Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) by Cindy Sample

the local stories I’d learned in grammar school.
    I chuckled at the sketch of Charley Parkhurst, one of my favorite characters. He was a Wells Fargo stagecoach driver by day, but he had a reputation as the toughest, most alcohol-swilling gambler at night. Old Charley set all the stagecoach speed records back in the 1860s and even foiled a stagecoach robbery. Not until a doctor showed up at his deathbed did people learn Charley was a woman.
    Way to go, Charley!
    Gran and her friends seemed exhilarated by the opportunity to research the 150-year-old murder, so I kissed her soft wrinkled cheek and drove back into town. A few blocks from Main Street, the traffic on Highway 50 came to a sudden halt. I slammed on my brakes and barely missed smashing into the oversized Tahoe in front of me that blocked my view. To avoid the vehicle backup, I turned right on Pacific Avenue and parked along the street in a residential area. Parking in Placerville can be a hassle during certain events like Third Saturday Art Walk and Girls Night Out, but a traffic jam in the middle of the week seemed odd.
    By now, a line of cars and trucks were bumper to bumper on California Highway 49, the primary north and south thoroughfare through Placerville and the gold country. I scurried down the sidewalk, curious to know what event had attracted this lunchtime crowd.
    As I drew near the Hangtown Hotel, two men shepherding huge video cameras stepped in front of me. I scooted around them wondering how I would enter the bank with such a large crowd obstructing the entrance. Not until I laid eyes on the KNBA logo embellished on a white van did it click. The media had arrived.
    My boyfriend, dressed in his official uniform of khaki shirt and forest green trousers, conversed with a female newscaster against a backdrop of bright yellow tape. Tom frowned and ran a hand through his thick chestnut hair as the short-skirted, stiletto-heeled reporter prattled nonstop.
    Vehicles crawled down Main Street as their distracted drivers and passengers used their camera phones to take pictures of the partially reconstructed hotel covered with crime scene tape. I had a feeling this would not be a case of any publicity is good publicity. The City of Placerville and the County Chamber of Commerce take a great deal of pride in their community. A tremendous amount of time and labor went into planning the annual Wagon Train festivities. It would be a crime if this crime eclipsed the historic event.
    I sidled closer, curious if Tom or the detectives he’d assigned to the case were announcing an arrest. Leila Hansen, a reporter for KNBA, placed the mike inches from her plump collagen-filled lips. She gazed into the cameras, her sultry expression more appropriate to the bedroom than the sidewalk.
    “I’m here in Placerville with Lieutenant Hunter of the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department,” she greeted her television audience. She swiveled her left hip to the side and addressed Tom. “Detective Hunter, what progress have you made on the grisly murder that occurred at this site yesterday?”
    Tom leaned over and spoke firmly into the microphone. “I’m afraid it’s still far too soon in the investigation, but we’re examining all evidence from the crime scene as well as interviewing different sources.”
    “Is there any way this murder could be connected to the victim’s political campaign?”
    “I can’t comment on that,” he said.
    “Darius Spencer was a respected leader in the Placerville business community,” she said. “How much of a priority is this murder for your department?”
    A flicker of annoyance crossed Tom’s tanned face, but he maintained a neutral expression. “Homicide is always a priority for our department. We are using all of our resources to solve this crime as quickly as possible. If you’ll excuse me, I have nothing further to say.”
    Tom attempted to bypass Leila, but she wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to out scoop the other