All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery by Scott Dennis Parker Page A

prayed that the door wouldn’t
squeak. Carefully, I opened the door keeping my eyes peeled for anything.
Through the sliver of space, I could see only the interior of Danielle’s room.
I opened the door wider and saw the back of a figure hunched over a desk. I
opened the door the rest of the way. Without another thought, I threw the door
wide. It slammed into the wall.
    The person hunched over the desk uttered a short gasp and dropped
the sheaf of papers. She turned around and then gaped at me, open mouthed.
    “Hello, Danielle. Going somewhere?”
    She put a hand over her chest, trying to calm her breathing. “Mr.
Wade, you scared me.”
    “Was it me that scared you or the fact that I wasn’t someone else?”
    She tried for a smile but it faltered on delivery. “Both,
really.”
    “You were expecting Marlowe? What are y’all planning? A getaway?”
    “Well,” she stammered.
    “Don’t bother. Let me ask you a question: if you were in on it,
how did you expect to get the real diamond?”
    For the first time since I had met her, Danielle Bowie’s
countenance changed. Gone was the sheepish, slightly flustered girl. In her
place was a steely-eyed woman. “Because you were going to bring it to me.”
    I paused, pondering the meaning of her words. “How do you mean?”
    “You found the diamond last night.” A knowing smile crept into
her features. “I’m just glad it was you and not me digging through all the
chicken shit to find it.”
    Not fully seeing the thread, I decided to bluff. “I don’t have
the diamond. I think you’re mistaken.”
    “Oh, I know you have it, Mr. Wade. You had it with you when you
went to meet Teague an hour ago. You tapped your coat pocket. That’s all I
needed to know. The only thing left is for you to give it to me.”
    I cracked a smile. “Even if I did have it, how do you think
you’ll make me give it to you?”
    She reached over to the writing desk. From under a book, she
pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. “Because I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”
    Having guns pointed at me was becoming a common occurrence as a
PI, much more so than when I was a cop. I made my smile widen.
    Danielle frowned. “Why are you smiling? I’m willing to shoot you
to get the diamond.”
    “I still have an ace up my sleeve.” Over my shoulder, I said.
“Now.”
    Martha Weber came into Danielle’s apartment. In her two-handed
grip, she held her own revolver aimed squarely at Danielle.
    “You always this cavalier with your life, Mr. Wade?” Martha
asked.
    “Not usually. I just needed Danielle here to confirm she’s in on
the heist.” I tilted my head at Danielle. “Thanks, by the way.” I walked over
to Danielle and took the gun from her. I opened the cylinder and dropped all
the bullets into my palm. I put the bullets in my pocket and tossed the gun
across the room. “Have a seat.”
    Danielle, wary of Martha’s gun which was trained on her, moved
over to her couch and sat. “May I light a cigarette?”
    “No.” I walked over to her and shook out one of my own. I offered
it to her and lit it.
    “You have trust issues, Mr. Wade,” Danielle said.
    “I do.” I motioned to Martha to pull a chair over and set near
Danielle. She complied. Looking around the room, I found Danielle’s purse. I
brought it over and sat across from her. “Let’s see what we have in here that
says 1:10 p.m.”
    I rifled through her purse. The usual assortment of female items.
Tucked deep into the bottom was an envelope. I opened it and pulled out three
train tickets, all for a coach seat on the 1:10 p.m. train out of Houston at
Grand Central Station.
    Three? What had I missed?
    “Who’s the third ticket for?” I said. “You and Marlowe, I get.
Who’s the third?”
    It was her turn to smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
    I read the names on the tickets. Preston Marlowe, Danielle Bowie
and…
    “Amos Peete?” I stared at her in astonishment. “You know Amos
Peete?”
    Danielle smiled at me