Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4) Read Free Page B

into a job she loved. Now, she couldn’t imagine doing anything other than working homicide investigations, and seeing that justice was done. It made her feel that her work was worthwhile.
    But right now, all she wanted to do was to crawl into bed and hope no one got killed in the middle of the night. As the homicide’s on-call team this week, she and Sutter would be the first responders at any unnatural and unexpected death.
    She opened the door to her apartment, and stopped, surprised. Richie was lounging on her sofa, his feet up, the TV on, with her little dog Spike on his lap. Her first reaction was happiness at seeing him, and she even allowed a small smile to form, but then she remembered the SF Beat article, and her good feelings evaporated. “Richie! I didn’t see your car parked in the alley.”
    He smiled in greeting. “There was only one spot left when I came by, so I parked in a lot. I figured if I took it and you had to drive all around in circles looking for parking, you’d come in with guns-a-blazing.”
    She was about to deny it, then stopped herself. He was probably right.
    “I was getting worried about you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s late. You work too hard.”
    She turned her back to him as she placed her handbag on a small table near the door, and her jacket on a hook that served as a coat rack. She normally gave him a hard time about walking into her place uninvited—although she had given him the key. He knew she didn’t really mean it, that it was pro forma. But right now, she wasn’t in the mood for any games.
    She squared her shoulders and faced Richie with a frown. “Long hours happen when someone’s been killed.”
    Her little dog Spike, a Chinese Crested Hairless-Chihuahua mix, had jumped off Richie and stood on his hind legs, his paws on her knee. She picked him up, hugged and petted him.
    “Killed?” Richie cocked his head as he studied her, as if contrasting her warm greeting of Spike with her curt response to him.
    She could all but see the wheels turning as he tried to figure out what was going on with her. It was easy enough to explain. She knew Spike would always be there for her; Richie, not so much. That was the reality that had consumed a lot of her thoughts that day. It wasn’t what the article said about him—it was exaggerated nonsense. What bothered her was that it had caused her to think about their relationship, and not like the result. Professionally, going out with him was clearly a mistake according to her boss; emotionally, she was allowing herself to become far too involved; and logically, she knew that as time went on, the more their differences would matter—and those differences were a recipe for disaster.
    The fact that the article bothered her as much as it did proved her point.
    She didn’t want to think about it, and answered his question. “A homeless guy died in a fire. It seems he picked the wrong place to try to stay warm.”
    He used the remote to turn off the TV. “Was that the Easy Street Clothiers fire?”
    “Yes. I’m surprised you heard. I was told the fire wasn’t big enough, and the dead man not ‘important’ enough, to make the news.”
    “The whole thing is a shame,” Richie said. “About the poor guy who died, and also because Diego had a good thing going with that place.”
    His words surprised her. “You know Diego Bosque?”
    “Not well. I only met him a couple times.” He took his phone out of his pocket, pushed a couple of buttons and said, “Rebecca.”
    “What?”
    He glanced up at her, and then at his phone. “Oh, uh, what caused the fire?”
    “It looks like arson. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
    “Arson? You’re kidding.”
    “No.” She moved to the center of the small room and continued to stand. “We’ve tried all day but haven’t been able to get hold of Bosque. No one is able to reach him.”
    Richie frowned. “He’s got more stores around Silicon Valley. If it’s arson, maybe he went there