For Love of Livvy Read Online Free Page A

strolled to the corner, crossed the street and entered the deli located on the opposite side. My friend, Lola Trapezi, owned The Salt & Pepper Deli and served scrumptious sandwiches with names like Thanksgiving Dinner or Trooper Special, silly things like that. The food was phenomenal so we ordered up and ate outside in the summer sun. Sidewalk tables were gathered in front of the historic structure surrounded by a picket fence.
    Summer smells accosted my nostrils. Sweet honeysuckle grew over the fence of the storefront next to the Salt & Pepper. Plump bumble bees collected nectar while I sat back lazily watching their consumption. A light breeze ruffled the leaves on the vines.
    The sunshine warmed my skin. My attention returned to Larry and I asked, “Why do you think this guy wants to rent the apartment?"
    "Well, it's a nice location, you're gorgeous, and he may be telling the truth."
    My right eyebrow cocked at him. “You didn't happen to have your ear to the door, did you?"
    Unabashed, he chuckled. “Yeah, but it was only out of consideration for you."
    Laughter bubbled up from my throat as this roly poly friend of mine made excuses for his deviant behavior.
    "I'm glad to hear it, really I am. By the way, a mysterious package was left on my doorstep last night.” As my story unraveled, his face registered surprise.
    "What do you make of it?"
    "I don't know, but I have a lot of questions and no answers for them.” I said.
    "Questions about what exactly?"
    "Why the cops come around asking questions about Livvy's affairs. Why they are interested in what she did for a living, who her friends were, what kind of business she ran. Questions like that.” I shook my hair off my neck and glanced at Larry. “There has to be something about her death that nobody wants to share with us. It makes me more and more curious."
    "You could always investigate, Vin. You must be good at that since you teach those techniques."
    "I suppose so. My father would have a fit, but I need answers."
    We finished lunch and returned to the house, enjoying the fresh air. Back in the apartment, Larry worked in one room while I worked in the other until my paint ran out. Scooping the empty container off the floor, I headed through the rooms. The paint store was about a half mile away.
    I skipped down the stairs and left by the front door. The state trooper from the evening before strolled up the walk. Dressed in street clothes instead of a uniform, it was a sure bet he was off duty. Jeans clung to trim hips and long legs. Sneakers adorned his feet and a T-shirt that touted Jack Daniels Whiskey fit his upper torso like a glove.
    "Good afternoon, ma'am. I just wanted to let you know what the bomb squad found last night. Can we talk inside?” He asked as his eyes slid over me.
    The look brought a rush of heat to my skin and my little internal voice started screaming Beware! Beware! Dismay filtered through me as hazel eyes checked me out. So I was covered with paint speckles from the roller, so what? And what if my hands were paint caked? I was working, after all.
    Cops see worse than this, it's a fact. I teach law enforcement officials, wannabe's, security guards or two point five officers as their called, and real police officers known as Five O's, every day of the school year. They regale me with stories of their daily lives in the business. Some tales are funny while others are downright sad, but most are entertaining. These officers live on the seedy side of life, the side that most folks never see and would never know. My present appearance was nothing in comparison, I'm sure.
    Settling the paint can on the front step, I backed into the first floor apartment and led the officer through to the kitchen. I gestured to a chair at the counter and watched his cop eyes travel around the apartment as he settled into place.
    I asked in a solemn tone as I picked miniscule speckles of paint off my hands, “The box didn't contain a bomb, then?"
    "No, it