Author: Renee Pawlish
Date: 2014-07-07 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery; Fiction; Thriller; Crime; Mystery Thriller; Detective; Contemporary
Description: Denver private investigator Reed Ferguson is between cases when a house fire threatens to consume the home of his girlfriend, Willie. The police think it's arson, and they look to Willie - the owner of the building - as the logical suspect. Worse yet, when a body is found in the charred third-floor apartment, the police think Willie is the killer. Reed hops into action to clear her name, but as his own list of suspects grows, so does the danger. Can Reed find the culprit who committed murder, or will his investigation go up in flames? The latest installment in the Reed Ferguson mystery series
Publisher: Llama Press

Torch Scene

A Reed Ferguson Mystery

First Digital Edition published by Llama Press
copyright 2014 by Renée Pawlish

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Hecker, Beth Treat, and Janice Horne. Special thanks to Beth Treat for the Norma Desmond scene in chapter twelve. If I’ve forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

Follow me on Twitter - @reneepawlish
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Torch Scene

CHAPTER ONE

It woke me out of a deep sleep. I stared up at the ceiling and noticed a dancing glow penetrating the darkness. I blinked and turned my eyes toward the window. The light through the cracks in the blinds was too bright and too red to be the moon’s luminosity. I propped up on an elbow, trying not to disturb Willie, who was cuddled beside me. We were lying on the couch in my living room, and we’d both fallen asleep while watching a movie. The television screen was glowing neon blue, the movie over. I sat up carefully, noting Willie’s soft, regulated breathing. Then another noise carried through the stillness. Sirens, growing louder.

There was a fire, somewhere close by. Wow, I was some detective to have figured that out.

I pushed myself off the couch, tiptoed in my socks to the window, and peeked out through the blinds. My jaw dropped. Fire raged through the top story of an old Victorian house across the street. It was a beautiful structure, although lately it was suffering from the rundown blues. It still had lots of charm, with a long balcony, arched windows, and plenty of original wood. I watched, hypnotized by the red, orange and white flames that licked at that old wood. Brilliant flames soon enveloped the roof.

I stared at the blaze for a moment, too stunned to act. It was quite a sight, and I held up a hand to block the glare. Dark shadows raced along the sidewalk as my neighbors poured out of their houses to watch the sight.

Behind me, Willie stirred. “Reed?” She yawned. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I should go home.”

I turned around and shook my head. “You can’t.”

“Nice try, but I shouldn’t stay.” She stretched and groaned. “I’ve got to be up early and I don’t want to disturb you.” A puzzled look crossed her face. “What’s wrong?”

I felt pressure on my chest, and for a moment I couldn’t find my voice. “Your building is on fire,” I finally managed to say.

Her eyes widened. “What?”

I pulled up the blinds and the fiery glow burst into the room.

She flew off the couch and rushed to the window. “Oh no!”

I suddenly found my faculties. “Come on.” I grabbed her arm.

We both slipped on shoes, then ran outside and down the stairs. The wail of sirens grew to a crescendo as we rounded the corner to the front of my building. My neighbors, Ace and Deuce Smith, emerged bleary-eyed from their first-floor condo. Both wore nothing but white boxer shorts and socks.

“Hey, Reed, there’s a fire,” Ace said, stating the obvious.

“A big fire,” Deuce said as he crossed his arms over his beefy chest to ward off the chilly April night air.

This level of insight was typical from the two, whom I’d affectionately nicknamed the Goofball Brothers because they were, perhaps, a few snowflakes short of a blizzard. Ace had worked at Blockbuster until they closed, and now he was job-hunting, and Deuce was a construction laborer. Their parents helped them financially, which explained why they could afford to live in this neighborhood. Their older brother, Bob, who lived a few miles away, watched over his younger, intelligence-impaired brothers, and tried to make sure they stayed out of trouble. As far as the younger sons’ goofy names, apparently their father had discovered his love of poker only after Bob was born. Lucky Bob.

We stood on the porch and watched the spectacle unfold. Two fire trucks pulled to a stop on the street in front of us, and firemen poured out of the trucks, rushing to and fro, yelling as they hooked up hoses and maneuvered ladders. The sirens died a slow death, and a couple of police cars screeched to a halt behind the trucks. Four officers shot from the cars and began shouting orders for everyone to stay back. Not that they needed to tell us. Even from across the street, the heat from the blaze was intense. A couple of our neighbors sidled up near the porch and watched with us.

“Damn,” Mr. Darmody said. He must’ve been in his eighties and he and his wife lived next door. “Never seen anything like that.” His wife, Mrs. Darmody – I didn’t know her first name either – nodded mutely as she tugged a sweater around her shoulders.

It was amazing how the fire brought us all out, like this was a Fourth of July fireworks display, and not someone’s home dying before our eyes.

Crackling and popping sounds split the night air as wood burned and electrical circuits exploded. Smoke billowed into the air and ash fell around us like spring snow. Two firemen pointed a hose at the house, then a stream of water fanned back and forth, spraying the flames. It was hard to tell if it was making a difference. Two more firemen in fireproof suits and oxygen tanks stormed up the front porch, broke down the door with axes and rushed inside.

“Is anyone in there?” a man who lived down the street asked.

“I hope not,” someone else replied.

Willie choked back a sob as tears streamed down her cheeks. I put my arm around her. She was trembling, and it wasn’t just from the chilly air.

The blaze intensified, engulfing much of the top floor interior. Streams of water poured down on the fire. Then a loud groan broke through the cacophony, and we jumped as the cracking sounds of collapsing joists burst from the building. The two firemen emerged from the building just as some windows exploded. Someone screamed. The firemen dropped to the grass, then scrambled away from the house.

“Wow,” Deuce said, awe in his voice. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Sparks danced in the night sky, and black plumes of smoke rose up, obliterating the moon. A breeze shifted direction, and suddenly a fireman shouted and frantically gestured at the house next door. Flames were crawling up the roof.

A crew of firemen shifted focus and doused the new blaze, then covered surrounding roofs with water to keep them from catching fire. Then they aimed the hoses at the towering maple tree in the yard. The first unit still focused on the third floor, trying to get the blaze under control.

Willie’s other next-door neighbor, a guy named Rusty Householter, came running up.

“Oh my god!” he said as he ran a hand through thinning blond hair. “I can’t believe this.”

“You’re not the only one,” I muttered.

“Willie, are you all right?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, her eyes focused across the street, a helpless look on her face.

“Reed,” Rusty murmured, throwing a slight nod at her. “Where are the other tenants from her building?”

Willie stiffened. “Oh.” She emitted a little yelp and covered her mouth. “You don’t think…”

We stepped off the porch and approached the street. Before we’d taken five steps, an officer standing on the sidewalk hollered at us to stay back.

“We’re looking for the other tenants,” I shouted at him as I pointed at the inferno.

He cupped a hand around his ear and I yelled again. He nodded, then signaled us over. “How many tenants in the building?” he asked.

“Three,” Willie said. She coughed and waved at the smoke around us. “I live on the ground floor. Darcy Cranston has the second floor apartment, and Nick O’Rourke lives in the studio apartment in the attic.”

“What about the basement?” he asked.

“Laundry and storage,” she said.

“I saw Darcy earlier,” Rusty said as he joined us. “She was going out with her boyfriend.”

“She spends a lot of time at his place,” Willie said. “I hope that’s the case tonight.”

“What about Nick?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“I don’t see him anywhere,” Rusty said as he scanned the people nearby.

The officer – his name tag read ‘Adams’ – turned and shouted a name. Another officer ran up.

“Ask around, see if you can find a man named Nick…” Adams glanced back at us.

“O’Rourke,” Willie said.

The second officer nodded and headed off to canvas a small crowd down the street. We stepped back, waited and watched. The firemen appeared to be making some progress, keeping the blaze confined to the attic. But even as I thought that, one attic wall moaned, then shuddered and collapsed. Another wall soon followed. The officer returned and spoke to Adams, then shook his head. Adams came toward us, his mouth a grim line.

“No Nick O’Rourke,” he said.

Willie’s lower lip quivered. “Was he…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.

Adams shrugged. “Do you know his phone number?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said as she pulled out her cell phone. Her hand shook as she touched a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing,” she said in answer to quizzical looks. A moment later, she spoke into the phone. “Hey, Nick, it’s Willie. Can you give me a call as soon as you can? Thanks.”

“Voice mail,” Adams said. I guess he was taking his cue from Ace, pointing out the obvious.

“Where could he be?” Willie asked.

“We’ll find out,” Adams said. “We’ll need to talk to the owner of the building, and we can ask if they have more information on O’Rourke. You know who owns the place?”

“That would be me,” Willie said.

CHAPTER TWO

I stared at her. “You own the building?” I blurted, completely taken aback.

She nodded.

That was news to me. She’d moved into the first floor apartment a few years ago, and I’d just assumed that she was a renter. We’d been dating for a while and she’d never said anything about owning the entire building. Not that it was something she had to mention. Oh, Reed, now that we’re dating, you should know that I own the building. Still, you’d think it might have come up in conversation at some point. Paranoia crawled through my veins and I didn’t enjoy the feeling, nor did I understand why I was feeling that way. Especially right now. Willie didn’t need that from me.

“Do you have any other information on Nick O’Rourke?” Adams interrupted my thoughts.

I threw him an odd look, wondering how he knew I was a detective and why I would have pertinent information about O’Rourke. Then I felt my face burning as I realized he was talking to Willie.

She shook her head. “All my paperwork is…was…in the house.”

“Let’s hope he calls,” Adams said. “The fire inspectors will want to talk to you.”

“Right,” she said. “We’ll wait for them.”

Adams glanced back at the blaze across the street. “It’s going to be a while.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Her voice was barely audible above the chaos.

Someone shouted for Adams. He tipped his head at us and dashed off.

Willie suddenly pulled out her phone again. “I should call Darcy.” She dialed another number and again had to leave a message, this time asking Darcy to call her. She held the phone, as if hoping it would ring right away. Then she wiped her hands over her face, but the worried look remained. “What if Darcy was in there, too?”

“Think positive. She’s usually with her boyfriend, right?”

“This is a nightmare,” Willie said.

She was in a fog, so I guided her slowly back to the porch and we sat down. Ace and Deuce stood nearby. No one said a word as we watched the firemen work to contain the fire. After a while, I heard a loud yawn from behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Why don’t you guys go back to bed,” I said. “There’s nothing to do here.”

“Okay,” Ace said, stepping forward, shifting from foot to foot. “Willie, are you going to be okay?”

She didn’t say anything. I nudged her. “Oh.” She turned around and nodded. “I’ll be okay, Ace, thanks.”

“If you need any help, you let us know.” He nodded, then tugged at Deuce’s arm. They shuffled across the porch and inside their condo. A square of light from their living room window briefly illuminated us, then blinked out.

I put my arm around Willie again as we watched the firemen. A couple of times she would open her mouth to say something, then without a word, her jaw would clamp shut. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. And again, I couldn’t imagine what I was thinking. I still wanted to ask her about the building. When did she buy it? Why hadn’t she told me she owned it? And I again chided myself for my lack of focus. Then other questions popped into my head. Did she have insurance? If so, was it enough? How were her finances? Would she have enough to cover what insurance didn’t? And although I didn’t know much about fire investigations, I knew that the fire inspectors would take a good hard look at her.

My mind wandered to the old Alfred Hitchcock classic, Rebecca. I wouldn’t call it film noir, as some did, but it was a great movie, with one helluva dramatic house fire at the end. Unlike the movie, I was thankful the firefighters had gotten this blaze under control before it consumed the entire building.

Willie rested her head on my shoulder and sighed, and it broke my reverie. The fire eventually died down and the gawkers trickled away to their homes. Willie and I continued our vigil from the porch. Amidst shouts and clanging of equipment, one of the fire trucks rumbled to life and soon pulled away. The other truck remained, dousing what fire was left and searching for hot spots.

The sky soon morphed from black to pink, then orange as the sun introduced a new day. By now the attic of the building was a smoldering mess of black ash, and the remaining floors were saturated. An acrid smell hung in the air. Another group of people showed up in an unmarked car. The fire inspectors. As the firemen soaked the attic, Adams and the other patrolman strung police tape around the perimeter of the property.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Willie as I stood up.

I hurried into the street and spoke to Adams, then returned, noticing how shocked Willie still looked. Her face was devoid of emotion, and I had to get right down in her face to get her attention.

“I talked to Officer Adams,” I said. Damn, now I was stating the obvious. “I gave him both of our numbers. He said the fire inspectors would call later.” She gazed out past me, barely blinking. “Why don’t you come upstairs?” I continued. “We can call your insurance company, and then you can get a little rest. The fire inspectors are going to have questions for you later, and you may have to meet with the police. You’ll want a clear head.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said automatically.

I held out a hand. “Come on. There’s nothing we can do right now.”

It took a long moment, but she finally grabbed my hand. I practically had to haul her to her feet and drag her upstairs. She slumped onto the couch while I looked online for the State Farm 24-hour service. After a brief conversation, in which they assessed that she had a place to stay and then set up a meeting with her for later in the day, we undressed in silence and crawled into my bed. I wrapped her in my arms and held her as she cried herself to sleep.

***

I dreamed of a campfire, hot coals, and smoke. So much smoke. I lingered on the edge of consciousness, wondering about the campfire. Was Willie tending to it? I reached out for her and my arm hit the mattress. My eyes flew open. Bright light streamed through the bedroom window. I was in the bed alone.

I rolled over and stared at the alarm clock on the nightstand: 11:50. My body cried for more sleep, but I sat up, then scrunched up my nose against the smoky odor clinging to my hair. I tugged at the sheets. That reek was everywhere. I fluffed the sheets, trying to get rid of the smell, and then a sound broke through my fuddled brain. Running water. The shower. That explained where Willie was.

I yawned and stretched, then pushed myself off the bed. I donned shorts and a tee shirt, and plodded into the kitchen to make coffee. When I returned to the bedroom with two steaming cups, Willie was just emerging from the bathroom wearing one of my shirts.

“My clothes smell like a forest fire,” she said as she used her hand like a comb and ran it through her short blond hair, giving it a rakish look. Even though stress lines streaked her face, and sadness ringed her eyes, she was cute as ever.

I kissed her and handed her the coffee.

“Thanks.” She sat wearily on the edge of the bed and took a sip. She made a face and put the cup on the floor.

“Not good?” I said, trying for pseudo-offended. Trying to make her laugh, but it didn’t work.

She ignored that and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “I missed a call.” She hit some buttons and listened to a voice mail. “It’s Darcy,” she said with relief. “She’s going into a meeting and said to call later.” She hung up and sighed. “I’ll call her back, and I hope she’ll answer. I don’t want to leave this kind of news in a message.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

She returned the call, waited and shook her head. “Still not answering.” She left another message, saying to call, all the while trying to keep her voice from breaking.

“Did you hear from Nick O’Rourke?” I asked when she finished.

“No.” She stared off into space. “What am I going to do?”

I leaned against the dresser. “You can stay here. I’ll clean up and we’ll go get you some clothes and stuff.”

“I don’t mean that.” She made a halfhearted gesture toward the street. “The whole upstairs is gone. And the damage…” her voice trailed off.

“How did…when did…” I wasn’t sure if now was the time to ask about her owning the building, but I had to admit, my curiosity was killing me.

“How long have I owned the building?”

I nodded.

“I bought it shortly after I moved in, when I was dating Alan.” Alan was the boyfriend before me. “I heard the building was for sale and I thought it would be a good investment, with the real estate market the way it was. I got it at a steal, and the hope is that I can sell it for a nice profit down the road. It’s risky for me, though. The rent I get from the other units covers the mortgage, but not much else.”

“I never knew,” I said.

Her face colored slightly. “I wasn’t trying to hide it. It just never came up.”

We hadn’t been dating that long, but I was still surprised she’d never told me. I wanted to talk about it more, but like last night, it didn’t seem like the right time. She had too much to deal with right now.

“You’ve got enough insurance, right?” I asked.

“I think so.” She stood up, went to the window and peered out.

“That’s good. I know that doesn’t help when you’re talking about personal things, like photos, but at least you’ll be able to –” I saw the expression on her face and stopped talking. “What?”

“The fire inspectors are still there,” she said. “Maybe they know how the fire started.”

“You want to talk to them now?”

“Yes.” She turned around. “Will you come with me?”

“Sure.” I really wanted to take a shower so I didn’t smell like barbecue, but Willie was already headed out of the bedroom. I yanked on a pair of tennis shoes and followed her.

We tromped down the stairs, neither of us saying a word. The sun was high in the sky, but the day was cool, and a burning odor still clung to the air. We rounded the corner of the house and hurried down the sidewalk. A television truck was parked just down the street, and a couple of unmarked police cars sat in front of the building. Behind them was an ambulance, and then I spied a classic blue ’65 Mustang in front of one of the unmarked cars. I suddenly stopped as I recognized the car’s owner standing across the street, in front of the charred remains of Willie’s house. It was Sarah Spillman, from Denver’s homicide department. My stomach roiled. Seeing her meant only one thing: someone had died in the fire.

CHAPTER THREE

I hoped I was wrong, but I didn’t think so.

Willie plowed into me. “Reed! What’s going on?” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Hold on.” I pulled her arm. “They look pretty busy. Let’s wait a minute.” I wanted a moment to think. And, before Willie talked to them, I wanted to know if they really had discovered a body in the rubble. If that were the case, it would completely change the complexion of the questions, especially if someone deliberately started the fire. If it was arson, the police would naturally look at Willie, wondering if she had a motive to burn the building down.

Willie stared at me, then shrugged. We went back to the porch and sat down. The Darmodys next door were out, sitting in rocking chairs, sipping coffee and watching the investigation unfold.

“Sure sorry about everything,” Mr. Darmody called out. As usual, his wife remained quiet.

“Thanks,” Willie replied.

Across the street, a reporter from one of the local news channels stood near the crime scene tape, and a cameraman filmed nearby. A fire inspector moved throughout the rubble on the perimeter of the house. He wore boots and gloves, and he carried some kind of electronic device. He occasionally stopped, jotted notes on a clipboard, then tucked the clipboard under his arm and moved on.

Spillman walked around the side of the building, then paused. She shielded her eyes and gazed up at the burned attic apartment. Portions of two charred walls remained, but the entire roof had burned. Only a couple of black joists stood out like a partial skeleton. She continued on, stepping carefully over all the debris that lay on the lawn.

I’d first met Spillman when we were both investigating the same homicide. She was a sharp detective with a hard-edged demeanor, and she usually looked more like a businesswoman than a cop. Not today, however. She had on jeans and a tee shirt smudged with soot, and her hair was disheveled. I wondered how long she’d been there. She waved an arm, talking to someone up above. I couldn’t imagine what a mess was in that attic, or what remained of it. Spillman gestured again, and I noticed the top of an aluminum ladder resting against the side of the house. She said something else, and a man in coveralls, long gloves that covered him up to his elbows, and heavy boots climbed down the ladder. They moved to the front porch, and the man disappeared inside. A few minutes later, he came back out with another man in similar attire. The group stood talking for a moment, then turned as two paramedics approached with a metal gurney that they carried onto the porch.

This larger group all huddled and talked, then the paramedics stepped inside the building, bent down and picked up something. They backpedaled slowly, carrying a black body bag that they gently set on the gurney. Beside me, Willie gasped. The paramedics lifted the gurney off the porch, then rolled it down the sidewalk, stopping periodically as the wheels of the gurney caught on the uneven concrete. They made it to the ambulance, loaded the gurney into the back, and shut the doors. The fire inspectors joined them for one quick, final conversation. Then the paramedics left to deliver the body to the morgue for an autopsy.

“What if it was Nick O’Rourke?” Willie asked.

I didn’t say anything for a moment. Then I pushed myself up. “That woman over there?” I pointed at Spillman. “She’s a homicide detective.”

Willie stared up at me. “But…homicide? That would mean they think the fire was intentionally started in order to kill someone.”

“The police are going to treat this like a homicide until they know differently.” What I knew about arson investigations I’d mostly gleaned from reading detective novels, so I was guessing. But it didn’t take a genius to see how this would play out. Since a body was found, the police would have to treat it like a murder investigation, in order not to contaminate a potential crime scene. Since Willie owned the building, Spillman would have to rule out that she started the fire. Which meant that Willie was facing a barrage of intense questioning.

I jerked my head toward Spillman. “Let’s see what she can tell us.”

Willie let out a huge sigh, stood up and followed me across the street. Spillman was slowly walking around the edge of the building, looking down. She crossed the lawn, grabbed the yellow crime-scene tape and ducked under it. When she looked up and saw me, she frowned.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cool and weary.

“This is my girlfriend.” I introduced Willie. “She owns the building.”

Spillman’s brown eyes darted to Willie, then back to me. “I’m sorry about what happened here.”

“Thank you,” Willie said. “Do you know how the fire started?”

“It was arson.” Spillman’s lips formed into a grim line. “And, as I’m sure you noticed, we found a body. That means whoever started the fire is now a murderer.”

“Uh-huh,” Willie said, her voice barely audible.

“I know this isn’t what you want to do right now, but I’d like to ask you some questions,” Spillman said, all business.

Willie sighed with fatigue. “Okay.”

“First, have you heard anything more from Nick O’Rourke?”

Spillman was on top of things, knowing not only the name of Willie’s tenant, but that no one had heard from him since before the fire started.

“No,” Willie said. “I called him last night but he never returned the call. So no other neighbors have heard from him?”

Spillman shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Do you…was that body…” Willie lost her voice.

“Was it him?” Spillman asked bluntly. She shrugged. “We’ll have to wait until the autopsy results come in, but it’s likely it was him.” Willie paled, but Spillman continued. “What can you tell me about his family?”

Willie thought for a moment. “His parents live in Fort Collins. He’s got a younger sister, but she lives out of state. He works in IT, some kind of programmer. He moved in almost a year ago.”

“Anything else?” Spillman continued. “Did he have references?”

Willie hesitated. “All my rental information was in my apartment. I don’t even remember his parents’ names. I’m sorry.”

Spillman smiled understandingly. “It’s okay. We’ll track them down.”

Then the conversation veered into an interrogation of Willie, albeit a polite one. I was listening, but also watching the fire inspector. He’d made his way around the house, continuing with the electronic device and note-taking, and I wondered if he’d discovered anything significant. Spillman’s questions were getting more personal, and I started to back away to give them privacy, but Willie grabbed my elbow. So I stood beside her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing I could spare her the questioning. On the one hand, I was fascinated to learn more about my girlfriend, but finding out more of her private information in this manner made me feel like a voyeur.

“How long have you owned the building?” Spillman asked.

“Three years.”

“And you have insurance on it?”

“Yes.”

Spillman pulled out a small notepad and a pen and jotted down some notes. “Who’s your insurance company?”

“State Farm.”

“How much coverage did you have?”

Willie named a figure. “I think that’s right. I’d have to check for sure.”

“Have you ever made a fire claim before?”

“No,” Willie said. “Of course not.”

“Have you noticed anything suspicious lately?” Spillman asked. “Anybody hanging around that you don’t know? Any problems with anyone?”

Willie’s face darkened slightly, but if Spillman noticed, she didn’t show it. “I haven’t seen anyone around…not anyone suspicious.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I can’t believe someone would do this.”

“Do you have any idea how the fire might’ve started?”

“No,” Willie said.

“No electrical problems or any other recent issues?”

“No, nothing.”

Spillman paused, and it seemed that she was giving Willie the once-over. Looking to see if Willie showed signs that she’d started the fire, like singed hair or burns? I wondered.

“Anything else?” Willie finally asked.

Spillman pocketed the notepad and pen. “I think I have enough for now. We may need to ask you more questions later.”

I put a hand on Willie’s shoulder. Her muscles were like cords of wood.

“When will the autopsy be completed?” I asked.

“In a day or two,” Spillman said. She put her hands on her hips. “You’ll want to know who it was.”

I jerked a thumb at the TV truck. “I’d rather not hear it on the news.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Like I said, it’ll be a day or two.” With that, Spillman tipped her head once, thanked Willie, ignored me and walked away.

CHAPTER FOUR

It took a little over twenty-four hours to find out who died in the fire. After Spillman left, Darcy called and Willie had the regrettable task of telling her about the house fire. Darcy had been at her boyfriend’s house and then had gone straight to work. She was going to come home now, but Willie told her there was nothing to do, and they made plans to meet later in the day. While they talked, I made sandwiches. When she got off the phone, we ate in silence. Then Willie left for a meeting with her insurance agent.

I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the house. I wasn’t a dirty person, but sometimes the clutter got the best of me, and I’m sure the bathroom needed attention. When Willie was just popping in and out, the messiness didn’t seem so bad. Or so I chose to believe. But since I didn’t know how long she’d be staying, I thought it best to give the place a good onceover.

When Willie returned, she said that State Farm was working with the fire inspectors now, and when the fire inspectors released the scene, the State Farm inspectors would perform their own investigation in the next couple of days. They would also secure the building and install a new door so no one could get inside, and they’d hire contractors to come in and turn off the power and gas. She said it would be at least a few days before she or the other tenants would be able to go back into their apartments, and they gave her a check to buy clothes and other necessities.

I’d offered to take her shopping, but fortunately for me, Darcy stopped by and she took the shopping bullet for me. The thought of looking at clothes, and shoes, and buying toiletries, and a hairdryer – because apparently I didn’t own the ‘right’ kind – did not sound like fun to me. So they went on their way, and when Willie returned, she was in a slightly better mood.

Any other time, our evening together might’ve been romantic, but given the circumstances, it was tense. I offered to take Willie out to dinner and a movie, but she begged off, saying she was too tired. In truth, I felt the same way, and we went to bed before ten.

The next day Willie went to work, and I’d spent the day working on my taxes. I’d just sat down to watch the local evening news, when she walked through the door.

“Hey,” she said wearily. The look of total dejection on her face pulled at my heartstrings. She threw her purse on a chair and plodded into the kitchen.

“Hey yourself,” I called after her.

Glasses clanked and then water ran in the kitchen sink. I was about to go in and ask how her day went when the doorbell rang.

I cursed under my breath at the interruption as I pushed myself off the couch. When I opened the door, I was surprised to see Detective Spillman standing on my landing.

I almost went for flip, but decided against it. Something in her face told me I’d better not. “Good afternoon,” I said instead. “I’m sure this isn’t a social call.” Okay, so maybe I was a little flip.

“I thought you’d want to know the autopsy results,” Spillman said. As usual, she was all business, right down to her three-piece navy blue pantsuit.

“We do,” I said as Willie came up behind me.

“Unfortunately…” Spillman paused when she saw Willie. “The body in the attic apartment was your tenant, Nick O’Rourke.”

Willie’s eyes widened and she almost dropped a glass of water.

“I’m sorry,” Spillman said. She focused on Willie. “Were you close to Mr. O’Rourke?”

“Uh, not really,” Willie said slowly.

“Could you come down to the station?” Spillman asked. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”

“Well,” Willie paused, then looked at me. “Isn’t it kind of late in the day? We were about to go out.”

I hoped my face didn’t betray my surprise. Spillman looked at me. “Yep, we’re going out,” I said.

Spillman nodded slowly, then reached out and handed Willie a business card. “How about tomorrow morning, say around ten?”

“Yes, of course.” Willie’s hand shook as she took the card.

As Spillman turned to leave, I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door closed.

“How’d he die?” I asked, matching her bluntness.

She stopped and turned, one hand on the railing. “Why do you ask?”

“Come on, Spillman. Why else would you come here?”

She studied me for a second, then nodded. “You’re sharp. I forget that sometimes.” I ignored the jab. “O’Rourke died of blunt trauma to the head,” she said. “Two blows. Someone knocked him out and then left him to die in that blaze. That’s all you’ll get from me right now.”

She spun around and clomped down the stairs, the soles of her shoes ringing loudly on the metal staircase. I didn’t like it. She was usually a tad more cordial with me, even though I sometimes rubbed her the wrong way.

