One O'Clock Hustle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 1) by Joanne Pence

Bishop had purchased more than twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of upscale clothes, shoes and handbags. Each month she paid off the entire prior month's bill.
    Just then, Lieutenant James Philip Eastwood, chief of the Homicide Bureau, marched into the room. He did not appear happy.
    She found herself pinned back in her chair as Eastwood loomed over her. His anger about Amalfi's escape was bad enough, but his fury at not having been told about the escape and only learning of it after some reporters started questioning him, had sent him over the top. As he ranted, his face turned several shades of purple.
    Apparently, the Chronicle had reported that a suspect had been placed under arrest on Saturday night, but when none showed up at City Jail, the press wanted to know why. Eastwood and the public relations officer, an officious woman named Isabel Hernandez-Kramer, who Eastwood hated even more than he did reporters, had to meet with them to explain.
    Somehow, Eastwood managed to keep from the press the fact that the suspect had been let go “involuntarily.” He claimed the man was merely questioned and released.
    Finally, Eastwood stormed off making not-so-veiled threats about Rebecca's job if anything like that ever happened again under her watch.
    She decided the best thing to do was to make herself scarce. She drove to the address on Bishop's Macy's account.
    It was an apartment building in the Marina district, a location of upper-middle to upper class homes.
    Rebecca introduced herself to the manager and owner. “I have a few questions about Meaghan Bishop.”
    “What for? Did you say you're in Homicide?” Mary Del Monico was middle-aged, overweight, walked with a limp, and had one clouded, possibly blind eye.
    “As I said, I have some questions. How long did Ms. Bishop live here?” Rebecca asked. She had her game face on—no explanations, no reactions.
    “Why do you say 'did'? Oh, my! She lives, uh, lived here six, seven months now.”
    “Did she live alone?”
    “She better! That's how I rented the apartment. No sub-leases or anything allowed.”
    “When did you last see her?”
    “Some time last week, I'd say. What happened to her?” At Rebecca's stare, Del Monico answered the question. “She stuck to herself pretty much, not a friendly person.” She folded her arms.
    “Did you ever notice any particular friends or family who came to visit her?”
    Del Monico wrinkled her mouth. “I don't spy on my tenants.”
    “Maybe you happened to see someone—perhaps someone who helped her move in?”
    Del Monico gave a heavy sigh. “Let me think. I remember one fellow. He was here a few times.”
    “Can you describe him?”
    “I don't see so hot.”
    “Hair color? Build? Anything?”
    “Black hair, maybe.”
    Rebecca felt her stomach drop. “Is he about my height? Broad shoulders?” She swallowed. “Kind of good-looking?”
    “Hmm,” she thought about it, then shrugged. “I don't think so, but I don't know. For all I know, I might have been looking at the garbage man.”
    “Well, if you remember anything more, will you call me immediately?” She handed the landlady her card.
    Del Monico held it close to her eye. “I guess I could do that.”
    “I'm sorry to say, Meaghan Bishop was murdered. I'm conducting an investigation to find her killer.”
    The landlady's eyes widened. “Murdered? When?”
    “Saturday night.”
    “My goodness.” She pressed her hand to her mouth a moment. “I guess that means I'll have to clean out her apartment myself. I don't know if she has any relatives.”
    “You can't touch it until our investigation is completed,” Rebecca said. “Something in it might lead to her killer.”
    “I can't touch it? Are you kidding me? How long's that going to take?” Del Monico asked.
    “I don't know.”
    “But I have to rent it out! I need my rents to live on.”
    “We'll release it as soon as possible. I'd like to see the apartment now,” Rebecca said.
    Del Monico's small