Dead Giveaway

by Joanne Fluke

  A Letter From Joanne Fluke

  Years before Hannah Swensen unlocked the back door at The Cookie Jar, I went to visit a friend and her newborn daughter in Las Vegas. I flew out of Minneapolis in the middle of a snowstorm, happy to be escaping the cold Minnesota winter. When we landed in Vegas, I met my friend and switched to sandals for the drive to her place. As I stuffed my snow boots in my suitcase, I thought of how wonderful it was to breathe warm air that hadn’t come out of a furnace vent!

  We drove out of town and took the road to Mount Charleston. Soon there was snow on the ground and it got deeper and icier as we climbed higher. I thought I’d be relaxing by a pool in the warm sun, but it seemed that I was returning to cold weather much sooner than I’d expected!

  We walked into their log cabin near the mountain top. Their access road wasn’t plowed and residents had to park on the shoulder of the highway. It wasn’t far and I marveled at the breathtaking scenery. How gorgeous! And how glad I was that I had my snow boots!

  By the time we turned in for the night, I was imagining what might happen if someone lived in an exclusive, high-rise condo in this beautiful but terrifyingly isolated place. What if there was a blizzard? And what if a killer terrorized the residents who were stranded with no help from the outside world? This was the moment I knew I had to write Dead Giveaway and set it high on Mount Charleston. I hope you enjoy reading it. Even though I know it’s fiction, I still can’t re-read it without shivering!

  Books by Joanne Fluke

  Hannah Swensen Mysteries

  CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER

  STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER

  BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

  LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER

  FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER

  SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

  PEACH COBBLER MURDER

  CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER

  KEY LIME PIE MURDER

  CANDY CANE MURDER

  CARROT CAKE MURDER

  CREAM PUFF MURDER

  PLUM PUDDING MURDER

  APPLE TURNOVER MURDER

  DEVIL’S FOOD CAKE MURDER

  GINGERBREAD COOKIE MURDER

  CINNAMON ROLL MURDER

  RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER

  BLACKBERRY PIE MURDER

  JOANNE FLUKE’S LAKE EDEN COOKBOOK

  Suspense Novels

  VIDEO KILL

  WINTER CHILL

  DEAD GIVEAWAY

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  DEAD GIVEAWAY

  JOANNE FLUKE

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  A Letter From Joanne Fluke

  Books by Joanne Fluke

  Title Page

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  The meeting took place in a high-rise office building, twenty stories above the Vegas Strip. The five men wore fashionably cut business suits. There wasn’t a bodyguard in sight, the strains of Italian aria did not fill the air, and no one’s name was Guido.

  The tanned blond man looked uncomfortable as he addressed the senior member of the group. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, but our only option is to take a hard line.”

  Reluctantly, the older man nodded, perspiring heavily. “I know, I know. She thinks she’s in love and she won’t listen to reason. She doesn’t realize he’s playing her for a fool.”

  “She’s already talked too much.” The short, thin man frowned. “We managed to take care of it this time, but we can’t take another chance.”

  The older man peered into their faces for some sign of compassion, but no one would meet his eyes. “But she’s my daughter! There’s got to be some other way!”

  The fourth member of the group, a heavyset man with a ruddy complexion, sighed deeply. “You know we’re reasonable men. If there’s another solution, we’re willing to consider it.”

  “What if I personally guarantee her silence? Put a guard on her day and night?”

  There was a silence for a long moment and then the heavyset man shook his head. “We know your intentions are good, but you can’t control her forever. She’ll manage to slip her guard sooner or later and then . . .”

  The fifth member of the group, silent until this point, held up his hand. “I know that I speak for every man here when I say that we respect your feelings for your daughter.” The heavyset man nodded along with the others. “And because of that respect which we all share, I have worked out a plan to keep her alive but eliminate the threat she poses.”

  They all leaned forward as he outlined the details. An expression of anguish came over the older man’s face as he listened, but then he nodded reluctantly. It was better than nothing.

  “It’s settled then.” The heavyset man sighed deeply. “So what about the boyfriend?”

  The older man’s expression hardened as he rose from the table. “Do what you think best. I have no interest in him.”

  Happy Smith wheeled another load of rubbish up to the industrial Dumpster. The wind whistled down the canyon and he shivered as he zipped up his jacket. The foreman would be plenty surprised when he came up the mountain tomorrow and found all the construction trash and debris hauled away.

  A strange set of circumstances had prompted Happy to start work one day early. It had to do with the mission and their Sunday schedule. First they fed you the food, a nice chicken dinner with soup and mashed potatoes and little green peas. But then, after the apple pie that Miss Alden made in a big pan for the men she called her lambs, she herded them all into the chapel to say prayers all afternoon.

  Happy had already resigned himself when he’d heard Miss Alden tell another man that he’d better hurry or he’d be late to work. And that had given him the idea. The slip from the foreman was in his pocket and he’d folded it over so the date didn’t show. Miss Alden had been so excited about his job that she’d given him a nice yellow windbreaker and a pair of gloves from the charity box. And Sam, an old wino who’d been at the mission since they’d opened the doors, had loaned Happy his horseshoe ring for luck.

