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    The Fall Guy
    The Fall Guy
    The Fall Guy
    Ebook75 pages1 hour

    The Fall Guy

    By Barbara Fradkin

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    About this ebook

    Handyman Cedric O'Toole likes his simple life. He lives by himself on a hardscrabble farm, collecting sheds full of junk and dreaming of his next invention. Then one day a slick city lawyer drives down his lane and his nightmare begins. Lori-Anne Wilkins, the wife of a wealthy local businessman, has fallen to her death from a deck Cedric built, and the furious widower has slapped him with a lawsuit. When Cedric goes to check out the accident site, he discovers that someone has tampered with the railing around the deck. It appears he's been set up to take the blame. But who might want Mrs. Wilkins dead? Then, when someone runs him off the road, he realizes that his life is in danger too. To clear his name and save his life, Cedric has to use his inventive mind to trap the real killer.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateApr 1, 2011
    ISBN9781554698370
    The Fall Guy
    Author

    Barbara Fradkin

    Barbara Fradkin is a retired psychologist and the critically acclaimed author of the Amanda Doucette thriller series and the Inspector Green detective series, which has earned two Best Novel Awards of Excellence from Crime Writers of Canada, as well as two additional nominations. Barbara shares her time between her home in Ottawa and her cottage on Sharbot Lake in Ontario.

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      Book preview

      The Fall Guy - Barbara Fradkin

      GUY

      THE

      FALL GUY

      BARBARA FRADKIN

      RAVEN BOOKS

      an imprint of

      ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

      Copyright © 2011 Barbara Fradkin

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

      Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

      Fradkin, Barbara Fraser, 1947-

      The fall guy / Barbara Fradkin.

       (Rapid reads)

      Issued also in electronic formats.

      ISBN 978-1-55469-835-6

      I. Title. II. Series: Rapid reads

      PS8561.R233F34 2011           C813'.6           C2010-908113-7

      First published in the United States, 2011

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942252

      Summary: Handyman Cedric O’Toole is set up to take the fall for a murder he didn’t commit. He’ll need all his inventive power to save himself. (RL 4.0)

      Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed

      this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.

      Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

      Design by Teresa Bubela

      Cover photography by Getty Images

      www.orcabook.com

      Printed and bound in Canada.

      14 13 12 11 • 4 3 2 1

      To Leslie, Dana and Jeremy

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      Titles in the Series

      CHAPTER ONE

      The first hint of trouble was when I saw the big black Buick roaring down my lane. I didn’t recognize the car. But the way the guy drove, he was either showing off or too stupid to realize he’d blow his shocks in six months. Too late, he slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop in a spray of gravel, flattening my front gate. It was an old gate, hanging by a piece of chicken wire, but still…

      A few choice swear words came to my mind but died when the guy unfolded himself from the car. Six foot and easily two-fifty. Beer gut and a couple of extra chins, but I doubted that would slow him down much.

      He wiped the dust off his bumper and inspected it. That seemed to take forever, as if he was daring me to start something. I didn’t, even though I could feel my blood beginning to boil.

      Finally he shrugged, reached into his front seat and took out an envelope.

      Are you Cedric Elvis O’Toole?

      I should have just said yes, but I didn’t like his tone. Besides, I hadn’t been called that in so long I’d almost forgotten it was my real name. What can I say? My mother had always expected Elvis to sweep in and marry her, but he died the day I was born. When she got over her shock, she decided Cedric would make a better name for a doctor anyway. When you’re from a scrubby backcountry farm, who was going to set you straight?

      I’ve been calling myself Rick ever since Barry Mitchell laughed out loud at roll call the first day of kindergarten.

      Who’s asking? I said instead.

      Jonathan Miller from Hopper, James and Elliston, Attorneys at Law.

      That was my second hint of trouble. There’s only one law firm in the township, and Hopper and his pals aren’t it. But before I could even reply, he slapped the fat brown envelope in my hand.

      Consider yourself served.

      With what?

      A summons to appear in court.

      I let the envelope fall to the ground. A million thoughts raced through my head. Had the tax guys finally caught me? I’m just a simple handyman trying to give myself and my customers a break on the occasional job. Not the big ones that require permits or guarantees, just the little fix-its like painting the shed or repairing the chain saw. I need that couple of bucks way more than the tax man does.

      What for?

      Mr. Fancy Car smirked. The guy had no class. Take away the blue suit and the skinny tie, and he was just a goon. My job is to deliver it, not read it.

      He was standing there, hands in his pockets, like he was waiting for some answer. I bent down and dusted the thing off. It felt thick enough to hold down a tarp in a gale. I started to sweat. Legal documents—in fact, just about any document—made me sweat. But I tried to look cool as I tore open the flap and pulled out a stack of papers. They looked very official, like the ones I got for this piece of scrub when my mother died. She called it a farm, but no one had been able to grow anything on it except weeds for years.

      I could see the guy looking around, taking in the scrap

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