands up in appeasement as he narrowed an eye at me. “Anyway, I know they’re working a couple leads, looking for one of the staff members.” Doyle scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “I don’t think I heard who …” He trailed off and looked at me. “Doesn’t Nick Cooper work on that tub?”
    Doyle wasn’t what I’d consider friends with Coop, but we’d all gone to school together, and he knew Coop and I were close. “Yeah,” I said, “he does.” Or did, at any rate.
    Then Doyle moved conspiratorially toward me, and I almost leaned away from him, afraid of what he was going to say next. He whispered, “Rumor has it the guy was whacked by an unhappy husband, know what I mean?”
    Well, that was better than a rumor that an unhappy ex-
employee named Nicholas Cooper beaned Kinky on the melon for firing him.
    Doyle finished his coffee and took off. I took the espresso machine apart and put it back together for entertainment until our evening relief arrived.
    Kate left with a wave and a promise to pry the big secret out of me in the morning. I exited stage right to hunt down Eddy and Coop, who were at Eddy’s kitchen table knee-deep into supper. While they downed leftovers, I chewed on some antacids I found in one of Eddy’s kitchen drawers. My stomach was usually unflappable, but having Coop and murder in the same sentence did a number on my gastric fortitude. I briefed the two of them on my exploits with Minneapolis’ finest and Kate the Inquisitor until it was time for me to go find Rocky.
    At seven o’clock, I loaded myself into my pickup. After circling Rocky’s block four times, I spotted the familiar puffy green jacket he lived in year-round. A ratty, wool-lined aviator hat sat cockeyed on his head. He leaned against the side of an abandoned building in the semi-darkness, his mouth moving a mile a minute, chatting with the air around him, or maybe with ghostly spirits I couldn’t see. You never know. Relief buzzed through me, almost like having one too many beers. I pulled to the curb and rolled down the passenger window.
    “Hey, Rocky,” I yelled.
    Rocky’s eyes focused on my vehicle, but he didn’t recognize it, or me. His lips stopped moving, and he froze.
    “Rocky, it’s me, Shay,” I said, praying he wouldn’t take off.
    He squinted. Then a grin spread slowly across his wide face, exposing crooked teeth. He rushed over to the open window.
    “Shay O’Hanlon.” His entire body vibrated happiness in seeing a familiar face. “You drive a pretty blue Toyota Tundra, Shay O’Hanlon.” He ran his fingers over the smooth paint.
    “Thank you, Rocky. Are you hungry?”
    Rocky’s grin grew. “Always hungry.”
    “Hop in. Popeye’s?”
    “Popeye’s. My favorite.” He opened the door and clambered in. “Always wear your seatbelt,” he mumbled, tugging the strap across his round body and clicking it home.
    The restaurant was on Lake Street, a busy thoroughfare running through Uptown and the lakes area. We pulled into the parking lot and tramped inside. Rocky ordered spicy fried chicken with rice and beans. Food still wasn’t something my insides were much interested in. I procured myself a Coke and we found a table and sat down.
    Rocky said in a very serious voice, “I want to thank you for this most delicious meal, Shay O’Hanlon.”
    “You’re welcome, Rocky.”
    As he burrowed his way through the beans, I asked,