I spoke to the person on the other end for a few minutes, and after I hung up, I turned to Ian and said, “We need to go. We’ve got a job.”
The two of us stood up, and Cecilia followed. “Where are you going? Can I come, too? I didn’t know my sweet Iannikins had a job.”
“We work as private investigators,” I told her. “Ian helps me. And, no, I’m afraid you can’t come with us this time. But you can hang out with Ian afterward.”
Chapter Two
Ian and I got into my battered old Honda Accord, and I set off in the direction of Betta Furniture. I’d just spoken with Harry, the owner, but since I don’t like to talk to clients in detail over the phone, it was time to meet him in person.
Ian was silent as we drove, slumped glumly in the passenger seat.
It was unlike him to be quiet for such a long time, so after a few minutes, I said, “Well, at least we managed to get her out of your apartment.”
Ian let out a deep sigh. “But what if she decides to camp out in the hallway? I’ll have to see her when I get back.”
“Why don’t you just tell her that you’re not interested?”
“I tried to give her hints. So did you. And you saw how that went.”
“She’s not a very subtle person,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “You need to tell her point–blank that you don’t like her anymore. That you want to see other people. That you can’t see a future with her.”
“How would you feel,” said Ian, “if some guy told you that he didn’t like you anymore? That he wanted to see other women and thought it wasn’t going to work out between you two?”
For a split second, a vision of Detective Ryan’s face floated before my eyes. Ryan and I have gone on a few dates now, and he’s sweet, handsome, and kind. The thought of him telling me that things weren’t going to work out between us made my throat constrict and my chest start hammering loudly.
“See?” I heard Ian say. “You went all pale. No one likes to hear that.”
I took a deep breath and gulped. “Maybe it’ll be easier for her, because you haven’t been seeing her really. You just had one dinner with her.”
“No,” said Ian. “I couldn’t hurt someone’s feelings like that. I hate it when women dump me, and I don’t want to be a horrible person who goes around hurting someone like Cecilia. She didn’t do anything wrong. She’s just a bit too enthusiastic.”
I rolled my eyes and made an exasperated face. “You can’t let people walk all over you. No wonder your lawyers and parents have to keep watch over your trust fund. If you had it all to yourself, you’d go broke giving handouts to every scammer out there.”
“It’s not a big deal,” said Ian. “She said her vacation’s going to end in two weeks’ time. So all I need to do is lay low till she leaves.”
“What about when you go home tonight? What if she’s waiting for you in the hallway? She’ll muscle her way into your apartment, and then she’ll never leave. Ever.”
I pulled into the parking lot at Betta Furniture and looked at Ian.
His eyes had widened with terror at the thought of being stuck with Cecilia forever, and he shook his head. “I’ll have to make sure not to run into her in the hallway, that’s all.”
“And how would you do that?”
“Maybe I could ask Glenn or Karma to check,” said Ian, mentioning our downstairs neighbors. “They can text me to let me know if she’s gone or not.”
“Glenn and Karma’ve gone away for a quick vacation,” I reminded him. “They won’t be back till tomorrow.”
Ian sat thoughtfully for a few minutes, and then he brightened up. “You have all your PI gear in the car, don’t you? I can wear a wig and a fake mustache, to disguise myself when I go home. If she’s still in the hallway, I’ll leave and hang out in a casino for a few hours. Cecilia has to go away at some point, and she won’t recognize me if I’m disguised.”
“That might actually work,” I said slowly. “Hopefully, she’ll be gone by the time we get back.”
Betta Furniture was housed in a large strip mall just off Balzar Avenue. The stores were arranged in a large U shape around a parking lot—on one end there was Betta Furniture, a bank, an electronics store, a “high–end audio” store, a pet store, a dry cleaners’, a bakery, and a shoe store. There were some more parking spots, and then the U–shaped building continued with some clothing stores, an office supply store, a large grocery store, and some fast–food joints.
At this hour, all the stores except the fast–food places were closed, but the parking lot was well lit enough that we could see the storefronts. The area looked clean and freshly painted, and I assumed that the stores did decent business; their customers were probably Vegas locals who lived nearby and couldn’t be bothered going to the trendy malls and outlet stores a longer drive away.
Betta Furniture seemed to be one of the bigger stores in the place, and I assumed this was because furniture took up a lot of space to display and store. I parked in one of the empty spaces in front of the store, and as we got out, Ian said, “What exactly did Harry tell you over the phone?”
“I didn’t ask him too many questions,” I said. “Apparently, our old client Gary, who was accused of killing that horrible politician, referred us to him. Harry told me that someone died in his shop, and the police don’t think it was a murder, but he’s convinced it is. I told him we’d come and talk to him in person; that way we can have a look around and I’ll understand better if there’s actually a case here or not.”
Chapter Three
Betta Furniture’s front doors slid open, and Ian and I stepped inside.
The store was brightly lit with overhead fluorescent lights, and the bluish–gray carpet was soft underfoot. Sofa sets of various sizes and materials were grouped together near the front door, followed by dining sets a few feet behind them. To our right, I could see bedroom furniture, and the store veered off to the back and left, where I could make out office furniture.
