Elwood shook his head. “No record or proof of this lady. Of course Briars’ lawyers are asking her to come forward, but that’s hard to do if she doesn’t exist.”
“This doesn’t sound like something he’d make up.”
“People make up all kinda stuff.”
“And what about the dead guy? Who is he?”
Elwood gave me a weary look. “Why me?”
“Huh?”
“Why am I the one you bother?”
“Because you’re on the case?”
Elwood grumbled under his breath. It sounded like something to do with ‘albatrosses’ and ‘necks,’ but I could be wrong.
Finally, he said, “The guy in the oven’s Harvey Gaudet.”
I looked at Elwood blankly. “Who’s that?”
Elwood shrugged. “He used to own a specialty dry cleaning store.”
“Like… the kind that does wedding dresses? Or upholstery?”
“The first type. Wedding dresses, fancy outfits, furs. Expensive stuff you wouldn’t want to take to your neighborhood joint. He worked with the good stuff, and charged top dollar for it.”
“How’s he connected to Roger? A friend? Or business?”
“Neither, apparently.” Elwood groaned. “It would be so much easier if they’d just been best friends who’d had a falling out. But no, neither seems to have known the other.”
I brightened up considerably. This was a major point in favor of Roger’s innocence. “Killers usually go after someone they know. You need motive to kill someone, and there’s no motive to kill a stranger.”
“I know,” agreed Elwood, looking as disheartened by that fact as I was hopeful.
I tapped my fingers on Elwood’s desk. “He could be lying though,” I said, playing devil’s advocate. “Maybe they’re archenemies and Roger’s hiding the truth.”
“We’ve spoken to people who knew them both. They didn’t know each other.”
I smiled and leaned back in my chair, satisfied. “Right. So what do you have on Harvey Gaudet?”
“Nothing,” snapped Elwood. “Nothing useful, at least. Quiet man, no enemies, no criminal connections. No reason to die by hypothermia and then get stuffed into an oven.”
I stared at Elwood. “This doesn’t sound like a good starting point for an investigation.”
“No,” he smirked. “Good luck finding anything useful.”
Chapter 9
I headed home, still not entirely sure whether or not I’d take on the case. It was true that the case against Roger Briars was looking a bit less airtight than what the media was portraying, but I was still concerned that he might turn out to be a killer. I figured I may as well talk to him before deciding anything, so I called the number he’d given me.
He answered after five rings.
“Tiffany!” he said, his voice flooded with relief. “I’m so glad you called!”
There was a lot of noise in the background: people yelling at each other, a high-pitched screeching noise, and then a sudden burst of trombone music.
“Sorry,” Roger said, “We’re prepping for our first show.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’d like to have a talk with you, but I prefer to talk face-to-face.”
“So you’re investigating for me?” He sounded hopeful and excited.
Not wanting to give the wrong impression, I said, “Not quite. I’m not entirely sure—” I was going to say that I wasn’t entirely sure of his innocence, but that might make him withhold information from me, and I couldn’t have that happening. So I quickly amended, “I haven’t made a decision yet. I need to talk to you before that.”
“Is there anything I can say to convince you?”
“No, not really. I just need all the facts. After that, I’ll know if there’s anything I can do to help. If I think I won’t be able to uncover anything new, then I won’t take on the case. I don’t want you hiring me to do something I can’t. In that case, you’re better off hiring someone else, and I might even be able to recommend someone.”
“Oh.” Roger sounded slightly taken aback. “Well, I appreciate your honesty.”
“No biggie. When should we meet?”
“How about around four-thirty? My first show will be over by then, and I’ll have an hour free.”
“That sounds fine.”
“And you know the Tremonte. Have you been to the lounge before?”
“No, but maybe we shouldn’t meet there. I’m sure there’ll be a cleaning crew.”
“I’ve got a small dressing room in the back. It’s soundproof and private.”
I wasn’t sure about meeting him in the dressing room, but it sounded better than meeting at a café, so I got directions from Roger before hanging up.
I took a few moments to think about it, but I finally texted Nanna and Ian to let them know about the meeting. They could go with me.
I figured it’d be better to take Nanna along; that way, she could see that I was trying. And if Roger gave off any obvious red flags, she would see those too. Sometimes, your heroes have a way of letting you down badly.
I spent a few minutes researching Harvey Gaudet online. I checked the search engines, social media sites, and my private investigator’s databases, but I didn’t come up with anything too unusual.
Harvey owned a specialty dry cleaning business, just like Elwood had said. He’d been in business for seven years, which meant that his business must be running pretty well. He probably had quite a few repeat customers, as well as business from tourists who came to Vegas.
I grabbed the address of Harvey’s store off the website, and was just about done with my research, when my phone buzzed.
My heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was Ryan.
I checked the caller ID display—it was Stone.
“Hi,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.
“Busy?”
“No. Not much. What’s up?” Stone never called without a reason.
“I need to see you.”
“As… a social visit?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“There’s something I need to give you.”
“What?”
“You’ll see when I give it to you.”
