Everything was arranged for Sunday to be a perfect football day for private detective Rhia and her hotshot criminal lawyer boyfriend Destin-that is, until the phone rings. On the other end is Tangy, a stunning female acquaintance of Destin's, who has suddenly found herself needing representation after her boyfriend's corpse is found slumped outside her apartment door.

Rhia decides to immediately take on the case and soon realizes she has her work cut out for her. Tangy's boyfriend Todd has a hole in the side of his head and there is no murder weapon to be found. Without any witnesses to question, Rhia knows time is not on her side as the police are ready to charge Tangy with the murder even though they have no real evidence other than a dead body outside her door. As clues begin to surface, Rhia knows she must find out the truth at all cost.

Anything can happen as Rhia relies on all her investigative skills to solve the case, but if she's not careful, she may just sacrifice her life in the process.

Fourth Down and Murder

By Susan Rose O'Leary

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Susan Rose O'Leary
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-8505-2

Chapter One

Sundays in the fall are reserved for football. Simple logic requires it. Everyone of sound mind knows that the world needs silence, respect, an ice-cold beer, and a great chair on these sacred days. I, luckily, have a significant other who recognizes my special needs on these revered occasions. Comfortably established in my chair, watching my modern gladiators on high-def, I can hear that D, my significant other, is bustling in the kitchen. The smells of delicious culinary concoctions are being prepared just to enhance my Sunday experience. I am indeed lucky and life is blessed until the annoyance of unnecessary communication rings.

"D, the blasted phone is ringing off the hook. Can you get it, babe? The game has started."

A few seconds and one down later, D stands before me with the phone and I know that once again a Sunday is blown. Another client, another felony, and another day that D or, as he is called by everyone else, Destin, is pissed that his gourmet delight will end up in the trash, and we will miss football nirvana because of work. So much for the passing thought that I lead a blessed and extraordinarily lucky life. It is not that I am completely damned or unlucky. I just have the wrong type of damn luck. But that's the life of a female P.I. with a significant other who is a hotshot criminal lawyer.

The name is Rhia, short for Rhiannon, an ultra-feminine name placed upon this poor girl by a mother who constantly dreamt of bygone times and knights in shining armor. Mother spent all of her free time with her nose in a romance novel of dubious historical value. I have been blessed with this name in respect of my mother's Irish-Welsh heritage. Rhiannon is the Celtic goddess of inspiration. For many a priestess, the name represents the religious aspects associated with the moon. Rhiannon was also the Welsh goddess of the horse. I guess the nomenclature fits. I like to spend time at the local track betting on the ponies and much to the dismay of D I have been known to moon miscreants who annoy me. I doubt that my mother thought I would take that interpretation of my romantic name. She always assumed that I would become an inspired ballerina or a glorious star on Broadway. I can tap dance my way around any crime scene once the police have taken me to task for being there illegally. Singing is just not my thing and definitely not in anyone's best interest. Once I touched the leather of a football, all girly future was lost. Throwing a perfect spiral sends a shiver of delight throughout my body. I'm not a gal made for pampering or play-acting. I was made for action.

My D loves me just the way I am. That is why I know he is highly intelligent and why I was drawn to him from the first meeting. He is smart enough to know perfection when he sees it. I am the yin to his yang or something Zen like that. My yin loves to throw to his yang and he has a yang that gets my soul and body every time. Add that D loves to cook gourmet-style and that I love to eat anything he creates, and we are in heaven. Don't get me wrong. I don't live with D just for the food and great sports talk. At almost six feet tall, a great muscled, yet lean body, he is a calm soul and knows just when to let loose with a great joke. His deep brown eyes and adorable smile send me into orbit. I even like his somewhat straight nose, a result of years playing every sport known to man. He is masculine perfection. At the end of a case, I like nothing better than a long, hot bath and a night spent in his arms while we yang away. That was the plan for this weekend until the damn phone rang and bliss got busted.

The annoying phone call concerned an acquaintance of D's. I must tell you that I have never liked girls with cute names. You know the type, the Tonyas and the Barbies. Or girls named after plants like Pansy or fruits like Peaches or Tangerine. Why is this an issue? Well, when you are with a stud like D, you don't like any girls but the girls with the cute names are especially dangerous. My philosophy is that if a girl has an unbelievably cute name, then they are definitely the type of girl that needs a man to take care of them. They appeal to the masculine pride. I am helpless woman; you are great big man here to rescue me. Thus, when D told me that the phone call was from Tangy, red flags went flipping through my brain.

