Authors: Rose Pressey
Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - TV Investigative Reporter - New Orleans
|Rose Pressey - Chase Charley 02 - Seems Like Old Crimes|
|Number II of|
|Rose Pressey (2015)|
|Tags:||Mystery: Cozy - TV Investigative Reporter - New Orleans|
|Mystery: Cozy - TV Investigative Reporter - New Orleansttt|
Seems Like Old Crimes
"Rose Pressey’s book are fun!” Janet Evanovich
Praise for Me and My Ghoulfriends by Rose Pressey
“Rose Pressey spins a delightful tale with misfits and romance that makes me cheer loudly.”
Coffee Time Romance
“Her characters are alive and full of quick witted charm and will make you laugh. The plot twists keep you turning the pages non-stop.”
“I absolutely loved this book! It had me chuckling from the beginning.”
Fallen Angel Reviews
Rose Pressey’s Complete Bookshelf (click title to preview/buy)
Chase Charley Series:
For Old Crimes Sake
Book 2: Seems Like Old Crimes
Haunted Vintage Series
Book 1 – If You’ve Got It, Haunt It
Book 2 – All Dressed Up and No Place to Haunt (July 2015)
Book 3 – Haunt Couture and Ghosts Galore (October 2015)
Maggie, P.I. Mystery Series:
Book 1 –
Book 2 –
Murder is a Beach
The Halloween LaVeau Series:
Book 1 –
Book 2 –
Book 3 –
Third Time’s a Charm
The Hadley Wilds Series:
Book 3 — Coming 2015
The Veronica Mason Series:
Book 1 –
Rock ‘n’ Roll is Undead
A Trash to Treasure Crafting Mystery:
Book 1 –
Murder at Honeysuckle Hotel
Book 2 – Honeysuckle Homicide
hts reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, places, and brands are the product of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This is to you and you know who you are.
To my son, who brings me joy every single day and is the love of my life. To my mother, who introduced me to the love of books. To my husband, who encourages me and always has faith in me. A huge thank you to my editor, Eleanor Boyall. And to the readers who make writing fun.
I’d gotten word that something big was going down over on Royal Street behind one of the jazz clubs, so of course I slipped into my new white canvas tennis shoes and headed in that direction. A mysterious phone call had directed me where to go. The caller’s voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
Rain had drenched the area earlier in the evening, leaving puddles to maneuver around. I weaved around a crowd of tourists and finally made it the three blocks from my place to the club. Anxiety flooded my stomach as I approached the building. I had no idea what I was about to see.
Red and blue lights flooded the area and police swarmed the scene. Yellow crime scene tape marked off the area.
A slight breeze blew my hair as I stood at the back entrance of Jack’s Jazz Club. Normally there would be people walking up and down the sidewalk, but now it was blocked by the tape. Law enforcement were the only people back there. Apart from the body on the pavement.
Unbelievable. I’d just wrapped up one case and now I was on the scene of another death. I didn’t want to be a part of this one too.
Police had covered the body with a white sheet. I had no idea of the victim’s identity. That anonymous call telling me to check out the scene hadn’t provided any further details.
Officers moved back and forth. Occasionally someone would lift up the sheet and take a peek underneath. A photographer had just arrived. Luckily, I was able to blend in with the crowd. Still I had no idea why someone wanted me there.
As I stood there wondering what had happened, I spotted Marc Marquez. He was an officer with the New Orleans Police Department. I’d recently met him on a traffic stop when I’d been pulled over for a busted taillight. Something I had been completely innocent of, by the way. The rogue cop had smashed the back of my car in order to have an excuse to stop me. So far he hadn’t spotted me. I knew he would wonder why I was there. What would I tell him when I didn’t even know myself?
I still couldn’t figure out who had called me and why. What did a crime scene have to do with me? Was it because I was an investigative reporter? Helping consumers was a lot different from a death investigation.
My name is Chase Charley. I work for the local station WDSO-TV as their troubleshooter. Troubleshooter for the Big Easy is my title. Mostly I work cases that involve businesses cheating customers and that sort of thing. I couldn’t see how this would have anything to do with that.
My cell rang and I pulled it from my vintage 80s Gucci handbag. I was into the whole eighties retro thing, but I didn’t carry around one of those big block cell phones. Same went for the neon colors and leg warmers.