Once she was gone, I went back inside. Willie was standing in the same place, staring into space. I shut the door, leaned against it and crossed my arms. She still hadn’t moved.

“Willie?”

Her head moved slowly and she met my gaze. “What’d you ask the detective?”

“I asked what she was holding back.”

“And?”

I told her about how O’Rourke died. She gritted her teeth and then let out a tiny moan.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“First, your reaction just now. Second, you told Spillman we have plans, but we don’t.” I waited a second and when she still didn’t move, I continued. “I saw the expression on your face yesterday, when Spillman asked you if anything suspicious was going on. You held something back. And now, when she asked if you were close to Nick O’Rourke. You weren’t straight with her again.”

“I’m not ready to talk to her.”

“What does that mean?”

She swallowed hard. “They’re going to think I started the fire. And since someone died in the fire, they’ll charge me with murder. Or involuntary manslaughter, or something like that.”

I felt a momentary flash of uncertainty. What was she hiding? Then I reached out and took her hand. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

She stared at the door for a moment, then looked me in the eye. “It’s a long story, but I’m going to need a detective to help clear my name.”

CHAPTER FIVE

It was natural for her to look to me for help because I happened to be a detective, although, as Magnum P.I. said, the more accurate term was ‘private investigator’. I aspired to be as cool as Humphrey Bogart, my cinematic hero, although I don’t know how much I succeeded in that. And just like the old detective novels and film noir movies that I loved, with the flawed detectives and femme fatales, I’m a sucker for a beautiful woman asking for help. But I never thought the woman who’d be asking for my help would be my girlfriend, who was beautiful, but decidedly not a femme fatale.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll fix us some drinks and we can talk about this,” I suggested.

“Let’s go out to eat,” Willie said.

I raised an eyebrow. “You look worn out.”

“I told that detective we were going out,” she said a bit snippily. “So we have to go somewhere.” I got a look like ‘der’.

“Okay, we’ll go out.”

I got my keys, locked up and followed Willie to the garage in back of my building. She didn’t say a word as I drove us to Prohibition, a little pub on the corner of Colfax and Pennsylvania. I liked eating there, as the food was good and reasonably priced, and the butter-yellow walls, dark woods and antique bar hinted at a bygone era. And they played ’80s tunes, which I loved. “Hold Me Now” by the Thompson Twins was playing as we walked in. We chose a table by the window with retro bar stools, and a college-aged waiter strolled over and took our order.

“Here’s the thing,” I said after he left. “If I’m going to help you, I need to know everything. No surprises.”

Willie leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. Then she looked me right in the eye. “Here’s a surprise for you. I hated Nick O’Rourke and I don’t feel bad that he’s dead.”

I didn’t know what to say. That was the last thing I expected to come out of her mouth. She started to speak again, then clamped her mouth shut as the waiter returned. He set two bottled beers and accompanying glasses on the table. He glanced back and forth between us, sensed the mood, and stepped away without a word. Willie poured beer into her glass, squeezed lime juice on it and then plunked the rind into the glass. She took a long drink as I waited, watching her.

“It didn’t start out that way,” she began. She gazed out the window, collecting her thoughts. “When Nick came by to ask about renting the studio apartment, I didn’t think much of him one way or the other. He filled out an application and came by again the next night to see if I’d checked his references. He told me a story about how he was in the middle of a messy divorce and that he’d been house-sitting for friends, but they’d returned so he needed to find a place fast. He had first and last month’s rent, in cash, ready to hand over.” She paused and took another long drink. “I fell for his story, and I hurried things along. Instead of doing a thorough background check, like I’d done with my other tenants, I just called his employer, but I couldn’t seem to find the right person that could verify he worked there. I figured it would check out, and I could do a bit more verifying later, just to say I’d done my due diligence. And I rented him the apartment. Besides, I wanted to get the place rented fast because every month one of the units stayed empty, it cost me money.”

“Let me guess. Nick hasn’t been the model tenant,” I said.

She snorted. “Not even close. That first month’s rent that he had? That’s the only time I got a full month’s rent.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. The next month, he had an excuse. And the month after. And…” She threw up a hand.

“Why didn’t you evict him?”

“For two reasons. First, Darcy started complaining about noise. Nick was playing his music loud, and he’d be banging around late into the night. She said she heard power tools and she wondered if he was doing some kind of remodeling. I was more than a little concerned about that, but I could never seem to find him around. And then I did something I shouldn’t have.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh huh. I entered the apartment without his permission.”

I sat back, surprised. “Wait, that’s it? I thought you were going to say you tried to throw him out or something. You can go in the apartment, right? You own the building.”

“Unfortunately, as I learned, Colorado law is vague. It comes down to what’s in the lease, and I didn’t put anything in the lease about entering the apartment. Nick came home while I was there, and he threatened to call the cops. I didn’t know what would happen, or if I’d get into trouble, so I left. He was really angry, yelling at me. It scared me, and I forgot to say anything about the rent.”

“Did he damage anything?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t tell. I hadn’t been in there that long when he came home and surprised me.”

“And let me guess, when you asked him to pay you the rent, he threatened to take you to court because you entered his home illegally.”

“Yes. He said he’d get me money when he could and that I’d better leave him alone. So I waited a couple more months, and still no rent.”

“What’s the other reason for not evicting him?”

She laughed but there was no mirth in it. “I found out that it’s not that hard to evict someone…well, there’s a bunch of hoops you have to go through and it costs to file paperwork and get the sheriff to come out to your property, if it comes to that. But the real issue is trying to recover your money. I’d have to take Nick to court, which would mean getting a lawyer and paying court costs, and even if I won and he had to pay those costs, I knew he didn’t have it to pay me. I figured I had a better chance of trying to work it out with him than if I evicted him.”

I sipped my beer. “Do you know why he didn’t have the money?”

“I know he lost his job, or at least the job he’d put on his rental application, because I finally called to check on it, and they said he no longer worked there. And the neighbors have seen him around at odd times, so it didn’t seem like he had a nine-to-five job.”

“Do you remember the name of the company?”

She thought for a moment. “No, it was some data company in the Tech Center.” The Denver Tech Center was a huge business complex southeast of downtown Denver. Finding a ‘data company’ in the tech center would be like finding a polar bear in a blizzard.

“In the meantime,” she continued, “my own finances were stretched thin because I can’t make the mortgage if I don’t have the rental income. So I started taking extra shifts, but I was still getting behind in my own bills.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve helped.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that. We’d only just begun dating. What would you think if I started asking you for money? Anyway, I thought I could get it resolved with Nick. I know, that was wishful thinking on my part, but I kept thinking it would work out. Then Darcy complained about him making noise again, and I went up to talk to him. There was no answer, so I tried the lock, but I couldn’t get in.”

“He changed the locks?” I was incredulous.

“Yep. I couldn’t get into the apartment I owned.”

“This is like Pacific Heights,” I said, referencing a movie with Michael Keaton and Melanie Griffith. Keaton played a renter who never pays, destroys his apartment and changes the locks, and much more.

She nodded. “Yeah, I thought about that. And just like Melanie’s boyfriend in the movie, I got into an altercation with O’Rourke.”

“Oh no.” I sat back. “What happened?”

“A week ago, I was down in the basement, doing laundry, when he showed up. He saw me and left. I followed him upstairs and we got into a shouting match on the front porch. I told him I’d had it and that if he didn’t get out of the apartment, I’d find someone to throw his ass out. He said ‘just try it’ and laughed. And then I…there was a potted plant on the porch and I threw it at him and yelled something about making sure he’d get what was coming to him.” Her jaw clenched. “I was just so mad, I was literally seeing red, and I wanted to wipe the smug look off his face. And I did, because that pot hit him on the forehead and made his head bleed. I was having money trouble and was working extra shifts to try and get by, and he thought it was funny?” She stopped. “What?”

I’d seen Willie angry a handful of times, but I’d never seen that temper take on a physical aspect. “I was wishing I could’ve seen you clock that jerk.” I smiled, trying to ease the tension.

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” I said. “But it was only one time.”

“Oh, Reed, that wasn’t the first time. I’d gotten into a couple of shouting matches with him, arguing about the rent. And on top of everything else, my dad was a cop.”

“So?” Then it dawned on me. “Spillman might think because of that, you’d know how to set a fire in such a way that you’d avoid getting caught.”

“Bingo.”

I drew in a deep breath. “You’re right.” Don’t kid the kidder, right? I started ticking things off on one hand. “So O’Rourke owed you almost a year’s worth of rent. You thought he might be destroying the apartment. You’ve been in a number of verbal altercations with him, the last where you physically harmed him and then threatened him. And your dad’s a cop who could’ve given you tips on how to burn down the building with Nick in it without getting caught.”

She stared at her beer. “That about sums it up.”

I ran a hand over my face, then took a drink. I finally said what we were both thinking. “It doesn’t look good.”

CHAPTER SIX

“I wouldn’t kill him,” she finally said.

“I know that, but the police are going to look at you first. With good reason.”

I stopped when the waiter came back with our food.

“Here you go,” he said as he set down our plates. I’d ordered the hamburger with bacon and cheddar cheese; not very healthy, but I justified it by reasoning that the only time I ate like this was when I was at a restaurant. Which wasn’t true, either, but it was easier than actually eating healthy. Willie got the focaccia chicken sandwich and fruit. She took a delicate bite, then dug in with gusto.

“Hm, I guess I am hungry,” she said through a bite.

“Me, too.” I finished off half the burger in a few bites.

“I didn’t burn down my apartment building.” Her sandwich was gone too, and she started on the fruit. “For crying out loud, I have an alibi. I was with you.”

“I know, and that’s what you tell the police, but they’ll still have to eliminate you as a suspect. And you could’ve hired someone to start the fire for you, which leaves you the ability to plan an alibi. Spillman’s going to dig into your life to see if you had a motive for starting the fire. She’s going to find out everything, all the issues with Nick.”

“It wasn’t me.” She wagged her head back and forth as she talked.

“We know it’s not you, but Spillman doesn’t.”

“I don’t have anything to hide.”

“What about your finances? She’ll find out you needed the money, that you couldn’t pay the mortgage without renters. She’ll discover that Nick wasn’t paying rent. She’ll wonder a few things. One, did you kill him for revenge and then try and cover it with the fire? Or two, did you burn down the building for the insurance money, and Nick was a casualty? Or both.”

She jerked her head up. “So they could think I burned down the house for the insurance money and because I wanted to kill Nick?”

“Yes.” I finished off my beer. “Is there anything else? Faulty wiring? Other problems with the house?”

“Things that would motivate me to burn it down for the insurance money?”

I nodded.

“No.” She scowled. “Isn’t the other stuff enough?”

“I’m just trying to look at everything.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I tried to look relaxed, but I didn’t feel it. “So…we know the cause of the fire is arson, we know that someone murdered Nick O’Rourke, and we know you didn’t do either of those, so the first question is: Why did someone burn the building down? Why did someone hit Nick over the head and leave him in the apartment?”

“That’s two questions.” She smiled for the first time since the fire. I was glad to see her humor returning. But it didn’t last. “And the next question is: Who would want to kill Nick?”

“And why.” I sighed. “We probably find the ‘why’ before we find the ‘who’. Can you think of anything more about him that might be important?”

Willie bit her lower lip, thinking. “No. I couldn’t stand him, so I wasn’t socializing with him.”

I mulled things over, deciding my next step. “When we get home, I’ll do some internet research and see what I can find out about him, see if I can find who would want him dead.”

“There’s one other thing.” She pushed her plate away. “Should I look for a place to stay? I don’t want to impose on you.”

“You know you can stay with me for as long as you want.” I hesitated. “If you want to.”

“I figured I could, but I really appreciate you saying so.” Relief laced her voice. “I’ll be working so I promise I won’t be in the way.”

“The thought didn’t cross my mind.” But it would be different, I thought but wisely didn’t say. I signaled our waiter and asked for the check. “I’ve got my work cut out for myself, too.”

“Are you working any other cases?”

“No, it’s been slow.”

“I’ll bet you never thought you’d have to help your girlfriend.”

We lapsed into silence. Echo And The Bunnymen’s “A Promise” began playing. It talked about promising that nothing will change. I glanced at the back wall, where framed newspaper images about law enforcement raids hung in a neat row. Things do change, no matter what we do.

The waiter finally returned with our check. I paid it and we left, then drove back to my condo. Pink and orange speckled the western sky as the sun sank below the horizon. I parked the 4-Runner in the garage and as we walked around the side of the building, headed for the stairs to my place, Willie stopped and pointed.

“There’s Darcy.”

She jogged across my front lawn and hollered at a curvy black woman in a gray pantsuit who was just getting into a Volvo. Darcy stopped when she heard her name being called. She got out and the two women embraced and then stood for a moment, chatting.

As I approached, I heard Darcy talking, her voice low, with an edge of sass in it. “…told them I had to leave for a day or two and they’d just have to deal with it. I mean, really, my apartment went up in flames the other night and you think my work load is more important to me? Girl…”

I’d only met Willie’s upstairs neighbor a time or two, but I’d been favorably impressed. Darcy was a lawyer who had a bubbly personality and loved to laugh. Nothing seemed to bring her down.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” Willie said.

“Honey, you have to quit saying that. It’s not your fault.” Darcy looked around, then saw me. “Oh, hi Reed. You’re going to take care of our girl, right?”

I nodded. “Not to worry.”

“How are you holding up?” Darcy asked Willie.

“Not so good,” Willie replied truthfully. “The…uh…body they found? It was Nick O’Rourke.”

“That’s too bad,” Darcy muttered, her tone lacking any emotion.

“So now we’re not talking just arson, but murder,” Willie said.

Darcy leaned back against the hood of her car. “With everything that happened between you and Nick, they’re going to look at you.”

Willie shifted from one foot to the other. I’m sure after the grilling I gave her at the restaurant, she wasn’t sure how much she should say. But she also had a good rapport with Darcy. “I know, but I didn’t do it.”

“Oh, honey,” Darcy said. “If they know you, they know that’s not possible.”

Willie swiped at a tear and murmured, “Thank you. Reed’s going to help out and see if he can find who would’ve wanted to kill Nick.”

Darcy appraised me. “Willie’s talked about your detecting skills. She says you’re good.”

I shrugged. “I’ve solved a case or two.”

“Well, anything I can do to help.”

“Great,” I said. “Can I ask you a few questions about Nick?”

She nodded. “Fire away.”

“First, how much do you know about Nick?”

“Let’s see. He worked at some computer company in the Tech Center, and he was in the middle of a bitter divorce. I don’t think he had any kids. I think he was down on his luck.”

“Why do you say that?”

“A few comments here and there about money being tight, that’s why all he could afford was a tiny studio apartment. And once he mentioned something about backing out of a bad business venture. Or maybe it was he backed a business venture that went bad.” She shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“Did you talk to him much?”

She thought for a moment. “Not really, here and there in passing, or a quick conversation while getting my laundry.”

“Did you like him?” I knew the answer, but wanted to see her response.

She glanced at Willie, who gave a little shrug. “No, I didn’t like him,” Darcy said to me. “He was a jerk.”

“How so?”

“You ever meet a pain in the ass? That was him, with his music and all the other noise. When I’d talk to him about it, he couldn’t have cared less, and he’d cut me down or cuss me out.”

“How did you respond to that?”

“I walked away, although it wasn’t easy. That man was trouble.”

“I wish I would’ve walked away,” Willie said.

“Now that you say that…” I eyed Darcy. “Did you witness Willie’s altercation with Nick?”

“When she threw the potted plant at him?” Darcy cleared her throat. “Yeah, I saw it, and honey, he deserved it. And I’ll tell the police that, although I don’t know how much that would help.”

I shook my head. “Well, the fight itself wouldn’t be too much to worry about, but combined with everything else, it doesn’t look good.”

“I tried to give Willie some advice, but I don’t focus on rental law.”

The streetlight a couple of houses down winked on, putting us into shadows.

“Okay,” I said. “If you think of anything that might seem important, let me know.”

“Like what?” Darcy asked.

I shrugged. “At this point, I wish I knew.”

She cocked an eyebrow, apparently unimpressed with my detective prowess. Then she turned to Willie. “We’ll get through this, okay?”

“I know,” Willie said. “Are you staying at Malcolm’s?”

“Yeah, he said I could stay as long as I want,” Darcy said. “Like that wasn’t happening anyway. At least I’ve got clothes and things there because…” she waved a hand at the burned house. She opened the car door, then paused. “Oh, I almost forgot. I called but I guess you didn’t get the message, so I stopped by to ask you if you know when we can get back in the house. I’d like to see what I can salvage.”

Willie pulled out her phone. “Huh. It never rang.”

“Stupid cell phones.” Darcy laughed. “Anyway, you caught me here.”

“As for the house, I’m not sure,” Willie said. “The insurance inspectors will need a day or two, and they’ll need to make sure it’s safe. I’ll let you know.”

Darcy reached out and squeezed Willie’s arm. “Girl, let’s go get a drink tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do for a while, and it’ll make us feel better.”

Willie glanced at me. “Would you care?”

I shook my head. “Go. It’ll take your mind off things.”

“I’ll make sure it does,” Darcy said. “For both of us.” She got in the Volvo. “I’ll call you.”

She drove off down the street and we watched until the red taillights disappeared.

“I’m tired,” Willie said. “I just want to go to bed.”

We trudged back across the lawn and as we rounded the corner, we plowed right into Ace.

“Dude, how’s it going?” he asked, nonplussed.

“Hey, buddy, what’re you doing?” I asked.

“Not much. I’ve been kind of bored since I lost my job.” Ace had recently worked at Blockbusters, but since the stores had all closed, he was now unemployed. “Hi, Willie. How are you?”

“Hanging in there.” She sensed he wanted to talk, so she excused herself and went on upstairs.

“She looks like she’s in trouble,” Ace said as he watched her go. It was a very perceptive thought from him.

“She is. Nick, the guy who lived in the attic apartment, died in the fire.”

“Wow.” From perceptive to this.

“It was murder,” I said, without going into detail. “Willie’s worried they’ll think she killed Nick.”

“I wish I could help.”

“Ace, I’m really busy and –” I stopped and switched tactics. “Hey, I could use you.”

“Really?” His face brightened.

“Yeah,” I smiled as I thought of a way he could help. “Why don’t you go and talk to the neighbors, see what they saw the night of the fire.” It would keep him from pestering me, and I could follow up with the neighbors later.

“You mean besides the fire?”

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. “Yes, Ace,” I said. “The neighbors might’ve seen someone go up to Nick O’Rourke’s apartment. Or leave his apartment.”

His eyes grew wide. “They might’ve seen the killer?”

“Right.” Maybe he could do this.

“But how can I remember everything?”

“Take notes on your phone.”

“You don’t use a phone for that,” he said, acting like I was slow. “The phone’s for texting and games.”

“What about phone calls?”

“Huh?”

I tried hard not to roll my eyes. “Okay, then take notes.”

“Huh?” he said again.

I dragged him upstairs and into the kitchen, where I got a pad and pen. “Here.” I handed them to him. “Write down the important things.” Even as I was saying it, I wondered about what he would think was important. “Things like if any neighbor saw someone talking to Nick or going up to visit him. If they’ve seen anything unusual lately, or heard Nick talking with anyone, and what was said. If you’re not sure if it’s important, write it down anyway. Think about who, what, when, where and why. Write that down.”

He did as instructed, his face screwed up in concentration and confusion. “Who, what, where, when and why,” he said slowly, then looked up at me.

“Just ask,” I reiterated. “Who did you see? What did they say? When did you see them?”

“Oh,” he said, stretching out the word. “I gotcha.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll check back with you later.”

He saluted me and left for his mission. And I went to check on Willie.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Willie was in the shower, so I went into my office, better known as my sanctuary. My favorite books, mostly mysteries and a collection of rare, first-edition detective novels fill floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall. I have a DVD case full of film noir and detective movies that I love, along with the ‘Best of Alfred Hitchcock’. A glass case in the corner holds a first edition of A Study in Scarlet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and a first edition of Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye.

I sat down at the desk and went to work. I started by searching on Nick O’Rourke. The first thing that came up was his LinkedIn profile, so I checked that. The latest job listed was with FirstData, a data company, and his job title was ‘software developer’. The profile showed he was currently working there, but I wondered if that was the case, since Willie had said that she wondered if Nick was still employed. He could have been so pressed for money that all his income was going places other than his rent. Or he hadn’t updated his LinkedIn profile. I would’ve bet money on the second because most people don’t update their LinkedIn profile to reflect that they lost their job. Instead, they wait until they have a new job and then they change their employment status on LinkedIn.

I scrolled through the rest of his profile. He listed a number of job duties with technical phrases that meant little to me. Prior to the position at FirstData, Nick worked at a company called Jupiter Data, and he was listed as an owner. That’s as far as I got. I heard Willie leave the bedroom and go to the kitchen. Next came muffled thumps, cupboard doors opening and slamming shut, if I guessed correctly. Was she angry? At me? What had I done wrong? A moment later, Willie poked her head into the office.

“What’re you doing?” Her voice had a tone I wasn’t used to, a mixed of anger and exasperation.

I pointed at the monitor. “Doing some research on your buddy Nick.”

“He is not my buddy,” she snarled.

I raised my hands in supplication. “Hey, I was just making a joke.”

“That’s not funny.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Like things aren’t bad enough.” She whirled around and muttered something else. Then my bedroom door crashed shut. I winced. She was hot, and I didn’t mean the good-looking kind of hot. I stared at the computer screen, then got up. I went to the bedroom and opened the door. She was lying on the bed, her back to me.

“My timing was bad,” I said. “But I –”

She flew off the bed. “I don’t want to hear it!”

“Don’t yell at me,” I said, backing into the hallway.

“I need your help, not your teasing. I’m a suspect, Reed. Do you know what that feels like?”

“No, I don’t. And I am trying to help you.”

By now, I’d backed into the living room.

She glared at me. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll leave.”

“Good.” She stormed back down the hall to the bedroom.

I grabbed my keys and left, slamming the front door for good measure. I stomped down the stairs, got in the 4-Runner and drove away. A few blocks from the condo, I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

“What’s up?” My best friend Cal Whitmore didn’t waste time with long greetings.

“Willie and I got in a fight, and I had to leave. Can I come up?” I asked. I’d called him the day before and he knew about the fire, but nothing else.

“Sure. I’m working.”

“That’s ok –” I said, but I was talking to the dial tone. That response was even shorter than usual, and that meant one thing: he had a deadline.

Cal lived in the foothills west of Denver, off of Highway 285 past the mountain community of Pine Junction. He was the classic computer geek, a genius who knew everything about computers and technology and most everything else. He rarely left his house, had his own business specializing in computer viruses and virus protection. He also occasionally served as Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes, although he’s more like Holmes because he knows so much.

I usually loved the drive to his house, with the gorgeous mountain scenery, but at the moment, my mind was on my fight with Willie. How did it escalate so fast? And how was it that it was my place but I was the one who left? I was a good detective, but apparently not when it came to the opposite sex, because I had no clue how to answer those questions. Nor did I seem astute enough to keep my mouth shut when I’d sensed she was upset. My timing with the joke about Nick had been bad.

I pulled over, grabbed my cell phone, and called her, but it went immediately to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message, then tossed the phone on the passenger seat and got back on the road, growling as I focused on the headlights that cut a path through the darkness. Before I knew it, I was pulling into Cal’s dirt driveway. I got out and knocked on the door, and after a minute with no answer, I let myself in.

“Hey!” I called out.

“In here,” came a muted reply.

I darted into the kitchen and stole a Coke from the refrigerator, then strolled down the hall to Cal’s home office. His office contains multiple computers and other computer-related stuff, and a rolling chair that Cal propels from monitor to monitor across the hardwood floor. Books, manuals, and boxes filled with computer paraphernalia cover most of the available floor area. He is more at home here than anywhere else, although I’d seen him tested when, on one of my previous cases, a woman had invaded his hallowed ground.

He threw me a curt nod, too focused on his work to give me more. I leaned against the doorjamb, opened the Coke, took a sip, then surveyed him. Matted hair, wrinkled clothes, stubble on his chin, circles under his brown eyes. He looked like hell, not unusual when he was focused on a project. I waited and he finally stopped and turned to me.

“You look like hell,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

His face scrunched up as he pondered that, clearly not getting my joke. Cal was brilliant, way smarter than me, but he had little common sense.

I eyed the ratty loveseat that sat against the wall opposite his desk. “Isn’t it about time you upgraded this?” As I flopped down on it, the usual cloud of dust greeted me.

“Why? It’s comfortable.”

I wiggled around, trying to avoid springs. “How would you know?”

He grunted, typed for a few seconds on the keyboard, then swiveled around to face me. “How’s Willie doing?”

I pursed my lips. “Let’s just say she’s been a little tense.”

“A little tense? That’s how you define having to leave your own house?”

“I was trying to be understanding.”

“That’s very charitable of you. Enjoying having her invade your space?”

“Not everyone worries about people touching their stuff.” I threw him a sly grin as I picked up one of his precious computer books.

“Which is why I’ll never get married,” he said as he reached out and gently pried the book from my hand. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

I took a sip of the Coke. “It’s different, knowing that she doesn’t have a place to go home to. But…”

“What?”

“She’s in real trouble.” I sighed heavily.

He set the computer book down, put his hands on his knees and focused on me. “So, what can I do for you, oh Great Detective?”

“A body was found in the building rubble.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “And let me guess, Oh Great Detective…Willie’s a suspect.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s bad. The guy’s name was Nick O’Rourke, and he rented the third-floor studio apartment.” I filled him in on all the details: how Willie owned the building and Nick owed her rent money, and how ugly the situation had been between them. Cal sat shaking his head as I talked.

“This is not good,” he said when I finished. “She couldn’t have served herself up as a suspect any better, could she?”

“You said it. She’s got a meeting tomorrow morning at ten with Spillman, and I’m sure Spillman’s already digging up what she can on Willie.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Will they find anything else?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think so, but what if there’s something Willie forgot? Or she didn’t think it was important to tell me? She’s upset and not thinking straight. But I know this: She didn’t do it. And what that means is someone wanted to kill Nick O’Rourke, and I need to find out who.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not much. He works, or worked, at FirstData.”

“You’re not sure?”

“When Willie called to verify his employment, they said he wasn’t employed there anymore. But his LinkedIn profile shows he’s still working there.”

“Probably never changed his status.”

“That’s what I think,” I said. “And before that he owned a company called Jupiter Data. That’s as far as I got before Willie came in the office.”

“And that ended the research.”

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “Yeah.”

Cal whirled in the chair, his hands locking onto the keyboard. “Let’s see what we can find out about Jupiter Data,” he said as he typed.

“What about…” I waved at his computers. “Whatever you’re working on.”

He grabbed a pizza crust from a plate sitting on his desk and bit off part of it. “I need a break,” he said as he chewed. Only Cal would see more computer research as a break from computer research.

I eyed an old piece of pizza sitting in a box on the floor. “Ew.” I tried to ignore his eating.

He hummed to himself and then started jabbering. “It looks like Jupiter Data started in 2011 and it folded early in 2013. They focused on ‘big data’.” He made rabbit ears with his fingers.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“ ‘Big data’ is a term for collecting large data sets that can’t be easily processed using common data processing applications,” he said, sounding like Wikipedia. “Most relational database sys –”

“Stop!” I held up a hand. “That’s more than enough. What I would be interested in knowing is why the company isn’t around anymore.”

“You’re no fun,” he muttered, focused on the monitor. “Hm, here’s something about how they came up with the name, because Jupiter is the largest planet in our solar system, and they’re dealing with large data sets. Cute. Oh, this is interesting.”

I sat up. “What?”

“Your boy Nick was in a lawsuit with his business partner, Stan Pommerville.”

“Really?” I leaned forward so I could see the screen. “Pommerville sued, saying that O’Rourke stole money from the company.”

