sure she won’t mind if it helps to catch her killer.”
Doris’s lips pulled together. “Are they sure it was Cheryl’s body in Albert’s basement?”
“Definitely.”
“How’d she get there?”
“Someone stuffed her in a freezer and hid it in the basement, the same basement where the bomb that could have killed a dozen people had been planted.”
She blinked at Joshua. When his eyes met hers, she clutched her chest. “You certainly don’t think I planted that bomb.”
“You were the last one down in the basement before it was discovered. That freezer contained the body of the prime suspect in your sister’s murder. If the blast had destroyed the freezer and body—”
Doris snorted. “A lot of people went down into the basement that morning including Mildred and her daughter Gail.”
“Why would they have planted that bomb?”
“Gail Hildebrand hated Cheryl Smith as much as anyone,” she said. “Cheryl and her friends were abusive to her.”
“How were they abusive?” Joshua looked around the banquet room until he spotted the topic of their conversation.
The owner of a marketing agency, Gail Hildebrand was a fixture at all of the business networking organizations in the area. Her agency was under contract with the Mountaineer Resort.
Joshua spotted her talking to the casino manager, Ned Carter. When they saw the prosecutor watching them, they turned around and left the banquet room.
What is that about?
“Bullying,” Doris was saying. “Gail is nothing like her mother, except for her voluptuous figure. She was plump when she was a young girl. But the way Cheryl and his friends teased her, you would have thought she was an elephant. She was the best skater at the rink. And a talented baton twirler, too. Cheryl about ruined her youth with her bullying.”
Joshua noted, “But when Cheryl’s body was discovered, she had a business card with Brianne Davenport’s private line in her pocket, not Gail’s. Do you have any idea why?”
“How should I know? It was Brianne’s phone number, not mine.”
While the Mountaineer Resort catered mostly to wealthy business people, gamblers, and other transient types that hung around the race track and casino, Ned Carter was a businessman through and through.
Decorated in brass and mirrors, the sight of the VIP lounge located on the top floor of the resort took Cameron back to less than happy times. Behind the bar stretching the length of the lounge, bottles of every type of booze imaginable were begging to be tipped to fill the shiny glasses that hung from the rack above. She felt blessed that those times consisted of only a few years after her husband’s sudden death. She had spiraled to hit her bottom fast in order to rebound back to sobriety and regain everything that she had lost. She knew too many whose rock-bottom was much lower than hers and would never be able to regain their losses.
The detective tried not to make eye contact with the two men who made their home on stools at the end of the bar. Between sips of their liquid lunch served in short glasses, they lifted their heads bowed over their drinks and cigarettes to admire the slender woman detective with wavy, cinnamon-colored hair. She didn’t have to tell them that she was a detective. They could see that in the police shield she wore on her utility belt along with her gun, radio, and baton.
When Cameron asked for Ned, the bartender looked her up and down until her eyes landed on the gold shield. Then, she hurried back into the office to fetch her boss.
From behind the office door, Cameron heard a familiar woman’s voice, which she couldn’t place it before the bartender interrupted her to announce a police detective was there to see Ned.
“What about?” the man’s voice demanded to know.
“Don’t know,” the bartender responded.
“Wait here,” he ordered someone, “and keep quiet.”
The bartender closed the door on her way out before the manager slipped out of the
Doris’s lips pulled together. “Are they sure it was Cheryl’s body in Albert’s basement?”
“Definitely.”
“How’d she get there?”
“Someone stuffed her in a freezer and hid it in the basement, the same basement where the bomb that could have killed a dozen people had been planted.”
She blinked at Joshua. When his eyes met hers, she clutched her chest. “You certainly don’t think I planted that bomb.”
“You were the last one down in the basement before it was discovered. That freezer contained the body of the prime suspect in your sister’s murder. If the blast had destroyed the freezer and body—”
Doris snorted. “A lot of people went down into the basement that morning including Mildred and her daughter Gail.”
“Why would they have planted that bomb?”
“Gail Hildebrand hated Cheryl Smith as much as anyone,” she said. “Cheryl and her friends were abusive to her.”
“How were they abusive?” Joshua looked around the banquet room until he spotted the topic of their conversation.
The owner of a marketing agency, Gail Hildebrand was a fixture at all of the business networking organizations in the area. Her agency was under contract with the Mountaineer Resort.
Joshua spotted her talking to the casino manager, Ned Carter. When they saw the prosecutor watching them, they turned around and left the banquet room.
What is that about?
“Bullying,” Doris was saying. “Gail is nothing like her mother, except for her voluptuous figure. She was plump when she was a young girl. But the way Cheryl and his friends teased her, you would have thought she was an elephant. She was the best skater at the rink. And a talented baton twirler, too. Cheryl about ruined her youth with her bullying.”
Joshua noted, “But when Cheryl’s body was discovered, she had a business card with Brianne Davenport’s private line in her pocket, not Gail’s. Do you have any idea why?”
“How should I know? It was Brianne’s phone number, not mine.”
While the Mountaineer Resort catered mostly to wealthy business people, gamblers, and other transient types that hung around the race track and casino, Ned Carter was a businessman through and through.
Decorated in brass and mirrors, the sight of the VIP lounge located on the top floor of the resort took Cameron back to less than happy times. Behind the bar stretching the length of the lounge, bottles of every type of booze imaginable were begging to be tipped to fill the shiny glasses that hung from the rack above. She felt blessed that those times consisted of only a few years after her husband’s sudden death. She had spiraled to hit her bottom fast in order to rebound back to sobriety and regain everything that she had lost. She knew too many whose rock-bottom was much lower than hers and would never be able to regain their losses.
The detective tried not to make eye contact with the two men who made their home on stools at the end of the bar. Between sips of their liquid lunch served in short glasses, they lifted their heads bowed over their drinks and cigarettes to admire the slender woman detective with wavy, cinnamon-colored hair. She didn’t have to tell them that she was a detective. They could see that in the police shield she wore on her utility belt along with her gun, radio, and baton.
When Cameron asked for Ned, the bartender looked her up and down until her eyes landed on the gold shield. Then, she hurried back into the office to fetch her boss.
From behind the office door, Cameron heard a familiar woman’s voice, which she couldn’t place it before the bartender interrupted her to announce a police detective was there to see Ned.
“What about?” the man’s voice demanded to know.
“Don’t know,” the bartender responded.
“Wait here,” he ordered someone, “and keep quiet.”
The bartender closed the door on her way out before the manager slipped out of the
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