“Chase Charley,” I said into the phone.
“Charley, where are you?” my boss Oscar Reynolds huffed.
He sounded like he was trying to escape a burning building or maybe a serial killer was after him, but then again, he always sounded as if things were a lot worse than they really were. He acted as if the world had ended if I brought him the wrong coffee.
“I’m at this jazz club. Why? Is the office on fire? Did someone bring you the wrong sandwich?” I asked.
“This is no time for your childish quips. You are in big trouble.”
“I filmed that segment earlier today. I told you it would be in on time.” I stopped talking and nodded at a woman as she walked by. She probably thought I’d been yelling at her.
“Why did you go to Jack’s Jazz Club?” Oscar asked. “Did someone call you?”
I looked at the phone as if I could see him. Thank goodness he hadn’t figured out the Facetime feature on his iPhone. “How did you know?”
“I got a call from the detective on the scene. He is looking for you right now. I don’t know what you did this time, but it’s serious. Charley, if you killed someone, this is not good for your career.”
I knew by his tone that he was completely serious. “Oscar, are you serious? Of course I didn’t kill someone. Why would you even say that? And why did they call you?”
“Apparently they found some dead guy there behind the club and your name and number was written on a piece of paper in his hand.”
The phone almost slipped from my hand. “Why would he have my name? Who is he?”
“That I do not know.” Oscar sighed. “Listen, do you need a lawyer?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong. If they think I killed him they are way off.”
“Well, they didn’t say that, but being questioned about a homicide can’t be a good thing.”
He was telling me. I didn’t know what to do. Should I find a cop and answer their questions? When I scanned the scene, I spotted someone in the distance. The last person I wanted to see right now.
“Oscar, I’ll have to call you back.”
“Charley, don’t hang up on me.”
I clicked off the phone. Bill Dangerfield, my rival investigative reporter, had focused intently on me. He weaved through the crowd and made his way over to me. Dangerfield had this sexual appeal that made it hard to look away from his gorgeous face, and don’t get me started on his well-made physique.
“What are you doing here?” I asked when he neared.
He flashed that dazzling smile that had captured him a wide television audience. “What are
doing here?” He took in my appearance.
I focused back on the crime scene. It was better than looking directly at Dangerfield. “To be honest, I have no idea.”
“Did you get a phone call too?” Dangerfield asked.
I whipped around to look at him again. “Yes, I did. What did they tell you?”
“Just that I should come down here.” He eyed me up and down. “You seem nervous tonight. What’s going on, Charley?”
I ran my hand through my hair. “My boss just called me. Apparently the police phoned him looking for me.”
His eyes widened. “Why are they looking for you?”
I stepped closer to him. “The dead guy had my name on a piece of paper in his hand.”
Dangerfield grabbed my arm. “We should get out of here.”
I pulled my arm back. “Don’t you think I should talk to the police first?”
He reached out for me again. “No, I don’t. Not until you get a lawyer.”
“What is wrong with you all? I didn’t do anything to this man.”
He tapped his finger against this chin. “Maybe the police won’t see it that way.”
Glancing over Dangerfield’s shoulder, I spotted Marc Marquez. His stare was focused squarely on me. Maybe I should have gotten out of there when I had the chance. It was too late now. Marc crossed the alleyway and headed toward me.
Marc and I had been out a couple times. With thick dark hair, chiseled features, and big brown eyes, he looked as if he should be on the cover of a magazine instead of working a homicide case. Marc wore his usual black New Orleans Police Department uniform. I wondered how many identical uniforms he had in his closet. Why was I worried about his wardrobe at a time like this? Lack of sleep was beginning to get the better of me.
“Good evening, Chase,” Marc said.
Dangerfield turned to glare at Marc. Marc nodded to him, as if he wasn’t concerned in the least by his penetrating stare.
“I guess you know what happened?” I said, breaking the silence.
Marc’s expression remained sympathetic, so that was a plus. “Do you know why this man would have your name and number? Plus a time that he was meeting you?”
The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Dangerfield looked from me to Marc like he was watching a tennis match.
“He was meeting me? I don’t know him, why would I meet him? What time was this so-called meeting?” I fought the urge to turn and bolt.