“But Pommerville lost. Says that he wasn’t able to prove that O’Rourke actually used the money for personal purposes.” Cal glanced over his shoulder. “Someone steals money from your business, that might motivate you to kill them.”

“Yeah, and Pommerville would have lawyer and court costs, too. That could’ve been a pretty penny.” I tapped the desk. “This is a place to start. Let’s see if we can find Pommerville so I can go talk to him.”

Cal’s hands flew across the keyboard again, and a moment later he sat back. “He works at Pommerville Computer Systems. They provide’ innovative and reliable IT solutions for small and mid-sized businesses’.”

“Are you reading that right from the webpage?”

He snickered. “Yeah.” He paused as he clicked around the website. “In a nutshell, he’s a consultant. He helps people who don’t know technology.”

“Helps them with what?”

He turned around. “With everything. You’d be surprised how many businesses don’t have an IT department, so they hire consultants to help.”

I mulled that over as I jotted down the address and phone number. “I wonder how well Pommerville’s new business is doing.”

Cal’s head stayed focused on the monitor, but he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Do you have time for this?”

“You know I’m going to help,” he said. “Besides, I’m not just helping you, I’m helping Willie. But I do have to finish this job first.”

“Can you find O’Rourke’s phone records? That’s all I need now.”

Cal snorted. “Do you really need to ask that?” He could hack into almost any system, and it took a lot less time than if I had to flatfoot it around the city trying to gather the same information.

“Let me rephrase,” as I rolled my eyes. “I know you can find his phone records, so would you?”

“Sure. How many days’ worth?”

“Let’s start with a week. I want to know who he was talking to.”

“What else?”

“Give me all you can get on both O’Rourke and Pommerville. Finances, family information, the works. And while you’re at it, see how Pommerville’s doing with his new company.”

“You don’t want much.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Which was true. I’d known him since we were kids, when I’d brought him home, crying from a bee sting he’d suffered after putting his face too close to a beehive. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

Cal looked up at me, his face serious. “You take care of Willie. She’s good people.”

“So are you, buddy.” I stood up and clapped his shoulder.

He blushed. “There’re clean sheets in the hall closet. You can sleep on the couch in the living room.”

I left him to his work. I got the sheets and made up the couch, then tried Willie again. The call again went right to voicemail. This time I left a message asking her to call me. I sprawled on the couch, but it was a long time before sleep came.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Such a lot of guns around town, and so few brains.” I flew off the couch. It was the ringtone on my cell phone, a Humphrey Bogart line. It was from The Big Sleep. I snatched it off the coffee table.

“Willie?”

“Hey, did I wake you?”

“No.” I rubbed my eyes. “Well, not really.” I got up and went into the kitchen. Sun streamed through a big window that looked out on a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountains. The clock on the microwave read 8:45. I guess I was tired…and not a morning person,

“I’m really sorry.” She sighed, then went on breathlessly. “After I took my shower, I went into the kitchen. I just wanted some Oreos and milk, and you didn’t have any in your kitchen, and suddenly it all hit me, and I kinda lost it.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t know when not to be funny.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m up at Cal’s. I tried to call you but it kept going to voicemail.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “After you left, I turned off my phone because I was a blubbering idiot. I guess I cried myself to sleep, and I just woke up and got your message.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I said lamely.

“I hope so. I want to see you, but I’ve got to go to that meeting with Spillman.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. And I’m sure you have things to do?”

I detected a ray of hope in her voice. “Cal and I did some research on Nick O’Rourke and found his old business partner,” I said. “I’m going to start there.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

“Call me after your meeting.”

“I will,” she said.

I hung up, feeling a weight fall over me. I had to get to the bottom of this, and fast. I made coffee, then took two mugs into Cal’s office. He was still sitting at his desk, staring at the monitor.

“How’s it going?” I asked as I set a mug down on the desk.

“Fine,” he said, barely looking at me.

“What’d you find out?”

He stopped, blinked hard a couple of times and turned to me. His eyes were bloodshot and laced with crazy.

“I think you need some sleep,” I said.

“Nah, I’ve almost got this.” He tapped the monitor. “Then I’ll get to your stuff.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. I nudged the mug closer to him. “You drink that. I’m going to take a shower.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and somewhat refreshed, even though I was in yesterday’s clothes and I needed a shave. I knew he wouldn’t have anything in the kitchen to eat, so I left and went down 285 to the grocery store, where I bought cereal, milk and bananas. When I got back to Cal’s house, I ate and then went into his office.

“Thanks for the help,” I said.

He nodded. “I’ll look into O’Rourke and Pommerville later, once I wrap this up.”

“I think I’ll pay Pommerville a visit, see what I can dig up.”

“You’re on your own with that.” He turned back to the computer and barely noticed me leaving his office.

The higher mountain air held a chill as I drove back to Denver, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Pommerville’s number. After three rings, a deep voice barked, “Pommerville Computer Systems.”

“Is this Stan Pommerville?” I asked.

“Yes, how can I help you?”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions about Nick O’Rourke. I’m –” I didn’t get to finish.

“I have nothing to say,” he snapped. Then the annoying buzz of the dial tone ripped through the phone.

I held the phone out, staring at the screen. “People lose teeth talking like that,” I said, mimicking Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon. What prompted that response from Pommerville?

I frowned. “Okay, Stan Pommerville, let’s see how you dodge me when I show up unannounced at your door.”

I pulled off the road and used my phone to access the internet and look up the address for Pommerville Computer Systems. I located it on Mapquest. I knew the area of small office complexes just north of Denver West, near the foothills in Golden. I glanced at the computer clock: just past ten. Plenty of time to drive out there before Pommerville left for lunch.

I got back on Highway 285 and soon turned onto C-470. Twenty minutes later, I parked in front of a nondescript three-story brick office building that backed up to Interstate 70. I strolled into the lobby and checked the directory. Pommerville Computer Systems was on the third floor, and I noticed that a number of other businesses also had the same suite number. Sharing office space? Was Pommerville’s company struggling?

There was a wide set of stairs that dominated the lobby, but I took the elevator up to the third floor and headed to Suite 301. The door was open so I stepped inside. Just to the left of the doorway was a cheap wood desk with an old monitor on it, the bulky kind that looked like an old TV and weighed as much. In the corner sat a printer/copier, and against the wall opposite the desk were two fake-leather chairs with a small table between them. What was missing was a secretary or office manager – someone who would call Pommerville and inform him he had a visitor.

In two long strides I was across the waiting room, and I glanced down a hallway. All was quiet. I didn’t hesitate, but marched down the hall. I was right that a number of businesses shared the office space, and each company had a plaque by the door. That took the guesswork out of finding Pommerville’s office. I passed three doors, turned a corner and found the door for Pommerville Computer Systems. I tried the knob and it turned. I opened the door, darted inside, and quickly shut it behind me.

An older man in a shirt and tie sat behind an oak desk that faced the door. He looked up, his jaw open in surprise.

CHAPTER NINE

“What are you…” he sputtered, then quickly recovered. “I think you’re in the wrong office.” He reached for a phone on the corner of the desk. “Wasn’t the office manager out front? She should be able to help you.”

“I need to talk to you, Mr. Pommerville.” I sat down in an uncomfortable wooden chair across from the desk.

The receiver stopped halfway to his ear.

“You can set that down,” I said.

He stared at me through wire-rimmed glasses, as if he hadn’t heard me, then he slowly hung up the phone.

“You don’t have an appointment,” he finally said.

“I called you earlier but you hung up on me.”

His eyes darted to me, then the phone, and back to me, then he put the pieces together.

“You asked about Nick O’Rourke.” His eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a cold line. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. I told you over the phone I have nothing to say, and I still have nothing to say.”

“Why?”

“Wait a minute. Who are you again?”

“Reed Ferguson. I’m a private investigator.” I showed him a badge I had in my wallet, although it wasn’t that special. Anyone who wanted to could be a detective in the state of Colorado, just hang up a sign.

He emitted a mirthless chuckle, then shook his head. “What kind of mess has Nick gotten himself into now? I assure you I’m the last person who’ll help him.”

I waited for a second, then said, “He’s dead.”

Lines formed between his eyebrows as he frowned.

“You really didn’t know?” I asked. “It was in the news.”

“No.” His chair creaked as he shifted his heavy bulk in it. “What happened?”

“Did you hear about the house fire last week? The one northeast of downtown?”

“I saw something on the news, but I didn’t hear that someone died in the fire.”

“Someone did. Nick.”

“What caused the fire?”

No ‘Poor Nick’ or ‘Did he die painlessly’ or anything like that. Interesting. “It was arson,” I said. “And someone conked Nick over the head and tried to cover it up. Whoever started that fire is looking at some serious prison time.”

Pommerville steepled his hands and rested his chin on his fingertips. “What brings you to me?”

“You were his business partner,” I said, “until things went wrong and you took him to court.”

“And I lost.” The hard look remained on his face. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

I tipped my head, acknowledging that. “Maybe. Maybe not.

“I’m not sure what you want from me. I didn’t like Nick and I haven’t spoken to him in years, but that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“What happened with Jupiter Data?”

“I met Nick when I was an IT consultant with Deloitte. I was –”

I held up a hand. “What’s Deloitte?”

He looked at me like I was a dunce. “They’re a huge consulting company. I was an associate partner and he was a client. I worked with him a lot, and we started talking about what we could do in the big data sector. After a while, we decided to start Jupiter. We pooled our money, worked our butts off, and tried to grow it into a viable business.”

“And?”

He put his hands down and leaned back in his chair. “Nick was cooking the books, stealing money on the side. I handled the IT side of things and I didn’t find out about what he was doing until it was too late. I lost everything.”

“So you trusted Nick and he screwed you over?”

He nodded. “That sums it up. I’d known him for years. I knew how he worked and our idea was great. Jupiter should’ve taken off.” He hesitated.

I waited him out, knowing if I kept my mouth shut, he’d most likely keep talking.

“What I didn’t know was that he’d developed a gambling problem. That’s why he started stealing money from the company, to pay off his gambling debts.”

“How’d you find out about the gambling?”

“I didn’t, at first. My first clue that something was off was when I got a couple of calls about Jupiter being behind on some bills. I talked to Nick and he said he’d taken care of them. He was slick with his lies and I didn’t suspect anything at first. Then the calls increased and I started checking things out. That’s when I found out we were behind on a lot of things. When I confronted him, he tried to talk his way out of it, said he’d invested the money elsewhere and that it would help us in the long run. We were still a small shop, just the two of us and occasionally some contract consultants, and we were both travelling a lot, so it was hard to nail him down.”

“What does this have to do with the gambling?”

“I’m getting to that.” He frowned and the wrinkle lines returned. “It wasn’t until it all started spiraling out of control that I began putting things together. First, we were both making great money, but he never seemed to have any. He complained that he’d just been through a nasty divorce and his ex-wife got everything and he was paying her, but I knew that wasn’t right, because other times he’d say he was glad he’d broke clean from her, that he didn’t owe her alimony or anything. Then he never seemed to have his car around. Nick liked to be flashy and he owned a Mercedes, a real nice one. Had to cost a good bit, but suddenly he wasn’t driving it anymore, and when we were in town together, he’d ask me to drop him places after work. And,” he wagged a finger at me. “One of those places was a little dive restaurant on East Colfax, east of downtown. Not the type of place he’d normally go to. I asked him why he was eating there, if the food was that good, but he dodged the question. I wondered if he was buying drugs there, and I finally confronted him. Instead of telling me what was going on, he threatened me and said to stay out of his business. Things were getting ugly then. He was always on edge and the business was about to fold, so I took the final steps to dissolve Jupiter and get away from him. But by then I had to use my own money to pay bills and taxes. Then I spent a year in court trying to prove he was using company money for his gambling, but I lost.”

“I’m still fuzzy on how you knew he had a gambling problem,” I said.

“My daughter. She dated him for a time, and after everything fell to pieces, she told me about his gambling problem. She said she’d been to the restaurant with him a few times. She didn’t know anything about the gambling until one night when they were there, he bragged about placing a bet that was going to pay big. She said later that night they watched a basketball game and his team lost. He went crazy, went on about owing people money, so she left, and that was the end of their relationship.”

I pondered everything. “If he owed people money, did he ever act like he was worried about them coming after him? Like his bookies?”

He snorted. “Why don’t you ask them?”

“Who would that be?”

“How the hell should I know? You’re the detective.”

“I prefer not to hunt for needles in haystacks if I don’t have to,” I said, not trying very hard to hide my sarcasm. “If you know anything about where he gambled or who he owed money to, it would help me tremendously.”

“Try Easy Street Café. If it’s still there.”

“I’d like to talk to your daughter about Nick.”

He glared at me. “I don’t think so.”

“I really don’t need your permission. And this is another needle in the haystack situation,” I said, this time letting the sarcasm flow. “It’d be much easier if you’d tell me how to get in touch with her.”

The glare remained. “Fine,” he said, snatching a pen off the desk. He wrote on a notepad, tore the paper off and handed it across the desk. “Her name is Leena. That’s her cell phone. I’ll let her know you’ll be calling.”

“You do that,” I said as I tucked the paper into my pocket. “One final thing.”

“You really are a pain in the ass.”

I smiled. “Where were you three nights ago?”

“Tuesday night? Looking for an alibi?”

“Yes.”

“I was at home with my wife. I get home at 5:30 every night. I’m an old man, Mr. Ferguson, and I’m pretty boring. We had dinner and I read a book while she watched TV. I went to bed early. She can verify that, although I don’t want you calling to bother her.”

“How else can I verify that?”

It was his turn to smile. “That’s your problem.”

“You’ve been so helpful up to this point,” I said. Oh, that sarcasm…

A long silence ensued.

“I know I should probably feel sad about Nick’s death, but I don’t,” he finally said, then gestured around the tiny office. “I’m stuck in this, trying to reinvent myself. I’m 67 years old. Do you know how hard it is to find a job at my age? I’ll tell you. It’s impossible. So I’ve started another business and I’m working like a dog to make enough to get by. I invested everything in Jupiter Data, all my retirement, all my savings, and Nick stole it out from under me. I can’t live on Social Security unless I sell my house and live in an apartment smaller than this damn place.” He glanced at a framed photo on the desk, of a woman about his age. “And I wouldn’t do that to my wife.” He abruptly stood up. “I’ve been as helpful as I can to you, but I don’t want my wife dragged into this. She’s suffered enough.” He came around the desk and opened the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do, and I don’t want to discuss Nick anymore. Please don’t bother me again.”

I rose and stepped past him into the hallway. As I walked through the corridor and out into the building foyer, I mulled over the conversation. Like it or not, Pommerville had a motive to kill O’Rourke. I slowly descended the stairs, still in processing mode. I needed to verify Pommerville’s alibi, but I found myself not wanting to bother his wife. I pictured myself going to talk to her, and it was too much like interrogating my own mother. I wondered how else I could verify that he had been home with her on the night of the fire.

I reached the lobby and walked out of the building. One thing I knew for sure. Nick O’Rourke was not well-liked, and I seemed to have only people who wanted him dead, not alive. My suspect list was growing, but I was no closer to finding out who the actual murderer was.

CHAPTER TEN

I sat in the car for a few minutes, planning my next move. Willie hadn’t called yet, and that had me a little worried. Was Spillman grilling her? I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind, because it wouldn’t help find O’Rourke’s killer.

I took out the piece of paper with Leena’s phone number and dialed it, but the call went directly to voice mail. Pommerville was probably talking to her right now, telling her all about my visit and coaching her on what to say, I thought. Man, was I cynical. Leena said in a light and airy voice to leave a message, and so I did, leaving her my name and briefly explaining why I wanted to talk to her. I doubted she would call back, but maybe she’d surprise me. I wondered if she could verify Pommerville’s alibi. Then again, would she lie for him? There was that cynicism again.

I stared out the windshield, watching a blue jay hop from branch to branch on a tree as I thought about Pommerville. Would a 67-year-old man be able to knock out Nick? Would Pommerville start a fire to cover his tracks? Or did he hire someone to do the crime for him? Pommerville bore more scrutiny, that was for certain.

What else had I learned? Nick O’Rourke had a gambling problem, and he had siphoned money from Jupiter Data. But after the company went under, that funding source had dried up, but I highly doubted that Nick’s gambling habit had miraculously gone away. If he couldn’t get money from Jupiter Data, where would he get the money to fund his habit? Cal might dig up something, but unless O’Rourke left a digital trail of his monetary acquisitions, Cal wouldn’t find it. The obvious source was he’d borrow it. And where did someone who didn’t have money or credit borrow money? From a loan shark. But how could I find out who that was? I thought for a second.

“Well,” I said out loud. “If I don’t know the source of O’Rourke’s money, I go to the destination.”

I looked up the address to Easy Street Café, then started the 4-Runner, my next move determined. The Smiths, one of my favorite bands, played as I pulled back onto the highway and headed downtown to Easy Street Café. Pommerville said the café was on East Colfax, east of downtown, so I figured it would be easy to find. I took I-70 to I-25, and exited onto Colfax and endured too many traffic lights to count as I finally curved around Civic Center Park and followed Colfax east. Past the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, a huge Roman Catholic cathedral made of limestone and granite, was Prohibition, where Willie and I ate the other night, but I still didn’t see Easy Street Café. I continued on, and just past Humboldt Street I spied the café on the north side. I turned on Franklin and parked a couple of blocks down.

The sun had burned off the early chill, leaving a pleasant warmth as I walked back to Colfax. It was a busy part of town, with small shops, businesses, and restaurants all vying for a piece of the pie. It was a little after eleven when I crossed Colfax and went inside the restaurant.

Easy Street Café could only be described as a dive. It was a rectangle with six small tables at the front, a bar along one wall at the back, with a couple more tables against the other wall.

“You want lunch?” The waitress was tiny, barely five feet, with tattoos running up and down her arms.

I nodded.

She pointed to the second table in. I sat down at a rickety metal chair and she shoved a laminated one-page menu at me. “You want something to drink?”

“A Coke,” I said.

She sauntered off and I studied the menu. Nothing seemed terribly appetizing, but the prices were appealing. I could get a hamburger and fries for $4.95, and that seemed less risky than the French dip or ham and cheese.

The waitress returned with my drink and I ordered the burger, then sat back and looked around while trying to not look like I was looking around.

Two men in jeans, faded white tee shirts and work boots sat at one of the tables by the bar, and three women in business casual attire were by the door. At the table back in the corner, across from the bar, sat a man in black jeans and a yellow Izod shirt that stretched across his burly chest. He dwarfed the table, his arms like logs, his hands like huge metal claws. He was sipping a cup of coffee and chatting with the bartender, who seemed to have little else to do but slowly wipe the bar and talk. Then I noticed a door in the back wall with a ‘Private’ sign on it.

I fiddled with my phone, attempting to appear busy, as I listened to the conversations around me. The ladies were talking shop, discussing how to create a series of reports in Xcel. I tuned them out and tried to hear what the two men near the bar were saying.

As the waitress brought my food, a sliver of light momentarily brightened the room as the restaurant door opened. A man in khakis and a striped shirt marched past the tables and right to the back. Yellow Shirt stood up and they had a short conversation. Then Yellow Shirt turned and opened the door. The man in khakis stepped past Yellow Shirt and disappeared into the back room. Yellow Shirt closed the door, sat back down, sipped coffee and resumed his conversation with the bored bartender.

I picked up my burger and examined it. It looked harmless. I took a nibble. It was delicious. I should’ve known. Sometimes the off-beat places are the best.

A minute later the man in khakis came out of the back room. He nodded at Yellow Shirt, strolled back through the restaurant and left.

I chewed and thought about that. Was it anything? Only time would tell. I ate slowly, savoring the burger, and sure enough, a few minutes later, another man entered the restaurant. He too went straight to the back, spoke to Yellow Shirt, disappeared into the back room and emerged a few minutes later. Interesting.

I slowly worked my way through my meal, then asked for another Coke. I continued to scrutinize my phone as I waited. A few minutes passed and a third man, young, with a pierced eyebrow, came and made a beeline to the back. Unless I missed my guess, it appeared that Pommerville and his daughter Leena were correct.

If a bookie was in that private room, he was doing a decent business. I’d read somewhere that it wasn’t uncommon for bookies to run their business just like I was seeing, through a private room in a small bar or restaurant. It made a good cover. Have someone like Yellow Shirt run interference, keep out the riff-raff and warn the bookie if trouble arrives. Word-of-mouth helps the betting flourish. A nice, smooth operation. But how did one get behind that door?

The waitress set my check on the table and I left some bills, then got up and sauntered to the back. As I neared the private room, Yellow Shirt got up and blocked me. Up close, he was even more imposing.

“You need something?” he asked, his voice low. He simultaneously managed to appear bored and threatening.

“Yeah, I’d like to go in there.” I pointed through his barrel-chest at the door.

“It’s private.”

“Thus the sign on the door,” I said.

He looked at me blankly. Not a Harvard grad, this one.

“I want to…you know…” I left the rest unsaid.

He crossed thick arms across his chest. “Get lost.”

I gazed up at him, nodded and slowly turned around. “Okay, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

The bartender wagged his head in disgust as I passed. I felt my face burning. I left the restaurant and strolled to the corner, thinking.

There must be some kind of code I was missing, something to get past Yellow Shirt. I’d made a fool of myself with my charade, but I verified that one couldn’t just walk into that back room. There was indeed something important going on, important enough to have a bodyguard keeping watch. A thought crossed my mind. Would they think I was a cop? Then I chuckled. No, a cop wouldn’t be as impulsive and stupid as I’d just been. Let Yellow Shirt puzzle over that.

“Good one, Reed,” I chided myself. Regardless, I needed to be more careful. If they thought I posed a problem, I could be asking for trouble. The kind that comes with beatings and broken bones.

Instead of going to my car, I headed north, up Franklin, and came to the alley. I glanced down it. Beat-up green Dumpsters sat near the exits on the back side of the building. By my calculations, the alley door to Easy Street Café was the third one, a black door. There was a little wooden porch that led up to the door. I leaned against the building opposite and watched. It took a while, but eventually Yellow Shirt came out with another man in black pants, a purple shirt and a purple Trilby hat. I ducked around the corner and watched.

Purple Hat was quite a bit shorter than Yellow Shirt, but maybe it was an optical illusion because Yellow Shirt had to be at least 6’6”. Both lit up cigarettes and stood smoking near the door. Then Purple Hat answered his phone and paced around the alley. Yellow Shirt turned my way and I pulled my head back. I waited a moment, then peeked around the corner. Yellow Shirt was now looking the other direction. Purple Hat hung up his phone, they both tossed their cigarettes into the alley and then went back into the restaurant.

I continued watching the door and mused over what I’d learned, which wasn’t much. Yellow Shirt smoked. So did the flashy guy in the Purple Trilby. Was he the bookie, or maybe the restaurant owner? Or both? How could I find out? Follow them? Ugh, I hated following people. It was so boring.

I stayed there for over an hour, periodically moving away from the alley entrance so I didn’t attract attention. The thugs came out three more times to smoke, and each time I slipped around the corner and watched them.

“Such a lot of guns around town, and so few brains.” I was so intent on watching the thugs, I jumped. Damn, my phone! What a time for Bogie. I slipped around the corner and yanked the phone from my pocket and glanced at the number, hoping it was Willie. It took a second for the number to register in my mind. Pommerville’s daughter, Leena.

“Hello?”

“Reed Ferguson?”

“Yes?”

“Leena Radcliff.”

“I wondered if you’d return my call.”

She got right to the point. “We need to talk. Have you eaten lunch?”

“Yes.” I glanced at my watch. Almost one-thirty.

“I haven’t been able to get out of the office until now. I work at the State Capitol and I brought my lunch. Meet me at Civic Center Park, at the Greek amphitheater, in half an hour. I’m wearing a pink skirt and flowered blouse.”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

“Good. I’ll meet you now, and then I don’t want you to bother my father anymore.” With that, she hung up.

I pocketed the phone and hurried back to my car. Good thing I was close to Civic Center Park, because I did not want to miss this opportunity.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I pegged her as late thirties. She was attractive, not what I’d call beautiful, but certainly not hard on the eyes. She had a round face, small nose, flaxen blond hair and brown eyes. She had a nice figure with maybe a few extra pounds around the middle, and she looked comfortable in a pink skirt and flowered blouse. She was sitting at one side of the amphitheater, eating a sandwich.

“Leena,” I said, sitting down a few feet from her.

“You don’t look like much of a private eye.” Her voice was high and pinched.

“What’s a private eye supposed to look like?”

She made a point of studying me, shielding her eyes against the bright sun glare. “Tougher.”

Trying to get me off my game? A few cases ago, it might’ve deflated my ego, but not now.

“Tell me about Nick O’Rourke,” I said.

She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly. “When I first met him, he was charming and attentive. I’d been through a bad divorce, and my ex was a jerk. Never had a kind word for me…” The sentence hung in the air. Then she repeated, “He was a jerk. So when Nick was so sweet, I fell for him. We went out a number of times and at first it was great.” She paused and looked at a couple sitting on the other side of the amphitheater. They were draped around each other, kissing. I waited. “And then things changed.”

She paused again, and this time she stayed silent, so I prompted her. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t much at first. He was impatient. Then there’d be a verbal jab here and there, usually something money-related. I’d suggest a restaurant that was more expensive and he’d say I wasn’t good enough for that type of place. We’d argue and I’d end up apologizing, and I’d calm him down. And then we’d usually end up in bed. He was good in the sack.”

I raised an eyebrow at her candor.

“Yeah,” she laughed wryly. “I certainly never told my parents that. Things grew worse, but he was in business with Dad, and I knew things weren’t going well. And I had a calming effect on him. I think I fooled myself into thinking I was somehow helping. What would happen if I broke up with him? He was getting so erratic, I thought he might do something to Dad, or the business.”

“How did you find out about the gambling?”

“He started taking me to that café. At first I thought it was because it was cheap, but then one time I noticed that the room in the back that he was going into wasn’t a bathroom. I asked him about it and he tried to brush it off. But he was drinking and I kept pushing and his tongue loosened.” She laughed harshly. “He finally broke down and spilled the beans, bragging about how he’d just placed a huge bet on a basketball game and how the payoff would get him out of the mess he was in. I asked what that meant, but he didn’t answer. Instead he went on about the bookie, saying things like ‘how would anyone even know that a bookie was running his business in the back of the restaurant?’ And he talked about how much money the guy must’ve been pulling in, thousands a night. I had to admit, it was kind of intriguing. Certainly nothing I’d ever seen or done. I asked him how he knew about the place and could anyone make a bet, but he laughed and said wouldn’t I like to know.” She shook her head. “Man, I was naïve.”

“Did he ever tell you?”

She nodded. “He made fun of the whole thing. ‘You go up to the guard at the door and say you want to see Bob’,” she said in a low voice, imitating Nick. “Then I guess they let you in and you place your bet with the bookie. And you better have the money. He stressed that, and when he did, I noticed the worry on his face. I asked him if he’d gotten in over his head and he told me to shut up. That pissed me off and I got up and left.”

She stopped for another bite and her hand trembled slightly.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She didn’t answer for a moment. “That night was ugly.”

“Your father said that the team Nick bet on lost and Nick went crazy.”

“That’s what I told him.”

I cocked my head. “He didn’t go crazy?”

“Oh, he went crazy, yelling about how they were going to come after him. I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t listen. I offered to help and he insulted me, said I was only good for a lay. I blew my top and he attacked me, and he…he forced himself on me.”

I wasn’t expecting that. We sat in silence for a bit. She took the last bits of her sandwich and tossed them out for the pigeons to eat.

“I should’ve reported it, but I didn’t,” she finally said. “When he finished, I left. And I haven’t seen him since.”

“I’m sorry,” I said lamely.

She looked me in the eye. “My parents don’t know, and I want to keep it that way.”

“I won’t say anything. You have my word.”

