"Casey Daniels - Pepper Martin 01 - Don of the Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daniels Casey)

cemetery archives for all the info I could find about him. He wasn't about to Dr. Phil me into a
heart-to-heart about my family.

I refused to answer, hoped he got the message, and decided on Paris Nights. I put the tube within easy
reach so I could toss it into my purse when the time came to close up shop and head out for the evening.
According to the clock on the wall opposite from where I sat, that was in exactly sixteen minutes.

Sixteen minutesтАж a drive home, where I could leave my car in my reserved space so I didn't have to
fight for a parking place near the restaurantтАж a quick walk toMangia ManiaтАж

And then I'd have Dan Callahan all to myself. And Dan Callahan was the yummiest guy I'd met sinceтАФ

"You're not listening to me. You need to get down to work here, honey. You're supposed to be thinking
about me, not about how soon you can go home."

I forced my gaze away from the clock and my thoughts from Dan back to the not-so-dearly departed
don. I wasn't about to correct him and tell him that I wasn't going home. At least not to stay. It wasn't any
of his business and besides, I didn't think I needed to run my social calendar by a guy who'd been too
busy being dead to worry about dating.

"I have been trying to get some work done," I said, my words cut in half because my teeth were gritted.
"I've been at this all afternoon. In case you haven't noticed, we're getting nowhere."

To emphasize my point, I slapped a hand against the stack of yellow and brittle newspapers closest to
me. A little puff of dust and who-knows-what-else rose up and tickled my nose. Just in case I needed it,
I plucked a tissue from the box I swiped from Ella's office while she and Jim still had their heads together
after our meeting.

The tissue box was decorated with teddy bears dressed in picture hats and strings of pearls. As much as
critters in clothing offended my fashion sensibilities, the tissues had come in handy plenty of times in the
hours since I started researching Gus's life. And his death. I sneezed.

"There's nothing in any of these newspapers that's new." Considering that the news and the papers were
thirty years old, it was an understatement. I touched the tissue to my nose and wondered how red it was
and how bad I was going to look by the time I got toMangia Mania.

For the third time in as many minutes, I snapped open my compact and checked out the damage. Not
bad considering. Nothing a touch of moisturizer and a dusting of powder wouldn't help. If I ran to the
ladies' room nowтАФ

"How do you know?" Over the wall of newspapers, Gus pinned me with a look. "How do you know we
won't find anything? You've barely scratched the surface."

At the moment, the surface in question was the copy of theCleveland Plain Dealer on top of the pile. I
snapped the compact shut, but rather than look at the grainy black-and-white photo that showed Gus flat
on his face in the middle of the street, a darkliquidy pool all around him, I shuffled the newspaper to my
left and glanced at the next one on the pile. This one was theCleveland Press , and the picture on the
front page was just about the same. Cops. Street. Gus. Blood.

Plenty of blood.