He sounded awfully sure of himself.
I said, “But you know her brother, Brad Nelson.”
Something flickered in Drago's eyes. He exchanged a glance with the man standing in the doorway, and then looked back at me.
“I know Brad Nelson,” he said, steadily. “He is a business partner of mine.”
“You own a laundromat together,” I clarified.
Drago spread his arms out in front of himself in acknowledgment. “What does that have to do with this waitress?”
“Brad was Charlene's brother.”
Realization dawned on Drago's face. And then he laughed shortly. “So you think, because I'm business partners with the dead girl's brother, I had something to do with this girl's death?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Put like that, it seemed slightly ridiculous. I began, “I was just wondering…”
Drago held up a hand to stop me. “What time did this girl die?”
“Sunday, between seven PM and nine PM.”
Drago grinned at me, revealing gleaming white teeth. “I can set your mind at ease. On Sunday night, I was at dinner with my business associates at the Whoosh Steakhouse.”
He glanced at one of the men standing behind him. “Isn't that right, Vlad?”
Vlad nodded. His eyes were dead, and looked past me at some spot on the wall. “I was there with Drago.”
I looked back at Drago. “You were there the entire time?”
Drago smiled happily and leaned back in his seat. “Of course. Any crime that happens, I always have the perfect alibi.”
His words made me shudder. Of course his “business associates” would always vouch for his alibi—no wonder he could never be charged with anything.
I was at a slight loss for what to talk about next. He denied ever knowing Charlene, and he’d volunteered an airtight alibi all on his own. “Would you mind if we asked about you at Whoosh?”
“Not at all,” Drago said. His tone was warm and friendly, but his smile was chilly. “Be my guest. I am sure they will tell you I was there.”
“And you’re sure you've never met Brad’s sister? Did you ever hear him mention her?”
Drago looked at me seriously. “I do not attend all business meetings personally. I have only met Brad once—and he certainly never mentioned his sister at that time. Now, if we're done,” he stood up, “I have urgent business matters to attend to. Stone, as always, it’s been a pleasure.”
Stone and Drago shook hands, but the man didn't shake hands with Ian or me.
We all trooped downstairs, and I breathed a sigh of relief once the heavy front door closed behind us.
Stone said, “Even with my disguise, I don't want to be seen here right now. I’m taking off. You two headed to Whoosh?”
“Yes, do you think Drago will mind?”
Stone raised one eyebrow. “Didn’t you hear what he said? He's always got the perfect alibi whenever a crime takes place.”
“Does he own Whoosh?”
“Yes. But I'm sure Drago had nothing to do with this at all—if he'd been involved, he wouldn't have shaken my hand when saying goodbye. He would have been more annoyed by your poking around.”
“What we saw in there wasn't annoyance?”
Stone looked at me in amusement. “That was Drago being downright nice and friendly.”
Chapter 20
Ian and I headed over to Whoosh. The place turned out to be a cozy steakhouse with dark wood floors, well-spaced out tables, and private-looking booths. It was early evening, and the dinner rush hadn't started.
Security cameras blinked at us from the walls, but when I introduced myself and asked the manager if I could look at the surveillance tapes, he'd shaken his head and said that was privileged information.
Ian and I asked the wait staff if they remembered seeing Drago at dinner on Sunday; unsurprisingly, they all said yes. I wondered if they’d been told to say so, but the manager watched us and glowered the entire time, so nobody wanted to chat for too long.
Ian and I were just about to leave, when I peered into the kitchen, where I could see chefs making salads and other dishes.
My eyes met with those of a blond man busily chopping up lettuce. He grinned and waved at me, and I smiled back happily. Ian and I headed into the kitchen, where I introduced Ian to my old high school buddy, Chad.
“What brings you two here?” Chad said.
“I'm a private investigator now,” I explained. “And I'm looking into a man’s alibi.” I left out the bit about the man in question being the restaurant owner—and the fact that his manager was probably one of his henchmen. It was amazing how many family friendly-looking businesses had links to criminal activities.
“Who’s this guy you’re looking into?” Chad said. “Maybe I remember him.”
I showed Chad Drago's photo, and he nodded. “Yeah, he was here, and he left at seven thirty.”
My pulse quickened. “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn't forget it. The man rushed through the kitchen and out the back entrance, as though he was going somewhere in a hurry.”
“You’re absolutely sure of this?”
Chad nodded. “It's not every day some customer rushes through the kitchen and leaves by the back door. Most people don't even know we've got an exit through here.”
Ian and I thanked Chad for his help, and then we headed out to the bar, where we ordered soft drinks, and settled in to think.
I didn't want to say anything out loud, where we might be overheard by one of Drago's employees, but I couldn't help shaking the feeling that Drago was somehow involved in Charlene’s death.
Perhaps Drago hadn't been the one who stabbed Charlene—but maybe he had ordered the stabbing, or maybe he'd been around when it had happened. I wasn't convinced that Drago’s friendliness proved his innocence.
I glanced over the dining area as I sipped my drink. And then, I noticed a familiar face.
Chris sat at one of the small tables, talking to a young man with curly hair and dark spectacles. The two men were drinking cocktails and laughing. As I watched, Chris gently touched the other man's arm.