“Thank you.” She gazed at the birds again, and drew in a breath and let it out slowly, as if letting out the horror of what happened. “So that’s the story of Nick and me. I spoke to my dad this morning and he told me that Nick is dead. After what he did to me, and to my dad, I feel like he got what he deserved.”

I let the comment simmer. Who could blame her for feeling that way? My phone rang and I silenced it.

“You can get that,” she said.

I shook my head, debating whether to answer it. I really did want to, because it was Willie, but I also wanted to keep Leena talking.

“Did you ever see the bookie?” I asked.

She shook her head. “But Nick described him pretty well, made fun of the guy. Said he was some little white dude who thought he was a pimp, always wearing flashy silk shirts, always a solid color. And he liked to wear Trilby hats that matched his shirt.”

And he smoked a lot, I thought. “Did Nick ever mention a name?”

“No. I told you everything he said about the guy.”

“So you think someone was coming after Nick?” I asked. “Was he in trouble with that bookie? Or some other loan sharks?”

She shrugged. “I never saw any evidence of that, and he never said so, but if I had to guess, I’d say yes. By the time I left him, he was clearly having money trouble. He’d gotten rid of his Mercedes and he’d moved into a smaller apartment. And he was getting paranoid, literally looking over his shoulder a lot.”

“And you had no idea he was stealing from your father’s company?”

“No.” She glared at me. “Do you know everything about your father’s business?”

I held up a hand. “I wasn’t trying to criticize.”

“Anything else?”

“I have to ask, where were you Tuesday night?”

She gave me an annoyed look. “I had dinner with my parents, and I stayed until midnight. My father went to bed early, but my mother and I watched a movie.”

“Your father didn’t mention that you were there.”

“Lay off him. He’s getting older and he’s working too hard.” She grabbed the brown paper sack her lunch was in and crumpled it up. “I hope I’ve helped you.” She stood up and stared down on me. “And I hope I don’t ever see you again.” With that, she walked away, not once looking back.

I sat for a moment, going over the conversation. Lots to digest. And that last part, about being at her parents the night of the fire. Did she provide him an alibi? Or vice-versa? The pigeons came closer, pecking at the ground. “Go on,” I shooed them off. “I don’t have anything for you.”

That could be a metaphor for this case, I thought. I didn’t have anything for me either, just a growing list of suspects. But Leena had certainly painted an interesting picture of Nick. And I could add her to the list of potential killers, because she had a motive as well.

CHAPTER TWELVE

As I walked back to the 4-Runner, I called Willie.

“How’d it go?”

She sighed. “Lots of questions, and then the same questions asked in a slightly different way.”

“They’re trying to see if you’re lying, if you trip over your story.”

“Since I’m not, they were wasting their time.”

“I don’t like it,” I said. “They haven’t eliminated you from their suspect list.”

“I didn’t do it,” she said, desperation in her voice.

“I know.” I got to the car. “Try to relax, okay? I’m on my way home.”

My condo was in the Uptown neighborhood, immediately east of downtown, so it took me less than ten minutes to get there. I parked in the garage and stopped by Ace’s place before heading upstairs.

“Hey, Reed,” Ace said. He was wearing sweats and his hair was tousled, like I’d woken him from a nap.

“What’s up, my ‘Ace’ sidekick?” I asked.

“Huh?”

I dispensed with the puns. “How’s the detecting going?”

“Oh,” he said, now giving me a knowing nod. “I talked to some of the neighbors.” He ducked inside and returned with the notepad I’d given him. It was crumpled, and when he flipped to a page with writing, I was amazed that he could read the scrawling on it. “That guy over there,” he pointed to a small apartment complex next door to Willie’s house. “His name is Rusty Householter. He lives on the second floor. He said he saw some lady arguing with Nick a couple of times. He said they stood on the sidewalk yelling and she was really mad.”

“When was that?”

“When, yeah,” he muttered to himself as he read his notes. “Once last week, and another time, maybe a week before that. He asked Nick about it, and Nick said that she was his ex-wife. I don’t think Nick liked her because Rusty said that Nick called her some names.”

“Did Rusty see her with Nick the night of the fire?”

“No.” He gazed up at me and gave me another knowing look. “I made sure to ask and he said no.”

“Does he know the ex-wife’s name?”

“Yes. Nadine.”

“I’m glad Rusty was a nosy neighbor.” That went over Ace’s head as well. “What else you got?”

He checked his notes again. “Most people weren’t home or they didn’t see anything, but Mr. Darmody next door said he was coming home from a church meeting and he said someone he didn’t recognize went into Willie’s house the night of the fire.”

My ears perked up at that. “What time was that?”

“Hm. Is that a ‘what’ or ‘when’?” Ace blushed and gnawed at his lower lip. “Uh, well, what happened was Mr. Darmody asked me how Willie was doing, and we talked about the fire, and I forgot to ask.”

“It’s okay.” I suppressed a smile. “I’ll talk to Mr. Darmody. That was good work, Ace. You’re one heckuva sidekick.”

He grinned. “Thanks. It gives me something to do while I’m waiting to get a job.”

“How’s that going?” I asked as I opened my wallet and pulled out some bills.

“Not bad. I got an interview at Home Depot next week.”

I handed him the money.

“No, I can’t take that,” he said.

I pressed the bills into his hand. “Go have a few beers and play some pool, on me.”

“I’ll take Deuce to B 52s,” he said, referring to the pool hall where we liked to hang out.

I took the stairs two at a time. Willie was standing in front of the entertainment center.

“Hey, this movie Sunset Boulevard is pretty good,” she said as she pointed the remote at the TV. “I just finished watching it. That Norma Desmond was craaaazy.”

“It’s considered one of the best film noir.” I picked up a DVD case with that unforgettable picture of Gloria Swanson on it. “You raided my collection?”

“I needed to take my mind off things.”

“There might be hope for you yet,” I said. I put the DVD away and pulled her close to me.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. She leaned in and kissed me, then nuzzled my neck. Then, I almost fell over when she said, in her best Gloria-Swanson-as-Norma-Desmond voice, “All right, Mr. Ferguson, I’m ready for my close-up.”

“Hm. Close up definitely works for me,” I said.

We kissed again. Then I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. We’d only spent the one night apart, but it seemed like I hadn’t seen her in forever. And for a little while, all our troubles faded, and it was just the two of us. Afterward, I lay back and chuckled.

“What?” She sat up.

“Whoever ‘they’ are, they’re right.”

“Huh?”

I grinned. “Making up really is fun.”

“Maybe we should fight more.” She cuddled up against me.

“Did you know Nick was already divorced when he rented the apartment from you?” I asked.

She cocked her head and gave me a ‘so-what’ look. “How long did it take you to find that out?”

“Ha ha,” I said. “The point is Nick was saying he was newly divorced as a way to pull at your heartstrings. Darcy’, too, when in fact he’d been divorced for a while, and his finances had been a mess for some time, too.”

“Okay, we could’ve guessed that. How does that further your investigation?”

“As a matter of fact, it doesn’t,” I said, choosing to ignore her negativity.

She got up and put on one of my shirts. “I’m going to get a snack.” I spied a grin as she strolled out of the bedroom.

I got dressed and went into the office and did a people-search for Nadine O’Rourke. She lived in Greenwood Village, in the Tech Center. I wrote down the address and went back to the living room.

Willie was back on the couch, eating an apple. “Are you leaving?”

I nodded. “How much do you know about bookies?”

“That’s where the investigation has led you?”

“Uh huh. O’Rourke has…had…a gambling problem. I found out where he was placing bets and I want to find out more about the bookie.”

“Why?”

“I think Nick owed money to him, or loan sharks.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t kill him if he owed them money, would they?”

“I know,” I said. “But maybe Nick was getting in too far, or maybe they wanted to threaten him and they took their message too far. I want to talk to the bookie, see what I can find out.”

“So what, you’ll just waltz in and place a bet?”

“No, that didn’t work,” I murmured.

“You already tried that?” She was incredulous.

“Don’t worry,” I said, averting the worried tone I knew was coming.

“For once I’m not so much worried as I am grateful you’re helping.” That was a switch. “But won’t they be suspicious when you show up again to place a bet?” Ah, there was the worry.

“I’ll go later.”

“Why?”

I smiled. “Hopefully the guy in the yellow shirt will be gone.”

She threw me a bemused look. “Who?”

I explained what had happened.

“If this guy in the yellow shirt isn’t there, there’ll be another thug in his place,” she said.

“Yeah, but he won’t know me.” I picked up my keys.

“You’re going there now?”

“I’m going to talk to Nick’s ex-wife first.” I told her what Ace had discovered. “She was seen hanging around your house, so maybe she knows something, like how to club someone over the head and start a fire to cover it up.”

Nothing. Not even the hint of a smile. I kissed her and headed out the door. “Don’t worry. I’m going to find out who did this and I’ll be careful doing it. After all, have I ever gotten myself into trouble?”

I heard some snide remark, but I’d closed the door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nadine O’Rourke lived in a neighborhood west of Interstate 25, off of Orchard Road. The house, a large two-story that had a country feel to it, was situated on almost an acre of land that backed up to a golf course.

I rang the bell, and almost instantaneously, a high-pitched yipping emanated from the other side of the door. It grew steadily louder, and then a sexy voice scolded the owner of the yip and the door opened.

A tall, too-thin woman in a slinky blue dress stared at me. She had a too-perfect face, artfully made up, eyes that matched the dress, puckered lips and breasts that could only be described as ‘perky’. She reminded me of a Barbie doll, but I sensed a dangerous edge about her. She held off a Pomeranian with one foot, and the impatience in her voice told me she was already prepping to brush me off. “Yes?”

“Are you Nadine O’Rourke?” I asked.

“Who wants to know?” She gently pushed at the Pomeranian with her foot, then said, “Josie, sit.” And the dog did.

I introduced myself. “I’m a private investigator and I’m –”

She let out a sigh that carried all the weight of a bad marriage in it. “What kind of trouble is Nick in now?”

Same response as Pommerville. O’Rourke had certainly built a consistent reputation – everyone hated him.

“He’s dead,” I said and watched her response.

“Oh.” Cool and collected. Nary a hint of surprise.

“You don’t seem shocked by the news,” I said.

She shook her head. “With Nick –” She left the sentence hanging. “How did it happen?”

“Someone murdered him.”

Now she completed the sentence. “With him, it was only a matter of time.”

“Why do you say that?”

She leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and ran a hand through her blond hair, a sexy, distracting motion. “You don’t know much about Nick, do you?”

“I’m learning more with each passing hour.”

“Let me help fill in some blanks.” She paused to shoo at the Pomeranian again, and this time it scurried off down the hall. “By the time I divorced Nick, he’d completely ruined our finances. I found out later that he’d run his business into the ground and was being sued by his business partner. You make enemies, someone is going to come after you.”

“You think his business partner would go after him?”

“I’d start there.”

“I already did.”

“And?”

I shrugged. “Stan Pommerville didn’t really strike me as the type to commit murder.”

“But he certainly has a motive, at least if what I read in the papers was true.”

“I’ll give you that.”

The corners of her mouth curled into a small smile. “What else have you found out?”

“That you’d been to see him a couple of times in the last few weeks.”

The smile faded. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, it is. Witnesses said that you got into a shouting match with Nick.”

She eyed me carefully. “He had some nosy neighbors.”

“I thought so, too,” I agreed.

“Well, I guess I can’t deny it.” She gritted her teeth. “If you knew what my ex put me through. I had money in the bank when we got married, and he lost all that. I thought he was using it for the business, and that we’d get a big payout. By the time I figured out he was gambling it all away, it was too late.”

“You didn’t realize he had a gambling problem?”

“Not at first. We’d go to Vegas and he was a high roller, but I thought his business was going well, and I had a good job, so I wasn’t paying that much attention. When the gambling seemed to be getting bad and I’d mention it, he’d deny it, or get really mad at me, so I’d let it go.”

“Ever been to Easy Street Café?” I asked.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Did you ever see Nick make bets here in Denver?”

She shook her head. “But I know he did.”

“How?”

“He slipped a couple of times when he was drunk and said he’d made a bet, or he was going to make a bet.”

“Was he borrowing money from anyone? Was he hanging around any unsavory people?” I ticked off the questions.

“You mean like loan sharks, that kind of thing?”

I nodded.

“I never actually saw him with anyone like that, but I overheard a few of his conversations that led me to believe he was in some trouble and owed someone big money. But before you ask, I don’t know who. By the end of our marriage, we hardly talked to each other. Then we separated and I don’t know what all he was doing.”

I switched tactics. “Did you get alimony from Nick?”

She sniffed, a short, spiteful sound. “Yeah, for all the good it did. He never had any money to give me, and the bastard left me with all the bills to pay because he didn’t have anything.”

“What bills?”

“Credit cards in both our names. A second mortgage on the house that I didn’t know about. He screwed me but good.” She used her head to indicate the house. “I’m still paying things off. I’m lucky I have a great job or I’d be in real trouble.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a marketing manager for a company downtown. I do pretty well, except for the damn debt.”

“So if things were so bad between the two of you, why were you visiting him?” I asked.

“He wouldn’t return my calls, so I had to visit him in person. And of course, we argued.”

“What were you arguing about?”

She hesitated, just for a second. “I’ve been fighting with some of our creditors, trying to get them to work with us and I wanted Nick to pay half of the debt. That would be fair, but he was fighting me on it.”

“He wouldn’t give in,” I said, knowing the answer.

“Yeah, why would he? I was stupid to try.”

“And now it’s too late. Unless killing him benefits you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How was he killed?”

“He was knocked out and then left to die in a fire.”

“That house fire on the news? That was him? And you think I could’ve done it?”

“Why not?”

She raised her voice. “Do I look like I could knock someone out?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“Look, I hated Nick, but I didn’t kill him. And I don’t know the first thing about arson.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but a deep voice interrupted her.

“Hey, honey, is there a problem?”

A tall man with a body chiseled from daily visits to the gym walked up behind her. He was dressed in cycling garb, the padded black shorts, a red, white and blue jersey with ‘Army’ emblazoned on the front and short socks with the letters ‘AFD’ on them. He was holding the Pomeranian, petting its head. She turned and pecked him on the cheek.

“It’s okay,” Nadine said. “This guy…I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Reed Ferguson.”

“I’m Ken.” He shifted the dog to his left arm, careful of a white bandage on his forearm, and we shook hands. He had perfectly coifed brown hair and oddly smooth skin. She was like Barbie, and he was Ken – literally. Only more muscular. Spooky.

“My fiancé,” Nadine said. “Reed’s a private investigator. Nick’s dead.”

“Oh?” Ken said.

“Yes. Terrible, isn’t it?” There was no sorrow in her voice.

“Huh.” He pet the dog and watched us.

Her demeanor suddenly changed. “Obviously this is upsetting, and I think it’s time you go.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”

The door slammed shut before I’d made if off the porch.

I walked back to the car, thinking about her. I was usually a sucker for the femme fatale, that seductive woman in the film noir I loved so much. But not this time. She had danger all about her, and I was wary.

Something else occurred to me. Did Mattel make a femme fatale Barbie, complete with the sinful body and treacherous soul, who would deceive and then murder Ken with her accomplice and lover, G.I. Joe? I laughed out loud at the thought.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As I drove out away from Nadine’s house, I mulled over the conversation. All roads pointed back to Nick and his betting. Or to people he owed money to. But as Willie pointed out, if he owed money to bookies or loan sharks, why would they kill him? A dead man can’t pay back money.

I checked the time: just after seven. Would Yellow Shirt be gone from the café by now? I did some quick calculations. He was already there when I got to Easy Street at eleven this morning. A good eight hours had passed. Someone would’ve spelled him by now, right?

Turns out I was wrong. When I entered Easy Street Café, there he was, still at his table in the back, still with a coffee cup. I wondered if by now he’d switched to something else a little harder.

The place was much more crowded now, and when a waitress came up, I shook my head, indicating I didn’t want to sit down. She nodded casually, as if that happened a lot, and moved away. I took that as a good sign, no suspicion of me not wanting a table.

I walked purposefully to the back and Yellow Shirt got up. A flicker or recognition crossed his face. “I thought I told you to get lost.”

“I want to see Bob.” I tried to wipe the smug smile off my face, but I don’t think it worked.

His eyes were hard and his jaw like stone. If he was trying to intimidate me, it was working. I wondered if Leena had set me up, and was I bracing myself for a good thumping from him when he reached around and grabbed the doorknob.

I tipped my head at him, like Bogie might do, and stepped past him into the room.

It was a small office, with out-of-date dark paneling on the walls, a flat-screen TV mounted in the corner, and a metal desk planted in the middle of the room with a couple of folding chairs across from it. Some boxes were stacked next to another door, which I presumed led to the alley. Behind the desk was a single window covered by a cheap shade. The window was cracked open and a slight breeze swayed the shade and cooled the room. A single lamp on the desk barely illuminated the space. The bookie was seated at the desk, his purple hat sitting rakishly on his small head. He was typing on a laptop and glancing at the TV. The door clicked behind me. Now that the thug was gone…was that breathing behind me?

I put my finely honed detecting skills to use and listened for a second. Yep, that was breathing. Someone cleared his throat and it wasn’t me or the bookie. It was official. The thug had come into the room and shut the door, and he was standing right behind me. Why’d he do that? I thought. I discreetly wiped sweaty palms on my jeans.

I wasn’t sure what to do from here. Leena had given me the code words to get in here, but that was it. What was I supposed to say?

“I’d like to place a bet on the…” My mind went blank. I was a football fan! It was early April. There are no football games in April! Who was playing now? The Rockies baseball team? I was only a casual fan. Had the season begun yet, or were the Rockies still in spring training? Basketball! Yes, they were in the playoffs…wait, were they?

“On what? The Lakers-Nuggets game tonight?” The bookie took me by surprise, both with his question and with his voice, which was high and laced with a lisp. Kind of like Mike Tyson.

“Yeah, that game,” I said, cringing at the warble in my own voice. Oh, where had my Bogie coolness gone?

The bookie leaned back in his chair and the front legs left the floor. He gazed down his nose at me. “Uh-huh. How’d you hear about us?”

“From a friend.” I smiled. “Bob.”

The thug behind me grunted. The bookie didn’t look amused.

“Ray doesn’t think you’re funny,” the bookie said.

I picked up on that. I glanced over my shoulder. “Ray?”

The hard look in Ray’s eyes remained, but his eyebrows went up and back down, like he couldn’t wait to beat the crap out of me.

“What makes you think you can place a bet here?” the bookie continued.

“My friend Nick told me about you. And you asked me about the Nuggets game, so I thought I could make a bet.”

“I was playing with you. Don’t mean nothing.”

“I guess I got the wrong information.”

“You see, there’s something I don’t like about you,” he said. The chair came crashing down and I jumped. He put his arms on the desk and glared at me. “You show up today and Ray says you don’t know what you’re doing. Then he sees you hanging around back.” I felt my ears burning. The bookie lifted a hand and slowly pointed at me. “What are you doing here?”

This was not going as I planned. Then again, I hadn’t really had much of a plan. I’d been made before I even returned to place a bet. But I was here, and I wasn’t going to be deterred. I reached into my bag of cool and decided to press ahead.

“May I sit down?” I asked, not waiting for an answer. I swung a leg over one of the folding chairs and sat down across from him. “My name is Sam Spade and I’m a friend of Nick O’Rourke’s.” Spade, one Humphrey Bogart’s most famous roles, was my favorite alias when I went incognito. “You know Nick. You were doing business with him.”

His expression gave me nothing.

“I know Nick was placing bets here,” I said.

The bookie raised his hands. “So what if you do?”

“Did you know he’s dead?”

“Yeah, I do. So what?”

That was a first. How did he know? No one else did.

“I –” I started to say.

The bookie gave a slight nod of his head. I had just enough time to register that Ray had moved before his hands clamped on my shoulders. He jerked me to my feet, held me with his vice-like grip and propelled me toward the back door. The bookie reached out, turned the knob and opened the door. Ray pushed me through and onto the little porch.

“Get lost,” he snarled as he shoved me into the alley. I landed hard on my hands and knees, and to complete the humiliation, Ray kicked me square in the ass. “And don’t come back,” he said.

I got up slowly and turned around. Ray glared at me, his eyes daring me to challenge him. I was tempted, but instead I whirled around, and, with as much dignity as I could muster, walked down the alley and around the corner. I stopped, leaned against the building and collected myself. Okay, you definitely got under their skin, I thought as I picked gravel from the heels of my palms. They knew that O’Rourke was dead. Because they did it? Or they knew who did it? One thing was likely. That bookie was a piece of the puzzle, and I needed to know more about him and his operation if I was going to find who killed O’Rourke.

Anger brewed in me as I made a decision, and stole back down the alley. A square of light indicated the bookie’s office, and a couple of large metal trash barrels sat underneath it. In the darkness, I figured I could crouch behind them and listen to the bookie. Surely he’d be fired up about me and he’d let Ray know about it.

I rushed forward and was about twenty feet from the back door when it opened. I ducked down. Ray stood in the doorway, looking back, saying something to the bookie. I was totally exposed. I glanced around frantically. Nothing but a Dumpster a few feet away. Ray started to turn around and I did the first thing that came into my mind. I dove headfirst into the Dumpster. Man, I was so not being cool right now. I landed in a pile of plastic bags, paper, food scraps and all kinds of muck and goo. I smacked my face against something hard, but I stay motionless, barely daring to breathe.

“What was that?” the bookie’s voice said.

“Probably a rat. I’ve seen them around.”

I held my breath. Something soft and sticky pressed against my face. I desperately wanted to move, but didn’t.

“See?” Ray said a moment later. “Nothing. You’re getting paranoid, thinking that guy’s hanging around? Don’t worry, he’s scared of me.”

“Who the hell is he?” This from the bookie. His lisp grew worse with his anger.

“I don’t know, Tony. He showed up this morning and I thought he was just another guy thinking he was cute, wanting to place a bet without knowing what he’s doing. Then when I saw him down the alley, spying on us, I figured maybe he was a cop.”

“He ain’t no cop.”

“Then who is he?”

“That’s what I just asked!” Tony barked. He sounded like Nadine’s yippy dog.

“Hey, man, I don’t know.”

I raised my head and got a whiff of something rotten, and my stomach flipped. I jammed my hands over my nose and began breathing out of my mouth.

The two thugs were quiet for a few heartbeats and I froze again. Then Tony started talking.

“He knows Nick was betting here.”

“You think he knows how much trouble Nick was in? How much money he owed?”

“Ain’t gonna do him any good,” Tony said. “Sal’s gonna get his money, one way or another.”

Silence again. I wanted to puke. I swallowed hard a couple of times, praying they would go back inside.

“You think Spade knows about the Chin?” Ray asked.

The Chin? A nickname for a mafia tough guy? I thought.

Tony was talking. “His name ain’t Spade.”

“How do you know?”

“Idiot, you think I just know sports?” Tony said. “Sam Spade is a detective in the movies.”

Busted, I thought. But Spade wasn’t just a movie character, you moron.

“Oh,” Ray said. “Then who is he?”

“I don’t know, but we’re gonna find out.” Tony cursed. “We got to get this Nick business taken care of. I’m tired of Sal breathing down my neck.”

“Well, you ask me, you never should’ve strung Nick out like that.”

A crack split the air. “Ow!” Ray said.

“I didn’t ask you,” Tony said. “And I ain’t in the mood for your shit. Get back inside.”

The door opened and a soft glow lit the sky above for a second, and then blackness.

I didn’t move for a full minute. Then I gingerly stood up, no easy task with the greasy food scraps and gunk in the Dumpster. I slowly raised my head and peered over the edge of the Dumpster, half expecting Ray to be standing there with a gun. Nope. I was alone. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gagged. I coughed and spat, then swung a leg over the side of the Dumpster, but got my other foot tangled in a trash bag. I shook myself free and ended up tumbling to the asphalt, right in a dirty puddle of water.

I scrambled to my feet, silently cursing, and ran out of the alley. A minute later I was driving home.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“What happened to you?” Willie asked when I walked through the door. Then she wrinkled up her nose and waved a hand in front of her face. “Oh, Reed.”

“Don’t!” I held up a hand. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I’d taken my soiled shoes off on the outside landing and I trudged down the hall in my socks. Willie followed me and stood in the doorway as I tore off my clothes and threw them in a heap in the closet. I’d deal with that mess later.

“What happened?” she repeated, forcing herself not to smile. “Since when is Dumpster diving part of the job?”

“Willie, please.”

I’d gotten into messes before, but never one quite like this. I headed into the bathroom and took a long hot shower. Ten minutes later, I finally felt human.

I got out, toweled off and went into the bedroom. Willie had put sweatpants and a tee shirt on the bed. A cold bottle of beer sat on the dresser, and the dirty clothes were gone. My frustration vanished. I dressed, grabbed the beer, and strolled into the kitchen. She was in the little laundry room, putting my dirty clothes in the washer.

“I’m taking care of your clothes so they wouldn’t stink up the room,” she said as she poured soap into the machine.

“Thanks.” I leaned against the doorjamb and watched her.

“I’m sorry,” she glanced at me. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“Yeah, well.” I glared at her, then grinned. “I guess I must’ve looked pretty funny.”

She cracked up. “It wasn’t the look as much as the smell.”

She closed the washer and we went into the kitchen and sat at the table.

“You should’ve seen me earlier, standing next to my car, wiping myself off with napkins from the glove box. I got a few stares from passersby. And the 4-Runner needs a good cleaning.”

She leaned close and studied my face. “You’ve got a cut under your eye.”

“Yeah. I dove face-first into the Dumpster. Don’t ask me what I collided with.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

“You’ll have a bruise tomorrow.”

“I’ll live.”

She leaned even closer and kissed my cheek. “I want you to know I really appreciate everything you’re doing.”

I took a sip of beer. “You can make it up to me later.”

She winked, then said, “What’d you find out?”

“Does ‘the Chin’ mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing.”

“Ever overhear Nick mention someone with that nickname?”

“No, but remember, I wasn’t around him much.”

I stood up and went into the office. She followed and sprawled out on the floor, stretching her back. I’d come to know this was a part of her nightly routine. I got on the internet and did a Google search on ‘the Chin’.

“There’s a mobster named Vincent Gigante who was known as ‘Chin’,” I said.

“You think Nick was involved with him?” Willie’s voice carried up from the floor.

“Not unless he speaks to the dead.”

“Huh?”

“Vincent Gigante’s dead,” I said. I scanned through a Wikipedia article on him. “He was part of the Genovese crime family, but he ended up in prison, where he died in 2005.” I continued my search. “There’s Vinny ‘The Chin’ Ferraro, a comedian.”

“I doubt Tony and Ray are hooked up with him.”

“What a joke that would be,” I said. “Get it? He’s a comedian. It’s a joke.”

“Courtesy laugh,” she said wryly.

“Okay, I’ll stick to investigations.” I added ‘Denver’ to my search of the Chin. Nothing but websites devoted to cosmetic surgery and chin implants. I sighed.

“Why don’t you call Cal?” the voice on the floor asked.

I picked up the phone. “He doesn’t like dealing with gangsters,” I muttered. On my last case, Cal refused to research the mob because, as he said, “The mob will put me in the morgue.” I can’t say I blamed him for thinking that. I dialed his number and waited.

“Huh. Voice mail,” I said.

“He must be ignoring you.”

“He’s busy on a deadline.” I left a message, asking him to call me in the morning.

Willie stood up, stretched again, and groaned. Then she slinked over to me. “I think it’s time I made it up to you.”

“Oh yeah?”

She leaned down and kissed me. “Uh-huh.” She took my hand and led me into the bedroom. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

And for the second time that day, I was.

***

Willie didn’t have to go to work until three, and we were more tired than either of us realized, so we slept late. She offered to make lunch, so while she did that, I went to the office to call Cal.

“No, I haven’t had time to research anything yet,” Cal said by way of greeting.

“Really? That’s surprising.”

