by Libby Kirsch
“Sure, Nell. No problem.”
Before she could deliver the drink, however, Finch approached with more questions.
“Did your boyfriend have any luck with that surveillance video?”
Janet slid the tea to Nell. “No. That’s why he’s not here helping out tonight: he’s been working around the clock, trying to get his whole system back up.”
“I’ll bet,” Finch said, his expression conveying the opposite sentiment.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s pretty convenient for your employees that the video’s not there. Elizabeth was the last person who talked to Ike and the last person to have his keys, and the one thing that would help solve all the mysteries is mysteriously down. It doesn’t look good. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Janet bristled at the insinuation. “All I see is a crime that’s not solving itself. I hope you’ll put the time in to get justice for Larsa, if not for Ike, instead of expecting someone else to do your job.”
Finch leaned across the bar and sneered, his glare burning through her. “Doing my job depends on asking people like you to give a shit about someone besides themselves. Forgive me if I seem hopeless. And tell your boyfriend I’ve got a subpoena coming soon. Just waiting on the judge to sign off. Tell him we’ll have to cast a wide net if he can’t get us what we need.” He pivoted and stalked out of the bar, pushing past Frank as he left.
Jason would not be happy about cops rifling through his things. He dealt with many high- and low-profile clients, and none of them would like the thought of law enforcement snooping around his computer and files.
Why was Finch hell-bent on blaming someone at her bar? Her eye gave a final, mind-bending pulse, then settled down. She had to find Elizabeth before the police did. If she could only find her bartender, she could solve more than one mystery.
Chapter Nine
When Janet got home at close to four in the morning, she found Jason passed out over his desk in the basement. He frowned in his sleep, and the low blue light from his computer monitors cast shadows over his face. She kissed him gently on his shoulder, scribbled Finch’s warning onto a sticky note, and slapped it on the largest monitor, then crept back upstairs. She settled on the couch with a blanket, then sloshed some wine into a glass and felt some of the tension leach out of her shoulders for the first time in hours with that first sip. It didn’t last long.
After her phone, which had died earlier that night, charged enough to turn on, an alert sounded with a message from Detective O’Dell.
“The coroner’s report came in. I thought you might be interested to know Ike was killed with a knife—the same one your boyfriend and Larsa identified as Ike’s.”
Janet paused the message and pressed the phone against her temple. It sounded terrible when O’Dell said it like that, but they all knew that Ike carried a Swiss Army knife. He would sometimes use the bottle-opening feature at the bar when he felt service was too slow. She frowned and then started the message back up.
“It was a single stab wound to his gut,” O’Dell continued, “and the coroner says it would have been a slow, brutal death—it might’ve taken him twenty minutes to bleed out. She’s ruled his death a homicide. Someone was angry, that’s for sure. My investigators are going to want to talk with your staff again—especially this Elizabeth person—and your boyfriend. I’m counting on you to keep your ears open, Janet.”
She stared at her phone after the message ended. Someone was angry at Ike, but who?
The longer she sat there, the more she thought about Ike’s history and how what he’d done in his past seemed a more likely reason for anger than simply his being an obnoxious customer at the bar.
Could Ike’s murder have anything to do with the cyclist he’d hit and killed a decade ago? Had someone’s anger flared after ten years passed without a single repercussion for the uninvestigated and uncharged crime?
She was sure police knew about the event, but—and this made Janet grimace—what if they didn’t? She groaned into the empty room and then pulled the blanket over her head and screwed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to get involved, but it was becoming hard not to. With the dead man’s daughter now invited to practically live at the bar and police calling with daily updates, as much as she hated it, she was going to have to do something.
Where was Elizabeth? She’d been with the bar for the whole year Janet had owned it, as well as the year before that, when Janet had only been an employee herself. Elizabeth wasn’t the most reliable person, but the behavior was still concerning.
Janet decided with another groan that she would call O’Dell in the morning—right after driving to Elizabeth’s house.
Crrrrrunch. Janet swore at the sound, then backed her car away from the parking block that had just scraped the underside of her car. The front end of the vehicle made an identically awful sound as it scraped back over the block in reverse, and she swore again.
The sun shone down relentlessly as Janet got out of her car. The black asphalt oozed sluggishly under her feet, the tar that covered its cracks mushy already from the morning heat. The slam of her car door was the only sound in the apartment complex, and Janet stood assessing the space for a moment.
Chunks of gray stucco had fallen off parts of the building, but someone had attempted to paint over the holes, even coming close to matching the original color of the outside walls. The freshly mulched flower beds were void of any plants except for some knee-high weeds in one shady patch by the rental office. It wasn’t one of the nicest parts of town, but it wasn’t bad.
Janet looked down at the paper in her hand to check Elizabeth’s address again and then made her way toward number 215.
At the door, she saw some business cards tucked into the frame; they were from both O’Dell and Finch—and that meant the door hadn’t been opened since Ike’s body was found. Janet frowned, not liking the deserted vibe that emanated from the space.