  Happy turned around to stare at the building on Deer Creek Road. The foreman had told him it was almost finished, a high-rise with nine condos that took up a whole floor apiece. Even though he wasn’t supposed to do any cleanup inside the building, Happy had been itching to see those million-dollar condos.

  The parking garage was wide open, its iron security gates propped up by the entrance, waiting to be installed. Happy hurried in and climbed the stairs to the first floor. He knew he was snooping, but he wouldn’t touch a thing. No one would ever know he’d been inside.

  When Happy opened the door to the first-floor condo, he gasped out loud. It was carpeted with the thickest rug he’d ever seen, plenty soft enough to sleep on. And the rooms were so big they could hold every one of Miss Alden’s lambs, without anyone ever bumping into anyone else.

  There was a smile on Happy’s face as he wandered through the rooms, trying to imagine being rich enough to live in such a place. The kitchen looked as if it belonged in a restaurant, with a walk-in freezer, a ma
mmoth stove with four ovens, and enough shelves in the pantry to store food for a year.

  After he had peeked into each of the rooms, Happy decided to head straight up to the penthouse. The foreman had told him they were putting a whole spa up there. Happy didn’t see how they could build a pool without digging a hole in the ground, but the foreman had assured him that was exactly what they were doing.

  It took time to climb up nine flights of stairs, and even though he stopped to rest at several landings, Happy was panting when he pushed open the door to the penthouse. The sight that awaited him made him gasp in awe. Metal girders curved around in a series of interlocking arches to make a domed ceiling. It wasn’t finished yet, but several panes of glass were in place and Happy could see that there would be an unobstructed view in all directions. He stopped to look out at Mount Charleston and watched the pattern of the clouds just brushing its peak.

  The view was so spectacular that, for a few moments, Happy lost himself in contemplation, forgetting the man-made marvels at his feet. Then he whistled in awe as he gazed down at the immense hole in the floor, lined with steel beams. He guessed they needed all that reinforcement because the pool was all the way up on top of the building. He’d watched some men put in a backyard pool once, but all they’d done was prepare the hole, install all the pipes, and drop in one of those pre-made shells.

  There was the sound of a motor outside and Happy looked out to see a brown van pull into the driveway. When the doors opened and two men got out, Happy ducked behind one of the girders. His heart was beating fast and he rubbed Sam’s horseshoe ring for luck. If the foreman was down there, he’d be in big trouble.

  The men walked around to the back of the van and Happy sighed, relieved that he’d never seen those two men before. They opened the back door and helped another man out. He was staggering a little and Happy could see that he’d had too much to drink. They must have gone to a party and now they were taking their friend for a little walk to sober him up before taking him home.

  The men looked startled as Happy leaned out and shouted, but when he asked, they promised to give him a ride back to the mission. He should stay put and they’d come up to get him.

  Happy was smiling as he walked back to explore the rest of the spa. If he’d watched just a moment longer, he would have seen that one of the men carried a gun. And that the third man was staggering because his hands were tied behind his back.

  ONE

  The Castle Casino

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Lyle Marshall was smiling as he threaded his way past a group of high rollers at the craps table. He’d signed the papers this morning and now he was officially retired. Since he’d made a hell of a profit by selling his share of Paradise Development to his partner, Marc Davies, he could afford to plunk down a sizable bet, but Charlotte was waiting in the banquet room and he didn’t want to be late to his own twenty-fifth wedding anniversary bash.

  A short, stocky man in his early fifties, Lyle was dressed in a custom-made gray linen suit. Charlotte always went to the tailor with him, choosing the material and cut that looked best. She also picked out his shirts and ties, even the smoking jacket she insisted that he wear at home. Charlotte was a lady of impeccable taste.

  A huge blond woman, slightly resembling Brunhilde in the one opera Charlotte had dragged him to, hit a jackpot on the nickel slots. Bells rang, lights flashed, and she let out a shriek that almost deafened everyone within earshot. Lyle grinned; definitely a soprano. Charlotte was the founder of the Friends of the Las Vegas Civic Light Opera Company and was always complaining about the lack of good strong sopranos.

  Lyle sidestepped the gawking tourists and entered the restaurant. An almost palpable sense of relief came over him as the piped-in music muted the clatter of the slot machines outside. Vegas was hard on the ears. And on the savings account. If Charlotte ever guessed how much of their money had been converted into chips and scooped up by the croupier, she’d kill him.

  They’d come here as newlyweds. Charlotte had wanted to stay near her parents in Arlington, Virginia, but he’d convinced her that a real estate agent could make it big in a town like Vegas. The casinos employed a lot of people and all of them needed housing. There was a huge turnover, too.