“This job is a tough one. This company has some new software installed and it’s making my life a living hell.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He guffawed. “I never said I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, pardon me,” I said. “Can you break away for one quick thing?”

“What?”

“I need to know if there’s a loan shark or mafia guy with the nickname ‘the Chin’. But not Vincent Gigante. He’s dead.”

“I told you before, I don’t want anything to do with the mob.”

“I know, but can you check law enforcement sites and see if they have profiles of anyone with that nickname?”

“Oh,” he said. “That I can do.”

I chuckled. Scared of the mafia, but not the government. Go figure.

I heard clicking as he typed.

“How much trouble have you gotten into?” he asked as he tapped into websites I didn’t even want to know about.

I looked at my scraped hands and knees. “Not much.”

“You always seem to find trouble, so why don’t I believe you?”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Oh, that’s cold,” he said. “I don’t worry like your mother does.”

Cal loved my mother, and she loved him, almost as much as she loved me. She thought he was endearing, and he thought the same of her, but that was only because she didn’t pester him with questions like, “When are you going to get married?” and “Are you doing drugs?” Or, “What kind of trouble are you in now?” I got those questions.

“Well,” he said. “I can’t find anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I might find something if I had more time, and if I wanted to chase down mafia types, but I don’t.”

“Thanks for trying.” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Why don’t you ask your cop friend?”

“I guess I could,” I said. “But since she thinks my girlfriend is a suspect, I didn’t think that was the best course of action. Then again, I could pick her brain and see what she’s found out.”

“There you go. Glad I could help.” With that, he hung up.

I dialed another number.

“Spillman.”

She was as abrupt as Cal.

“It’s Reed Ferguson. I have a favor.”

“And you think I’ll help?”

“I thought I’d go to the best,” I said, pouring on the charm.

“I’m not falling for that.”

“Okay, you’re my only option,” I said, going for honesty.

She expelled a breathe, and I could hear the exasperation through the phone. “I’m outside your place,” she finally said.

“You are?” I know I sounded surprised.

“Come down and let’s talk.” Then she was gone.

As I hurried outside, I called to Willie, telling her I was going to talk to Spillman and not to wait on me. I took the stairs two at a time, wondering why Spillman was being charitable. I got the feeling she wanted something from me, just like I did from her. I’d have to tread carefully.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Spillman was sitting sideways in the driver’s seat of her Mustang, changing her shoes. She looked up when she saw me approach.

“Old red sneakers with tan slacks and a maroon blouse?” I made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Fashion citation.”

“Old joke, and not funny.” She finished tying her shoes and stood up. “You want a favor. Can I hope it’s for another case and not because you’re looking into O’Rourke’s death?”

I shrugged. “You can hope, but you’ll be disappointed.”

She slipped dark sunglasses to the top of her head and eyed me. “You get in a bar fight?”

I lightly touched my face. Willie had been correct. I did have a bruise under my eye.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “What’re you doing here?”

“Talking to the neighbors.” She shut the car door. “I’ve got work to do.” She headed up the walkway leading to Willie’s house.

“Hey, you said you’d help.”

“No, I didn’t,” she called over her shoulder. “I said come down and we’d talk.”

“Well?”

“I changed my mind.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

“What’d you find out?” I hollered.

She got to the porch, turned around and gave me the eye again. “Don’t you know?”

“Mr. Darmody said he saw someone leaving Willie’s house the night of the fire.” My voice carried across the lawn.

“Get over here,” she said impatiently.

I tried not to gloat as I hurried up to the porch.

“You’re correct,” she said. “Mr. Darmody saw someone in jeans, a black leather jacket and a baseball cap going inside the house.”

Ace had it right, I thought, sans the details.

“Unfortunately,” she continued. “That description could fit just about anybody. That’s about the only noteworthy thing so far.”

If she knew about Rusty Householter seeing Nick and Nadine arguing, she wasn’t letting on. Was she hoping I’d confirm that, as I had with Darmody? I kept my mouth shut.

“You know Willie didn’t kill Nick or start the fire,” I said.

She hedged a bit. “I have to look at everything. Did you know your girlfriend was having rental problems with Nick O’Rourke? They’d fought about it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did you also know she has a lot of debt? And she recently increased the insurance policy on the house?”

I hoped my face didn’t betray the fact that I didn’t know that last part. “That doesn’t mean anything,” I said, working hard to keep my voice steady.

“Except that maybe she increased the insurance so she could pay off the debt. Otherwise she might have to foreclose.” She looked around, then back at me. “I saw her hesitate the other day, when we were talking about Nick. Like she was holding something back.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. You should be looking at O’Rourke.”

“Who says we aren’t?”

“He had a ton of debt and a gambling problem.”

“So?”

“Maybe he got in with the wrong people and they eliminated him.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Something tells me you’re about to ask for that favor.”

“Have you ever heard of a loan shark or someone connected to local bookies who goes by the alias ‘the Chin’?”

“Really? The Chin?”

I nodded.

She paused, thinking. “Nothing comes to mind. What’s this about?”

“O’Rourke was in trouble with some bookies. I don’t have much more than that.”

“But why would a loan shark kill O’Rourke? They can’t get money from a corpse.”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” I said. “Unless they got tired of him and decided to get rid of him. Permanently. Or they’re sending someone a message.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t say I knew the answer.”

She pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the new front door that the insurance company had put up so the house was secure.

“How’d you get a key?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m the police, Ferguson. I can get things, like a key from the insurance company.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to look around again,” she said. “Sometimes it helps me focus. The little things can get overlooked.”

My curiosity got the best of me. “Can I…”

A twinkle entered her eye. “Okay,” she finally said. “Be careful.”

She ducked under yellow crime scene tape that was strung across the door and I followed her into the entryway, trying to act like a professional and not a kid in a toy store.

The old Victorian had been fashioned into three units. A large foyer was now closed off. The door to Willie’s ground floor apartment was directly opposite the main door. To our right, stairs led to the other units. The space reeked with a dank, smoky odor. The walls were water-stained, the paint bubbled in spots. A poster of Paris that Willie had hung on one wall in the foyer was lying on the floor, ruined.

We headed up the stairs. The door to Darcy’s apartment was at the top of the stairs, across a small landing. Plywood covered most of the wall by the stairs and a new door had been installed. A portion of what was her ceiling was gone. I suspected her unit had sustained a great deal of water damage. I reached out and touched an exposed section of drywall. It might’ve been my imagination, but it felt damp. I let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Spillman said. “Watch your step.”

The stairs leading up to the third-floor studio were already warping, and those near the top were charred and deformed. The fire inspectors had repaired them enough so that a person could walk all the way up. As the room came into view, I was stunned.

The entire roof had burned away, leaving only a few charred crossbeams. Two of the walls were gone, leaving a gaping hole exposed to the world. The other two walls were partially gone, more framing than part of a house. I hadn’t been able to see much of this from my condo. The entire living space, what was left of it, was a black mess.

I ran a hand over my face. “How did they find a body in there?”

“It’s amazing, really.”

She got to the landing and passed through what would’ve been the entry to O’Rourke’s apartment. Her eyes roved around the space, taking it all in. Then she moved into the room, treading carefully over plywood that had been laid on the floor.

I made it to the top of the stairs, and she indicated I should stop.

“Stay out of the way,” she said.

I had no choice but to comply, but I was disappointed. She crouched down and stared under the twisted metal that used to be a bed frame.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“Lots of ashes.”

Smartass, I thought. “You think the fire inspectors missed something?”

She snorted. “No, those guys are good. And thorough.”

“How do you know it was arson?”

“First indicator was how fast it burned. You’re in the middle of the city, where a fire department can get here fast. Even so, a lot of the place burned quickly. That means the fire likely had help, like an accelerant. And look there.”

She flicked a hand at one of the remaining walls.

“Yeah?”

“The windows were open.”

I studied the wall and the window. “How can you tell?”

“I couldn’t, but the fire investigator told me. He could tell by the way the glass was broken.”

“The fire needs air,” I said.

“He opened the windows to give the fire air, so it would burn faster,” she concurred. “Most arsonists don’t know about fires. It’s an impulsive act, not well thought out. But this one was.”

“Where’d the fire start?”

“Over there.” She pointed to an old cast iron radiator. “Whoever it was, he put flammables, probably paper and trash, over there. There’s melted plastic, like a trash can was sitting there. Then an accelerant was used on it, but not too much. An amateur usually makes the mistake of using too much accelerant, but this person didn’t. However, he left a little on the floor. The investigators almost didn’t catch it.”

“He?” I asked. “You think it’s a guy?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Just a figure of speech. It could’ve been a woman.”

“It wasn’t Willie,” I said. She shrugged, non-committally. I changed the subject. “How did they figure out all this?”

“They analyze burn patterns and heat sources, and use that information to determine where the fire started. Then they examine how and in which direction the fire burned.”

“What was the accelerant?”

“A mix of gas and some kind of diesel fuel. Not common knowledge.”

“Yeah, but you can find out just about anything on the internet.”

She let out a disgusted sound. “That’s true, but this guy was good. He knew how much to use to get the fire really going, but not too much so that it was obvious an accelerant had been used.”

“Why would he start the fire near the radiator?”

“He’s good, that’s why.” There was a hint of admiration in her voice. “He was trying to cover his tracks, make it look like O’Rourke left something flammable near there and it started the fire while he was sleeping. The body burns and he’s home free. Our boy knows what he’s doing, but he didn’t quite succeed. The fire didn’t burn as fast as he’d hoped, and the accelerant tripped him up.”

“How so?”

“That spill on the floor. An amateur would’ve poured accelerant all over. And if he really wanted the place to burn, he’d poke holes in the walls and pour accelerant in there, but this here was isolated. Almost like it was an accident.”

I inched my way into the room and she didn’t notice. I don’t know what she was making of what she saw, but all I noticed was a mess. A couple of knives and spoons, some broken dishes in what was once the kitchen. What looked like a television.

“What a mess,” I said.

She nodded and stood up. “I sometimes feel like a voyeur, intruding on a person’s private life. You’d be amazed at what happens behind closed doors.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I muttered. Even my short time as a detective had tainted my view of the world some. I nudged a charred two-by-four and something came into view. “What’s that?”

She stooped down and pulled a charred statue from the rubble. It was a little over a foot high and maybe that wide, a woman and a little girl, both with round, wide faces and Asian features. Much of it was black with soot and part of it was melted.

Her face screwed up in distaste. “Was O’Rourke into Asian art?” she asked.

“No clue,” I said.

She set it back down and brushed off her hands. “Not my style.”

“Who gets his stuff?” I asked. “Or what’s left of it?”

“His heirs, if there are any. Otherwise, whoever cleans this place up, I guess.”

She glanced at her watch. “I need to go.”

“Okay.” I headed for the stairs. “What’d you find out?”

“Our guy is someone who knows what he’s doing; he knows fires. He knew to keep it simple and he used fuels available at the scene. If not for the one slipup, I don’t think we’d even know.”

“Why the slipup when he was so careful? What happened?”

“You’re the detective, you figure it out.”

“Funny,” I said, without any mirth.

We went back outside and I walked her to her car.

“Be careful, Ferguson,” she said. “This killer means business.”

“I will be.” I waved as she drove off down the street.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I waited until Spillman’s blue Mustang turned the corner and then I marched back upstairs to my place. My mind was a whirl of information, the biggest piece being why Willie hadn’t told me about how much financial trouble she was really in.

I stormed through the front door, tempted to slam it. The smell of coffee came from the kitchen, but Willie was in the bedroom, getting ready for work.

“What was that all about?” she asked as she worked a towel through her hair.

I stood in the doorway, anger welling in me. “You want to tell me why I’m working my ass off, trying to find out who killed Nick O’Rourke, and you’re holding back information?”

“What?” Her hands dropped and the towel fell to the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I just got through talking to Spillman, and she says that not only do you have a lot of financial debt, but that you just increased the coverage on your insurance policy. But that’s not what you told me.”

She stared at me for a five-count and then her face crumbled.

“You look more and more like a suspect,” I went on. “Like you killed Nick out of revenge, then started the fire to cover it up, and you get a big payout from your insurance.”

“No, it’s not like that!” She struggled for composure. “I was…embarrassed of the mess I’d gotten myself into, and I guess I hoped this whole thing could be resolved without you knowing.” I started to interrupt but she stopped me. “Everything happened so fast. My place burns down and then I find out I’m a suspect, and I’m suddenly living with you, even if it’s just temporary.” She sat down on the bed, took in a breath and let it out slowly. “You know I’ve struggled with you being a detective, that it brings up all the fears I had from growing up, with my father being a cop. And I’ve only just gotten to where I can accept that you’re a detective and I can live with that, and then all this happens. Since I’ve met you, you have it all together, a job you like, a nice place to live and no money troubles. And there I was, making a risky decision with buying the house, and then not being able to pay the mortgage, and sinking deeper into debt. I just…” she looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

I ran a hand over my face, not sure what to say or do. I wasn’t angry anymore, and I felt a bit ashamed myself.

“You think I’ve got it all together?” I laughed hollowly. “Not even close.” I slumped against the wall, then slid to the floor. “You remember my last case?”

“When you were a bodyguard for that girl?”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t all it was about. My own financial screw-up came into play.” I told her about a business I’d gotten myself into, and how I really screwed up. I hadn’t told anyone but Cal about it. “I felt so ashamed,” I finished.

“I had no idea,” she said as she wiped away more tears.

I stood up and went and sat next to her. “It’s in the past, and so is what happened to you.” I looked her in the eye. “Here’s the thing: I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

She nodded. “I did increase the insurance last month, but it was only because my dad recommended it. And I don’t think the amount was anything unreasonable.”

“Your insurance agent should be able to verify that,” I said. “What about being close to foreclosure?”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. I’m behind a few months on the mortgage and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. But if things don’t work out, I’ll probably lose the house.”

I took her hand. “It will work out. We’ll make sure it does.”

“What would I do without you?” She kissed me.

“You’d have to hire another detective, one that I’m sure wouldn’t be as sexy, suave and competent as me.”

She smiled. “Think about that the next time you’re crawling out of a Dumpster.”

“That’s cold.”

She glanced at the alarm clock. “Oh, I’ve got to finish getting ready.” She rushed into the bathroom, but called out, “What else did Spillman say? Or was it all about me?”

“She took me up to Nick’s place. We looked around and she told me how the fire started.” I filled her in on that.

“Do you have any suspects? Besides me?”

I flopped back on the bed. “Everyone’s a suspect. Including you.” A laugh from the bathroom. That was positive. “The best lead I’ve got is that Nick owed money to this bookie, Tony, but I don’t know how Tony is involved in Nick’s death, and it doesn’t make sense that a bookie would kill him because then the bookie can’t get his money.”

“Huh,” came her voice. “I –”

Bogie interrupted us. “That’s my cell phone,” I said. “It’s Cal.”

“I’m emailing you the list of phone calls on Nick’s cell phone,” he said when I answered. “I got a week’s worth of records.”

I got up, went into the office and logged onto the internet.

“I’m putting you on speaker,” I said, setting down the phone.

“Here’s what’s interesting,” he continued as I checked my email. “Do you have the list?”

“Yes.” I found the email from him, clicked on an attachment with a list of names and corresponding phone numbers. I scanned down the list.

“Nick received three calls that night,” he said.

“Uh huh.” The first name listed was Jay Williams, the second was from K. Bayer, and the last was from….my jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it,” I said.

“Yep. Stan Pommerville called Nick at 10:35 the night of the fire. The number has been registered to his home address for over thirty years, so I’m assuming that’s his home phone number. There’s a different number registered to his cell phone.”

“Pommerville said he hadn’t talked to Nick in months.”

“He was lying,” Cal stated the obvious.

“I wonder why.”

“You’re the detective.”

“Have you been talking to Spillman?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” I studied the list of phone numbers, thinking. “Pommerville hated Nick, was financially ruined by Nick, and he said he didn’t want anything to do with Nick. So why is he calling Nick the night of the fire? Did Nick come into some money and Pommerville knew about it, and he got the money and then killed Nick? And was he calling to make sure Nick was at home?”

“That’s a long wait to get his revenge.”

“It’s safe that way. Pommerville looks less obvious.”

“Could be,” he said. “I’ll dig up Nick’s banking records. But if there isn’t a money trail there, I’m not sure how you’d know if he suddenly ended up with extra money.”

I mulled that over. “Sounds like I need to pay Pommerville another visit.”

“Have fun with that.”

“Do you have any other information on Pommerville?”

“No, but I should be able to get to it in a few hours,” he said. “I’ll call you later tonight.”

“Thanks, this is great work.”

“I know,” he laughed and hung up.

I found the number for Pommerville Computer Systems and dialed it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Pommerville.”

Good, he was there.

“It seems you don’t like to play nice with others,” I said.

“Who is this?”

“Reed Ferguson.”

“I asked you not to bother me again.”

“And I wouldn’t have, except that you lied to me.”

“What?” Indignation carried through the line like electricity. “I never lied to you.”

“So I ask myself, why would Stan lie to me?”

“I never lied to you!”

Click.

“Damn.” I stared at the phone. Was it my approach?

For the second time in as many days, I found myself driving out to Golden. It was just before three when I parked in the lot at Pommerville’s Denver West office. Dark clouds loomed overhead and the temperatures were dropping as a spring storm threatened. As I got out of the still smelly 4-Runner and headed toward the building, Pommerville came out the glass doors, carrying a brief case. We made eye contact and he backpedaled into the building.

“Hey!” I called and ran after him.

I jerked the door open and saw him across the lobby, heading out the opposite doors. I sprinted past a bemused woman who was waiting at the bank of elevators. I reached the other side of the lobby, pushed open the doors and looked left, then right. Pommerville was at the end of the building, surprising me with his speed, his tie waving at me over his shoulder.

I was pretty fast myself, and I caught up with him around the north side of the building.

“Leave me alone,” he said. He dropped the briefcase and leaned against the wall. He was breathing hard and he put a hand over his heart. “I’m not used to running.”

“Then why are you?” I snapped. “It just makes you look guilty.”

“What do you want from me? I told you before, I haven’t talked to Nick in ages and I don’t know anything about his death.”

“See, that’s the weird thing. I have Nick’s phone records from the night of the fire, and you called him.”

His jaw dropped. “What? I didn’t call Nick that night or any other night.”

“Then why the phone call?”

“How the hell should I know? I was at home that night, with my wife. Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “Leena was there. She came over for dinner.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah, she mentioned that when I talked to her. But why didn’t you say something when I was here? Maybe because you called her after I left and asked her to provide you an alibi?”

“I forgot, that’s all.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“It’s true,” he said petulantly.

Neither of us spoke for a moment, and neither of us moved.

“I know it looks bad for me,” he said. “But I’ve made my peace with Nick. Once I lost the court case, I moved on. Now,” he straightened his tie, then reached down to pick up his brief case. “I’ve got to meet a client.” With that, he turned and walked away.

I watched him disappear around the front of the building, and then I walked slowly back to the 4-Runner. His reaction was curious. His surprise about the phone call seemed genuine. But then how to explain his number showing up on Nick’s phone records? And why wait until now to tell me that Leena had come over that night?

I could see two possible scenarios. Pommerville was lying, and he had Leena provide his alibi by saying she was at his house the night of the fire. But if he made the call to Nick, having Leena at his house for dinner didn’t explain that. Which left scenario number two: Leena called Nick from her father’s house. But why would she be calling him, and why from her father’s house? Unless she was trying to cover her own tracks.

“Fine,” I said to no one. “If the father won’t talk, maybe the daughter will.”

I called Leena, but got her voice mail, so I hung up and sent her a text. “It’s Reed Ferguson. We need to talk – now.”

I didn’t have long to wait.

“Meet me outside the City and County Building in a half hour,” she texted back.

I wondered if Pommerville had already been in touch with her. I headed for the highway, while Oingo Boingo sang about going to a dead man’s party. I could relate.

***

I got to the City and County Building just before four o’clock. She was waiting outside, blond hair slightly disheveled, as if she’d been nervously running her hands through it. The look of anger she threw me as I approached could’ve burned a hole through my shirt.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again,” she growled. “And I certainly don’t want you pestering my father.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d be straight with me.”

“He called me, completely flustered, and said to watch out for you. And then I get a phone call from you.”

“That you ignored.”

“I’m at work!”

She walked down the steps and over to a large concrete planter that would soon be filled with spring flowers. She took out a single cigarette and carefully lit it with her lighter.

“I quit smoking a few years ago, but this whole thing with Nick has stressed me out.” She took a long drag and blew the smoke away from me. The look of satisfaction that crossed her face was akin to someone having sex. “I had to bum this off a co-worker.” She turned hard eyes on me. “Why won’t you leave my father alone? He didn’t have anything to do with Nick’s death.”

“He lied to me,” I said.

“About what?”

“I have Nick’s phone records from the night of the fire. He received a call from your father’s home phone number.”

“How did you get his records?”

“That’s not important,” I said. “Your father said he hasn’t talked to Nick in years. So either he’s lying, or,” I pointed at her, “you called Nick from your parents’ house.”

She sucked long and hard on the cigarette. “You think you’re pretty clever.”

“Clever enough. And your father also neglected to mention until today that you were at his house the night of the fire. Why was that?”

“I told you before, he’s getting older and he’s more forgetful.”

“Or you two worked up the story about dinner and a movie after I talked to him the first time.”

“That’s not true.”

She stared at the burning end of the cigarette. “Nick called me,” she finally said.

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, he wanted to talk, and maybe get back together.”

“Not.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t believe you.” I crossed my arms. “Want to try again?”

“I changed my mind. You’re not clever, you’re an ass.”

“Not the first time someone’s said that about me.”

A cold gust of wind whipped at us, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “If you have his phone records, shouldn’t you be able to see the calls he made?”

“True,” I said, making a mental note to check. “So when did he call you? And why?”

“It was a couple of weeks before he died. I almost threw up when I saw the number. I didn’t answer and he left a message. I didn’t even listen to it, but he called back, and then again. I finally answered and chewed him out.”

“What day was that?”

She named the date. “He couldn’t believe I was angry with him, and he poured on the charm. It made me sick, but I also realized that I really wanted to get back at him.” She stopped and looked out across the street. I waited her out. “I agreed to go out with him. It was weird because he was being so nice, and he had no clue that I was revolted by him. We went to dinner and the whole time we were there, I was trying to find something I could use against him, some way to destroy his life like he did mine.”

She brushed a lock of hair from her face.

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“Not a thing, except some people are after him for gambling debts. Big surprise. So I put up with a couple more calls, but I came up with zip. I thought maybe I could tell his bookies where he lived, but then I found out he was dead.”

“That’s it? You wanted revenge?”

“Yeah. My therapist had a field day with that.”

“When was the last time he called?”

“Last Saturday.”

“Why call Nick from your parents’ house instead of your cell phone?”

She blew air out slowly. “I didn’t call from their house.”

“Then your father’s lying.”

“He is not,” she snapped. She studied me for a second and her brow furrowed. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

I shook my head. “The whole thing sounds like BS.”

“Why would I tell you that I wanted to get back at Nick, then kill him, and then tell you? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless you’re trying to throw me off by putting the answer right in my face.”

“Are you serious?” She threw up her hands. “I give up.”

I pursed my lips, angry with the runaround. “Which one of you called Nick that night?”

“You just keep at it, do you?” She looked away, then stared at the ground. “You know I finally told my mom what happened? I’ve been trying to put this all behind me, and my therapist said it might help me move on. And then you come along, stirring things up.”

“Blame your stress on whoever killed Nick.”

“Yeah, right.” She tamped out the cigarette in the dirt but held onto the butt. “I hate it when people throw the butts out on the sidewalk.” She turned to face me. “Please leave my father alone. He’s been through a lot and he’s working too hard. He doesn’t need this on top of everything else.”

“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this,” I said. “If your father is really innocent, he has nothing to worry about.”

“If it was that easy, you wouldn’t be here.” She sighed. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

With that, she stormed off.

I walked back to my car, my mind racing. Who called from Pommerville’s house, Leena or her father? And who was covering for the other? One thing I couldn’t get around. Leena had motive, and she was angry enough to plot some kind of revenge against Nick. My gut told me her story was fishy. And my gut was usually right.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Instead of going straight home, I stopped at B 52’s. Once a warehouse, B 52’s had been converted to a pool hall decorated with old plane propellers and advertisements from a long-gone era. It was my thinking place, where I could let my mind ruminate. When I got there, Ace and Deuce were at a pool table in the back.

“Hey, Reed,” Ace said. “Want to play the winner?”

“Sure.” I flagged down a waitress and ordered a Fat Tire, then sat at a bar stool and watched the game.

“Where’s Willie?” Deuce asked.

“Working,” I said.

Ace pointed with his pool cue. “How’d you get that cut on your face?”

“Hey, be careful.” I pretended to duck. “I got in a fight with a Dumpster.”

They both stared at me with vacant expressions.

“Never mind.” The waitress returned with my beer and I took a long drink.

Deuce hit a difficult shot that won the game.

“Your turn,” he said to me. I watched as Deuce racked the balls for a new game

Ace sat down next to me. “You need any more help?”

“I’m good, but thanks for the offer,” I said.

“Bob is coming as soon as he’s off work,” Deuce said.

“Cool.” I hadn’t seen Bob in a while.

Bob Smith was the Goofballs’ older brother. He was fortunate in that his father had developed his obsession with poker only after Bob was born, so Bob had been blessed with a normal, if bland, name – plus, he’d gotten all the brains. I’d only recently known he even existed. Bob was an EMT and he’d moved back to Denver from the East Coast so he could keep an eye on his dimwitted younger brothers.

Deuce and I played a game and I lost, so I was watching them play when Bob came in.

“Hey there,” he nodded at me. “How’ve you been?”

Bob was a carbon copy of his brothers, with the same slim build and light hair, and the same stark gray eyes, only he had wisdom lines on his face.

He smiled briefly, but then grew serious. “You drive a gray 4-Runner, right?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I thought I saw someone checking it out,” he said.

I stood up. “Were they trying to break in?”

Ace and Deuce overheard us and they came over.

“I don’t know,” Bob said. “I started to walk over and he ran away.”

“What’d he look like?” I asked.

Bob frowned. “I’m not really sure. I think he had brown hair, but I was paying more attention to whether he’d broken into your car.”

“Did he?” Ace asked.

“What?” This from Deuce.

“Huh?” Now Ace was perplexed.

Bob smiled. This was old hat for him. “No one broke into the car.”

“Oh,” they said in unison.

“Good.” I set my beer down. “I think I’ll go take a look anyway.”

They went back to their game and I went outside and across the street to the parking lot. The 4-Runner was fine. I looked around, wondering if I were being watched. People walked up and down the street, and I finally shrugged and went back into the bar, but I didn’t stay long.

“I’m going to head home,” I announced after a bit.

“Ah, you can’t stay longer?” Deuce asked.

“I’m tired,” I said.

“We’ll catch up another time,” Bob said.

I left them to their game and drove home. It was dark and a few wet snowflakes fell as I walked from the garage around the side of my building, then strolled down the front sidewalk, looking at Willie’s house. It was black and silent, not giving any answers.

A sudden chill ran through me, and it wasn’t from the night air. I had an eerie feeling I was being watched. I turned around and scanned the darkness on either side of my building, but saw no one. I let my eyes rove around the nearby houses, searching for anyone looking out their windows, but saw nothing.

I faced the street again and checked the houses and yards on the other side. Was I imagining it?

I stood still and listened. The hum of traffic. Voices, maybe a television, in the distance. The chill remained. I waited a minute longer and then walked slowly back up the sidewalk, my senses keen to my surroundings. I rounded the corner of my building, halted and pressed myself against the wall. Then I poked my head around the corner. Nothing.

I shook off the feeling and headed upstairs. After wolfing down a sandwich, I went into my office and sank into my chair. I stared at the poster of The Maltese Falcon as I tried to focus. Then I got onto the computer and checked the phone records that Cal had sent. Sure enough, Nick had called Leena last Saturday night, just like she said. But my list didn’t go back far enough.

