Last Call - A Thriller (Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels Mysteries Book 10) Read Online Free Page A

her prints was praise-worthy. “How’d you manage that?”
    “I tossed her my snow globe. You know, the one with Santa inside, banging Mrs. Claus from behind? The harder you shake it, the more they go at it. It’s the greatest thing ever. I’ll buy you one.”
    “And you lifted her prints from the surface. Not bad.”
    “Not bad? It’s brilliant! Besides getting latents, it’s also a good indicator of how freaky the chick is. Erotic snow globes are like a litmus test for nymphos. Katie didn’t react at all. Might not be into sex. Or might be queerpants.”
    “Or maybe she just has some class.”
    “No difference to me. Queer, classy, I don’t score with either type. Point is, she’s clean. No record. Credit check was fine, too. Owes about three grand on her Citibank Mastercard, pays monthly. Spends a lot of money at Radio Shack. I didn’t even know that place was still around.”
    “Relatives?”
    “Radio Shack is a store, Phin. It doesn’t have relatives.”
    “Katie, McGlade.” Phin rubbed his eyes. “Assume my time is more valuable than yours.”
    “It isn’t. And no relatives that I could find. Checked phone records, too. I know a chick, works in telecommunications. She pulls numbers for me, and I occasionally throw her one. She’s really old, so her hips creak like a rocking chair. And dry. Like hitting kitty litter. But when she pops out those dentures it’s like dying and going to head heaven. Woman has mad skills. Maybe it has something to do with all the hard candy old people seem to like.”
    “Can we stick with Katie?” Phin almost said
stay on Katie
but caught himself in time. No need to toss McGlade any easy lobs.
    “No family. No friends, either. Dunno why she even has a cell. Other than taxis, the last call she made was ordering a pizza. Who still uses the phone to order a pizza? Haven’t people heard of the Internet? You can order anything online these days. I found this escort on the net named Sinnamon. Spelled with an
S
. I don’t think that’s her real name, by the way…”
    Phin interrupted. “What kind of surname is Glente? It’s not common.”
    “I looked it up. It’s Danish. Means
bird of prey
. Pretty coolpants. So, anyway, I took Sinnamon to Cracker Barrel—true story—and in the middle of lunch rush she gives me a handy under the table. Totally worth the three hundred bucks an hour. Plus, she barely touched her chicken fried steak, so I took that home with me. It’s always a bonus when you don’t have to feed the escort. Kinda like getting free undercoat protection at the car wash.”
    Phin tuned him out and pictured Katie’s face. Weren’t many Danes with black hair, but that could have been dyed. And those with Nordic ancestry weren’t known for their ability to tan, but Katie had an Arizona glow to her skin. Perhaps the name was a fake.
    “Did you see that YouTube video?” Phin asked, cutting off a Harry story about how he once had sex in the car wash, but he didn’t really count it on his tally sheet because it was with an inflatable doll.
    “Yeah. Major yuckypants.”
    Phin had watched it several times after Katie had left. “Do you think it’s Luther?”
    “How should I know? Blurry as hell, only lasted a few seconds.”
    “If you had to guess?”
    “Seems like the kind of sick shit Luther Kite would do. Plus he had that ghoul next to him.”
    “Ghoul?”
    “That scarred chick. Skinny little serial psycho. Lucy. After Michigan, I put together quite a little dossier on her and her buddy, Donaldson.”
    “Can you even spell
dossier
?”
    “Yeah. It starts with an F and ends with a U. Why do you have to be an asspants and mock all of my dope detecting skills?”
    “What is up with you adding the word
pants
to the end of everything?”
    “Oh. I’ve got an anonymous blog. It’s called The Mansplainer. So I did that pants thing once—I called a commenter
dickpants
—and it started trending on Twitter. Hashtag dickpants. Now it’s become my