Read Sizzle for Free Online Page A

on the sharp edge of his desk.
    Mr. Merriam was impressed with the report, and frankly, so was Milo. How Delmar had actually met his demise was vastly different from the version Milo had concocted and then decided to believe.
    Marshall Delmar lived in an overstuffed, Spanish-style house in the pretentious neighborhood known as Vista Del Pacifico. If one stood on the tiled roof of the two-story house and squinted into the sun, one might get a glimpse of the ocean on a cloudless day, which was why the home was considered ocean view and, therefore, cost millions of dollars.
    Getting inside the house turned out to be surprisingly easy. Delmar was hosting a large dinner party that evening, and servants were coming and going through the kitchen entrance assisting the caterers with their trays and glassware.
    Milo had done his preliminary surveillance. He knew all about the party and which catering company Delmar had hired. The staff were required to wear black pants, long-sleeved black shirts buttoned to the neck, and black shoes. Milo dressed accordingly and was able to walk in unnoticed carrying a silver tray he had lifted from the back of the caterer’s van. It was a hot summer night and no one was wearing a wrap or a coat, so he hid in the coat closet just off the foyer and patiently waited until the house had quieted down, and Delmar, a confirmed bachelor, was alone.
    It was after one o’clock in the morning when Delmar turned the lights off, locked the front door, and crossed the foyer to his library.
    Milo continued to wait, his hope that Delmar would retreat to his bedroom and go to sleep. Milo would use a pillow to suffocate him, and if Delmar didn’t struggle, he was certain he could make it look like the man died in his sleep.
    But Delmar was screwing up the plan. He didn’t appear to be going to bed anytime soon.
    Milo couldn’t wait any longer. Perhaps Delmar had fallen asleep at his desk. Milo silently opened the closet door and crept across the foyer to look. Slipping on a black mask he’d stolen off a Zorro mannequin at a costume shop, he peeked inside and saw Delmar sitting at his desk, pen in hand, flipping through what appeared to be legal documents.
    The library was in shadows. The lamp on the desk cast only a narrow light over the papers. The air-conditioning was running full blast, making the room frigid, but Delmar, Milo noticed, was sweating profusely. He panted as though he’d just run a couple of miles, which was kind of funny since Delmar was a good hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred, pounds overweight. Milo didn’t have any trouble sneaking inside without being noticed. He pressed against the wall hidden in darkness. Standing motionless for several seconds, he took shallow breaths as he thought about his contingency plan.
    Then he remembered he didn’t have a contingency plan. Stupid, stupid, he berated himself. Now what was he going to do? He didn’t have a gun with him because he was supposed to make the murder look like an accident, and a bullet hole would be a dead giveaway.
    He chewed on his lower lip while he tried to think of a clever way to do the man in.
    Suddenly Delmar dropped his pen and began to rub his left arm. He groaned loudly.
    Hit him. That’s it. That’s what Milo could do. He would hit him in the head and make it look like he killed himself falling into the stone fireplace.

    Feeling much more in control now that he had formulated a plan of action, Milo stepped forward, but then he realized he didn’t have anything to whack the man with. He should have thought of that, he chided himself as he frantically looked around for a weapon to use.
    He backed up slowly and once again pressed against the wall out of Delmar’s line of vision.
    No heavy candlestick or bookend … nothing. There wasn’t even a poker from the fireplace he could use.
    In a panic now, he edged his way back to the foyer. Maybe he could fetch a heavy utensil from the kitchen. In his haste to retreat, he