Murder by Chance (Betty Chance Mystery) Read Free Page B

Kotval. I was sure you had your room key by now.”
    “Oh, I do, dear. It’s true I was tired earlier, but now I don’t want to go to bed. I want to see what’s going on with the...” and then Mrs. Kotval whispered “murder.” She beamed. “I feel like Angela Lansbury! Did you know Murder She Wrote is one of my favorite TV shows?”
    Betty pursed her lips. It seemed pointless to mention that a real murder was hardly comparable to a fictional one. Anyway, her client seemed to be in a jolly good mood about the whole thing and she didn’t want to spoil it. Take A Chance Tours had at least one satisfied customer.
    In fact, Betty wished she could take the murder as lightly as Mrs. Kotval did. But she’d seen too many murder investigations gone wrong where innocent people ended up on death row. It made her anxious. The fact that the investigation was being led by what looked like a man-child didn’t make her any less so.
    “Okey-doke, have a good night,” Betty said before following Severson and Tillie to a small conference room. Two other local policemen were already inside the room. The door shut behind them. For the first time, Betty was away from the noise of ambulance sirens and screeching patrol cars. The sheriff motioned for Betty and Tillie to sit at the large oak table.
    As she slid into her chair, the thought crossed Betty’s mind that her tour company was DOA, just like the bus victim. Bad publicity would mean fewer riders. Casinos might decline to work with her. Take A Chance Tours would have to shut its doors.
    The sheriff removed his fur-lined bomber jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. As he did, Betty noticed the pint-sized sheriff’s massive biceps. They looked like they would burst through his khaki sleeves at any moment. In her experience, there were two kinds of cops. The ones who treated their bodies like they were a weapon for survival that need to be fine-tuned at all times. And the others who thought their bodies were nothing more than oversized dumpsters for junk food.
    Tillie poked Betty in the side and whispered, “His shirt is tighter than mine!” She sighed. “He’s not a toy sheriff. He’s a boy toy sheriff.”
    Severson turned around. “Did you say something to me?”
    Tillie shook her head. “Nope, just girl talk.”
    The sheriff gave her a stern look and said, “I don’t think this is a time for chitchat.” He walked to the head of the table and sat down.
    “We understand, Sheriff,” Betty responded gently. She leaned forward as if to share a confidence: “I was married to a police lieutenant for twenty-seven years.”
    In the past, when Betty identified herself as a policeman’s wife, it usually worked to her advantage. Only three weeks earlier, a smile and a mention of her son Codey was rewarded with a warning instead of a four hundred dollar speeding ticket.
    Severson’s shoulders stiffened and his eyes turned into stone-cold versions of I give a crap about that, because ?
    Betty slumped back into her chair.
    “I’ll need to speak with each of your passengers,” he said.
    Betty remarked quietly, “It’s so late, Sheriff. Can you possibly do it in the morning? Most of my clients are senior citizens. Mr. Farsi was actually one of our youngest riders.”
    “The victim?” he asked.
    Betty nodded.
    “What can you tell me about him?”
    “Not much, unfortunately,” Betty reached down and picked up the leather tote bag she carried. Inside was a trip list of the passengers’ names, gambling and hotel preferences, a short bio and emergency numbers. It was the same information she’d faxed to the casino the day before their arrival. “This was Farsi’s first time traveling with Take A Chance.”
    Severson leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands around his head, his biceps were tight against his shirtsleeves, as if he were the Incredible Hulk on the verge of exploding out of his clothes.
    Tillie gasped as Betty stepped lightly on her foot underneath the