Braking for Bodies Read Online Free Page B

have any part of this but on the inside I am kind of yelling yippee and doing a happy dance.”
    â€œFiona!”
    Fiona stood and helped me up. “Were you just talking to Sutter?”
    â€œYeah, and you’ve got to get out of here. Anyone on that dock this evening knows you and Peep were not bosom buddies, and he’s staring at the stars and not thinking
Gee, is that the Milky Way?
”
    Fiona nudged Peep’s arm with the toe of her gym shoe and gave me a little shove. “Check for his cell phone.”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œI’m not going to touch him. I didn’t like the guy when he was sucking air, much less now when he’s cold and creepy. You didn’t know him.”
    â€œI knew enough, and why do you want his cell phone?”
    â€œHey, Bloomfield,” came a voice from above. “What’s going on down there?” For a second I considered the possibility I’d died in that fall and this was God wanting an accounting since I was here with a dead guy. I rolled my eyes up to Sutter leaning over the railing. Okay, not God, but at times he thought he was. Sutter clicked on a flashlight and Fiona dove back into the bushes.
    â€œYou . . . you got here really fast,” I stage-whispered. “Why are you on the porch?” Nate Sutter was not a Grand Hotel kind of guy; he was more a beer at the Mustang Lounge with a side order of fried green beans kind of guy, most of the time not bothering to order his own and swiping mine.
    â€œThat L.A. wife caught up with the L.A. secretary.” Sutter leaned over the edge. “The hotel staff called me to deal with the fallout. I sent the secretary in one direction, the wife in the other, and the duel’s at dawn. Why’d you call?”
    From her hiding place in the lilacs, Fiona made the
shh
sign with her finger over her lips and added the pleading puppydog look of
don’t give me away
. I knew she wasn’t a killer; at the moment it just looked that way.
    â€œYou have the L.A. wife and secretary and I have the L.A. husband/boss and he’s . . .”
Dead as a rat in a trap
wasn’t exactly the thing to be yelling out at the Grand Hotel. “He’s fallen off the porch,” I said instead, and from the amount of alcohol consumed here on any given night, a header seemed perfectly reasonable.
    â€œIs he hurt?”
    â€œSure, let’s go with hurt. But not 911 kind of hurt.”
    â€œThen he’s okay?”
    â€œWell, he’s not in pain.”
    Sutter disappeared back over the top and Fiona scurried out to Peep. She hunkered down, pulled her sleeve over her hand and started digging through his pockets . . . wallet, keys, flask. “His phone isn’t here. Where’s the darn phone? I’ve got to find the blasted phone.”
    I didn’t know about the phone problem, but in my shaky condition the flask had definite appeal. I picked it up with the edge of my fleece before Fiona could stuff it back in Peep’s pocket with all the rest of the stuff. I unscrewed the top, prayed the alcohol gods were smiling in my direction and took a swig.
    â€œVodka, good vodka,” I said, the booze warming my insides. “What is that gooey stuff on your sweater?”
    Fiona took the flask, gulped and swiped the back of her hand across her lips. “Peep always did have excellent hooch, his one good quality.” She passed back the flask. “It’s slippery. Everything’s coated in olive oil. Don’t mention to Sutter that I was here, and keep him busy; I need a few minutes to look around. I’m desperate.”
    â€œDesperate about what?” But I might as well have been talking to myself because Fiona was nowhere in sight and Sutter was hustling up the main drive in front of the hotel. Olive oil meant there was an olive oil bottle, and since I didn’t believe in coincidences on aneight-mile island I figured extra