She knocked, but no one answered. After a quick glance around the property, Janet unzipped a small leather case, then assessed the lock in front of her. As she was deciding which pick to use, the door next to Elizabeth’s opened.
“This girl’s had more visitors in the last two days than the last two years combined,” said an old man with graying brown hair and a frown. “Who are you?”
“Who’re you?” Janet shot back, casually tucking her lock-picking set under one of her arms when she crossed them.
“I’m the grumpy old man who don’t like all the noise from a half-dozen visitors!” He wore a red plaid robe tied at the waist, light blue pajama pants, and house slippers. Steam curled up from the mug of coffee he held in front of his chest.
“All the noise of six visitors over the last two years?” Janet challenged. “I’d say you’re lucky. That’s—what? One person knocking every four months?”
“What’s that?” He cupped a hand around his ear and leaned toward Janet. She repeated her sarcastic remark a little louder. “No need to shout.” He scrunched up his face in distaste. “It’s the last two days I’m fed up with. What’s everyone want with Elizabeth? Is she in trouble? The other two wouldn’t tell me anything—just kept asking questions, and I don’t have nothing to say about nobody, you know? I keep to myself and mind my business.”
Despite what he said, it seemed like he was dying for a chat. “So, what’d you tell the cops?” she asked, sliding the leather case into her shoulder bag.
“What?” Again, she raised her volume, only to be shushed dramatically before he answered. “Nothing. Just like I said, I got nothing to say about the girl next door.” He savored a sip of coffee, then added, “She’s a pretty good neighbor, even though she’s up until all hours of the night doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who. I bet her mama’s rolling over in her grave knowing she dropped out of college to work in a dive bar, but she probably does her best to do her best, you know what I mean?”
Before Janet could unpack everything the
gossipy neighbor had just shared, he started up again.
“It’s nothing to me if a woman wants to make a living and support herself, but she was planning on going to medical school—or was it dental?—but then she didn’t. And I don’t see why her plans had to change just because her plans changed, okay?” A small, yappy brown dog barreled around his legs. “Hey, dog, get back in here.” He scooped up the small pet and deposited it in the coat closet. The yapping continued, but it was muted behind the door.
Janet cocked her head to the side; she wouldn’t have pegged this guy as a dog person. She shook herself. “So, you’ve lived next to Elizabeth for a long time, huh?”
“Long?” He scratched his head, still frowning. “Long enough to know her mom wouldn’t be happy with her choices.”
Parent guilt via neighbor. Nice. “You said her mom is dead? When did that happen?”
“What was that?” She put forth a Herculean effort not to roll her eyes and repeated her question. He winced at her new volume and said, “A couple of years ago. Ah! Vet, that’s it! She was going to become a vet, not a dentist! I knew it was something like that.” He shook his head sagely and took another sip from his mug. “She dropped out of school and since then, nothing. Just a big lump of nothing.”
Janet assessed the nosy neighbor, who seemed determined to judge Elizabeth. “Did Elizabeth drop out of college right after her mother died?”
His brow furrowed and, after a moment, he nodded. “I guess that’s right.”
“Does she have any family left?”
“Don’t know.”
“I don’t suppose the two events were related, do you?” He lowered his mug slowly, his face taking on the confused look of someone who’d just lost their train of thought. “Like, maybe she didn’t have the money to continue her education, or maybe she just lost her spirit or passion or will to learn after her mom died. I don’t suppose you checked in on her, made her a cup of coffee, or offered to help in any way?”
The man pulled the belt of his robe tighter around him, but he still didn’t speak.
Janet’s nostrils flared and she was breathing hard. “Yes, she’s an adult, but she’s young! I’d say Elizabeth is doing her best to get by after life pulled the rug out from under her by taking her mother before she was ready to be on her own. The girl probably needs more help and less judgment from both her friends and neighbors. Did you ever think about that?” To her surprise, she found that she’d moved closer to the stranger and was touching his chest with her finger. She blew out a breath and took a step back, dropping her hand to her side.
He finally cleared his throat and took another sip of his coffee. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
Janet felt blood rush to her cheeks. “You’re always too young to lose your mother, no matter your age,” she finally said.
“Paul Massie,” he said, sticking out his hand. “You want some coffee?”
Janet blinked and then shook his hand. “Janet Black. Elizabeth works for me, at my bar.” He held the door open, but she shook her head. “No, thanks. I was just . . .” She looked at Elizabeth’s door. “I just came here to check on Elizabeth. So, you haven’t seen her?”
“Not lately. She’s a good kid. She’ll get it together—especially if she’s got you on her side.” Paul nodded, dismissing her, but continued to lean up against his door frame, watching her, until she turned to leave. She looked back to see if Paul had closed his door, thinking she could try to pick Elizabeth’s lock after he was back inside, but he stared at her until she climbed into her car, only closing his door with a final nod after she’d cranked the engine.
Janet wrinkled her nose. Was she on Elizabeth’s side? Just days ago, she’d been ready to fire her, certain the bartender was stealing from the Spot. Now the petty theft seemed like no big deal—at least, compared with murder. She didn’t like the emotions that were blooming inside her.
