Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas Read Online Free

someday, too .
    As if Joanne, also a lawyer, could never be rich on her own. She loved her mom, but that 1950s mentality was driving her to eat.
    She swirled her fork in a puddle of melted ice cream. “I’m not ready to meet any potential landlords. I’m still in my pajamas.”
    “It’s almost noon.”
    “I’m a slow dresser.”
    “Everything’s gonna be okay, Jo. I promise you.”
    Oh, how she hoped that were true. “Thanks.”
    In some ways she and Gloria were like twins separated at birth. Internal twins, because on the outside they looked like total strangers. Gloria wore make-up like a diva, could bench press a hundred pounds, and loved heart-wrenching, romantic movies, especially if they starred Ryan Gosling. Joanne had a “so what?” approach to beauty products, figured pushing a cart while grocery shopping burned plenty of calories and kept getting Ryan Gosling and Ryan Reynolds confused.
    But Gloria and Joanne shared a passion for the law, valued loyalty and liked to talk almost as much as they liked to eat. Except Gloria, a five-nine bundle of nervous energy, never showed it.
    “So, these landlords,” Gloria continued, “are a husband-wife PI team, Kimberly Chandler and Hal Fossen. They’re renting out the unit behind their agency, which back in the day was a one-person law office-apartment, and the best part is...drumroll, please...it’s a t en-minute walk to the courthouses. Exactly what you’ve been looking for, Jo!”
    “I’m afraid to ask, but here goes...how much?”
    Not so long ago, downtown Vegas rents were cheap because nobody wanted to live in its drug-ridden, crime-infested neighborhoods. Then a group of entrepreneurs re-created downtown into a trendy business-arts district that realtors hawked as “metropolitan luxury.” Boutique art galleries, hip restaurants...and sticker-shock rents.
    “It’s listed as thirteen hundred a month, but Kimberly told me she set it high on purpose to attract the right kinda person, not some partying cuginette .”
    “A what?”
    “One of those Saturday Night Fever chicks with teased hair, sprayed-on clothes and a need to party hardy. It’s a metaphor thing.”
    “How much lower do you think she’ll go?”
    “Eight.”
    She felt a spark of hope. “For an office-apartment downtown ? That’s a steal!”
    “Actually,” Gloria continued, “she said nine thousand, but I’m sure you can talk her down to eight, ʼspecially as it’s on the small side. Which is why they’re moving. Baby number two’s on the way and they need a bigger place.”
    Asking for a discount on top of a discount made her uncomfortable, but she’d think about that later. The lump-sum payment from the defender’s office would fund her new law practice and personal expenses for three or so months, five if she lived on Ramen and had no personal life, so bringing in clients was her number one priority. A challenge as Vegas had more criminal lawyers than slot machines, but her rep as a star public defender should be in her favor.
    “Jo, I, uh, didn’t want them to rent the place to somebody else before you saw it…so I kinda told her you’d sign the lease today.”
    “We need to talk.” She took a fortifying bite of bite of drippy ice cream and pie. Her friend had stepped over the line, but at the same time Joanne was intrigued. And scared.
    “You sound pissed.”
    “A little, yes,” she said around the mouthful.
    “Verbal commitments from third parties aren’t legally binding.”
    Joanne swallowed while rolling her eyes. Only thing worse than know-it-all lawyers were know-it-all legal investigators.
    “Here’s the deal,” she said, pushing aside the plate. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since Jamoke.” Jamoke being their code word for Roger, easier to say than scum-sucking dog-liar cheat. “But you can’t keep telling people what I want. Or what I’ll do. Especially without talking to me first.”
    “You don’t like the place, we