There was a man sitting at one of the dining tables, and he stood up when Ian and I entered. I assumed this was Harry—he was tall and broad–shouldered, with a large round face and large mustache. His dark hair was receding, and his clothes were crumpled and unassuming.
When he reached us, we all introduced ourselves, and Harry led us over to a red leather sofa set. As we sat down, Ian said, “So, you own this whole store. That’s pretty cool.”
“I’ve owned Betta Furniture for five years now,” said Harry. “The first few years were tough, but the last two’ve been quite good. I’ve been taking steps to open another branch over at Henderson, but things haven’t been going so well with Janice’s death.”
“You mentioned over the phone that Janice worked here,” I said. “Why don’t we get straight to what happened?”
Harry nodded, seeming to approve of my directness. “Janice Wilkerson worked here for the last two years. She’s one of my best salespeople—or at least, she was. She always knew how to get the customer over the line, and how to upsell them. She was employee of the month almost every single month that she worked here.”
“A model employee,” I murmured.
Harry nodded. “I appreciated her sales mojo. But she wasn’t that popular with the rest of the staff—I ignored it, because that’s none of my business. What matters to me is how well she does her job.”
“You said she died last week?”
“She was closing up the store last Sunday night. Janice was the only person here for a while, from eight thirty at night onwards. When the first employee walked in the next morning, they found her in the storeroom. A large flat–packed sofa had fallen on top of her, crushing her to death.”
I shuddered, trying to push away the mental image that floated up before my eyes. “How terrible.”
“It was,” said Harry. “And the worst thing is, the insurance company says it was an accident, and that I must’ve been violating workplace safety guidelines. Which means they won’t pay out
the full insurance money, plus it’s going to be harder to hire new employees for the Henderson branch. But there’s no way it could’ve been an accident.”
“What makes you so sure?” I watched Harry intently, trying to piece together the relevant bits of information. Harry had a financial motive for proving that Janice’s death had been a murder, but I wouldn’t be able to prove something that wasn’t true.
Harry leaned forward and rested his chin on one hand. “The storeroom’s just behind this display area, and everything’s arranged safely. Employees aren’t supposed to lift heavy items by themselves, ever. Plus, most of my other employees hated Janice, and as far as I know, her personal life wasn’t that great either.”
“How do you mean?”
Harry shrugged. “It was common knowledge that Janice and her husband got separated almost six months ago. They’re getting a divorce. And you know what they say about divorce being murder…”
Ian and I exchanged a glance, and I frowned. Whenever there’s a homicide, the spouse is usually the prime suspect: he or she tends to be the one who benefits most from the death. But Harry was really pushing the idea of Janice’s death as a murder, and I didn’t want to admit that an ongoing divorce certainly made things look a bit more suspicious.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean Janice’s death wasn’t an accident,” I said, trying to sound objective. A small futuristic–looking object that hung high on one wall caught my eye. “Is that a video camera?”
Harry followed my glance and nodded. “I got a good deal on them when I opened the store, so I decided to go with the wireless model.”
“Which means you’ve got video footage of what happened on the day Janice died.”
Harry grimaced and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. The router that goes with them was stolen a few days before Janice died, so the cameras are just decorations right now. I meant to get a new router, but it didn’t seem like a priority at the time.”
I stared at Harry uncomprehendingly. For all that his words made sense to me, he might as well have been speaking Yiddish. “What do you mean, router?” I said finally.
“I know about these wireless cameras,” said Ian. “They hook up to an app on your smartphone, or laptop, so you can see the feed from anywhere.”
Harry nodded. “Exactly. That’s one reason I picked these cameras. I can check in on the store even if I’m at home, using my smartphone or iPad.”
“But because they’re wireless, they need a router to work,” Ian went on. “If the Internet goes out, or if there’s no electricity, or if the router gets stolen, the cameras stop working.”
Comprehension dawned. “Ah. And you have no feed right now, because someone stole the router.”
“That’s right,” said Harry. “It didn’t seem like a big deal then, but cameras that actually worked would’ve been handy now.”
My brows knit together. For the first time since we’d gotten here, I felt as though Janice’s death might not have been purely accidental. “The router getting stolen doesn’t sound like a coincidence,” I admitted. “But wouldn’t you have video footage of whoever it was stealing the router?”
“I plugged in the router over there,” said Harry, pointing toward a study table near the back of the room. “The last thing I’ve got on camera is a large group of people walking past the table, blocking out the view of the router. Whoever stole it must’ve ducked behind the group and unplugged it when the view was blocked.”
I watched him carefully. “And you’ve got no idea who might have stolen it?”
Harry shrugged. “I never explained the router–camera setup to anyone, but my employees probably figured it out just like Ian did. So it might’ve been one of them.”
I nodded in agreement. “Whoever stole the router must’ve been aware of the camera feeds and blind spots. They probably timed their theft carefully. But why would any of your employees want to steal the router? Is it something they could sell secondhand?”
