by Mary Maxwell
“Jeez, buddy,” I muttered to myself. “You’re either overworked or just plain rude!”
My husband heard the last part of my grumbling. “Who was that?” he asked. “You’ve got the same look on your face as when your mother starts asking about when we’re going to have another baby.”
I smiled and shook my head. “It was the detective investigating Rosemary’s murder.”
“So?” Ben said. “Why do you look unhappy?”
“He was kind of short with me just now.” I shrugged and rolled my eyes. “But I think there’s a chance I’m overreacting a bit. You know—from the stress?”
“Did he call you or—”
“I called him,” I said urgently. “I’m not going to just sit by and do nothing, especially if I hear a clue that could be helpful. I wanted to tell Detective Ford about Sonja’s brother, but he was in a hurry. I’m going down to the station later to talk.”
Ben walked over and began kneading my shoulders. “Babe, you need to slow down, okay? Let the police do their jobs. You’ve just been through a horrible shock. The last thing you need is going ten rounds with a police detective because you don’t think he’s solving the case fast enough.”
“That’s not what I said! I just think he needs to know about Sonja’s brother.”
“Of course,” Ben agreed. “I’m not arguing that point. I just don’t want you to get any more stressed.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water and the lunch that I’d packed earlier. “I’ve got a meeting at nine, so I need to hustle. But if you need me, just call, okay?”
I nodded and stared at my phone.
“Did Jill drive the boys to school?”
I answered with another silent nod.
“Are you picking them up after?” my husband asked. “Or should I?”
“No, Jill said she’d take care of it. When she saw my face, she could tell I was pretty stressed.”
My phone buzzed with a text from Sonja: Can you talk now?
“I love you,” Ben said, heading out the door.
I blew him a kiss. “Love you, too.”
After he was gone, I tapped a quick reply to Sonja: Yes. Home all morning. Then I flicked through the messages on my phone. I found one that Rosemary sent a few days earlier: What can I bring for book club? When I realized that I’d never replied, I felt a new wave of sorrow sweep through my heart.
“We’re going to figure this out,” I said, picturing her sweet smile in my mind. “Beginning with who was responsible and why they—”
My phone rang and I jumped, startled by the loud, shrill sound.
“How are you?” Sonja asked when I clicked onto the line.
“Pretty scattered. I got some sleep, but I had terrible dreams about Rosemary.”
“I barely slept,” Sonja said. “My brother didn’t come home last night. And now I can’t stop thinking about what you told me.”
“Is that what you’re calling about?” I asked.
“I know where he is,” she said. “And I think maybe they had something to do with Rosemary’s death.”
“Who is it?” I asked. “Did you tell Detective Ford?”
“No,” Sonja said. “I will, but first I want to see if my suspicions are right.”
“Just call him,” I advised. “He needs to know anything and everything that we—”
“This is my brother we’re talking about,” Sonja blurted. “And I’m not going to throw him to the wolves unless I do a little digging. He’s had enough trouble in his life. He doesn’t need me creating more by snooping around.”
I wanted to tell her to stop being ridiculous. But I knew that Sonja’s stubborn streak was a mile wide and ten miles deep. Once she set her mind to something, there was no convincing her to take another approach.
“Well, where is he?” I asked. “And who do you think he’s with?”
“Come with me,” Sonja said.
“When?”
“I can be there by eleven,” she answered. “Does that give you enough time?”
Chapter 12
Sonja pulled into a gravel parking lot on the edge of an industrial complex near the river that ran through town. There were a handful of cars outside the two-story building. A sign perched on the roof read RUSTY RED’S RIVER BOAT. A chorus line of curvy silhouettes—dancing in front of the words GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS—made it clear the place was a strip club.
“You think your brother’s here?” I asked hesitantly.
Sonja nodded. “He’s been hanging out with the guy that owns this place. His name’s Brent. They went to school together.”
“College?” I didn’t think Sonja’s brother was much of a student, but figured maybe I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
“High school,” she answered. “They’re perfectly suited to one another; two idiots who don’t think things like rules and laws apply to them.”
“Brent must be doing something right if he owns Rusty Red’s,” I said. “Everybody in town has heard of the place, even if it’s not very high on the list of socially acceptable establishments.”
Sonja laughed. It was good to hear the sound after two days of sorrow and grief.
“Brent’s dad started the Rusty Red’s,” she explained. “When he died, Brent inherited the place.”
“And why do you think your brother’s here?” I asked, scanning the parking lot. “Do you see his car?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want Warren to know this, but I put an app on his phone. It tracks him with GPS. When he didn’t come home last night, I pinged his location.”
My eyes went wide with surprise. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. If he’s sleeping under my roof and driving our other car, I have every right to know where he is when he doesn’t come home at night.”
I agreed with the logic, but secretly installing a tracking app on her brother’s phone seemed really out of character for Sonja. She was usually mild-mannered and demure; I’d never heard her raise her voice in all the time we’d known one another. Even so, besides being secretive, the GPS sleuthing also seemed more complicated than necessary.
“Wouldn’t calling him have been much easier?” I asked.
