by Kim Smith
He peered around it. “It’s for Sal. He wants to compare you to the others.”
“What others?” I asked, immediately on the defensive.
“The ones he found in Green’s office.”
Horror raced through me. Sal had seen them. My full monty had been discovered at last. “No!”
Dwayne sashayed over to me and held out the camera. “Naw. I’m just kidding.”
I took it, and he walked back to the assortment he’d just brought up. He stacked five DVDs together, and one SD card, and laid them on my coffee table.
“Here ya go. Ramirez wouldn’t watch even one. He saw the names on them and gave them all over to me.”
I set the camera down and lifted one of the disks. It had my name on it. The others were similarly marked. At least Rick had the decency not to add girl gone wild to the name. For the first time in a long time, I smiled.
“Well, hello Sunshine, brightness is your name,” Dwayne quipped with a grin.
I gaped at him.
He headed for the door.
“More?” I asked.
“Nope. I gotta go before you find out that I didn’t share ole Sally’s honor. I watched every damn one of them. Twice.”
I threw the DVD in its case at him and missed as he shut the door.
The End
Thank you for reading Disk of Death. I would love it if you would help others enjoy this book, too. Please recommend to others and leave a review. Read on for an excerpt of the next book in the series, Yew to a Kill, another wild romp with Shannon.
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BONUS! EXCERPT FROM YEW TO A KILL
YEW TO A KILL
Chapter One
I carried a deep respect for professional men, and Jason Scott ranked right up there. His asking to hire Video Angels for his business did nothing but raise him in my estimation. He sat in my sparsely furnished office in his ill-fitting tan suit, his blond hair stringy and disheveled. He looked more like a worn-out beach bum than a funeral home director—the kind of bum who has seen too much sunburn and had too much sand kicked in his face.
Of course, these days he was a local businessman and member of the Chamber of Commerce, and he could afford to look any way he wanted to unlike years gone by where appearance really mattered and only the best sufficed. His youthful good looks had smoothed his way into the inner circle of South Lake’s elite, the inner circle his wife was born into. Right now, I didn’t care if he’d married his way in or was dipped in the clique. I just wanted his money.
We sat silently, legs crossed, listening to the quiet of the second floor of Video Angel’s building. I gazed at the picture on the wall behind his head—a depiction of Guinevere and Lancelot that Dwayne Brown, my partner, had bought for my office when I’d said I wanted to make it interesting and visual. Of course, movie posters came to my mind since we were in the video production business, but obviously “interesting and visual” means different things to different people. Dwayne is about as different as they come.
“Do you think you can do it, Shannon?” Jason asked.
“Sure. No problem. You have any special requests?”
“Yeah. Don’t screw it up. Make sure you get something I can take to the cops.”
I stared.
His face turned red, and he dropped his gaze
“Sure. You want illegal activity. I get it,” I told him.
“The cops think it’s kids.”
And you don’t think it’s kids?” I asked.
“Hell, no. Kids wouldn’t spend this much time tearing up crap. They don’t plan out their crimes like this.”
I didn’t tell him I disagreed, but I did. Strongly. My aunts had a neighbor whose kid, Jimmy, was a mastermind of getting into trouble.
“So all you need is surveillance on the cemetery grounds for a possible shot of anyone stealing or upsetting stuff?”
“You heard about what they did?” Anger flashed across his face.
“Heard a little gossip. Someone said gangs, someone else said devil-worshippers. Guess since we’re surrounded by churches in this town that’s to be expected.”
He lifted his hand and rubbed his chin. “Gangs? Good grief. It ain’t gangs or kids, either, I’m telling you.”
“Well, who do you think it is?”
“Got no idea. Almost think someone’s out to get me.”
“Who’s mad at you?”
He shook his head and shrugged but made no effort to answer.
“Okay. We’ll get out there and take shots of anything that moves.”
He slumped in relief and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”
“Three hundred.”
He pulled out three bills and laid them on the desk. “If they go to jail and I get to prosecute the creeps, I’ll double it.”
I gave him my most appreciative professional smile and shook his hand as he rose to leave. At that moment, Dwayne came through the front door to the offices, jangling the doorbell, and making a terrible racket. We joined him in the front area of our offices. There wasn’t much in there aside from a reception desk and a table with magazines on it.
“Jason Scott,” Dwayne greeted him, shaking hands. “How’s the funeral biz?”
“Dead, man. Real dead.”
They both laughed, and Jason made his way out.
Dwayne gave me a raised eyebrow. “What’s up? You doing some pre-arranging?”
I walked back to my desk and waved the cash at him. “Nope. We got a job.”
A toothy white flash slashed across his ebony face. “Let’s see. Jason wants us to video a seminar on how to make a body look good, right?”
“Nope. Surveillance. On his cemetery.” I strolled to the oak corner cabinet, removed my faux-leather tote bag, and I turned to see what reaction he’d give.
“Why do I always feel like Ethel on I Love Lucy at times like this?” he asked, grin giving way to that familiar raised eyebrow.
I shrugged and headed for the door. “Maybe because Lucy and I are both redheads?”
He laughed. “You got red highlights, girl. But, nope, that ain’t it. Besides, I think Lucy got her hair did. I mean done-did. You know what I’m saying?”
A twitch started in my cheek. It was going to be a long night. “Dee, while you’re deciphering dye-jobs, let’s go get some footage at Jason’s cemetery and earn our keep.”
He muttered. “Die, or d-y-e?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kim Smith has written over 300,000 words in mystery, romance, and YA fantasy. After several failed attempts at traditional publishing with small publishers, Kim leaped into indie publishing with a vengeance. She hopes to begin turning them out at a quick step so that her readers will get all things Kim Smith in short order.
Kim lives in the mid-south region of the US with her husband of many years, and her Chihuahua dog, Darby, who demands to be in a book one day. Kim is a photographer, videographer, writer, and coffee-fiend. In addition, she’s also a podcaster for the wonderful podcast, Writer Groupie at http://www.writergroupie.net where she hosts other authors and industry pros.
KIM’S BOOK LIST
All of Kim’s books can be found (with buy links!) on her website at http://www.kimsmithauthor.com/books
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