I nudged Ian, and he glanced over. We waited ‘til the curly-haired man got up, leaving his drink on the table—presumably to go to the bathroom.
When Ian and I showed up at his table, Chris scowled at us, and said, “Can you please not bother me when I'm out?”
“This will only take a minute.” I pulled up a chair and settled down at his table. “We'd really appreciate talking to you about Charlene. You did meet her once or twice.”
Chris stared into his drink and shook his head. “I'm busy right now.”
“I'm sure you've got some time before your boyfriend comes back,” Ian said. “But I thought you and Brad were together?”
Chris was silent for a few seconds, and then he looked at Ian. “It's none of your business who I'm with or who I'm not with.”
“Maybe Brad would care,” I mused out loud.
Chris laughed. “Brad doesn't care one bit.”
His tone was so lighthearted that I believed him. “Then why won’t you talk to us about Charlene? We understand Brad is upset, but it's no skin off your back to let us know what you thought of her. Why are you being so secretive?”
“I'm just respecting Brad's wishes,” Chris muttered. He took a large sip of his drink, and then glared at Ian and me. “I hate private investigators. You guys do nothing but dredge up trouble.”
Just then, Chris’s companion showed up. Chris stood up abruptly and threw some bills down on the table. “Let's get out of here,” he said to the man. “Time to hit some clubs.”
Ian and I watched as the two men walked out of the restaurant. Chris turned to say something to the man, who laughed.
Then they were out of the door, and out of our sight.
“That's interesting,” Ian said. “I'd suspected he was gay, but I hadn't really been sure.”
I nodded. “But just because he's with
a man who’s not Brad, that doesn't mean he’s got anything to do with Charlene’s death.”
“He said we could tell Brad about the other man if we wanted to. Maybe we should do that.”
I thought it over for a few seconds. “Maybe Chris and Brad are in an open relationship. The laundromat will still be open. Let's go over there, and see if we can find Brad by himself. Maybe we'll get lucky tonight, and finally convince Brad to talk to us.”
Chapter 21
When Ian and I turned up at the laundromat, we found a number of cars parked in front of the bar and the Mexican food place, but the laundromat itself was empty. The washing machines and dryers were silent, so I assumed nobody would show up to claim their freshly laundered clothes. To add to our good fortune, Brad was sitting by himself at the desk in the back.
He looked at us sadly when we walked in. “I remember you two,” he said. But he didn't sound angry, so I decided to push my luck even further.
“Ian and I were hoping you'd spare a minute or two for us,” I murmured, trying to sound understanding and sympathetic. “We know you're going through a very difficult time, but you love your sister so much, don't you want to bring her killer to justice?”
At that, Brad dropped his head into his hands, and let out a soft groan.
I gave him a moment to get himself together, and then he looked up at me. “Charlene didn't deserve what happened to her.”
“Then tell us what you know,” I urged. “Anything you could tell us, anything at all, would be very useful.”
Brad shook his head, and his face closed down. “I can't talk about my sister,” he said, his voice sounding as lifeless as his eyes looked.
“I understand how you’re feeling.” I tried to buy time, not wanting Brad to dismiss us immediately. “Let's talk about something else. What about Chris? Ian and I ran into him at Whoosh. He was there with another man.”
Brad looked at me, his eyes tinged with surprise. “So?”
“You're not surprised he was there was someone else?”
“No. He was probably there with his boyfriend, Alexander.”
It was Ian and my turn to be surprised. “You mean, you’re not Chris's boyfriend?
Brad cracked a smile for the first time. “No, of course not! Chris and I are business partners, no more. I prefer women.”
Light dawned. So that's why Chris had said that we could tell Brad about the man we'd seen him with, and hadn't been concerned about being found out.
And then, I remembered the conversation Mary had overheard between Charlene and Chris. “But Charlene told Chris she would tell everyone, and that it was better for you in the long run if the truth came out. If you and Chris weren’t secretly dating, what was Charlene talking about?”
Brad’s smile disappeared, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I can't talk about this. If Chris finds out I've been talking to you—”
Just then, the door to laundromat opened, and we all turned around to face the newcomer.
“I warned you to stay away from Brad,” Chris said, narrowing his eyes at us. “Why are you two here?”
“You said you didn't mind if we told Brad we’d seen you with someone else,” Ian countered. “We thought we'd take you up on that.”
Chris looked at Brad. “You haven't been telling them anything, have you?”
Brad shook his head.
“Good.”
“You can talk to us,” I said, trying to sound friendly and approachable. “We already know you two are in business with Drago.”
Brad’s jaw dropped, and Chris glared at us. “That's not true.”
“We've already talked to Drago, and he just told us that it is. You don't need to hide it from us—we're not with the IRS, and we don't care about finance stuff.”
“Get out,” Chris snarled. “Don’t poke your noses where they don't belong.”
I held up my hands placatingly. “I'm not interested in your business dealings. I just want to talk about Charlene.” I turned to Brad. “We're not interested in your business at all.”
But Brad looked away, and refused to meet my gaze.