She smiled. “Don’t you think I already tried that? I left about a dozen messages, but he never picked up and he hasn’t called me back.”
“Okay, but why the urgency?” I asked. “Why are you so intent on finding him?”
She sighed and tapped her nails on the steering wheel. “Because of what you told me.” She slid one hand down to the keys and pulled them from the ignition. “If Warren had anything to do with Rosemary’s death, I want him out of my house and into police custody.”
“Well, I’m not trying to disagree with you,” I said. “But don’t you think it could wait?” I nodded my head at the canopied entrance to the strip club. “This isn’t exactly our comfort zone, you know.”
She opened her car door. “I’m not worried about that. I’ve known Brent forever. If he isn’t behind the bar, somebody will get him out of the office.”
I followed Sonja toward the double glass doors under the bright red awning. Like nearly everyone in town, I was aware of Rusty Red’s River Boat. But I’d never imagined that one day I would step inside to find my friend’s brother and ask if he knew anything about a murder.
“Well, look at this,” drawled the skinny guy polishing shot glasses behind the bar. “I’m gonna need to ask for some identification, ladies.” He winked at Sonja. “You know how the authorities frown on underage drinkers coming into my high-class establishment.”
Sonja pulled a stool out. “Cut the crap, Brent.” She sat down and nodded for me to do the same. “You know I’m a lot older than you.”
“And wiser, too,” he said, tossing the towel over one shoulder. “What’s going on, Sonja? You on the hunt for Warren?”
“I thought he might be here,” she said.
Brent raised one eyebrow. “He’s facedown on the sofa i
n my office,” he said. “Stupid sucker lost a bet last night. Ended up drinking more than his fair share of whiskey.”
Sonja shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?”
Brent smiled at me. “How you doin’, beautiful?”
“This is my friend Jana,” Sonja said, snapping her fingers to draw his gaze back in her direction. “She and I wanted to talk to my brother, and it couldn’t wait.”
“Be my guest,” the guy said, pointing toward the opposite side of the bar. “If you can wake him up, you’re one step ahead of me. I flicked his ear for a good twenty minutes, but it didn’t do any good.”
A slender blonde carrying a rack of glassware came through the swinging doors behind the bar. She glared at us, put the glasses down and then walked over.
“We don’t open for another hour,” she said, fixing her eyes on mine. “Y’all wanna come back then?”
Sonja sighed slowly, exhaling with a muffled hiss like air escaping from a deflating tire. “We’re here to see Brent,” she said. “But thank you so much for the update on your hours of operation.”
The blonde narrowed her eyes. “You’re welcome,” she said coldly before turning to Brent. “You okay, baby?”
He laughed. “If I wasn’t, what would you do about it?”
She muttered under her breath, sauntered back to the swinging door and then disappeared.
“That’s Darla,” said Brent. “She’s got a tendency to be kinda overprotective.”
Sonja snickered. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” she asked. “In my world, that’s what we call being a pushy witch.”
Brent winced. “Hey, now! There’s no need to throw names around. You and me are like family, Sonja.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Now, maybe if my brother’s out cold, we can ask you a couple of questions?”
The guy grinned. “You betcha! What’s on your mind, doll?”
“Don’t call me that,” Sonja said.
“My bad,” Brent offered. “I didn’t mean no offense.”
“Is Warren working for you now?” Sonja asked, ignoring the half-hearted apology.
“Nah, he’s doing some odd jobs for a buddy of mine.”
“What kind of odd jobs?” I asked.
Brent’s eyes whirled over. “Ah, so the beautiful woman speaks?”
“What kind of jobs?” I repeated. “And does your buddy have a name?”
“Carter,” answered Brent.
“Is that his first name?” I asked. “Or his last?”
The guy frowned. “You know something? I’m not real sure. I just know him by Carter.”
“Must be close friends,” I said.
Sonja laughed softly. “What’s Warren do for your friend Carter?” she asked. “And where’s his office?”
The question was met with a roar of laughter. “Carter isn’t exactly the suit-and-tie kind of businessman,” said Brent. “He runs a more laissez-faire kind of operation.”
“Is that code for criminal behavior?” asked Sonja.
Brent held up both hands. “See no evil,” he said. “And speak no evil.”
Sonja snorted. “Well, that leaves doing evil,” she said. “Which is probably a subject we better shy away from.”
Brent grabbed a cup of coffee from near the cash register. He sipped it quickly before asking if we wanted anything to drink.
“Sorry I didn’t think of it sooner,” he said. “But you kind of caught me off guard when you walked through the door just now.”
“We’re fine,” I said. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about what Warren’s been up to?”
The muscles in Brent’s jaw tightened. “You should probably discuss that with him. I’ve got my hands full running this place, so I basically turn a blind eye.” He flashed a smile, revealing teeth as white and smooth as the keys of a piano. “If you know what I mean.”
“Where can we find Carter?” Sonja asked.
Brent shook his head. “No clue. The guy usually comes in a couple times a week though. If you want me to have him call you, then you can—”
“Where?” Sonja said brusquely. “And don’t try to weasel your way out of this, Brent. I’d hate to go talk to your mom, but I will play that card if I need to. I’m serious about this. I don’t want Warren getting arrested for murder.”
