Read An Eye for Murder for Free Online

caricature of himself is an ugly scar running down his left cheek. When I first met him, he said he got it running drugs out of Mexico. It wasn’t until we made our first video together that he admitted to being in a serious car accident as a teen. Whenever he’s upset, the scar flares up in angry red streaks. Now it was blazing.
    “We’re dinosaurs, Ellie.” He pointed the pencil at me. “Washed up.”
    “What happened?”
    “Last week I bid on a big project for Comway—you know, the network and modem guys—”
    I nodded.
    “I thought it was in the bag. I mean, we’ve done work for them before. Then I get this call. Evergreen underbid us by fifteen grand.”
    “Evergreen? That’s the kid who set up shop with Daddy’s money, isn’t it?”
    Mac threw the pencil down. It skipped across the desk. “Everybody thinks they’re a fucking Steven Spielberg.”
    I turned over the lighter in my hand. As video equipment gets more sophisticated, prices drop, which encourages anyone with a camera and edit bay to think they’re a player, especially if they watch MTV. The sad part is that there are clients who don’t know the difference. “There’s nothing you can do?”
    “Get real. I can’t drop my prices that much.”
    “Well, at least you’ll have the satisfaction of cleaning up after they screw it up.”
    He shot me a look. “Yeah, that’s me, the old clean-uptheir-shit-ster.”
    “It could be worse.”
    “Save it for the jury.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, Ellie. You walked in at the wrong time.”
    “Story of my life.” I shrugged.
    That brought a smile. “Good one.” He leaned forward and looked at me. “So what’s happening, my little chickadee? You look tired.”
    “I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”
    He shook his head. “Bad one.”
    “You’re right. I guess I’m not up to par today.”
    “How come?”
    I told him about yesterday.
    “God, Ellie, finding a dead body—that sucks.”
    “It isn’t something I care to repeat.” I turned the lighter over in my palm. “But listen. I’m doing another show for Midwest Mutual. They’re going to shoot and offline it inhouse, but I’d like to use you for the online.”
    “You got it. When?”
    “Four to five weeks, I hope. Can I have Hank for the edit?” Hank Chenowsky is the best editor I’ve ever worked with. Not only is he highly talented, but he’s got the personality of a placid lapdog, a prerequisite for a type A like me.
    “Don’t see why not. Doesn’t look like we’ll be doing much else.”
    “Stop playing victim, Mac. It doesn’t suit you.”
    “A direct hit!” He laughed, then pointed to the lighter. “You take up smoking again?”
    “I got it yesterday. At Mrs. Fleishman’s.” I told him how most of Ben Sinclair’s things were now in my basement. “Lemme see that,” Mac said.
    “That’s right.” I handed it over. “You and Sharon do some collecting.”
    All you have to do is visit their house. Mac’s wife keeps her Lilliputian doll house collection in a floor to ceiling glass case with ornate wooden moldings. It’s the only piece of furniture in their living room.
    Mac carefully inspected both sides. “You may have something here, my friend.”
    “What is it?”
    “A Zippo. An old one, too.”
    “That’s good?” When God gave out genes for antiques, he skipped me, an oversight for which I am grateful. Otherwise, there’d be nothing but collectibles in my house too.
    He nodded. “They started making these things in the Thirties, I think. Gave them to GIs during the war. People have huge collections of them.” He snapped it open and twirled the wheel. Sparks flew. “Man. Sixty years, and it sparks on the first try. They made things right back then.”
    “You think it’s worth something?”
    “I don’t know, but I could find out. Interested?” I shrugged. “How much?”
    “A few hundred, maybe.”
    “I was thinking of giving it to my father.”
    “Nice gift.” He smiled. “Tell you