Chris tapped his foot, waiting for Ian and me to leave, and I took a deep breath. It wasn't the tack I wanted to go, but I seemed to have no other choice.
“Look, we’d appreciate your help, but if you'd rather not talk to us, we can just go to the police. We can tell them everything we've learned. I'm sure Drago would be happy to know that you're talking to the police about his business interests.”
“You wouldn't dare,” Chris said in a low, deadly voice.
I shrugged. “I don't have anything to lose. We’re only interested in Charlene's death, and if you don't want to talk to us, you can talk to the police.”
Chris narrowed his eyes and stared at me for what felt like hours. Finally, he shrugged and walked calmly over to the desk. He pulled open a drawer, lifted out something, and pointed it at me.
I stared into the barrel of a gun.
“I'm not talking to the police,” Chris said steadily. “I'm not talking to anyone.”
Ian and I took a few slow steps backward.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s all stay calm. You don't have to talk to the police. We'll just leave now.”
“I don't trust you,” Chris growled. “You’re going to turn around and head straight to the station. I can't have that. I'm not about to get on Drago's bad side, and I'm not going to give up all the profit we've made so far.”
“So Drago’s giving you a cut?” I racked my brain, trying to think of some way to placate Chris.
“That's none of your business.”
I looked at Brad, but he was busy staring at his shoes. “Brad, I'm not interested in your business. I know that Chris won't talk to us, but I know you loved Charlene very much. It’ll make you feel better if you talked to us about her.”
“Charlene was—” Brad started to say, but Chris cut him off.
“Don't tell them anything!”
Suddenly, Brad's pupils flared, and he gave Chris an angry shove. “I'll talk about my sister if I want to.”
Chris glanced away from us for a second to glare at Brad. “Don't be an idiot.”
“It won't hurt to tell them that she was a lovely person, who didn't deserve what happened to her.”
“We can't trust them. What if you can't stop talking? I don't need anyone running their mouths.”
“I'm going to talk about my sister if I want to!” Brad shouted. “She was a great kid, and I should never have helped you in the first place. I should’ve just gone straight to the cops—I can't live with this guilt!”
Chris took a step back, and gave Brad a long, hard look. Slowly, he turned the gun from us to Brad. “Okay, then. If you can't live with the guilt, I'm happy to help you die.”
“I should never have trusted you!” Brad yelled. “You killed my sister, and I should never have helped you cover it up.”
Chris smirked. “Too late.”
The shot rang out, echoing loudly in our ears.
Brad screamed and crumpled to the ground.
Ian and I sprinted over to Chris. Just as he turned and pointed the gun at Ian, I thrust my leg up in a high Rockette kick, making contact with Chris’s hand.
The gun flew out of his hand. Chris turned to look for it, and Ian lunged, toppling him over. I added my weight, pinning Chris to the floor, and Ian sat down on him heavily, making sure he couldn’t escape.
Brad’s loud groans echoed in the small laundromat. I fished a pair of cuffs out of my bag, and cuffed one of Chris’s wrists to the table leg.
When I was sure Chris wasn’t going to get up, I scrambled over and grabbed the gun I’d just kicked out of Chris’s hand.
Finally, I looked over at Brad. His face was pale and sweaty, and blood pooled where he lay.
I rushed over to him, while Ian kept an eye on Chris.
“Are you okay?”
Brad groaned in response to my question, while I felt for a pulse.
“It hit my stomach,” Brad grunted, “Hurts like hell. But I’ll be ok. If I get to a hospital.”
Brad’s eyes were bright and alert, and his pulse was normal. I let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m calling the cops,” I told him, “and an ambulance.”
Once I'd made the calls and asked for help, Brad turned to me with watery eyes. “I should never have done it,” he moaned. “I never knew Chris could be so violent.”
“It’s okay,” I said, “Why don’t you rest while the ambulance gets here? You’re bleeding out. You don’t need to talk.”
“But I want to talk. I need to tell someone.” Brad groaned again, trying to shift his weight off the wound. “When Charlene threatened to tell everyone we were involved in money laundering, Chris said not to pay her off, and that he would fix things,” he said in between grunts. “I thought he meant he would convince her otherwise—but then he showed up with her dead body. He said if I didn't help out, if I didn’t say we’d hung out together all night, he’d tell everyone I'd gone mad and killed her, and that I was in as deep as he was.”
“You were in as deep as me,” Chris growled from the floor. “Don't tell these people any more. You're being an idiot.”
“No,” Brad said. “I'm not being an idiot. I’m doing the right thing, for once. I'll tell everyone what happened. Then maybe I’ll stop feeling like I took the knife in my own hands and killed my baby sister. She wanted a comfortable life, and she was a bit silly, but she didn't deserve what happened.”
“You can make it right,” Ian said, “You can tell the cops the truth.”
“That’s exactly what I'm going to do,” Brad said, his eyes glowing with a combination of determination and pain, as the wail of sirens grew closer. “I'm going to finally talk about my sister, and what happened to her.”
Chapter 22
A week later, I was at my shift at the Treasury. As I dealt out the cards, and made light banter with the three balding middle-aged men sitting in front of me, I thought back briefly over the last few days.
Lucky Charm in Las Vegas Page 14