Elizabeth was all alone in this world, except for a nosy neighbor and apparently the people she worked with at the bar. Was Janet so heartless and cruel that she couldn’t be bothered to care enough to help find her?
With a groan she headed home, knowing what she had to do, but already irritated with her plan.
Chapter Ten
She poured herself a cup of coffee and stared at the phone. She needed to make the call. She was going to . . . gulp . . . get involved and be helpful.
Ugh. She shuddered and dropped down onto the couch, then dialed the numbers; when O’Dell answered, she filled him in on what Larsa had told her the day before.
“A cyclist, huh?” he said.
“I’m sure you know about it already, but Larsa mentioned it, so I just thought . . . I wanted to make sure . . .” She frowned into her coffee. She had to step up for Elizabeth’s sake. “It just seems a better motive for murder than anything else I’ve heard.”
“I’m actually just heading out to talk to the victim’s family, to let them know what happened,” O’Dell said. After a pause, he added, “Why don’t you come along?”
“What?” Janet spluttered. Coffee slopped out of her mug onto the table as she hastily set it down. “Why would I do that?”
“I got to talking to your dad yesterday—”
“He was certainly a busy beaver . . .”
“—and he said you have a knack for reading people. He said you’re uncommonly good at it, in fact. I just thought, since you’re being so helpful, you’d want to ride along.”
“Oh, I’ve got so much to—”
“I’m meeting the family at one thirty. I’ll pick you up on the way.” He hung up before she could come up with an excuse that would get her out of it.
She was still staring at her phone in disbelief when it rang in her hand. This time, it was the bank.
“Miss Black, we wanted to let you know the checks you deposited yesterday came back insufficient funds.”
“What?”
“We wanted to let you know the—”
“I heard you, I just . . . are you sure?” The checks were for her new tenants’ first month’s rent and security deposit.
“Yes. I wanted to make sure you noted it in your register, so your balance was correct.”
Janet disconnected and pressed her hands into her temples. Insufficient funds? She walked to the minibar across the room. Her hand moved past the vodka to the bottle of Kahlúa. She eyed her coffee; maybe just a splash. She sloshed some in and then stalked back across the room to the front door, where she looked out the window at the unit next door and took a long, slow sip of her fortified morning drink.
She thought they’d done a good job of vetting the new renters—she and Jason had even had them fill out a credit report form, and Mel and Kat had both checked out. The money should have been deposited before they moved in, but it wasn’t, and now they were stuck with a couple of freeloaders.
There was no movement from the other apartment, but as she stared crossly at the front door, she realized Mel might have been trying to tell her something about their finances the night before at the bar. She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned to find Jason holding out a plate of scrambled eggs.
“I thought you’d need lunch but would want breakfast,” he said with a smile.
“Our renters are broke,” she said. She took the plate with a grateful smile and told him what the banker had just told her. She sat down on the couch and shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth.
Jason stared out the front window, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know, Janet. I get a good vibe from them.”
“Is it a broke vibe?” She stabbed a piece of bacon with her fork. It cracked into three pieces, none of them on the tines.
“No, a good vibe. Let’s talk to Mel about it and see what she’s got to say. We’ll take it from there.”
“We aren’t running a charity, Jason. It’s a business! The goal isn’t to find people who need a handout.” Her feelings of responsibility for Elizabeth had sucked the generosity for anyon
e else in her life right out of her. She frowned at her boyfriend; he smiled back.
“I know, but let’s hear what they have to say. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.” Jason sat opposite her and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“You know what the problem is? You’re too nice,” she said. He snuck a piece of bacon out from under her hovering fork. “Hey!”
“Not too nice. Just right nice,” he clarified. “So nice, in fact, I’m going to help you in the shower today.”
“Is that right?” she asked, a grin slowly turning up the corners of her lips.
“Mmm-hmm.” He took the plate out of her hands and set it on the table between them.
Her stomach flooded with heat. “I don’t have much time,” she said, looking at the clock over his head.
“Trust me. You have time for this.” He pulled her up and led her to the bedroom.
She stayed in the shower after Jason left, and so did the lovey-dovey smile on her face. Over the last year, she had gotten used to feeling like she was in control of her life for the first time in a long time. She had a steady relationship with a great man and a solid job at the bar she owned. Even though she could feel chaos creeping back into her well-ordered world with Ike’s murder and her apparently broke tenants, she needed to remember the good things she had, and protect them.
By the time she toweled off and got dressed, Detective O’Dell was knocking at the front door.
“Are you ready?” he asked when she opened the door. She looked behind her, but the house was empty. Jason must have gone down to his office in the basement.
“Nope,” she answered while running a comb through the tangles in her hair.
He laughed as if she’d made a joke and then turned and headed toward his car.
“No cruiser?” She tossed the comb on the hall table and pulled the door closed behind her.
“No, no, my cruiser days are long gone. I drive this baby.” He patted the top of his unmarked Ford Crown Victoria with affection and laughed at Janet’s horrified face. “It’s not so bad once you’re in it.”