It bugged me to death that I didn’t know what Stone wanted to give me. It could be anything from a video incriminating our local politicians in a bribery scandal to a nice piece of jewelry or anything in between.
“You there?” Stone said.
“Yes. I’m just—I’m trying to figure out when I’ll be free to see you.”
“You working that Roger Briars case?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay.”
There was silence for a few more minutes as I tried to do some math in my head. I’d spend this evening investigating, and then?
With a jolt, I realized that as much as I was curious about what Stone wanted to give me, I also didn’t really want to meet him. Things were already uncomfortable between us, and now with Ryan gone, I didn’t know just how things stood.
“I’ll text you,” I said finally. “I’m not sure when I’ll be free.”
“Sure,” Stone said, and hung up.
Chapter 10
I texted Nanna and Ian my revised plan, and forty minutes later, we were parked outside Harvey Gaudet’s dry cleaning business.
I figured I had time to kill before meeting Roger that afternoon, and we may as well get a head start on some more background info on Harvey. My plan was to scope out the dry cleaners, and then go straight to my appointment with Roger.
“You stay in the car, Nanna,” I said as I unbuckled my seat belt. “I’ll keep the air conditioning running.”
“Nuh-uh,” said Nanna emphatically. “I need to be there with you. I might get something you two miss.”
I’d only picked up Nanna and brought her with us because I didn’t want to be stressed about time before meeting Roger, and I really didn’t want to take her into the dry cleaners with us.
“What if whoever killed this Harvey Gaudet is in there?” I asked. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Pshaw! I won’t be in trouble. I’m a little old lady, just out and about with her grand-daughter. Besides, what would your mother say if she knew you’d left me out, all alone in a strange parking lot by myself?”
I pressed my lips together. “My mother won’t say anything because she won’t know anything. You know she’d freak out if she learned I was dragging you along to talk to these people. You said you wouldn’t tell her!”
“Of course I won’t. Because I’m going with you.”
Ian and I exchanged a glance. We wouldn’t get anywhere with this conversation and I may as well just take her with us. It always seemed easier to just let Nanna do what she wanted.
The dry cleaners was one of a series of stores in a small strip mall; there was a strange-looking butcher shop on one side, and a store advertising gym equipment on the other side. I’d parked my battered old Honda at the far end of the parking area, as far away from the dry cleaners as I could, so we trudged for a long minute through the Vegas heat ‘til we got to the door and pushed it open.
As we stepped into the cool air of the store, we noticed a harried-looking woman behind the counter, shooing away five reporters. Each man was holding either a camera or a notepad and pen, watching her intently. They crowded the small space available between the store’s counter and the front door, and Ian, Nanna, and I hung back and listened.
“I’ve got nothing to tell you!” the woman was saying. “I already told you everything yesterday, and I’m so tired I’m about to collapse. Just go! Please! Leave me alone.”
One of the reporters leaned in close and asked a question in a low voice, but the woman just shook her head. “Go away!” she said. “Or I’ll call the police and have you all arrested for harassment!”
Ian looked at me with a grimace. The woman didn’t seem to be in the mood for talking.
As the reporters shuffled out sheepishly, I got a better look at the woman.
She seemed to be somewhere between thirty and forty years old, but it was hard to tell because of the large-framed glasses she wore. Her face was free of makeup, her skin slightly wrinkled. Her eyebrows and lashes were pale and thin, and a large brown scarf was wrapped over her head, obscuring her hair. Her clothes were frumpy and her glance as she eyed the departing reporters was one mixed with relief and annoyance.
And then, her brown eyes fell on us, and narrowed.
“Are you here for some dry cleaning?” she asked, her voice sharp and wary.
We weren’t carrying any fancy clothes that needed tending to, so I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’m Tiffany Black, and this is Ian Ewanson and my nanna.”
The woman nodded at us. “Joan Gaudet. What can I help you with?”
I decided to be upfront. If she wanted to kick us out, so be it. We could come back another day with some dry cleaning.
“I’m looking into Harvey Gaudet’s death. You said you’re Mrs. Gaudet?”
“That’s right,” she said with a sigh. “His wife. Or, widow, now.”
Her eyes were tinged with sadness.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “This must all be a huge shock to you.”
She nodded. “Yes. I don’t know what happened. They say he was found stuffed in oven. How could—why—anyway. Anyway. I’m just at a loss, you see.”
“Of course.” I stepped forward so that I could give her arm a quick, sympathetic squeeze. Up close, the woman seemed even more harried and exhausted. “It must be so difficult for you.”
“Yes. I mean, nobody thinks they’ll outlive their husband. Not when you’re so young, anyway.”
“How young are you?” asked Ian.
Joan looked at him sharply. “Who’re you again?”
“Ian. I’m Tiffany’s neighbor. Why can’t you tell me how old you are?”
“Because it’s not any of your business.” Joan frowned and looked at me. “Why’s he here? Are you with the police? You don’t look like you’re with the police.”
“Ian helps me with my investigations sometimes.”
“But you’re not a reporter?”
“She’s a private investigator,” Nanna chimed up. “She works when the police are stumped, and she’s very good. She always gets the guy.”