Just then another officer approached. Apparently now the other policemen knew I was at the scene. This could get scary quickly. Who was I kidding? It had already turned terrifying.
“Officer Marquez,” the middle-aged man said with a nod.
“This is Chase Charley.” Marc gestured toward me.
Couldn’t he have kept my identity under wraps? That wasn’t something I wanted to broadcast at the moment. Although as soon as people spotted me they would recognize me. My program was becoming increasingly popular. Plus, my photo was plastered on the bus stop across the street. I’d had an unfortunate hair day when that photo had been taken. Now it haunted me wherever I went.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, as if he were attending a tea party.
This detective looked as if he had a permanent frown. I bet he slept with it. Then again, maybe I had brought out that emotion in him. Why wouldn’t Dangerfield talk us out of this situation? That was one of his talents. Now more than ever I needed him to use that skill.
“Chase, this is Detective Craven,” Marc said.
Marc and the detective focused their attention on Dangerfield. I supposed they wanted an introduction.
“This is Bill Dangerfield with WSTU,” I said.
They acknowledged him briefly and then it was back to me.
“I just have a few questions for you,” Detective Craven said.
Dangerfield looked at me as if to say,
The detective eyed me up and down waiting for my answer. How could I say no? Especially when I had nothing to hide.
He had gray hair and an expanding waistline. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and he’d loosened his tie. I knew that meant this was serious business. Of course they wanted to know why the dead guy behind the restaurant had my name written on a card in his hand. And why it said that he was supposed to meet me last night. How was I supposed to know? I didn’t even know the dead guy. Surely this wasn’t enough to make me a suspect.
“Chase, do you have any idea why he had your name?” Marc asked, suddenly sounding super professional.
I blew the hair out of my eyes. “No clue.”
“He was murdered.”
The news that this was a homicide wasn’t much of a surprise. Nevertheless, it still felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. “I assumed he was murdered from the number of people around the body,” I said.
I was only an investigative reporter. It wasn’t my job to find out about murders. When I looked over toward the body, I saw that the coroner had arrived, ready to take the body away. “I’ve never seen him before. I just got here because my boss said someone called and told him what had happened.”
Why had I lied? If the police checked my phone records they would discover that I hadn’t received the call from my boss until after I was already here. Not a smart move.
“It doesn’t look good that you’re on the scene of the crime,” Detective Craven said.
No, it didn’t look good, but I was here now and there was nothing I could do to change that. I wondered if the person who called me had had me come to the scene on purpose. Was I being set up?
“Can I go now?” I asked.
“I suppose she can go, but we’ll need to ask her more questions later,” Detective Craven said to Marc.
What a nice guy, and I meant that in the most sarcastic way possible.
When the detective walked away, Marc pulled me to the side. “You really have no clue?”
I shook my head. “Never seen the man before and I don’t know the name either. I most certainly wasn’t meeting him last night.”
He watched me with his gorgeous dark eyes. “Okay, I’ll call you later. Just be careful.”
“Of course,” I said. If Marc thought I would tell him who the guy was then he was sadly mistaken.
Did Marc think I was lying to him? Allowing him to kiss me had probably been a mistake. Our relationship should be strictly business. From here on out I would keep it that way.
Dangerfield stepped closer. He shook his head. “Charley, Charley, what have you gotten into this time?”
“Dangerfield, don’t start with me tonight,” I warned.
He leaned against the brick building behind us. “I wouldn’t think of starting with you tonight. You have to admit this doesn’t look good for you.”
Avoiding eye contact with Dangerfield, I scrolled through the history on my phone for one more look at that mysterious number. “I bet the phone call isn’t the only reason you’re here. Did you come here tonight just to gloat over the fact that I’m in hot water?”
Maybe I was being too hard on Dangerfield. It was difficult to let my defenses down.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed his stare was intently focused on my face. “It seems you just can’t stay away from trouble.”
“Aren’t you the pot calling the kettle black? Anyway, the dead guy had my name in his hand. That is not something I planned on.”
“Aren’t you a bit curious why he had your name?”
I leaned against the brick wall beside Dangerfield. “A smidgen, yes. I suppose I need to do some research and find out who he is, right?”
“I would if I were you. Don’t think you have to agree with me though. I can’t force you to be right.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything just because you recommended it.”