Scam (Stanley Hastings Mystery Book 12)

Scam (Stanley Hastings Mystery Book 12)

Parnell Hall

Language: English

Pages: 463


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Stanley Hastings client is lying to him. But that's a mere annoyance. The crooked cop framing him for three murders is a problem.

“What Mr. Hall does to the private-eye formula is very funny, but it is not frivolous. His puzzles, for all their manic nonsense, are fiendish constructions of sound logic.”
—Marilyn Stasio, New York Times Book Review

“As usual, Hall, like Rumplestiltskin, takes slender material that would serve another writer for a middling short story and spins a gossamer web of riddles by turns puzzling, suspenseful, and hilarious.”

“Hall weaves a tale worth of a Golden Age writer, with as many puzzles in one book as one is likely to find in four or five modern mysteries.”
—Deadly Pleasures

“Fiendishly funny … Smart dialogue, clever plotting, and a perfectly executed reverse scam by Hastings result in sparkling entertainment.”
—Publishers Weekly

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office. He slammed the door, then wheeled around and towered over me. The color had returned to his cheeks. Now they were progressing toward red. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Trying to help you.” “Help me? What, are you nuts? Help me?” “You hired me to do a job. I’m trying to do it.” “I hired you to find the girl. That’s what you should be doing. I told you not to come here.” “Yes, you did.” “And you came here anyway. Which was the last thing I wanted. And

think no one’s gonna notice she’s talking to someone six foot six?” “Hell.” “Well, that’s the situation. So far I’ve only talked to the bartender. I could go back during happy hour, work some line, start asking customers. But if you think I can describe the girl and leave you out of it, you must be dreaming.” He frowned, thought that over. “If you don’t want me to do that,” I said, “there’s nothing I can do. Now, I put in two hours already, one last night and one the day before. That’s a

you?” “Huh?” “Suppose I need to reach you during business hours.” “Why would you?” “I don’t know. But if I did.” I took out one of Richard Rosenberg’s business cards. “This is the attorney I work for. The switchboard can always reach me.” “You going to work now?” “That’s right.” “When do you get off?” “In the afternoon.” “When?” “Depends on what cases come in. Some days I’m off by two, some days I work till six.” “What about today?” “So far I just got the one case. I should knock it

up anything that seems promising. I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning to get your report.” “Suppose I’m sitting on a stakeout?” “Good point. If you’re not here, I’ll call the number you gave me. You say they can reach you?” “Yeah. I have a beeper. They can page me.” “Fine. That’s what I’ll do.” I frowned. Put up my hand. “Mr. Pritchert. This is all well and good. But I have to tell you, the whole thing’s a long shot. My professional opinion is, I’ll spend two hours in the bar, learn nothing

Belcher found out?” “Of course.” “Then let’s not tell him.” MacAullif scowled. “What a wiseass. God save me from a wiseass.” “Uh-huh,” I said. “Any time you’re ready.” “Huh?” “Any time you’d like to stop beating me up and look at what we got.” “You got jack shit.” “Come on. I know the girl wanted me to find her. And I know she drugged the guy’s drink to steal his keys.” “You just think you know that.” “What do you mean?” “Are you never gonna think like a cop? Just ’cause someone tells

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