My cell phone rang.

“How’s the investigation, Oh Great Detective?” Cal asked when I picked up.

“Let’s see. I’ve got an ex-partner, an ex-wife and an ex-girlfriend who all have reasons to kill Nick. And a bookie who Nick owed money to.”

“But why would a bookie kill Nick? Then he can’t get his money.”

“I know,” I said. Why did everyone seem to think I hadn’t made that very same observation? “None of this makes sense.”

“No disagreement from me.”

“I’ve looked through the phone records you sent,” I said, explaining what Leena had said. “But I can’t verify her whole story because I only had you get a week’s worth of numbers.”

“Hold on.” I could hear keys clicking, then he said, “She’s not lying, at least about Nick calling her. It was two weeks ago, and the call lasted for four minutes. He called two more times in the next couple of days. I went back a month this time, and I’ll email you the list of numbers.”

“Leena was telling the truth, at least about that.” But my suspicions didn’t go away.

“What’d Stan Pommerville say about the call from his house?”

“He says he didn’t call Nick and Leena said the same thing.”

“Someone’s lying,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Hey, why’d you call?” I asked.

“Oh. I did some research on both Nick and Pommerville. I’ve saved some files and I’ll email them to you.”

“Anything stand out?”

“Not really. Nick was a financial train wreck, but that’s no surprise. He had nothing in his bank accounts, plenty of credit card debt, a bankruptcy. He left the ex with a lot of bills. And he’s had a couple of DUIs over the years. Pommerville looks pretty clean, other than financial problems related to the demise of their company. Boring stuff.”

“So nothing that’ll help me.”

“I’ll let you figure it out.”

“Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” He yawned. “Now, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“You deserve it.”

We rung off and I opened the email he sent. He’d copied and pasted the information into PDF’s, making it easy to read. As always, Cal’s research was thorough. I had bank statements, tax information, credit card information, even his life insurance policy, worth one million, with a beneficiary of Kelly N. O’Rourke. His father? Or maybe mother? That was a hefty policy. I made a note to look up the name. There was so much sensitive information on those pages, I felt my eyes burning. Good thing both Cal and I were on the good side of the law.

My cell phone rang again, interrupting me.

“Hello, dear,” said a cheery voice.

I smiled. “Hi, Mom, how are you?”

“Well, frankly, I’m a little miffed.”

“Why’s that?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not doing drugs.”

“Don’t be fresh, dear.” She followed that up with a sniff, so I’d know she wasn’t amused by my humor.

My parents were retired, living in Florida, and I didn’t see them very much. But my mother made up for it with probing phone calls. She worried constantly that I was doing drugs, and she had an uncanny knack of calling when I was either hurt and drugged up on pain killers, or tired from being hurt and on pain killers. For once, that wasn’t the case, but she obviously didn’t appreciate the humor in that.

“Why are you miffed?” I asked.

“I heard that Willie’s house burned down, but did I hear it from my son? No. We had our usual card night with the Smiths, who told us about it.” Ace and Deuce’s parents were friends with my parents and they had retired to the same town in Florida. “Do you know how I felt?” She was off and running. “Well, first I was shocked, and then worried sick about Willie. But I didn’t have any details, and I was disappointed that you didn’t call me.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, but I’ve been busy trying to figure out what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Willie’s upstairs neighbor died in the fire, and the police think she might’ve had something to do with it.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Willie wouldn’t hurt a soul. Did you tell the police that?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re helping her, but I still wish you would’ve called. And you know I don’t like that detective business, so promise me you’ll be careful.”

Besides worrying about me doing drugs, my mother’s other ongoing concerns are that I’m in permanent danger because of my job and that I’ll die unmarried, never having given her grandchildren. She’d managed to fit two of those concerns into this one conversation. Not bad.

“I promise I’ll be careful.” Then I changed the subject. “How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine, dear. His golf game is getting better.”

With that, we chatted for a while and apparently I was off the hook. After she caught me up on everything, we hung up, but by then, I’d wound down and knew I needed a break. I turned off the computer and went to bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I awoke with a start. Willie was breathing softly beside me. Silver light filtered through the cracks in the blinds, so different from the amber light on the night of the fire. I glanced at the alarm clock: 2:55.

I lay for a bit, orienting myself. Willie had come home from work, showered and crawled into bed with me. I’d told her about my mom’s phone call and then we’d fallen asleep. But now I was wide awake because the case was pulling at me. Leena’s story wasn’t jibing, but I wasn’t sure where to go with it. And I still had the bookie Tony, and the mysterious ‘Chin’. How were they involved? And who was this ‘Sal’ guy that Tony mentioned? Was he involved?

I tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn’t come, so I got up and tiptoed to the window and peeked through the blinds. Across the street, Willie’s house sat quietly in the moon’s glow. I still couldn’t believe the fire was only a few days ago.

I started to turn away and something caught my eye, a specter in the night. I looked back at the house. Was someone there? I watched and a second later, a small circle of light glinted through what was left of an attic window, then disappeared. It appeared again and wiggled along the edge of a wall, then was gone.

Someone was in the attic apartment! I squinted and made out two figures. I whirled around, hurried across the bedroom and threw on jeans and a tee shirt. I slipped out of the room and pulled on my tennis shoes as I dashed out the front door.

It had snowed just enough to coat everything in a wet layer. I rushed down the stairs as quietly as I could and snuck across my front lawn. I spied a shadow on the left side of Willie’s house and I ducked behind a car parked on the street. I looked over the hood and watched, but nothing moved. Must be my imagination, I thought.

I listened for a second, hearing only the thudding of my pulse in my ears. Then I dashed across the street, pausing behind another car. I waited, and when nothing happened, I ran to the front of the house and pressed myself against the wall. The smoke smell was strong. I tiptoed onto the porch and up to the door. Whoever was upstairs had jimmied the lock and the door stood slightly ajar. I pushed it open, praying the hinges wouldn’t creak.

Once inside, I moved slowly to the stairs. I put a hand against the wall, as if that might help me see, and headed up. With each step, I wondered if the stair would creak and announce my presence. I barely breathed and my progress seemed painfully slow, but I finally made it to the second-floor landing. I shivered, both from the cold and trepidation. I turned and looked up the stairs, then leaned against the wall and listened again. Movement from above caused ash to rain down on me.

“Where the hell is it?” someone said.

“How should I know?” came another voice.

Even though they were whispering, their voices easily carried down to me. I knew the lisp, and the low, bored voice. Tony and Ray. What were they looking for? Money? But if Nick had any in the apartment, it would’ve burned. Right?

Scuffling sounds and then a curse.

“I’m telling you, man, it’s not here,” Ray muttered.

A hollow thump split the darkness, followed by more cursing.

“Shut up,” Tony hissed. “You want to wake the neighbors?”

More ash sprinkled down. I waved a hand at it. Big mistake, as I did nothing but irritate my nostrils. I felt a sneeze coming on. I scrunched up my face, then smothered my nose with my hands. The sneeze finally erupted and I made a muffled ‘memph’ sound.

“What was that?” Ray asked.

I froze.

Footsteps sounded on the floor and Tony’s voice came toward the stairs. “Is someone there?”

I scurried toward the stairs just as a beam flashed down from the attic.

“Hey!” Tony said, his voice like an explosion in the stillness.

I’d been caught. I took the stairs three at a time, all thought of stealth gone. I reached the first-floor foyer and crashed through the front door. I leaped off the porch and jerked in surprise as I spied a shadow at the edge of the lawn.

Damn! They had an accomplice!

I don’t know if he saw me as I tore around the side of the house. Footsteps pounded on the front porch. I ran into the backyard, through a gate in the wooden fence and into the alley. I could hear them breathing hard, right behind me. To my right, a car was parked along the fence. Then I spotted a couple of old metal trashcans to my left and I dove behind them.

Two beats later, the thugs appeared. But where was their accomplice?

“Does he have it?” Ray asked.

“I don’t know,” Tony said.

“Where’d he go?” Ray murmured.

Tony grunted.

I glanced around the trashcans. Tony was gazing back at the house. Ray was looking the other way, and he kicked a soda can in frustration.

“Would you stop,” Tony muttered. “Don’t go waking up the entire neighborhood.”

Ray turned in my direction and I jerked my head back.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Ray whispered. His voice was dangerously near.

I held my breath.

“What’s that?” Tony whispered.

“I don’t know,” Ray said. He was just on the other side of the trash cans.

“Shut up. Someone’s coming.” Tony’s voice was barely audible. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fine,” Ray said, his tone indicating he would rather find me…and beat me up.

I let out my breath slowly, then waited, trying to regulate my breathing. Footsteps scraped the asphalt, then nothing.

I counted to one hundred and then I looked up. The alley was empty. Somewhere far off, a dog barked. A lone car raced down the next street, then the silence resumed.

They must’ve parked in front of Willie’s house, I thought. And they were gone.

I edged around the trashcans and snuck slowly along the fence toward Willie’s backyard. The moon slipped behind some clouds, leaving the alley in deep shadows. I reached the gate and took a step forward, and what felt like a battering ram slammed into my stomach. I doubled over, then dropped to my hands and knees and wretched. Someone kicked me and I toppled over on my side, near the back end of the car. Huge hands frisked me.

“He doesn’t have it,” Ray said. He kicked me again.

“Leave him alone.” This from Tony. “Let’s get out of here.”

Their footsteps echoed away.

I coughed and tried to sit up. I finally made it to a crouch, but my vision blurred. I grabbed the bumper of the car to steady myself. I closed my eyes, then opened them again and focused on the car’s license plate. UGH-432. UGH. It reminded me of how I felt right at that moment, and that struck me as funny. I started to laugh but my gut twisted into a knot and I groaned. I could see again, but now red rage shimmered at edge of my vision.

I pushed myself up and stumbled through Willie’s backyard. I made it back to my condo, holding a hand over my stomach. I let myself in and went down the hall to the bedroom and right to my dresser where I rummaged around for my flashlight.

Willie stirred behind me, and the room suddenly lit up. I whirled around, holding the flashlight. She’d turned on a lamp and was propped up on her elbows, looking at me. “What are you doing?” Her jaw dropped. “What happened to you?”

I glanced at myself in the bureau mirror. Ash and dirt streaked my face and dotted my hair, and I had a small scrape on my chin. I had no idea how that got there.

“There were two guys looking for something in Nick’s apartment,” I said. “I’m going back over to see if they took anything.”

“What?” She rubbed her eyes and stared at me.

“Don’t worry, they’re gone.”

“You can’t go over there now.”

“Watch me.”

She got up and came toward me. “Reed, it’s pitch black out there. Even with a flashlight, you could get hurt.” She put her hands on my face and looked me in the eye. “Calm down. There’s nothing you can do now. Why don’t you take a shower and we’ll talk about this tomorrow?”

Wisdom prevailed, but it wasn’t mine.

“It’s okay,” she said, although her brow wrinkled with worry.

I blinked hard a couple of times and nodded.

“I’m going to take a shower.” I plodded into the bathroom, showered, and crawled into bed beside her.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, still trying to calm down. I thought about all the noir heroes in the movies I loved so much. Too many times they let something blind them, like greed or lust or envy, and it led to their downfall. If I wasn’t careful, my anger would do the same to me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Be careful,” I said.

“I am.” Willie stayed a few steps behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. She was stepping gingerly up the stairs to the attic apartment like she was walking on Jell-o. We’d gotten up at eight, and waited to let the warm morning sun burn off the moisture from last night’s light spring snow. Then we’d ventured back over to Willie’s house to find out why someone was in Nick’s apartment last night.

“I said ‘careful’,” I said. “You look like you’re just learning to walk.”

She scowled at me but relaxed just slightly. “I don’t trust these stairs.”

“They’re okay.”

She shifted her weight and the stair creaked, and I got a look that said ‘see?’. But she pressed on, and we made our way up to the third floor. We stepped into the attic and looked around.

“What do you think they were looking for?” she asked.

“The logical thing is money, but that would’ve burned up in the fire.”

“Unless it was in a fireproof safe or container.”

“I don’t recall seeing anything like that when I was here with Spillman,” I said. “But it could’ve been buried under rubble.”

I scanned the room. It was such a mess, it was hard to tell what Tony and Ray had disturbed. I bent down and looked under the bed frame. Still nothing but ash.

Willie moved into the kitchen area and pushed at a board with her foot. It moved, exposing some silverware. A few broken dishes littered the floor. “What a mess,” she said, echoing my words to Spillman.

“There’s the bed, and that metal looks like a table,” I said, pointing out items in the room. “A television. He didn’t have much.”

“And nothing to hide money in.”

“Wait a minute.” I worked my way around the floor, carefully sifting through the rubble and lifting a couple of half-burned two-by-fours.

“What’re you looking for?”

I finally stopped and stared at her. “It’s gone.”

“What?”

“When I was here with Spillman, there was a bronze statue. It was kind of Asian-looking.” I held my hands apart, showing how big the statue was.

“It survived the fire?”

I nodded. “For the most part. It looked like part of it was melted, but it could’ve been made that way.”

“So those guys took it last night?”

“They had to have,” I said. “But I heard one of them say ‘Where is it?’ ” I thought for a second. “But when Ray hit me, he said something about me not having it.”

“Having what?”

“I don’t know.” I gnawed my lip. “And I saw the other guy.”

“What other guy?”

“When I came out of the house last night, er, this morning, I saw someone else.” I gazed at the floor, muttering to myself. “He must’ve been a lookout for them. Or maybe they gave the sculpture to him and he was taking it to their car while they stayed upstairs. Or I scared them all off, but they came back later and took it.” I turned to Willie. “Did you wake up and see anyone?”

“No,” she raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you wake up if I woke up?”

“I was so tired at that point…”

“Reed,” she said, very deliberately. “Who was this other person?”

“Oh. I saw someone else out on the lawn.” I explained that part of the story.

“You didn’t think to tell me that?”

Uh-oh. I was in trouble. “I thought telling you about two bad guys was enough.”

She let out a purposeful sigh. “You’re not funny.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe this other guy, that you so conveniently forgot to tell me about, hit you in the stomach with the statue,” she said.

“Well, I assumed it was Ray that slugged me, but I guess that’s possible.” I noticed the smirk on her face. “Oh, now who’s being funny?” I glanced around again. “Regardless, the sculpture’s not here now.”

“You think it was worth something?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was hollow and something valuable was hidden in it. It didn’t look like much to me, but it wasn’t my taste either.” I gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s go back home.”

Willie was just as cautious on the way down to the first floor, but we eventually made it. She looked down the hallway to her front door.

“I sometimes feel like this is all a dream,” she said as we locked up.

“I know.”

We traipsed across the street and back to my condo, then went into my office and I once again got on the internet.

“If those mafia guys have that sculpture, how are you going to find out if that was what they were after, or if it just had money in it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I can just walk in and ask them.” I decided not to tell her that I’d already tried that when I wanted to ask them about Nick, and that’s why I ended up in the Dumpster.

I started typing. Willie came and looked over my shoulder.

“Asian sculpture,” she said, reading what I’d typed into the search engine. “You think you’ll find it?”

I gazed at the number of sites and images that came up. “No, there’s way too many.”

My phone rang and I punched the speakerphone. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Cal said. “I finally got some sleep and I’ve got a little time, so I thought I’d see if you need anything.”

“That’s nice of you to offer,” Willie said, “but I think we’re doing okay.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her and she smiled.

“Willie!” Cal’s voice grew ten times brighter. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. I think I’m doing better than our detective.” She put a hand on my shoulder.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

I told him about my late-night adventure.

“You do seem to find danger,” he said.

“And it all seems to be over an Asian sculpture.” I scrolled through search engine results as I talked to him.

“What’d it look like?”

I described it. “Are you an expert on Asian art?” It wouldn’t have surprised me, as Cal seemed to know just about everything about just about everything.

“Not hardly.”

“We’re trying to figure out how to narrow our search,” Willie said.

“We?” I mouthed at her.

“Huh.” Cal sounded genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know anything about Asian art, so I think you’re on your own on this one. Although I can give you a bit of Asian trivia.”

“What’s that?” I half-tuned him out as I tried another web search.

“Li.” He spelled it. “Or Lee, is the most common Asian surname, if you’re talking China, Japan, Korea, Vietnam, Philippines and Malaysia.”

“What nationality is Li?” Willie asked.

“Chinese.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Don’t engage him.”

“Hey, if it was about film noir, you wouldn’t have any problem with a trivia quiz,” Cal said.

“I would too. I’m busy.”

“Who was the femme fatale in Gilda?”

“Rita Hayworth,” I said automatically.

“See?” He snickered.

“Yeah, but that’s one of her most famous roles, so that’s easy.”

“Who directed Touch of Evil?”

“Orson Welles.”

“Sure, and everyone knows that.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Admit it, you love film noir trivia.”

“Fine. What’s the most common Japanese surname?” I shot back.

“Sato.”

“I’ll bet on a list of the top surnames in the world, Chinese names would show up a lot,” Willie interjected.

“True,” he said. “They have a billion people there. Their top five names are Li, Wang, Zhang, Liu and Chen. Li, Zhang and Wang are in the top three world-wide, then it’s Nguyen, García, González, Hernández, Smith, Smirnov, and Müller.”

“You’re looking this up, right?” she said.

He laughed. “Nope. I read it somewhere.”

“That’s impressive.” She punched my arm. “He remembers everything, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, and why are you hitting me? I –”

“What?” She gave me a curious look.

I stared at the phone. “Cal, what did you say about the Chinese?”

“Uh, that they have a lot of people there?”

“No, you listed names.”

He rattled them off again.

“Stop,” I said when he got to Chen. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” he and Willie said at the same time.

“Chen.” I sat back in my chair. “I overheard Tony and Ray talking about ‘The Chin’, and I thought they were talking about some mafia guy. Those guys all have nicknames, right?”

“Right,” Willie said slowly, trying to follow me.

“But what if they said ‘the Chen’?” I closed my eyes, thinking back over the conversation. “Ray said ‘You think Spade knows about the Chin?’.”

“Who’s Spade?” she asked.

“I sometimes use Sam Spade as an alias.”

“Ah,” she nodded, but her expression said she didn’t get the reference.

I explained who Spade was, and she nodded without much interest. “Anyway,” I went on. “I assumed Ray was talking about a person.”

“So,” she said. “They said ‘the Chen’, like…”

“Like they’re referring to a piece of art,” I finished. “Like ‘the Picasso’ or ‘the Monet’.”

“That makes sense,” Cal said. “But there are over 54 million Chens in the world.”

“Okay, please tell me you didn’t know that statistic.” Willie was incredulous.

“He might. He’s that good,” I said.

“I confess, I just looked that one up,” he laughed.

I typed ‘Chen artist’ into the search engine.

“There’s an Alexander Chen, but he’s ‘The Master of Hyper Realism’, whatever that is. And it doesn’t look like he does any sculpting.”

“And there’s a Daniel Chen, a Carey Chen, Hua Chen, Lucy Chen and more.” Cal was looking on the internet, too. “Does any of the artwork look familiar?”

“No,” I said. “Try searching ‘Chen sculpture’.” I typed and an echo came through the phone as Cal worked on his end.

“Wenling Chen,” I said. “Maybe this is the one.” I clicked on the images page. “That’s it!”

“You found it?” Cal asked.

“Hey, maybe I can’t break into government websites or banks and such,” I said. “But I can handle a web search.”

“Touché.”

I could hear the smile in his voice.

I typed ‘Chen Wenling’ and clicked on some of the sites. “His stuff sells for a lot.” I scrolled through a site that was selling a few of his pieces. Many were large sculptures, colored red. “Look, this small one is worth over $20,000.”

“That’s a nice chunk of change,” Willie said. “You think that’s enough to pay off the bookies?”

I shook my head. “They were looking for more. And it wouldn’t make sense that they killed him, and then came back to get it.”

“Unless they found out about the sculpture after they killed him,” Cal said.

“And so, we’re back to the question of the week: why kill him if he owes them money?” I rubbed my hands over my face. “I think it’s time I paid Tony another visit.”

He grunted. “He’s not going to tell you what’s going on.”

“He might if he knows that I know what’s going on,” I said. “I could let the police know about their operation.”

“And then they kill you.” Willie’s fear was palpable, even though she was trying to hide it.

“Yeah, you’re on your own there,” Cal said.

“I’ll help,” Willie offered.

I moved closer to the phone. “You hear that? You’d let her face danger?”

A huge sigh rippled through the phone. “Calling on my chivalry. That’s not fair.”

“I can handle it,” she insisted.

“No, if he needs help, I’ll come.” Cal did not sound happy.

“Relax,” I said. “No one’s going anywhere. I need to come up with a better plan than us all going in with our guns blazing.”

“Your gun,” he said. “I don’t have one.”

“Noted.”

With that, he hung up.

“He’s not happy,” she said.

“You think?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“I know that look,” Willie said.

“What look?” I tried to make my face expressionless, but I wasn’t succeeding.

“You’re going to talk to Tony.”

I swiveled in my chair. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You just said that wasn’t a plan,” she protested.

“No, I said all of us going in wasn’t a plan.”

“What do you hope to get from Tony?”

“I’m not sure.” I pondered that. “I want to know where that sculpture is. Maybe I can get him talking and he’ll tell me what’s going on.”

“They don’t strike me as the friendly type.”

“True, but they think I have something I don’t. That’s my bargaining chip.”

“But you don’t have anything.”

I smiled. “They don’t know that.”

“What’s your plan?” she asked.

“I don’t want to deal with Ray, just Tony.” I got up and went into the bedroom, put my holster on and got my Glock. “I’ll go through the back alley entrance and surprise Tony. The problem is Tony and Ray seem inseparable.” I thought about that. “How successful do you think Cal would be keeping Ray busy while I bust in on Tony?”

“I can do it.”

“No way.”

“Hey,” she said. “This isn’t one of your film noir, where I’m the helpless female.”

“You’re right. This isn’t a movie.”

“I know that, but Reed, listen to me.” She waved off my protest. “First, Cal’s a great guy, but he’s not Mr. Sociable. No matter how hard he tries, he’ll look out of place in there by himself. Second, you know he’s been busy with a deadline, so how long will it take for him to get cleaned up and then drive down here? And do you want to wait that long? Third, I can handle this.”

I contemplated her. Her spunk was certainly refreshing, given that she was usually so anxious and worried about my profession.

“I can handle it,” she repeated.

I finally relented. “Okay then, but promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“As long as you do the same.”

“We need to take your car,” I said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“They’ve been watching me, and I’d rather not announce our presence before we even get there.”

“We can park far away and walk.”

“Which wouldn’t be good if we need a fast getaway.”

She paled. “Why would that happen?”

“Who knows, but it pays to be prepared.”

Her expression said the reality of the situation had sunk in.

“You want me to call Cal?” I asked.

“No. I’ll be fine.”

***

“Let’s go over this again,” she said as I parked her car around the corner from Easy Street Café.

I turned sideways to face her. “Go to the café and order something at the bar. That way you’ll be close to where Ray sits. It’s lunchtime so you won’t stick out. I’ll sneak down the alley and look through the back window into Tony’s office. If someone’s placing a bet, I’ll wait until they leave, then I’ll let myself in.”

“What if the door’s locked?”

I chewed my lip, thinking. “I guess I’ll knock and wait for him to answer.” I patted the bulge under my jacket. “And I’ll persuade him to go back inside where we can talk.”

“What’re you going to do if Tony yells for Ray?”

“He’ll be dealing with me and my Glock, so I think he’ll be quiet.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said.

We got out of the car and headed toward the café.

“If someone else comes in to make a bet, text me,” I said. “That way I’ll have some warning.”

“So this is what being a detective is like,” she said dryly.

I nodded as I pulled out my cell phone and changed it to vibrate. Last thing I needed was to have my phone ring while I was scoping out the alley.

“How about I make a commotion, do something to distract Ray and give you some extra time?” she said.

I stopped walking. “If I say no, will that make me a chauvinist?”

“Probably.” She reached out for my hand. “I can handle myself, and I won’t do anything stupid or dangerous.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“For the same reasons I don’t believe you.” She smiled. “If I run into any trouble, I’ll hightail it out of the restaurant and call you. Let’s go.”

We separated at the corner. Willie headed down the block and inside the restaurant. When she disappeared, I ran around to the alley, then stopped short. Ray and a guy I didn’t recognize were smoking by the back door. Ray’s pal wasn’t the flashy dresser that Tony was. This new guy was in faded jeans and a blue tee shirt. I ducked behind a Dumpster and waited, wondering if Tony was in the office.

A moment later, my cell phone vibrated. Even though I knew the two thugs couldn’t hear it, I yanked it out of my pocket and shut off the signal. Then I glanced at the screen. Willie had sent a text. “Ray isn’t there.”

I texted back that he was in the alley and to watch for him. Within a minute, Ray and his pal finished their cigarettes and went back inside. I waited ten seconds and then ran up to the back window. I peeked inside. The man in the tee shirt was sitting at the desk, typing notes. Where was Tony? Was it his day off?

I watched for a minute more, but nothing happened. I didn’t like that Willie might have to face Ray by herself, so I stole back down the alley to the end of the building and texted her.

“Tony’s not in the office.”

“What’s he look like?”

I texted back and described him, right down to his flashy Trilby hat and lisp.

“I don’t see him,” she replied.

“Meet me out front.”

“Will try one thing first.”

“No! Don’t do anything!”

She didn’t text back.

I cursed, then hurried back to Colfax and waited at the corner. After an eternity of worry, I threw reason aside and headed for the restaurant. I had to know what she was doing.

I neared the restaurant and glanced in the big front window. I couldn’t see anything in the glare, so I moved to the edge of the window, cupped my hand against the glass and peered inside.

Willie was at the back, talking to Ray.

Oh man! What was she doing?

I saw Ray raise his hand and I thought he was going to hit her, but he made a shooing gesture at her. She said something else and a smile spread across his face. She shrugged and then turned and strutted toward the front door. She finally emerged from the restaurant.

I was frantic. “What did you do?” I grabbed her arm and propelled her away from the building.

“I asked if I could see Tony.”

“You did what?”

Her nostrils flared. “He didn’t tell me, he just laughed in my face.”

“Are you nuts? I told you not to put yourself in danger!”

“I didn’t. Look, I want to get to the bottom of this. Someone burned down my house!”

I gritted my teeth. “Okay, calm down.”

I glanced over my shoulder, then cursed. Ray had come out of the restaurant.

“Look the other way,” I ordered.

“What?”

“Just do it!” I hissed.

We crossed Colfax and I dared a glance again. Ray was looking down the street toward us, but I couldn’t tell if he recognized me. We hurried to her car.

“If he saw you, now he’ll know you’re involved with me,” I said.

“So?”

I stared at her. “These guys are probably hooked up with a bigger mob. That means you’re in danger. This is my job, but I don’t need to be worrying about you while I find out who started the fire.”

“Well, I…” Her anger dissipated and she looked at me ruefully. “What do we do now?”

“Let’s get out of here.” I started the car and headed south, away from Colfax. I checked the rearview mirror, watching for a tail, but saw nothing.

“What happened with you?” she broke the silence.

“There was some other guy in the office, I guess Tony’s replacement.” I gripped the wheel hard. “What a waste of time.”

“They wouldn’t come after us, would they?” Willie asked.

I didn’t have an answer to that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When we got back to the condo, Willie went on upstairs. I needed to run a few errands, so I headed for the garage behind my building. I strolled through the yard and around the side of the detached garage to the side door. I reached out to unlock it and paused. The door was closed, but it looked like someone had tampered with the lock. I was suddenly very cautious.

I grabbed the knob and turned. It was unlocked. Huh. It was never unlocked. I shared the garage with the Goofball Brothers, and they never left the garage unlocked. They didn’t have expensive cars or anything of value stored in the garage, but for some reason they always remembered to keep this door locked.