At the mention of homicide, Brent’s face went blank. “Okay, now that’s something that I’m definitely not interested in discussing.”
Sonja leaned forward. “Why? Because you know something?”
He shrugged. “Come on, Sonja. Just drop it, okay?”
“Then tell us where we can find Carter.” She glared at him with icy precision. It was a side of my friend that I’d seen before. “It’s as simple as an address,” she said. “Or the name of his favorite dank, dark cave.”
One corner of Brent’s mouth lifted. “That’s a good one,” he said. “You’ll know what I’m talking about when you meet Carter.”
Sonja shook her head. “You like wasting time?” she asked.
“Please,” I said. “Can you just tell us where your friend Carter is?”
He looked over, nodded and opened a drawer behind the bar. He came out with a business card. When he handed it to Sonja, I noticed a bright red insignia and a few black words against a pristine white background. It was a skull and crossbones above the name of a tattoo parlor.
“That’s his place,” Brent said. “It’s over on Ash and Highland.”
Sonja slipped the card into her purse. “Thank you,” she said, sliding down from the barstool. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Brent made a face. “You want me to see if your brother’s awake yet?”
“No, that’s okay,” Sonja answered. “If he’s not home when I get back there later, I’ll figure he’s still sleeping it off.”
Chapter 13
Skinny Skeleton Tattoos was located on a side street around the corner from a row of thrift shops and nail salons. It was housed in a narrow storefront behind a door painted with glossy black enamel. Thick black velvet drapes hung in the windows, creating a shadowy interior that smelled of ink and cigarettes. When Sonja and I stepped through the entrance, we were greeted by a woman sitting behind a small counter. She had bright blue hair, intricate sleeve tattoos and a scowl that would’ve made the Grim Reaper proud.
“We’re here to see Carter,” I announced.
The woman swiveled on her stool. “Got an appointment?”
“It’ll only take a minute,” I answered, ignoring the rhetorical retort. “We just need to ask him a couple of questions.”
“Well, he generally sees people who’re on the schedule,” the woman said. “And most of Carter’s clients are referrals or somebody he already knows. But if you’d like to leave a—”
“Brent Schneider sent us,” blurted Sonja. “That’s a referral, right?”
The woman’s eyes shifted to Sonja. “Brent from Rusty Red’s?”
We both nodded.
“Why didn’t you say so?” With a heavy sigh, the woman got to her feet and shuffled across the black and white tile floor. She pushed aside the dark velvet curtain hanging over a doorway in the middle of the rear wall. “You got visitors,” she called through the opening. “Couple of chicks that know Brent.”
As she returned to her perch behind the counter, the woman smiled. I noticed that one of her front teeth was adorned with a gold cap. I was thinking about how much something like that might cost when a heavyset bald guy appeared from behind the dark curtain.
“I’m Carter,” he boomed in a deep gravelly voice. “What can I do you for?”
Sonja stepped forward. “My name is Sonja Anderson. You know my brother Warren.”
Carter lifted his chin slightly. “Yeah, I recognize you. We met a long time ago, but you obviously don’t remember.”
Sonja’s face went blank. “When was that?”
Carter dismissed the question with a smirk. “What’s up?” he said. “Your
brother’s not here if you’re looking for him.”
“We know that,” Sonja said. “I wanted to ask if you hired him to deliver a package on Saturday afternoon.”
The bald man smiled. “Does this place look like UPS or something?”
There was a cold, jagged edge in his voice. As if he’d spent a lifetime working to project an aloof attitude that he perceived as being cool or rebellious.
“No,” I said, focusing to keep my voice steady. “It looks like a tattoo parlor, and we—”
“Nobody calls it a parlor,” Carter snapped. “Are you Warren’s sister, too?”
I shook my head. “I’m a friend of Sonja’s,” I answered. “And we’re both trying to find out how Warren got involved in a murder.”
Carter flinched slightly. “What was that?” He rubbed one hand across the gleaming dome above his dark, hooded eyes. “I could swear you just said a word I don’t ever like to hear.”
“Someone had Warren deliver a package to my house on Saturday,” I explained. “It contained dip that had been poisoned. We want to know who hired Warren and why they killed our friend.”
He shook his head and blinked a few times. “You know it’s still kinda early in the day,” he grumbled. “I’m not sure that I’m following you.”
“What’s so complicated about it?” Sonja asked. “Brent told us that you—”
“Brent’s a lying sack of donkey crap,” Carter interrupted. “Whatever he said about your brother is something you should talk to him about. He does a good job sending tattoo referrals, but the other stuff is nothing I know about.”
“He seemed pretty confident,” said Sonja. “Like you knew who hired Warren.”
“Most liars do come across as self-assured.” Carter walked over and pulled a tissue from a box on the counter. He used it to wipe the film of sweat from his bald head.
“So you don’t know anything about who might’ve paid my brother to make the delivery?” asked Sonja.
“I don’t know nothing about nothing,” Carter replied, wadding the tissue and dropping it into a wire mesh trash basket. “And I’m not really all that excited that you two just wandered in here asking me questions.”