“Oh no,” I said quickly. “Nanna’s just exaggerating a bit.”
“Though we have been solving a lot of murders,” Ian said proudly. “We’ve always gotten the killer.”
“How—interesting,” said Joan, in a tone that belied forced politeness.
“And now we’re looking into Harvey’s death,” said Ian. “Do you have any idea who might’ve done this?”
“Of course,” said Joan. “That’s obvious. It was Roger Briars, no question.”
I stared at her, assessing. She looked at me like she was telling me that the sky was blue and the earth was round.
I said, “What makes you so sure about that?”
“The guy was caught on camera! What more proof do you need?”
“How do you mean?”
“He was caught on camera stuffing my—stuffing Harvey’s body into the oven, killing him.”
I gave Ian a quick nudge to let him know not to say anything. The fact that Roger was on tape stuffing the body into the oven wasn’t actually proof that he’d killed Harvey—Harvey was already been dead by then.
But my nudge came too late, or maybe Ian didn’t understand why I was nudging him.
He said, “But that wasn’t when Harvey was killed. Harvey wasn’t killed in the oven. He was killed by hypothermia.”
Joan looked shocked. “What!” Her eyes grew wide and she leaned forward jerkily. A wisp of glossy brown hair escaped her scarf, and she tucked it behind her ear. “How do you mean? Who told you that?”
Ian glanced at me, having the grace to seem slightly embarrassed. I didn’t think I should mention that the police told me that, so I said, “I’m so sorry. This must all be so difficult for you.”
I placed a hand on her arm, but she shook it off.
“Who told you that?” Tears welled up in her eyes. “People know things I don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“Anyway, it wasn’t Roger,” Nanna said.
Joan glared at her. “Roger’s the man on tape.”
“Roger is a saint.”
Suddenly, Joan looked defeated and weary. “My husband is dead, and Roger is on camera shov—Roger’s no saint.”
Nanna was about to protest, but it was time to give Nanna a gentle nudge, and thankfully, she was more socially savvy than Ian. “We don’t have all the facts yet,” she said diplomatically. “That’s why Tiffany’s investigating.”
Joan looked from Nanna back to me. “Why exactly are you investigating? You said you were a PI. Who hired you? Roger?”
“No,” I said, quickly. I didn’t need Joan thinking that I was working for a man she thought had a hand in her husband’s murder. “I’m not.”
“Then? Who are you working for?”
“Uh—no one.” It was kind of the truth.
Joan gave me a skeptical look. “You just ask around for your own curiosity?”
“Umm, no.” I decided to tell her a version of the truth. “Nanna is a huge fan of Roger’s, and she thinks he’s innocent. So she asked me to do a few background checks.”
“I’m not a fan,” Nanna said quickly. “My daughter is. Huge fan. Crazy about him.”
“Well, she should pick someone else to be crazy about,” Joan said bitterly. “Not a psycho killer.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” I said. “Though I might end up finding some details that really prove Roger’s the killer.”
Joan brightened slightly at that. “Yes, I suppose so. I mean, it doesn’t make a difference who killed him—but I suppose, even after all this, it would be nice to know that a man doesn’t walk free after killing another man.�
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There was a small, open doorway leading to what seemed to be a larger room behind the counter, and just then, a slim, olive-skinned man walked past it.
I quickly followed up with a question. “Would it be possible to talk to your employees? They might have seen something that could help us out.”
Joan considered for a second and then nodded. “As long as you keep anything you find to yourself—and the cops. You sure you’re not a reporter?”
“No, of course not.”
“Good. You didn’t seem like one, but then, my judgment isn’t all that good.”
“I’m sure you’ve got good judgment,” I said, trying to calm her down. She seemed upset, and not just over Harvey’s death.
Joan shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I’m just not used to doing things for myself.” She spread her arms out wide. “All this—everything—Harvey used to take care of. He did all the banking, made all the decisions, took care of the employees. I just chatted with the customers and did a bit of admin here and there. I’m so—I’m so overwhelmed by it all.”
Joan fell silent and dropped her head into her hands.
“I’m sure you did more than you give yourself credit for,” I said, trying to be supportive. Although, I’d met women like Joan who’d let their husbands do all the heavy lifting for them. Those relationships seemed to work out wonderfully sometimes, and turn into train wrecks other times, when the women finally had to fend for themselves. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of things soon! You do have some employees here, don’t you?”
Joan nodded, still holding her head in her hands. “Yes. Dan, the delivery driver, has been with us since the beginning. But Xavier, he’s only been with us a month now.” She let out a soft moan. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know how I’ll manage it all.”
“Didn’t Harvey leave you any insurance?” I asked.
Joan looked at me and finally quirked her lips up. “Insurance? No. The business was barely getting by. We couldn’t afford luxuries like life or health insurance.”
“You should get health insurance,” I said quickly, suddenly feeling worried for this vulnerable woman. “If you got sick suddenly, you’d rack up some huge bills.”
Lounge Singers And Liars In Las Vegas Page 6