Tangy is involved in a murder. My initial thought is that she won't be a problem for me anymore since she will probably be in jail. Watching me, D knew immediately what I am thinking and once again informed me that it is our responsibility to do the right thing. "Doing the right thing" is his favorite phrase and something he truly believes. If you do the right thing for others, they will respond in kind. This is some sort of karma thing he likes to quote. D is a wonderful man, yet sometimes he can be so nave. While I see the ugly side of people and always expect the beast in them to appear, D sees the best even if they don't have a best side. Tangy told D that Todd had been found dead outside her front door and that the police are asking her a lot of questions. She is scared, does not know what to do, and needs help. D contends that he should help her since she has helped him several times in the past. Tangy works for the local pro football team. Tangy's help has been to get great tickets to some of the games for D. It never bothered me until I met Tangy and found out that she is a redheaded knockout. She has the long legs that I wish I had and a sleek body to go with it. She dresses to accentuate her assets and always made sure that the tickets came complete with what I call a "come hither" note.

Tangy wants D to help her so I quickly offer my services. I do have a few questions to ask her. I need to know more about her boyfriend and more about those free football tickets like why the free tickets are available only when I am out of town. And how did the dead body of her boyfriend end up outside her door? Did he blow his brains out in front of her door because he was brokenhearted or did she kill him and leave him outside her door because that was as far as she could drag the outgoing trash?

D is off to the police station to rescue and protect the damsel in distress. My questions for Tangy can wait. She will be at police headquarters for hours answering the questions that D allows her to answer. I intend to take myself off somewhere far more interesting. Tangy's apartment is my destination. A fresh murder waiting for me to solve is far more exciting than any police station. Plus, there is always the chance that the police have closed down their initial walkthrough of her apartment. I can spend several hours there going over all the evidence that the police always seem to miss and, with luck, I might catch the end of the football game on her TV set. She better have a quality TV. If I'm giving up my Sunday for her, the least Tangy can do is to provide a decent large plasma or flat screen. Then if I find the evidence to close this case quickly, D and I can still salvage what is left of the evening and hit one of our favorite restaurants on the way home. If this doesn't happen, well, no luck is also good. D will need me to do a full investigation, which means more money in my pocket. I will get to work closely with him. Anything that gets me close to my man, even bloody murder, means great karma for me.

Tangy's apartment is on the upscale side of town. Plenty of streetlights, brew pubs, and fancy shops where a cup of coffee costs five bucks. It also means a plethora of cops so safety will not be an issue. That always makes D happy. However, with the overpriced drinks and the profusion of cops come problems that may prove to be bigger than my safety and D's state of contentment. Upscale abundance means I'll have to deal with independent, small-town cops who have big-city, New York attitudes. Her apartment is really a condo or, as I like to call them, apartments for the upwardly mobile who are on their way to a "loft." I will have to park my old, beat-up Bronco, my Bertha, down the road so I won't upset the ambience of the neighborhood. Damn, I hate doing work in this area; this is why I don't do divorce cases. Upscale means uptight.

I'm hoping the neighbors will be typical snobs and stay out of my way so they won't complicate my arrival. A quiet but quick entry to the condo, then total peace while I search things that I'm not supposed to notice or touch would be ideal. I hope that Mike will be the cop at the door. He is old school and recently transferred to the smaller police department after a bad shoot in the big city of San Antonio. Some of his old comrades in the police force let it be known that politics were involved in the heavy-handed internal investigation of the shooting.

Mike was cleared, but he was too irritated by the procedural "bullshit" as he called it to stay in the big city. He joined what I refer to as his "high-society" police department. What else would you call a police department with luxury vehicles as squad cars? Mike still likes to call his own shots even if he is now in the upper echelon of society. I'm hoping that he won't mind cutting me a little slack. Maybe if I remind him that I was on his side in the shooting and bring him a couple of bagels to help him pass the time, he'll cut me a break. As I get out of the elevator in Tangy's building, I luck out. My karmic cloud or whatever you call it must be getting better as the day progresses because Mike is there.

"Hey, old man. How come they have a pro cop like you holding down the hallway? Are you trying to keep nosey neighbors away from the evidence? Let me guess your job is to keep down the chatter and gossip in this suburban oasis."

His response to me was classic old-school Mike. Most of it can't be repeated in polite society, but the rest is just plain funny. I love Mike and I know that he has a soft spot for me. I'm about to find out how much of a soft spot it really is.

Chapter Two

Mike is standing in the hallway just in front of where Todd was found. Thanks to the chalk outline on the floor, the exact spot where Tangy discovered Todd was easy to locate. Dried pools of blood and remnants of brain matter on the wall help to identify it as the kill zone. The coroner has already picked up the body, so I will have to get my interpretation of what happened from the blood splatter and whatever leftovers I can find and Mike, of course.

"Tell me, Mike. Were you the first one to arrive?" I ask casually, hoping Mike will freely divulge all the good stuff.

