Read Board Stiff (An Elliott Lisbon Mystery) for Free Online

helmets on their heads, trekking across the savannas, aiding small villages and tiny children. I missed the Ballantynes. They’d been gone nearly a month this time.
    “About Jane,” Mr. Ballantyne continued. “I’m going to need your help sorting things out with the police.”
    “How can you possibly know about Jane? I heard not ten minutes ago.”
    “The chief phoned me this morning, and I’ve just hung up with Jane. She assures me she has nothing to do with Leo’s murder, nothing at all, Elli, and I believe her. I need you on this one; I’m counting on your expertise. You’ve helped many a donor out of a pickle before, you can do it again!”
    “But Mr. Ballantyne, this is a murder. I’m afraid I don’t have much expertise with those.” As I protested, my mind raced. I grabbed my notebook and started listing questions from yesterday’s excursion to Leo’s house: Why the mess? Where was Bebe? 
    “You can do it, my girl! Clear your plate. This is your top priority, your top priority, Elli. We owe Leo and we owe our Jane. I know you won’t disappoint me!”
    I scribbled as we spoke: Police suspect Jane. Why? “I suppose I could poke around a bit. I don’t have any other inquiries at the moment.” How much harder could this be? A stolen golf cart, a missing brooch, a man shoved into a clock…My heart sank a bit as I thought of Leo. He definitely deserved better. 
    “Oh, yes, just one more inquiry. Zibby Archibald has a small peccadillo. It’s a petite problem, really, but it’s upsetting her deeply. She’s Vivi’s cousin, adores her like a baby with a kitten. After you patch up Zibby, keep your full attention on Jane. We’re off to bed, my dear. Tomorrow the Keladevi Sanctuary.”
    “Goodnight, Mr. Ballantyne,” I said, but he was already gone.
    “I hope you weren’t talking about poking around my investigation,” Ransom said from the doorway.
    I slapped my notebook closed. “What happened to waiting out front?”
    “I’m not the type of man who waits.” He slipped into the chair facing my desk. He crossed his legs, resting an ankle on his knee.
    I tucked my notebook in a bottom drawer, then sat straight behind the roses on my desk. A lovely barrier between me and the pushy Nick Ransom. I squirted some hand-sanitizer into my palm and rubbed my hands together while I contemplated my options. Throw him out or hear him out? Or both? Hear him out, and then throw him out.
    “That’s quite an industrial-sized bottle you have there.” He nodded at the big plastic pump filled with green gel. “Is that in case the plague descends?”
    “You’re a funny man, Lieutenant. But what can I do for you?”
    He moved the flowers to the credenza in the corner. “First, you can stop calling me Lieutenant. It’s Nick. I like it when you call me Nick.”
    “What’s with the hot and cold? Saturday night you were all smiles,”–and hands, I thought to myself—“but Sunday you were downright dictatorial.”
    “Sunday you were a suspect.”
    “But not anymore?”
    “Your alibi checks.”
    I felt my jaw start to clench. “I didn’t give you one to check.”
    “Hotshot investigator, remember? I’m that good.”
    I played with the clicker on my pen, studying Ransom while he studied me. Click-click, click-click. He was strong and smart. But then, so was I. He probably had lots of experience investigating murders and shooting guns. I worked with charities and rode a three-wheel bike. Damn. I needed his cooperation more than he needed mine. 
    “So, Ransom, this is your meeting,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
    “Tell me about your Ballantyne Foundation.”
    “How about we talk outside?” I rose from my desk, carefully avoiding brushing against him as I walked past. “By the way, the flower vase you moved? The gardener delivered it this morning. He has a nasty cold. Going on two weeks. It’s not the plague, of course, but no way I’d touch it.”
    I thought I heard the distinctive