CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
My cohorts in crime soared pell-mell down the stairs as I was about to wend my cautious way up. I swear their feet didn’t touch the ground, but we did … when we toppled onto the patterned silk carpet like twister-propelled saplings.
“Oof.”
“Ouch.”
“Dang.”
Disentangling ourselves, we struggled upright and nearly toppled again.
“He’s up there!” Rey said breathlessly, gesturing dramatically.
“Slim?” I rubbed a sore elbow.
“Luc E Mei!”
“What!”
Rey retrieved the g*n and mini flashlight from the floor. “He’s wrapped in cellophane, like one of Aunt Gertrude’s lunch-time, cottage-deck baloney and sauerkraut sandwiches! He’s in a fancy-shmancy high-back executive chair, and there’s blood oozing along the chest—”
“Courtesy of Slim’s handy-dandy roulette,” Linda interjec