"Yeah, I got the call and was only a few blocks away. Found some guy slouched half on the floor and half against the wall. Had a funny, surprised look on his face and a great big hole where the side of his head had been," replied Mike in his typical been-there, done-that demeanor. It seems that Mike has seen just about everything in his career.

"Did the police find the weapon that killed him?"

"No, Rhia - and I haven't heard anything back. The detectives had us interview all the occupants of the condos, but there are no witnesses. It must have been fast, neat, and quiet. Why are you here? Just for fun? Or are you helping your boyfriend protect the rights of his client or should I say murderer? Or are you here to check out the apartment for you and D? Thinking about moving out of your little cottage in the 'burbs? Hoping to get Tangy's place if she gets thrown out, are you? Own up to it, Rhia. You are in the mood to move to a more impressive zip code, right?"

That's Mike. Old school, everyone is guilty until we can prove him or her innocent.

"Mike, let's skip the small talk and the digs about the suburb, and let me into the condo. I promise not to touch anything."

"Yeah, right! I've heard that before so be extra careful and touch nothing. I don't want to get into trouble with these yuppie cops, because one wrong word from their mouths and they will feel my fist there before they finish their sentence. Then there goes retirement and I've only got five more years. Try to keep your illegal activities to a minimum, will ya? I hate it when I have to burn favors to get your ass out of deep shit."

I tell Mike that I can just feel the love growing between us and start to enter the condo.

"Hey, Rhia," Mike shouts. "You've got till I finish my bagels."

Count on good old Mike to add a time limit to my visit. I have no intention of arguing with Mike over a couple of seconds. I'd have better luck with a wall. Mike is a big man. He's been around a long time and has the stomach and thin hair to prove it but never underestimate him. If I get caught in a fight, I want Mike on my side even if he is five years from retirement. He is built like a tank and has fists that can break a criminal's face with one hit. Mike doesn't sugarcoat anything and that includes taking down a suspect. Clobber him first and ask questions later. I said he graduated from the old school. Damn, I should have brought more bagels. Mike will go through the few mini bagels that I brought faster than a driver can complete a lap at the Indy 500. This will have to be a quick search and look and there goes the TV and the end of the game. I am starting to like Tangy less and less.

I thought Tangy's condo was upscale, but the inside blows my mind. How can a woman live this way? My first impression is that she lives alone. Whoever this Todd person was, he definitely was not her live-in boyfriend. Not unless he was kinky and into fur - and pink synthetic fur at that. Everywhere I look, all I see is pink. I start laughing, which is an odd thing to do at a murder scene, but all I can think of is my D living here and wearing a pink apron while cooking out of pink pans and watching sports on an unbelievable Disney princess-style pink TV. My stomach starts to growl and I am reminded that the phone call we received from Tangy occurred before we ate D's gourmet dinner. Missing dinner and surrounded by pink, I find myself with a sudden headache and a strange craving for cotton candy.

Taking my time in Tangy's pink condo is not as interesting as I thought it would be. I check her files and papers. Nothing. I check her desk. Nothing. I look under the bed, in the freezer, and inside the back of the toilet bowl. I check all of the usual hiding places and get absolutely nothing. There is no evidence to indicate that Tangy and Todd were involved in anything shady. No drugs, no pictures that could be used to blackmail someone, no guns, nothing. I guess the police forensic team has already cleared out anything of interest. The pink is starting to infiltrate the recesses of my brain, indicating that it might be time to leave. I turn to leave and walk to the door of the apartment when I catch a glance at a picture frame out of place.

First, Tangy's pink palace was immaculate. Nothing was out of place even after the police forensic team finished. Yet, something about the way the frame is hanging calls me. Once the picture frame is open, I get what I hope will be the first break and piece of evidence that might help me understand exactly what happened here tonight. The paper says three things: The names of Todd and Tangy, the number 1.5 million, and a time and place for delivery. I'm pleased to finally have something of substance. It is pure instinct that makes me believe that this definitely needs to be investigated. I just have to make sure that D doesn't discover that I removed a piece of evidence from the crime scene. For some reason, it drives D to distraction when I do these things. I don't think it should be a deal breaker. The deal being that I will always do my best to stay out of jail when investigating.

D and I have a way of negotiating our important and not so important differences with deals. Actually, we make deals on everything. D contends that I fudge the deal whenever I can. Actually, I only do it on the important ones. This one falls into my second tier of deal importance. I figure that if the paper were really important, the police would have found and collected it. The paper intrigues me and my gut feeling is to grab it and to worry about D's response later. Unfortunately for D, it may prove that Tangy is not just the sweet, redheaded customer service goddess who delighted him with great football tickets. This new Tangy delivers more. She may have delivered a brutal death to Todd.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Fourth Down and Murderby Susan Rose O'Leary Copyright © 2009 by Susan Rose O'Leary. Excerpted by permission.
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