  From day one Charlotte had complained about the glitz, the heat, and what she called the gambler mentality. It was true there wasn’t much culture, and the young city had little historical heritage. All those things meant a lot to Charlotte, but she missed the change of seasons most of all. Smack in the middle of the desert, Vegas didn’t really have much weather to speak of. The wind blew a little harder in the winter, and the nights got colder, but that was about it. Shifting sand, bright lights, dry heat, and the feeling of being caught in the middle of a never-ending party—that described Vegas.

  Marc and Lyle had formed Paradise Development fifteen years ago and it had been a going concern from the very first day. Marc was a wizard at finding prime building sites at ridiculously low prices, and Lyle presold the houses he built. The only fly in the ointment had been Charlotte, but Marc had solved that one, too.

  It had all started two years ago, when Marc picked up some great mountain property dirt cheap. One look at the land and Charlotte had fallen in love. There were trees that turned colors in the fall, snow in the winter, wildflowers in the spring, and real summer thunderstorms. They’d contracted with Paul Lindstrom, their architect of choice, to design the perfect apartment cluster, to feature an exclusive country club–type environment. Given the slope of their mountain site, Paul had designed a high-rise building, each unit consisting of an entire floor individually tailored to suit the occupant’s needs. There were two common areas, the garage and the penthouse spa. The spa was complete with pool, Jacuzzi, sauna, tennis court, weight room, and jogging track. Totally enclosed by a climate-controlled glass dome, the spa afforded a spectacular view of the Mount Charleston area.

  Charlotte and Lyle had moved in last year along with eight other couples who’d passed Charlotte’s muster. Like one of those blue-blooded clubs back in Virginia, its members had to be perfect or they couldn’t buy in. Charlotte loved the view from their eighth-floor condo, thirty-five minutes from Vegas on Deer Creek Road. “Mountain living at its finest” was the phrase she’d used two years in a row on their Christmas cards.

  “Hi, Mr. Marshall.” The hostess, a leggy blonde in a slit skirt that left very little to the imagination, greeted him with a perfect smile. “Everyone in your party is here except for Mr. Davies. He called and said he’ll be delayed a few minutes.”

  Lyle grinned as he followed her to the plush private banquet room Johnny Day had reserved for the occasion. Lyle had always liked Johnny. He seemed like a regular guy, and Lyle had recommended him for membership in their Deer Creek Development, even though there were rumors about his womanizing. An Italian lounge singer who’d had a couple of hit records, Johnny’s passion was mechanical musical instruments, and he had a whole warehouse full of antique music boxes of all sizes, along with player pianos and giant orchestrions. The orchestrions were fascinating. Built in Europe before the turn of the century, the elaborately carved wooden cabinets contained string instruments, horns, woodwinds, and percussion. Johnny had explained that the orchestrions in his collection operated just like player pianos. The mechanical arms that drew the bows across the strings, the bellows that pumped air into the wind instruments, the levers that activated the drums and the cymbals were all cued by a roll of pre-punched music. Charlotte, though a loyal supporter of classical symphony, admitted that the sound the orchestrions produced was nothing short of incredible for its day.

  It had been touch and go overcoming Charlotte’s aversion to anyone in show business, but now Johnny owned the fourth-floor unit. Johnny’s collection had done the trick. When Lyle had first introduced them, Johnny had presented Charlotte with a heart-shaped music box he claimed had belonged to Queen Victoria. It might even have been true.

  Charlotte was sitting
at the head of a table decorated with white satin wedding bells and roses, an empty chair next to her. Lyle stopped in the doorway and gaped at his wife of twenty-five years. The long brown hair, always worn high on her head in a French twist, was gone. Through the wonders of modern cosmetology, it had been lightened to a golden cap cut in a fluffy feathered style. Lyle blinked, and then he started to grin. Charlotte looked good. She was wearing a bright pink jersey dress with a short skirt and it clung to her in all the right places. Her figure had always been good, but she’d been going to exercise classes for the past six months and there was definitely something to be said for all the toning and tightening. Lyle felt as if he’d just been presented with a brand-new wife.

  “Hello, darling! You’re just in time.” Charlotte had spotted him in the doorway and Lyle crossed the room to kiss her. Jayne Peters and Johnny Day were playing show tunes at the piano and Lyle noticed that Johnny was pale beneath his tan, a telltale sign to anyone who knew him well. Johnny had been gambling again and things hadn’t gone well for him.

  “Let’s do our song, Jayne.” Johnny switched on the microphone and they both started to croon.

  Darling, when you’re old and decrepit

  And liver spots make you look like a leopard,

  I’ll stick with you through stormy or sunny

  ’Cause you’re the one with all the money.

  Charlotte giggled and pulled Lyle down into his chair. “That’s awful! You must have written it, Jayne.”

  “Don’t shoot. I confess.” Jayne raised her hands in mock surrender. A petite woman in her late thirties with high cheekbones, her jet-black hair was pulled back into two long braids. She was wearing a white satin cowboy shirt embroidered with red roses, white jeans studded with rhinestones, and red high-heeled cowboy boots. Since Jayne wrote strictly country-western songs, her agent had insisted on the cowgirl image. Public admission that her family name was Petronovitch and her parents had emigrated from Russia could be disastrous.