I slowly pushed the door open but stayed where I was. The inside of the garage was full of shadows. What lurked in them? An image of the specter outside of Willie’s house came to mind, and I waited for someone to jump out now.

I counted to ten and then reached in with one hand and felt around for the light switch. The sudden brightness didn’t illuminate anything unusual. I listened but heard only the normal sounds of the neighborhood. I dropped to my knees and looked under the cars. Nothing. Slightly mollified, I crept on into the garage, my arms up, ready to ward off any blows. Ace’s Subaru was parked closest to the door and I tiptoed up to the front of it and peeked over the hood. No one was there.

Still cautious, I backed up and slipped around the back of the car and then checked between the Subaru and my 4-Runner. I don’t know what I thought I’d see, but fortunately no one appeared. I was starting to feel silly as I walked on over to the driver’s side door of the 4-Runner. I was about to get in when a buzz sounded and the big garage door started up on its track. I jumped and cursed.

“Hey, Reed, what’s up?”

Ace was over by the side door, and he looked as surprised as I was.

“Hey, buddy,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I thought maybe you were that guy.”

A shiver rushed through me. “What guy?”

He came around the vehicles. “I was fixing lunch and I saw a guy trying to get in the garage. By the time I ran out here, he was gone. Then I saw the door open and I thought he came back. Only it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You think whoever I saw stole something?”

I glanced around. “They think I have something, so they’re looking for it,” I muttered. “But if they don’t have it, and I don’t have it, then who does? They have the Chen, so what else were they looking for?”

“Huh?”

“Uh, nothing,” I said. I clapped his shoulders. “Something with some mob guys.”

“Oh, like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Raw Deal.” Arnold was Ace’s favorite actor. He knew as much about Arnold’s movies as I did about film noir, and that was saying something.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. I’d seen the movie, but it didn’t compare to the film noir of the same title, Raw Deal, with Dennis O’Keefe and Claire Trevor. That movie dealt with a mobster, played by Raymond Burr. Ironically, it ended with a dramatic fight in a house fire.

“You think whoever started the fire at Willie’s house would start a fire here?” Ace asked, trying to be helpful. “Should we look around?”

“Good idea,” I said.

We searched the garage but came up with nothing that appeared like an arsonist’s work.

“Maybe there’s something we can’t see,” Ace suggested. “I could move my car, but the keys are in the house, so how about I move the 4-Runner out and you can get a better look.”

I gave him my keys without thinking.

“Did you ever see Raw Deal?” he asked as he got in the 4-Runner. “Arnold deals with the mafia, and they were pretty smart in the movie. They even called in a phony bomb threat to clear out the police station. That was pretty funny.”

“What?” I said.

“They called in a bomb threat,” he said. “To the police station.”

“Don’t start the car! Get out!” I yelled, moving toward the 4-Runner.

Ace looked up at me through the windshield, his mouth open. Then I saw him look down.

“No!” I waved my hands, as if that would help.

Ace held up his hands. “Dude, okay. I’m not starting it.”

I reached the car, grabbed his arm and pulled him out.

“What’s wrong with you?” he said as he stumbled onto the garage floor.

“Come on.” I helped him up and we headed out of the garage. I was sure Tony had wired the car to blow up. A mob hit. As we walked into the backyard, I explained what was going on. I couldn’t believe I didn’t think about the possibility of a car bomb sooner, but I chalked it up to stress.

“A bomb? Really?” he said.

“Maybe. No sense taking any chances.”

“Whew!” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t start it.”

I nodded as we stared at the garage. “Now, how do I find out if the 4-Runner is wired to a bomb?”

A flash of bright yellow and orange light exploded upward, and the roar deafened us. A blast of scorched air knocked us to the ground. I raised an arm, shielding my face against intense heat as I stared at what was left of the 4-Runner. The explosion had rocked it violently and the front half was burning. The garage door had come partially off its tracks and was hanging down at a sharp angle. Glass and metal were strewn about the backyard. Next to it, the Subaru was scorched, and fire licked at it.

“Get back!” I pulled Ace farther away, then pulled out my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“But I didn’t start the car,” Ace whispered. A couple of small cuts dotted his forehead, and he wiped at the blood.

“Must’ve been on some kind of a timer,” I muttered. I started shaking. We’d come that close to being barbecue.

***

“You see?” I jerked my head toward the burning 4-Runner. “These guys mean business!”

Willie nodded, then opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The explosion had broken some windows. It had brought Willie and Deuce running, along with a gaggle of our neighbors. We were leaning against the backyard fence, watching the fire department attempt to save the garage. The smell of burning gasoline and rubber hung heavily in the air.

“I want you out of here,” I said to her. “You can go to Cal’s for a few days.”

She wasn’t arguing this time. “I’m scared. What if they’re watching us?”

“I’m free right now,” Ace said gallantly. “I can stay with Willie.”

“How am I going to get to Cal’s?” she asked. “If I take my car, you won’t have one.”

We all looked at the garage. The 4-Runner couldn’t even be called a car anymore, and Ace’s Subaru was water-soaked and partially burned. I highly doubted the fire department would let him drive it.

“I’ll drive them up in my truck,” Deuce said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’ll work.”

The plan agreed upon, I called the last person who’d need to agree to it.

“Oh Great Detective,” Cal answered.

“They blew up the 4-Runner,” I said. “I need your help.”

“Wow. Name it.” He was all business, knowing the explanations could come later.

“The bookie and his pal may have spotted Willie with me, and they’ve upped the ante,” I said. “I don’t want her used as collateral in all this, so I want her to stay with you for a few days.”

“Not a problem.” On a previous case, Cal’s house had been invaded by unwanted houseguests, but he loved Willie so I knew asking this wouldn’t be a problem.

“Ace and Deuce are driving up with her.”

“They can stay, too.” He was being especially charitable, and I was grateful.

“They’ll be there soon,” I said.

I hung up and turned to Willie. “Take Ace and Deuce upstairs with you and grab a few things. Then you three get out of here. I’ll deal with the police.”

Willie kissed me hard and clung to me.

“It’ll be okay,” I said, pushing her away.

“Be careful,” she said.

“You, too.”

I watched the three of them hurry away. I’d worked hard to stay calm and unruffled so they wouldn’t worry, but my control suddenly left me. Even though it was warm, my teeth began to chatter. Then my muscles quaked and I sunk to the ground. Every part of me shook violently, and I couldn’t control it. Breathe, I told myself. The world lost focus and I heard someone call my name, but it wasn’t Willie or the Goofball Brothers.

Someone touched my arm and I jerked it away, aware of pain, dull and throbbing. I bent my arm and looked at the flesh under the forearm. A long burn streaked from my elbow down toward my wrist. I didn’t remember when it had gotten burned, and none of us had noticed it. But I was sure aware of it now. It would need attention, but at another time.

The voice said something again, and I looked up.

Detective Spillman stared down at me. Her lips were moving, but I still didn’t understand what she was saying.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“You’re in shock.”

Spillman was speaking to me. I gazed up at her.

“I’m okay,” I said. The fog lifted and my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. I took some deep breaths.

“You don’t look so hot.”

I put my palms on the ground and pushed myself up. “No, I’m good.”

“I think an EMT should look at you.”

“No.” Anger replaced shock. Tony and his thugs had done this. My mind filled with vile names for them.

“You should get that burn looked at.”

“I’ll go to the doctor later.”

She shrugged, then watched me for a few minutes. “You want to tell me what happened?” she finally asked.

I sucked in a breath. “I think I’m getting too close to someone and they want me out of the way.”

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

“She’s safe.”

“Where?”

I shook my head.

“I can help.”

“She’s safe,” I repeated. “You won’t get anything from me.”

Her mouth formed into a tight line, but she stayed silent.

I nodded at what was left of my car and garage. “I want to know what you find.” My tone was clear. Don’t mess with me on this one.

For once, she wasn’t sarcastic. “I’ll call you once the fire inspectors finish their investigation.”

“Thank you.”

“Who do you think did this?”

I glanced at her, then back at my car. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d just paid a visit to the bookie I was telling you about.”

“So you think they’re involved in all this, but you can’t prove it.”

“Right.”

“Tell me what happened.”

I did, and she stayed silent until I got to the part about the bomb not going off until we’d walked away.

“And your friend didn’t crank the key?” she asked.

“No.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Some kind of timer?”

“Sounds like it. The investigators will let me know for sure.”

“But?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds pretty sophisticated is all.”

We lapsed into silence, waiting and watching until the firemen completely extinguished the fire, and then I spent more time telling them what had happened. Cal called and said Willie and the Goofball Brothers had arrived safely, and Spillman tilted her head at me.

“Don’t ask,” I said.

“I wasn’t going to.” She held her palms up. “Why don’t you go get that arm looked at?” she said again. “They’ll be a while here. I’ll call you once we know something.”

I met her gaze, and she put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“I’m going to get whoever did this,” I said.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.”

I left her there in the backyard and climbed the stairs to my condo. My arm was aching, so I went to the bathroom and cleaned the burn. It was raw and it stung, but it wasn’t something I was going to get checked. I had something else to do.

Sometimes my impulsiveness can be a good thing. But plowing ahead without thinking can also lead to disastrous results, as I sometimes found the hard way. I should’ve been formulating a plan, but all I could see was Willie’s house on fire, and my car burned to a crisp.

I thought about this proclivity to act first and think later as I wrapped my arm in gauze and taped it up, cleaned a couple of other small cuts on my face, then got the Glock. I went back into the living room and reached for the 4-Runner keys that I usually leave on a small table by the door, and did a double-take. What car could I use? Oh, yeah. Willie’s. I hunted around the condo and found the keys to her car, took them and headed out.

Smoke lingered in the air as I got in her car. I put the key in the ignition and then stopped. What if Tony and his boys had rigged her car, too? Paranoia coursed through my veins as I got out and crawled underneath, searching for anything suspicious. Then I popped the hood and examined every nook and cranny of the engine. There was no bomb, and nothing appeared out of place. I thought about asking Spillman to give the car a onceover. At first I dismissed the idea, thinking she’d look at me like I was nuts. “Nuts be damned,” I said out loud as I raced around to the back of the house.

Spillman was standing with a couple of firemen. I caught her attention and waved her over.

“Can you have someone check my girlfriend’s car?” I asked. “For bombs?”

She wisely didn’t argue and within minutes the bomb squad had searched it and discovered no bombs. I thanked her and as she disappeared around the side of the building, I got back in Willie’s car and turned the key. The car started. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled slowly and pulled into the road. In fifteen minutes, I parked on Colfax, right in front of Easy Street Café. I marched into the restaurant, right past a waitress and to the back. Ray was sitting at his table, chatting with the same bartender. He halted mid-sentence when he saw me.

He stood up. “What do you think –”

I launched myself at him, angling my right shoulder into his chest. He wasn’t prepared for that, and he slammed hard into the wall, kicking his feet out. The chair he’d been sitting in toppled over on him. I walked up to the door as he tried to extract himself from the chair.

“Hey!” the bartender said, but I was through the door.

Tony was sitting at the desk, writing something on a yellow legal pad.

“What’s the bet?” he said without looking up.

I reached back and locked the door, pulled out the Glock, leaned over and pointed it at him. “The bet is will I kill you or will you answer my questions?”

He looked up just as Ray pounded on the door.

“What the f –” he bleated. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the guy you shouldn’t mess with.”

Tony slowly raised his hands. His cold glare brought me back to reality. This could go badly for me.

More muffled yelling from Ray.

“You got about ten seconds,” Tony said. “Then Ray’s going to come through that door and deal with you.”

“Why did you blow up my car?” I snarled.

“What?” He appeared genuinely surprised.

“Don’t act dumb. You were at my house today and you planted a bomb, didn’t you? But it didn’t quite work like you planned, because I’m still here.”

“I didn’t plant a bomb.”

“I don’t believe you,” I snapped.

A violent thump rattled the door, the lock gave, and the door flew open. I stepped to the side as Ray stumbled headlong into the desk, righted himself and whirled around to face me. I aimed the gun at both of them.

“You’re making a serious mistake,” Ray said, his voice laced with menace.

The bartender poked his head in the doorway. He saw the gun and went white. “I don’t want no trouble,” he said. He pulled the door closed before I could say anything, leaving it slightly ajar, but no one disturbed us.

“Why are you still hassling me?” I said. “You got the damn sculpture, so what do you want? I don’t have anything else.”

They exchanged a glance.

“What sculpture?” Tony asked.

I gritted my teeth, trying for some semblance of patience. “The Chen.”

Looks of surprise.

“Yeah, I know about it,” I continued. “You were at Nick’s apartment the other night and you took it.”

“No, we didn’t,” Tony said.

I hesitated. “It’s gone and you were there. Ergo, you have it.”

“No, we don’t,” Tony said slowly.

I hated to admit it, but I believed him. “So who has it?” I asked. Like he would actually tell me. Stress and anger were doing funny things to me.

Tony’s face twitched, part smile, part dangerous sneer. “I don’t know who has it, but I want it.”

“Why? To help pay off some of Nick’s debt?”

He nodded. “You’re brighter than you look.”

“I’m plenty bright,” I said defiantly.

“Not really. Only an idiot would come in here, waving a gun at me.”

I tried to keep cool, but I was unsure of my next step. “Someone bombed my car. I thought it was you.”

“And your answer to that is to come and threaten me?”

“I just want to find out who killed Nick and then started a fire to cover it up. They think my girlfriend did it and I want to clear her name.”

Tony laughed, high and tight. “That’s what this is about? Helping your girlfriend?”

Ray laughed, too, but without humor. He looked like he wanted to kill me.

I shrugged, my bravado quickly leaving me.

“Why would I kill Nick, then burn down his apartment, and not take the Chen with me?”

“You couldn’t find it the night you killed Nick,” I said, and knew the moment it came out of my mouth that it didn’t make sense.

Tony nodded his head, just a slight tic, and Ray moved. It was my turn to be surprised, as he moved with the speed of a panther. He knocked a chair aside, then caught me with a quick jab in the face. My head jerked back and blood began flowing from my nose.

I cursed and he grabbed the arm with the burn, then quickly twisted me into a chokehold.

“Drop the gun,” he snarled.

I did as ordered, my eyes watering at the pain. He squeezed and I coughed, trying to breathe. Tony got up and stepped around the desk. He bent down and Ray grabbed my hair with one hand and yanked my head back. Tony put his face in my face, his nose an inch from mine.

“I should kill you right now,” he said, his breath smelling of cigarettes and coffee. He looked at me in one eye and then the other, his own eyes slits of cold menace. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t care if you believe me or not. But know this – don’t ever threaten me, or you’ll wish you’d died a quick death in a car bombing. You understand?”

I tried to nod.

“Good.” He made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Now…we’ve got a problem. You don’t know where the Chen is, and neither do I. And that’s bad for me, because I’ve got people to answer to. People that you do not want to run into. But it’s your lucky day. You know why?”

I didn’t even attempt to nod this time.

“It’s your lucky day because I’m going to make you a deal. You get that sculpture for me, and I’ll let you live.”

“I…don’t…ack…know…where it…is,” I croaked.

His face twitched again. “Then I suggest you spend your time looking for it instead of bugging me.” His gaze was icy. “Ray said he saw you earlier today. He tells me you were with a woman. Your girlfriend?”

I fought against Ray, but it was useless. He tightened his hold on me and I couldn’t move.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave her alone,” Tony said. “If you bring me that sculpture.” His eyes bore through me. “Do you understand?”

Ray finally loosened his grip enough for me to nod.

“Good.” Tony picked up the Glock. “Nice gun.” He pressed the magazine release, took out the clip and stood up. He gestured with the Glock toward the alley door. Ray jerked me backwards, then Tony opened the door. Ray shoved me through and dragged me out into the middle of the alley. He let me go and I fell on my hands and knees. I started to get up, but he kicked me in the side. My breath shot out of me and he kicked me again. I leaned forward, resting my face on the asphalt. I tried to suck in air but couldn’t. The sound of shoes on gravel came to me and I braced myself for more. Then black and white leather shoes came into my view.

“You should think twice before you let your anger get the best of you,” Tony said.

A metal plunk sounded as he dropped the Glock in front of my face.

“Come on,” he said to Ray.

Ray grunted, then followed Tony back inside the office.

I rolled over. My poor ribs couldn’t take anymore. I grabbed the Glock and shoved it into the holster, got slowly to my feet, and staggered out of the alley.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I sat for a moment in Willie’s car, assessing the situation. I don’t think Ray broke any ribs, but it sure as hell hurt to breathe. A look in the rearview mirror showed a swollen nose to add to the cut already there. Otherwise, I seemed to be intact, although I would certainly be sore later on.

I frowned. Not only was I no closer to knowing who had started the fire and killed Nick O’Rourke, I now had to recover a valuable piece of artwork or I’d have to move out of the country so those thugs didn’t kill me. Oh, or Willie.

“You got yourself into a real pickle,” I said to no one.

Add to that Tony and Ray, rifling through Nick’s apartment in search of the Chen, and someone else stole it before they did. What were the odds? And who stole it? Was the Chen something that Nick and Nadine owned, and he got it in the divorce? Or did Nick acquire the sculpture after the divorce? I didn’t know those answers, but I knew who to ask.

***

Nadine’s jaw dropped when she opened the door.

“What happened to you?”

“Just a few cuts and bruises,” I said.

“A few?” She ran a hand through her hair. “What are you doing here? I just got home from work and I’ve had a long day.”

“I was in the neighborhood.” That was a lie. I could’ve called Nadine to ask her what I wanted to ask her, but I wanted to see her reaction. “When you and Nick were married, did you collect any artwork?”

“Artwork?” she repeated. “Not really. We bought a painting or two.”

“Like what?”

“Are you still trying to figure out who killed Nick?” She puckered her lips. “Come and look.” She stepped back and I stepped past her. She pointed to the right. “In the living room.”

The living room was decorated in earth tones, with tan leather couches, mahogany coffee and end tables, and a credenza on one wall loaded with booze and glasses. There was a big bay window with a large turquoise vase sitting in it, and a stone fireplace. Somehow the vase didn’t fit the décor, but then, what did I know?

“Nice house,” I said.

She let out a sultry laugh. “I do well. Too bad I date men who always need money.”

As if called, Ken strolled into the room. “Nadine, what –” He stopped when he saw me. “Hey,” he said with a curt nod, his eyes forming into tight lines. It didn’t work with his perfect good looks.

I nodded back. He clearly wasn’t happy to see me. Had I interrupted something?

“Ken, darling, could you give us a moment?” Nadine said a little too sweetly.

He kept his eyes on me. “Sure,” he finally said and walked slowly away.

“What was I saying? Oh, the men I date.” She wrinkled her brow. “Maybe I should look at that.” She laughed again. “We bought those two pieces when we were in California.” She pointed at a painting above the fireplace and another above the couch. Both were landscape scenes, rich in colors. I’d never heard of the artist.

“They’re nice,” I said. And they were definitely not Asian. “Did you buy any sculptures?”

“No.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?”

“So nothing of an Asian persuasion?”

She laughed. “Nick? I highly doubt it.”

“Why so sure?”

“I’d begged him to go on a trip to China and he wouldn’t do it, said Asia held no interest for him. Besides, he thought these two paintings were a wasted investment, so I don’t see him spending any money that he might’ve had on artwork of any kind.”

“Well…” I didn’t know what to say.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

I wavered. “I can’t right now, but thanks for the time.” I headed for the door.

“Anytime,” she called after me. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

I drove away, thinking about her reaction. I wanted to believe her, but then, she was the femme fatale of all the film noir I loved. Beautiful, but dangerous.

Something else crossed my mind, and I grabbed my cell phone.

“Calling back so soon?” Cal asked.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Would court documents show how Nadine and Nick O’Rourke split up their assets?”

“Like monetary and the house? I sent you that.”

“I haven’t read it all yet,” I said. “But I mean the smaller stuff, like the CDs and books…and artwork.”

“Like a sculpture.”

“Yeah.”

He paused. “I don’t know if I can find that.”

“Excuse me?” I could count on my hands the number of times I’d heard that from him.

“It would depend on if that information is in electronic form. I’ll take a look and get back to you.”

“Great, thanks.”

“How are things going?” I could hear the worry in his voice, but he tried to deflect it by saying, “Willie’s concerned.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I knew I couldn’t bluff him. We’d known each other too long for that. “I will be fine. How’s that?”

“Be careful,” he said and hung up.

As I headed up I-25, I made another quick decision. Nadine could speak to her marriage with Nick, but she didn’t know what happened after they split up. But maybe Leena could because she’d dated him.

Dusk had settled onto the city as I pulled over and got out my cell phone again, but this time I connected to the internet and did a people-search on Leena Radcliff. In less than thirty seconds, I had her home address.

She lived in an apartment building in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, east of Civic Center Park. Cars and maple trees lined the narrow street. I walked up the steps to her door and knocked. A moment later she opened it, and I got the same surprised look as I had from Nadine.

“Why do you keep turning up?”

“I’m like an annoying habit,” I said. “I just don’t go away.”

“I’ve told you everything.”

I gave her a humorless smile. “I’ve got a few more questions.”

She was incredulous. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“When you went to Nick’s apartment, how was it decorated?” I asked.

“I’ve never been to Nick’s apartment. And I don’t want you asking any more questions. I told you to quit bothering me.”

“Wait, didn’t you –” I began.

The door slammed shut in my face.

I sauntered down the walk to the street, my mind reeling. I could’ve sworn that she said Nick assaulted her, it happened at his place. Was I wrong? I got to Willie’s car, slid into the driver’s seat and glanced at the car in front of me to see how much space I had. Then I noticed the license plate: UGH-432. I read it again, something niggling in the back of my mind. I got out and stared at the license plate. It couldn’t be!

I stared at the house and then back at the car. Then I marched back up the walk and tried the door. The knob turned and I let myself in.

Leena was sitting at a small table in a tiny kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee while she thumbed through a magazine. Birds chirped outside the open window by the table. She almost dropped the cup when she saw me.

“Wha –”

“Where is it?” I came into the kitchen and looked around. White cabinets and walls, stainless steel appliances, and a few knick-knacks.

“Where’s what?”

I threw her a cold glare. “The Chen.”

“The what?” She was good. Just a slight twitch in the corners of her eyes betrayed her.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

I flipped open the cupboards, but didn’t see the sculpture in the kitchen so I turned on my heel and headed into the living room.

“Hey, you can’t just march in here like this!”

By the time she came into the living room, I’d already looked on the shelves and behind a red overstuffed chair.

“Hey!” she said as I moved past her.

She grabbed my arm but I shook her off.

“You were there last night,” I said as I poked my head into the bathroom. I flipped on the light, stepped to the tub and yanked the shower curtain back. “I fell right behind a car with the license plate UGH-432. Your car.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I checked under the sink and then shoved past her into the hallway.

“You can’t go in there!” She said shrilly as I headed for the bedroom. She tried to stand in my way, holding her hands up, but I pushed her aside.

As I opened the door, she pulled my arm, but I shook her off.

“I’m going to call the police.”

“Go right ahead. I’ll tell them you stole the sculpture from Willie’s house.”

The bedroom had a four-poster bed, a dresser and a nightstand. A large brown box sat in the corner. I strode up to it and opened the flaps. The bronze sculpture sat in it.

I turned my head and stared at Leena. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

She faltered, searching for words. Then she turned and walked out of the room.

I picked up the box and went back into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table again, tapping a cigarette from a pack.

“I can thank you for this,” she said, gesturing with the cigarette. She lit it and blew smoke out the open window.

I leaned against the refrigerator, still clutching the box. “What’s the story?”

She gazed at the wall and smoked, then finally spoke. “I told you the truth, except for one small part. Nick did start calling me again, I went out with him, and I was looking for revenge. I told you I never found anything that I could use for revenge, but,” she looked at the box, “he told me about the Chen.”

She took another drag on the cigarette.

“How’d he get it?” I asked. The box was getting heavy, but it was my lifeline and I wasn’t letting it go.

“He was in some high stakes poker game and the guy who was hosting the party ran out of cash, so he bet the Chen. Funny, huh. Nick was never a good gambler, right? I mean, he lost everything, but then he wins a stupid sculpture that ends up being worth thousands. And do you think he was going to use it to pay off some of his debts? Of course not. He was trying to sell it so he could place some more bets.”

“And you decided to steal it.”

She contemplated the red glow on the end of her cigarette, then nodded. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to get it, and then I found out he was dead and the apartment had burned down. Well, not quite down, but…”

“What happened last night?”

“Oh, man.” Her face darkened. “What a nightmare that was.” She turned to face me. “When you came by my work the other day, thinking that my dad was lying, I was in a complete panic. I’m telling you the truth, he had nothing to do with Nick’s death, but there you were, thinking one of us was lying. And I knew you were getting close to figuring something out, so I acted. I came over to Nick’s apartment, broke the lock and went upstairs, and found the Chen.”

“I wonder what those other thugs thought when the front door was jimmied,” I said.

She laughed hollowly. “Yeah, I made it easy for them, didn’t I?”

“And?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I came back outside and I heard them coming around the building. I ran the other way and saw someone else, so I hid in the bushes by the fence. I was so scared, I can’t believe I didn’t have a heart attack.” She took one final drag on the cigarette and dropped it into the coffee cup. “I waited a few minutes and snuck back into the alley and got in my car, but I was scared that they’d hear it start up, so I just sat there. A little bit later, I hear commotion behind the car and I can’t believe it when I see you ducking into the alley, and then those guys punch you.”

“Imagine my surprise.”

She shook her head. “I scrunched down in the seat, sure they’d see me, but they didn’t, and neither did you. They left, and then you left, but I still waited a while, and when none of you came back, I left.”

I looked at the Chen. Unbelievable.

“Now what?” she asked. “You think I killed Nick?”

I pondered that, thinking of what Tony the thug had said. “No. Why would you kill him, then start a fire to cover your tracks, but not take the sculpture?”

“Will you leave me alone?”

“Sure.” With that, I walked out of the kitchen, still clutching the box.

“Hey!” Her chair scraped the floor and she came running after me. “You can’t take that!”

“Why not?” I’d reached the door and I tried to let myself out, but she pushed against the door. I turned on her, and the look on my face caused her to back up. “I need this way more than you do.”

She tried to grab the box but I shoved her away. “I deserve the money more than you,” she said. “Think what he did to me!”

“I’m not going to sell it,” I said. I kicked the door open and left.

Her obscenities filled the darkness as I drove off.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I walked into Easy Street Café with the box in my hands. It was the heart of dinnertime and the place was crowded with patrons. I sidled my way between tables toward the back. Ray’s eyes narrowed when he spotted me. I held up the box and he hesitated, unsure of what I was doing. For all he knew I could have a bomb in the box. As if he heard my thoughts, he reached around behind his back.

“Relax,” I said as I approached. “I have what you want.”

He stood up, lifted one finger and gestured for me to open the box. I did, then tipped the box and he glanced inside.

“Satisfied?” I asked.

He gave me an approving look. I waited while he turned around, knocked on the door once, then opened it and I stepped into the office.

Tony looked up from his paperwork, saw me, then glanced at Ray.

“It’s cool,” Ray said. He came into the room and shut the door, blocking it.

Tony leaned back in his chair. “You have the Chen?”

I set the box on the desk. He looked at it, then raised one flap and glanced inside.

Remembering what I’d overheard during my Dumpster dive, I said, “Will that get Sal off your back?” I didn’t try to hide the snide tone in my voice.

He arched an eyebrow at me. I wasn’t sure if he was impressed that I knew about his boss, Sal, or if he thought I was stupid with my tone. Right then, I didn’t care.

“Is it damaged?” he asked.

“There’s soot on it, and part of it may have melted.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what it looked like before.”

“That could affect the value.” Tony frowned.

“Not my problem,” I said. I glanced over my shoulder. “I lived up to my end of the bargain.”

Tony sat back again and assessed me. “I didn’t think you’d find it.”

“Well, I did.”

“Yeah, and pretty fast. Makes me wonder if you knew where it was all along.”

