Jackpot (Frank Renzi mystery series) Read Online Free Page A

barely registered. He focused on Goldilocks. Going into the first turn she stumbled. His heart leapt into his throat. Bloody hell, if she tossed her jockey, he was done for.
    But no, she recovered. Now she was off and running again.
    “Have a bite, Nigel.”
    He stared at the chocolate sauce and the mountain of whipped cream. Just looking at it made him queasy, but he managed a smile. “I’ll have the cherry.”
    Holding the stem, Vicky fed him the cherry. He sucked it into his mouth and concentrated on the race. Bloody hell! Goldilocks was running third, four lengths off the pace. But she was a sprinter. The jockey was probably saving her for the stretch run.
    “Nigel,” Vicky said quietly.
    “Mmmm,” he said, unable to tear his eyes off Goldilocks. The crowd roared as the horses rounded the final turn. Coming into the stretch, Goldilocks passed the two-horse. His heart pounded. Goldilocks was in second at the eighth pole with two hundred yards to go. But the favorite was two lengths ahead. Why didn’t the stupid sod of a jockey whip her?
    “Nigel, this is delicious. You should try some.”
    He held his breath as Goldilocks moved up on the leader. The jockey was whipping her now. About time. And it worked! She was gaining on the favorite. Come on, Goldilocks, you can do it!
    The crowd went wild as Goldilocks and the gray horse raced neck and neck to the finish line. They crossed it together, so close he couldn’t tell who won. Exhausted, he sank back in his chair and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. A photo finish. Fractions of an inch would decide his fate.
    A monumental dread swept over him.
    “Nigel, what’s wrong? Your face is all sweaty. You didn’t bet, did you?”
    He forced a smile. “Of course not.”
    A roar went up from the crowd. He didn’t dare check the board.
    What if Goldilocks lost?
    Terrified of the answer, he forced himself to look.
    Bloody hell, the gray horse was the winner!
    Numbed by the disaster that had just befallen him, he slumped in his chair. Now the three-thousand-dollar advance from his credit card was gone, and Joanna wanted another five. He wanted to smash his head against the wall. He’d gone back on his word and lied to Vicky. He’d lost control and acted stupid.
    He vowed never to bet on another horse as long as he lived.
    “Look at that gray horse in the winner’s circle,” Vicky said, pointing down at the track. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
    _____
     
    Seated at his desk with a telephone clamped to his ear, Frank watched a screen-saver airplane swoop across his computer monitor. A low hum purred from a ceiling vent, sending recycled air through his office. The voice on the phone droned on: “. . . no reason to kill her. My kids are devastated.”
    Loath to interrupt, he swiveled his chair and studied a brass plaque on the wall. Anything to avoid the ugly crime scene photographs on his desk.
    The plaque cited Detective Franklin Sullivan Renzi for his work with underprivileged children. When he wasn’t busy hunting killers, he coached a middle-school basketball team in Mattapan.
    Now, two thick murder books sat on his desk.
    A third case file lay open in front of him. Five minutes ago he’d called the victim’s son. He stifled a yawn. It had been a long day but he didn’t feel like going home, didn’t want to deal with more problems there.
    A muscle worked in his jaw as the son’s voice, full of anguish and rage, said, “They keep asking for Grammy. Why can’t you catch the bastard?”
    “George, I’m very sorry about your mother—” And listened to another litany of sorrows.
    He studied a snapshot on his desk, a photo of him with his arms around two boys, his rangy six-foot-one frame dwarfing them. The twins played on the basketball team he coached. Their proud mom had taken the picture and sent him a copy. Dad was AWOL, like a lot of black fathers these days. Too bad he wasn’t coaching them now. That was a lot easier than listening to the