The Catcher in the Eye (America's Next Top Assistant Mystery Book 1)

The Catcher in the Eye (America's Next Top Assistant Mystery Book 1) by Lotta Smith Page B

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Authors: Lotta Smith
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proposition, with a twitch of a cheek hinting a not-so-well-concealed
grin.

Chapter 8
     
    As I stepped inside the house, I
couldn’t help but flinching by the stench of blood. Dribbles of blood in the
foyer were telling the horrific nature of the crime that had taken place.
    Henderson came up
to us and said, “You’re early, I’m sure you broke a traffic law or two.”
    “I didn’t know you
started a side job as a traffic cop.” Archangel raised one eyebrow.
    “Oh yeah, every
now and then when I feel like enforcing traffics.” Henderson shrugged, with a
tight little smirk on his face.
    “That’s not funny.
Same ol’, same ol’, smartass,” A woman in a white Chanel suit emerged and
snorted like Queen Victoria. I had almost expected her to say, “I’m not amused.”
    “Ouch, that hurt.
Really hurt. I’m so crashed.” Archangel cocked his head. “Then again, has it
ever occurred to you that I might have had no intention of entertaining you
when I made one of the same ol’ smartass remarks?”
    For just a little
moment, a flash of emotion flickered over her gaze. It seemed like a mixture of
anger, frustration, irritation, and something that resembled a passion. And maybe,
a very subtle sadness. Throw in some blushing on her well-sculpted cheeks,
which added a certain level of warmth to the edgy, femme fatale-esque cool
beauty.
    She was beautiful.
Tall, slender and supermodel-esque figure. Only that she looked more feminine. Delicate,
heart shaped face with high cheekbones like Keira Knightley. Icy blue eyes
sparkling with aggressive liveliness. Add shiny platinum blond hair in a tight
ponytail ‘do. Perhaps, drop-dead gorgeous was the most accurate words to
describe the woman standing in front of us.
    “Ha.” She snorted.
“Has it ever occurred to you that you can’t waste taxpayers’ dollars by just
hanging around crime scenes without solving murders?”
    “Now you’re
talking like a member of the House of the Representatives. Very impressive.”
Archangel countered. “Then again, considering you’ve got spare time hanging
around a crime scene which is completely out of your jurisdiction, the business
in the Capitol Hill must be pretty slow, I guess? So, how have you been, Patricia?
Or, should I call you Ms. Congresswoman? Or should I say Ms. Congressperson
instead, to be politically correct?”
    “Stop insulting me
and Congress, and shut up, Archangel.” Patricia snapped. “I’m here to support
solving the crime with my expertise.” Then she added, “I am here to fully
utilize the taxpayers’ money. Unlike you, I’m making an effort.”
    “Very funny.” Archangel
chuckled, but I sensed an irritation. And a sign of a trouble.
    Always a
supportive assistant, I cleared my throat.
    “Who’s there?” Patricia
the cool beauty, now sounding more like Bitchtricia , gave me a short glance.
Before I could introduce myself, she said. “Oh, now I remember. She’s the assistant,
whatshername. Mary, I guess? Excuse me, but you’re whimsical or what, Archangel?
Hiring not just an unskilled assistant but a former go-go dancer? Though, she
doesn’t look like one of those go-go dancer type girls, if I may say so.” And
she chuckled a bitchy cackle.
    Oh-la-la, now I’m
determined to call you Bitchtricia, I thought. And I didn’t
feel guilty for calling her Bitchtricia.
    “When are you
from?” I said.
    “I’m a
representative of Virginia, but originally from New York,” she shrugged. “You’re
supposed to say ‘Where are you from?’ in English.” She corrected me as
if I was a toddler, or a foreigner from Godforsaken out of nowhere with a poor
command of English.
    “I get your point,
but that doesn’t apply in this case,” I shrugged back. “Because I was asking when you came from, using when as in during which time . Then
again, that might have been unnecessary. Assuming from your vast knowledge of
go-go dancers, perhaps you’re from circa 1960s. Albeit I’m not very familiar

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