Harry shook his head. “A router by itself isn’t worth that much money. At the time, I thought it might’ve been an accident or a joke. I didn’t tell anyone that the cameras weren’t working—I thought I’d go ahead and get a new router when I had a free moment. I wish I’d done that sooner.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” I said sympathetically. “Whoever stole the router might’ve just stolen the second router as well.”
“Well, either way, here we are now,” said Harry. “Janice is dead, and the insurance company and my employees think that it’s my fault because I wasn’t following safety rules. But I’m sure that someone else was involved in her death.”
I needed a few more minutes to think, so I said, “You mentioned the storeroom’s in the back. Why don’t Ian and I have a look?”
Harry led us past the display furniture and over to the back of the room, where he opened a door marked Employees Only and led us into the storeroom.
The storeroom was about the size of Ian’s and my one–bedroom apartments combined, the walls on either side of us lined with heavy metal shelving. Flat–packed boxes were arranged neatly on the shelves, and each pile was labeled carefully. There were two ladders and a small forklift at the end of the room.
“This is pretty neat,” said Ian. “Do you store all your furniture in here?”
Harry walked toward the end of the room, with Ian and me following. “Yes,” he said. “All the furniture we sell is flat–packed. That makes it cheaper to import, and to store—and cheaper for the customers to buy as well.”
I pointed to a large metal door at the end of the room. “What’s through there?”
We walked up to the door, and Harry opened it and led us outside. This was the unsightly back of the building. A small alley ran past the rear of the shops, and to our left was a loading zone for trucks. On our right was a single parking spot and a dumpster.
“All the stores on this side have a loading zone or a parking spot behind the back entrance,” Harry told us. “The other stores usually let their managers use the spot, but Betta Furniture’s spot belongs to the employee of the month.”
We walked with Harry down the alley, which was dark and empty at this hour. The alley turned left, and left again, merging with the empty, brightly lit parking lot in front. We were at the far end of the building, away from the fast–food places near the entrance, and the stores here were dark and shuttered.
A chill ran through my bones: at this time of night, this section of the strip mall seemed eerie and ominous, and when I glanced at Ian, I knew he felt the same way.
Perhaps it was the silence or the emptiness of the lot, but I found myself agreeing with Harry’s assessment that Janice’s death couldn’t have been an accident. I imagined her working all alone in the late hours of Sunday night. The place would have been just as quiet then, and she would’ve had no reason to go into the empty storeroom by herself.
“We’ll take the case,” I told Harry as the three of us hurried back to the bright lights of Betta Furniture. “I’ve got a few more questions about Janice’s personal life. And then we can sign my private investigator’s contract, and Ian and I can get started with the investigation. If Janice’s death really was a murder, I’m sure the killer left behind some clues.”
Chapter Four
Ian and I headed back, and before we went upstairs to our apartments, Ian fished out a wig and some other disguises from the Private Investigator’s Supply Bag that he makes me keep in my car. He finally selected a bald wig that made him look like a neo–Nazi, a pair of thick–rimmed glasses, and a thin brown mustache. After he was done fixing the disguise onto his face, he looked like a completely different person.
“I can barely recognize you without your big red hair,” I said.
Ian beamed. “Thanks! I knew I’d selected a good disguise. I hope Cecilia doesn’t recognize me either. Actually, scratch that. I hope Cecilia went home a long time ago.”
When we went upstairs, we saw that Ian’s wish had
been granted. There was no sign of her in the hallway, and Ian headed cheerfully into his apartment.
“I can Google Janice Wilkerson and Betta Furniture while you’re at work,” he said. “Aren’t you glad I’m working with you?”
I’ve been working at the Treasury Casino for a few years now. When I first started, I absolutely hated my job. But over time, it’s started to grow on me. A few weeks back, I faced the possibility of losing my job at the Treasury, and it opened my eyes to just how lucky I am to have this job—the shifts are never dull, the pay is quite decent, and best of all, I can walk to work.
As soon as I stepped into the pit, the garish colors and loud noises of the casino flooded my senses and wrapped around me like a warm, comfortable blanket. The pit always smells of an energizing, citrusy fragrance that’s piped in through the air vents, and the walls are devoid of clocks, windows or any other way of knowing the time. The carpets are bright, the gamblers loud and boisterous, and the slot machines constantly ringing out with their chimes, reminding everyone that they too can be a winner.
I took my position at the blackjack table I’d been assigned to, and the previous dealer clapped out his hands and left me to deal with the gamblers. I dealt cards and made small talk, concentrating on my work, till the hours sped by, and it was time for my first break.
The busyness died down soon after I got back from my break, and I used the opportunity to let my mind drift off every few minutes. I worried about Ian and Cecilia—there seemed to be something very wrong with that woman, and I hoped that Ian wouldn’t get into any serious trouble.
I wondered briefly about Janice Wilkerson. Harry had shown us her photo—she was a slim brunette with a face that looked pinched and unhappy. I had a hard time believing that a murderer would go to the effort of pushing a heavy flat–packed sofa onto a woman, but the whole thing felt off. Tomorrow, I’d start by talking to her coworkers, and perhaps I would learn why someone might want to kill her.
Furniture Fatality in Las Vegas Page 2