I stared him down.

“But,” he rested his hands on the desk. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“You leave us alone now,” I said with as much force as I could muster.

He smiled coldly. “Yeah. Don’t ever let me see your ugly face again, or our deal is off. Got it?”

“I got it.”

I whirled around, surprising Ray. He opened the door and I strolled out of the restaurant, glad to put them behind me.

***

I was sitting at my desk, drinking a Fat Tire and staring at The Big Sleep poster on the wall. I’d gotten it after I’d solved my second case. Not only was the movie one of my favorite film noir, but it played an integral part in two of my cases, and it also served as a reminder that I’d solved those cases. Now it seemed to be mocking me, telling me that I hadn’t solved this one.

“Not yet,” I said to Bogie, tipping my beer bottle at him. “But I will.”

My phone rang and I set the beer down.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“It’s Spillman.”

I sat up straighter. “What’d you find out?”

“Our pyromaniac knew what he was doing,” she said. “He had the bomb wired to the seat. The weight of your body would set it off.”

“But it didn’t explode until we’d left the garage.”

“It was on a delay.”

“Why?”

“Who knows?” She exhaled loudly. “Ferguson, this guy knows what he’s doing.”

“I get that feeling.”

“This isn’t a joke. Someone tried to kill you, and when he finds out he didn’t succeed, he’ll try again.”

“I wondered about that.”

“Cut the sarcasm, would you? I’m trying to save your life.”

“Sorry. I’m just too tired to do anything else,” I said.

“What have you found?”

“Nothing that will help now.”

“Did anything pan out with your bookies?”

“No.” I stared at the poster. “I’m back to square one.”

“We’re working some leads, and we’ll find who did this.”

“All right.”

“Reed,” she said, unexpectedly and tenderly, using my first name. “Watch yourself.” With that, she hung up.

I was about to call Willie when the phone rang.

“Can’t stand a moment without me?” I asked.

“What?” Willie asked.

Her voice was soft and sweet, a sound that sunk into my weary body and cheered me up.

I chuckled. “A joke, you know?”

“Are you okay?”

I nodded, then realized she couldn’t hear that. “Yeah, I’m okay, just tired.”

“What did the police say about the explosion?”

“This guy knew what he was doing.” I relayed what Spillman had told me. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yes. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” I said. “This will be over soon.”

“I hope so.” We chatted for a few more minutes and then hung up.

I raked my hands through my hair, frustrated. I’d eliminated Tony and Ray as suspects, but any of the others were still options. I had a hard time believing that Stan Pommerville was the one who conked Nick O’Rourke on the head, started the apartment fire, and then rigged my car to blow up. But then, was the femme fatale Nadine or the victim Leena a more likely suspect?

I growled as I turned on the computer. Back to square one meant poking around for clues, and I realized I’d not finished reading all the attachments Cal had sent me. I opened the PDF’s and started scanning them again. O’Rourke had a bank account, but no money in it. Apparently, he had a 401k, worth more than $150,000, but he’d drained the account a few years earlier. And there was the life insurance policy, worth one million, made out to Kelly N. O’Rourke.

I stared at the name. His dad?

I got on the internet and went to a white pages lookup site. I typed in ‘Kelly N. O’Rourke’ in the name fields, and remembered that Willie said his parents lived in Fort Collins, so I put that as the city and Colorado as the state. Nothing matched that, so I took out the ‘N’. I still didn’t come up with a Kelly O’Rourke who lived in Fort Collins, but the site listed a bunch of close matches. I scrolled through them, and was about to try something else, when my eye caught one of the names.

It was Kelly N. O’Rourke, at a Greenwood Village address, with a spouse of…Nick O’Rourke.

I couldn’t believe it.

I clicked on the name and read through the rest of the information. The age listed for Kelly N. O’Rourke was 40-45. That fit. And the address was correct.

Kelly N. O’Rourke, the beneficiary on Nick’s life insurance, was none other than Nick’s ex-wife, Nadine. I stared at the monitor. Did she know this, and if so, had she killed him for the money? Now that I’d put the pieces together, it seemed so obvious. I wondered why Spillman hadn’t made the same connection yet. But then, as the saying goes: The wheels of justice turn slowly…

I looked at the clock. 8:45. It was too late to pay her another visit, but I was going to anyway. I got the Glock again, and since Tony had taken my magazine, I loaded in a new one. I wasn’t going to take any chances. Nadine might’ve killed before, and she also might have tried to kill me by blowing up my car. And if my conclusions were right, I had no doubt she’d try again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I called Cal as I drove to Nadine’s house.

“What do you need?” He was curt, as usual, but this time the customary teasing tone was not there.

“I think Nadine killed Nick,” I said. “She’s the beneficiary of Nick’s life insurance.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I checked it. It makes sense. She gets rid of him and she gets the money. She told me she was still trying to dig out of the financial hole he put them in.”

“Why would she be so stupid as to tell you that?”

“She knew I could figure that part out, but how could I possibly know about the policy?”

“Okay, now what?”

“I’m headed down to her house to talk to her,” I said. “Can you run a check on her? See if there’s more debt that she’s not talking about, or anything else that might help me nail her.”

“Sure thing.” The clicking on the keyboard commenced. “You think she’s going to just up and confess?”

“I’m going to push her, see if I can make her break. If not, all I’ve got is circumstantial evidence.”

“You want to talk to Willie? She’s in the kitchen with Ace and Deuce.”

I did want to talk to her, to hear that sweet voice, but I knew she’d want to know what I was doing, and I didn’t want her to worry more than I’m sure she already was.

“No, I’ll talk to her later.”

“You want me to come down and help?”

“I’m not sure what you could do.”

“But she’s dangerous.”

“She may be, but so am I.”

***

It was after nine by the time I drove into Nadine’s neighborhood. I decided not to alert her to my presence, so I parked on the next street over and walked to her house. The moon stayed behind a low-hanging layer of clouds, and even though the streetlights did their best to brighten the road, Nadine’s front porch was cast in deep shadow.

I rang the bell and waited. The dog’s yippy bark grew louder and then the porch light came on, causing me to blink. I’m sure Nadine was scrutinizing me through the peephole. Then I heard her scold the dog, and the door opened.

She wore a silk robe and slippers, the robe open to reveal enough cleavage to inspire curiosity, but not enough to tempt lust outright.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late?” she asked, her lips puckered.

“We need to talk,” I said, ignoring the sexual vibe.

“I don’t suppose this is a social call.”

I shook my head. She let out a disappointed sigh and then stepped aside. I walked in and she shut the door.

“Come into the living room.”

The dog was at her heels as I followed her down the hall.

“What’s this all about?” she asked as she headed for the credenza and a Scotch bottle. As she fixed a drink, she asked, “You asked about art. What’s next? How we entertained ourselves?”

“Your debt,” I said.

She turned around, took a sip of her drink, and gave me a puzzled look. “Yes?”

“How much was it?”

“I don’t see how that’s your business.” She sipped again, then tipped the glass at me. “Where are my manners? Do you want a drink?”

“No.” I fixed her with a hard glare. “You had a lot of debt, and you were trying to work with Nick to get him to pay it off.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bet a nice insurance policy would take care of that debt.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You’re the beneficiary of Nick’s life insurance policy.”

The drink stopped halfway to her mouth. “How do you know that?”

“I dug into his financial records.”

“How did you get access to that?”

Why does everyone want to know that? I waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, you benefit – greatly – from Nick’s death.”

The color drained from her face. “You think I killed Nick for the insurance money?”

“You were seen arguing with Nick in the weeks prior to his death. You said you have a ton of debt, and that you hated him. If you kill him, you get the money. Sounds like a way out to me.”

She gaped at me, then threw her head back and laughed, a bawdy sound that raked through the room.

“Oh, that is rich.” She set the drink down. “I killed Nick?”

I waited, wondering who the fool was. Her, for thinking this act would cover her tracks. Or me, for thinking she killed Nick.

“Darling, you’ve got it all wrong.” She set the drink down and continued. “I’m sure Nick’s neighbors saw us arguing. I couldn’t be around that man without it turning into a fight. And I’m sure the fight that sticks in the minds of your neighbors is when Nick told me that he’d forgotten to change his policy. He exploded when I laughed at him for being so stupid, and then he threatened to kill me for laughing at him. Of course, I got bent out of shape about that.” She laughed again. “What an idiot Nick was. He could’ve cashed in the policy and used the money to get out of debt, but he’d forgotten he even had it until shortly before he died.” She snickered. “Although he would’ve just used the money for gambling. What an idiot.”

I was taken aback. I looked around the room, my mind racing.

She came up and patted my cheek. “Darling, I can’t believe you think I killed Nick. The only person I told about the insurance policy was –”

“Ken,” I finished. The pieces suddenly fell into place. “Ken’s ex-military.”

She nodded. “Army.”

“AFD. That was on his socks.”

“What?”

“AFD,” I repeated. “Army Fire Department.”

“Yes, he was with the fire department, and he was in some kind of Special Forces or something.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

Ken was Special Forces and a fireman as well. One who, I suspected, knew about how to set fires and plant bombs. And Nadine had said he needed money. So he kills Nick, and by the time the insurance policy pays out, he’s married to Nadine. Money troubles over. I glanced down at my burned arm. When I first met him, he had that bandage on his arm. A burn?

She gazed at me, confused. “What?”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Too late,” said a voice behind us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ken came into the room, in his jeans, blue tee shirt, and light jacket. A smile was etched on his too-perfect face. And a big gun in his too-perfect hand. I was sure he knew how to use it, too.

“Darling, what’s going on?” Nadine asked him, her voice puzzled. “What’s with that ridiculous thing in your hand?”

“He’s going to kill us,” I murmured.

She was still clueless. “Why?”

He stared at her. “Because your detective friend knows I’m the one who killed Nick.”

“You? Whatever for?”

I resisted the urge to throw up my hands. Jeez, did we have to explain everything? “Because you’re the beneficiary of Nick’s life insurance policy,” I said. “He kills Nick and by the time the policy pays out, you’re married and he gets his hands on the money.” I turned to him. “What’s your deal?”

It was his turn for a blank look. “Huh?”

“Why are you so desperate for money?”

The smile grew wider, but now with a perverse twist that ruined its perfection. “I like nice things, and they cost money. And I’ve got an image to keep up, for the ladies. Tack on some bad investments and I was in real trouble. This one,” he gestured at Nadine, “wanted me to wine and dine her, even though I didn’t have the money, and I was about to cut her loose when she came home laughing about how Nick still had her as the beneficiary on his life insurance policy.” He shook his head in awe. “It couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“Yeah, it sure seemed that way,” I said. “Only I figured it out.”

The smile faded. “A bit too late, don’t you think?”

Nadine finally regained her faculties. “Ken, put down that gun this instant.”

“No, darling.” He mocked her sultry tone. “You may have been able to order me around before, but not anymore.”

“What?” She covered her mouth for a second, shocked. “How dare you. And what do you mean you were going to dump me?”

He snorted. “You are way too high maintenance. Good in the sack, but not for much else.”

She emitted a sound that was a cross between a gasp and a cry, full of indignation. “How dare you!” she repeated.

“You give yourself too much credit,” he continued. “Why would I want to be saddled with your debt and mine? You’ve got your looks, babe, but not much else.”

“Don’t say that,” she said with a wounded tone. “We can work this out Ken, darling.”

“It’s over.”

My cell phone vibrated and I surreptitiously reached into my pocket. I was sure it was Cal, calling me back with information about Nadine’s finances. If I could answer it, maybe he could hear our conversation and call in the Cavalry.

“Hey!” Ken aimed the gun at me. “Take your hand out, slowly.”

Damn! Not surreptitiously enough, I chided myself.

“Relax,” I said. “It’s only my phone.” I pulled out the phone and he snatched it from me and tossed it across the room. He eyed me carefully. “And the gun.” I tried not to show my disappointment as I took the Glock from the holster. He grabbed that as well and stuffed it into the waist of his jeans.

He stepped back and gestured with the gun. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” she said.

“The basement.” We apparently didn’t move fast enough because he snarled and said, “Move!”

Nadine leaped forward with me right behind her. I wondered if I could slug him as I stepped by, but he backpedaled out of reach. Maybe I could get him distracted and then I could make a play for him.

“So how’d you kill Nick?” I asked as we headed down the hall to a stairwell. Nadine opened the door and headed down. I followed, with Ken back far enough that I couldn’t trip him.

“When Nadine came home and told me about the policy, I saw my chance to get in on some cash. Of course she was her typical snide self and she insulted Nick, and after that, there was no way he’d forget about changing the policy, so I knew I had to act fast before he did. I figured I could start a fire to cover the murder, so I watched his apartment. I had to wait for a few days until there was a time when your girlfriend was with you, and that lady on the second floor was gone.”

I was halfway down the basement stairs, but I stopped to look back at him. “Why?”

“I didn’t want a triple murder on my hands.” He said it as if it was so obvious.

“Oh, that makes perfect sense,” I said sarcastically. “One murder, no problem. Two murders, maybe. But three? Now that would just be wrong!”

He glared at me, then continued. He was in a talkative mood. “One night, the opportunity presented itself. I went up to his apartment and knocked on the door. He was surprised to see me, but he let me in. I said I was there because Nadine had a question about one of their creditors, but she didn’t want to talk to him in person. When he turned around, I hit him with a wrench. Knocked him out. I started the fire to cover my tracks. Then you came along and screwed up my perfect plan.”

We’d reached the basement. It was unfinished, with concrete walls, exposed ceiling joists and insulation pressed between them. To our right, a pool table sat in the middle of the room, and a poker table with folding chairs was in the corner.

“To the left,” he ordered.

We ended up in an open room that had an old couch against one wall with a cheap coffee table sitting in front of it, folded cardboard boxes stacked in a corner, and other junk. I glanced around nervously. Plenty of fuel to help a fire burn well, if he was thinking of covering his tracks again. Nadine was on autopilot, not saying a word, her body listless.

“Your plan wasn’t so perfect,” I went on. Keep him talking. “You spilled accelerant.”

He glared at me. “You’re pretty mouthy.”

“Yeah, and you made mistakes.”

“What mistakes?”

“The spilled accelerant, for one.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled in frustration. “I thought Nick was out cold, but he jerked awake. Kicked the bottle of accelerant out of my hands. I had to hit him again and then I put him on the bed.”

“And the fire didn’t burn fast enough,” I said. “They still would’ve found out Nick had been murdered.”

He shrugged.

“How’d you burn your arm?”

He touched it. “Spilled some accelerant on my coat and when I started the fire, it ignited. Go figure.”

“Another mistake.”

His eyes flared.

Something else dawned on me. The person that night outside Willie’s house, and the eerie feeling I’d had when I came home from B 52’s. “You’ve been following me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Once you started investigating things, I had to get you out of the way.”

“But what about bombing my car?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t kill me.”

He lips twisted into a crooked line. “Yeah, I had that bomb on a timer. I wanted it to blow up in the street, so it wouldn’t damage the garage.”

“You are such a thoughtful arsonist.”

I got another glare. He was trying hard to control his anger. “I’m not a pyromaniac, I just wanted you out of the way.”

“Sure,” I said. “But like I said, you failed, because I’m here.”

“Uh,” he pointed at me with the gun. “You’re the one about to die.”

Good point.

“But what about the policy?” I asked. “If you kill Nadine, you won’t get the money.”

His face reddened with anger. “Like I said, you screwed things up, and I can’t get the money now. And it’s time for you to pay for that.”

He jerked his head toward the couch. “Sit down.”

We shuffled over and sat down. Ken pulled some silver duct tape from his jacket pocket and handed it to Nadine. She looked at it, then at him.

“What?” she mumbled.

“Tape his hands, tight,” he said. He focused on me. “Hands behind your back. No tricks.”

I did as instructed. Nadine fumbled with the tape, but finally managed to wrap it around my wrists. I tried to leave some space between my wrists, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t move my arms.

“Now his legs.”

She looped tape around my ankles and I was securely trussed up. Ken grabbed my arm and yanked me to one end of the couch. Then he returned to Nadine and taped her up. When he finished, he stood back and surveyed his handiwork.

“That should keep you out of my hair,” he said.

“Darling, what are you going to doing?” Nadine whispered.

“Well,” he said too casually, “since this yahoo ruined my plans, and I can’t get the money anymore, I thought I’d have a little fun.”

“Fun?” She wailed. “How is tying us up fun?”

“This is just the start,” he said. “I’m going to set this house on fire. Only,” he narrowed his eyes at me, “this time I’m not going to make any mistakes. This place is going to burn to the ground.”

“I thought you weren’t a pyromaniac,” I said.

He moved like lightning, striking me with the gun. I groaned, feeling blood flow from my forehead. He bent down, his face in mine. “I’m going to enjoy watching this place burn, knowing you’re in here. Or maybe I’ll set you on fire first, let you feel the flames burning your flesh. Once your screams are finished, then I’ll set the house on fire. It’ll be the perfect fire. And you won’t be able to screw it up.”

Oops, I’d gone too far. He had crossed over, the lunacy evident in his demeanor.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nadine said.

He patted his coat pocket and pulled out a lighter. “Well, I don’t want to go to prison, so yeah, I kind of do.”

“They’ll find you,” I said.

“By the time they figure out you’re in here, I’ll be long gone.” He squatted down and checked the tape. Satisfied that I was secure, he stood up.

“Don’t try anything,” he said. “I’ve got work to do upstairs, but I’ll be back down in a little bit.” His eyes roved around the room and then toward the ceiling. “With a little help, this place’ll go up in flames pretty quickly.”

With that, he stalked away. We heard his footsteps thudded up the stairs and faded away.

“What now?” Nadine asked.

I was out of suggestions.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“This is just great,” she snapped a moment later. “I can’t believe you thought I would do all that stuff.”

“Ten seconds ago, you don’t know what to say and now you’re attacking me?” I flung back. I tried to pull my wrists apart, but only succeeded in causing a sharp pain in my shoulders. I sighed. She was right. She might be capable of knocking out Nick and starting the fire in his apartment, but how would she know how to set the bomb in my car? That was far less likely. I was too frustrated, and too tired. I was making mistakes, and it could cost me my life and Nadine’s.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

Nadine glanced at me. “What?”

“I should’ve known it was Ken.”

“So should I.”

Something thumped upstairs. He was moving around up there.

“You really know how to pick ’em,” I said.

“Shut up,” she muttered, then burst into tears. Not so femme fatale right there.

“Stop that,” I chided her. Blood ran into my eye and I leaned over and wiped my head on the couch.

“Oh, nice,” she said.

I ignored her. “We have to figure a way out of this.”

“How?”

“Can you move your arms or legs?”

She shook her head. “This tape is on tight.”

“Maybe we can pull it off.”

“Are you kidding?”

“It’s worth a try,” I said. I rolled over on the couch toward her. “Come on, turn around.”

She exhaled dramatically, then turned over so her back was to me. I sidled on down until we were back to back.

“Reach for the tape,” I said. I wiggled my fingers.

A second later, I felt her fingers touch mine. She groped around and found the tape.

“Try pulling on it,” I said.

“I’m trying,” she said with a whine.

She tugged at the tape. “Maybe if I can find the end…” Her fingers explored around, then she tried tugging again. “It’s no use,” she finally said. “I can’t get it.”

“Let me try yours.” I felt for the tape on her wrists, feeling like a blind man reading Braille. I ran my hands over the tape, feeling for the edge. I found it and tried to pinch it between my thumb and index fingers. “I can almost get it,” I muttered.

“Almost isn’t good enough.”

“Lay off me,” I growled. I kept at the edge but couldn’t get a grip on it. I cursed, then tried grabbing the tape and pulling.

“Ow!” she yelped.

I let go. “Sorry.”

“Oh, this is useless.”

The couch jarred. I cranked my head around and saw that she’d planted her face into the cushions.

Footsteps pounded above us.

“He’s coming back,” I hissed. “Get back where you were.”

She turned back around and I rolled to the other end of the couch. I was breathing hard as Ken came down the stairs and into the room.

“Everybody’s still here,” he said a little too cheerily.

“Where would we go?” I asked.

He studied us. “You look a little flushed.” He wagged a finger back and forth. “You two getting it on down here?”

“Oh please,” Nadine said. “With him?”

“Thanks a lot,” I murmured.

Ken watched us closely, then came and checked the tape. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

I wisely kept my mouth shut. He contemplated us for a second, then whirled around and left.

I looked around. “We need to cut the tape.”

“With what?”

My mind raced. I stared at the coffee table. “Maybe…”

“What?”

I sat up. “I need to stand up.”

“Huh?”

A banging sound interrupted us. We stared up at the ceiling. There it was again: Boom, boom.

“What’s he doing?”

We waited in eerie silence. Boom, boom. Then an acrid odor wafted down to us.

She crinkled her nose. “Is that gasoline?”

I nodded. “He’s poking holes in the walls.”

“What for?”

“He’ll put the accelerant in there. The house’ll burn faster that way.”

“Oh my god.”

“We’ve got to hurry,” I said.

I leaned forward and stood up, careful not to lose my balance. Then I hopped and turned myself around.

“What’re you doing?”

I now had my butt to the table. “I’m going to break the table.”

She sat up, curious. “What on earth for?”

“So I can get a sharp edge and cut this tape.”

I sat down hard in the center of table, putting all my weight into the fall. The wood cracked.

Nadine’s look was one of disgust. “I told Nick that table was trash,” she said.

I struggled to sit up. I bent forward and ended up doing a face-plant into the couch. Nadine muttered something unflattering, but I finally managed to get to back on my feet. I dropped again and the coffee table split in two, with me lying in the middle.

“Got it,” I said triumphantly.

“Oh, that’s brilliant.”

I ignored her and worked my way to one of the splintered ends of the table top. I got my hands somewhere over the splinters and raked my hands across. My shoulders stretched and burned. I couldn’t see what I was doing or if the effort had made any difference.

The pounding upstairs became more frequent. We glanced up in unison.

“Oh geez,” Nadine said. “Hurry. We’re running out of time,” she said. Snide had turned to frantic.

I worked at the tape again, trying a back and forth motion across the splinters. Something warm and wet ran down my palms, and my hands hurt. I’d cut myself. I steeled myself against the pain and shoved my hands back into the splinters. A jagged piece of wood poked into the tape and I sawed at the tape. Suddenly it gave, just a little.

The gasoline smell grew stronger. Ken would have this bonfire ready to go soon. We had to get out, and fast.

“Hurry!” Nadine said again.

“I’m trying,” I muttered.

I felt for the jagged piece and raked the tape across it again. The tape split wider and I pushed out with my hands. Not quite enough. I kept at it and the tape ripped an inch more. I pushed and pulled, my arms aching, and suddenly my arms separated.

“Got it!” I worked myself to my feet and sat on the edge of the couch.

“Get us out of here,” Nadine said.

The tape around my ankles was easier because I could see what I was doing. Sort of. I wiped again at the blood on my face, then started on my ankles. I found the edge of the tape and pulled at it, finally getting a piece to tear off. It took much longer than I would’ve preferred, but I finally freed my ankles. I stood up and looked around.

“What about me?” Nadine asked.

“Hold on.”

I stomped on the jagged edge of the table and broke off a large splinter. Using it as a knife, I crudely hacked at the tape on her wrists and ankles, and finally freed her.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

I looked at one of the basement windows, high up on the wall. It was about two feet wide and a foot high.

“We’ll never fit through those.” I cursed, then turned to her. “We have to sneak out.”

“He’s going to burn my house down! I can’t just let him.”

“Better the house than us.” I grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

We made our way to the stairs and I held up a hand. I peeked around the corner and listened. I heard a couple of distant thumps.

“I think he’s on the second floor,” I whispered. “I’ll go up first and if it’s clear, we’ll make a beeline for the front door. Got it?”

She nodded, barely breathing.

“Let’s go.”

We tiptoed up the stairs. As we neared the basement door, I raised my hand and stopped. She bumped into me and I whirled around and glared at her.

“Sorry,” she mouthed.

I put a finger to my lips, indicating she should be quiet and I turned my head. Did I hear something or was it just the electricity in my nerves? After a minute, I continued to the door. I eased it open and looked around. If Ken was lurking somewhere, I couldn’t tell.

I stepped into the hallway, waited a second, then signaled for her to come on up. She joined me in the hallway and I pointed to the front door. We eased across the floor.

A whump came from somewhere upstairs. He’d lit the place on fire, and it was burning fast.

“He’s got this rigged to blow sky high,” I said. “Move!”

We made it to the end of the hall and the doorway was within reach when a banshee cry split the air. I turned halfway around, in time to see Ken launching himself at me. I raised an arm, but it was too late. He plowed into me, knocking me into Nadine. She crashed against the front door and slid to the floor, stunned.

“NO!” he screamed.

His fists pummeled me and I put up my hands to ward off the blows. I grabbed at him and got my hands around his neck. I squeezed and he made a choking sound, then kneed me in the gut. My grip loosened and he rolled away. I got to my knees as he scrambled to his feet and threw a roundhouse at me. I ducked and the blow hit me on the side of the head. He yowled in pain and I saw sparks in my vision. I became aware of flames at the top of the stairs, followed by heat. Somewhere behind me, Nadine moaned.

Ken roared with rage and kicked at me, but I deflected it and he tumbled backward. I pounced and landed on top of him. We wrestled and then he slapped me on the side of the head again and everything blurred. Another whoosh sounded, closer this time, and heat surrounded us. I blinked and fought to focus, aware that I might die in this ugly conflagration. Ken screamed again and swiped at me. I shifted left, then balled my hand into a fist and slammed it into his stomach. His breath came out in a rush and he staggered backward into the living room. Smoke grew thicker as I pushed myself to my feet. I suddenly felt lightheaded, and I swayed for a second. Around the edge of the room, yellow and orange licked at the walls. I shook my head, not sure if it was real.

Then I sensed movement to my left and I jumped toward Ken. I stole a look over my shoulder. Nadine was pushing herself up, using the front door as leverage. She righted herself, grabbed the doorknob, and yanked it open. The fire reveled in the oxygen. A harsh boom rocked us and the walls in the living room exploded. A blast of air hit me and I slammed into Ken. We ended up in a heap again. All around us were flames. I kicked at him and he scooted back. Then his arm suddenly burst into flame. More spilled accelerant? He screamed and waved his arm in terror, then rolled over, trying to put out the fire.

I got up and grabbed the big vase and threw it at the bay window. The glass cracked. I didn’t waste any time. I put up my arms and hurled myself into the glass. It shattered and broke, and I tumbled into the grass outside. Another explosion rocked me and I dog-paddled through the lawn, thinking of nothing but putting distance between me and the fire. Somewhere back in the blaze, I thought I heard Ken, still screaming. Or it might’ve been me.

Hands grabbed me. I fought for a second until it dawned on me that they were dragging me away from the heat, smoke and flames. I coughed and gagged, then rolled over.

“It’s okay,” a sweet voice said.

I looked up into Willie’s face. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she held my face. Behind her, Cal was staring down at me. And then I noticed the Goofball Brothers, hovering nearby, unsure of what to do.

“It’s going to be okay,” she repeated. She leaned down and kissed my sweaty, bloodstained face. “I love you, Reed.”

“I love you, too,” I croaked, my throat like sandpaper.

I trembled uncontrollably, aware of noise and people around me. And Willie holding me. It was nice.

I sucked in air as I stared back at the house. It was completely enveloped in flames, the inferno lighting up the night sky.

A thought crossed my mind. Ken had been right. It was a perfect fire.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“You are one lucky guy,” a tall, paper-thin nurse said to me as he finished putting salve and a bandage on my wrist.

“I don’t feel like it,” I mumbled. My body was a mass of aches and pains. I had a number of small cuts and burns on my arms, a cut on my forehead that needed stitches, a sore nose and more bruises than an overripe banana.

“If he’s sarcastic, he’s doing okay,” Willie said. She was sitting in a chair next to the examining table I was lying on, and for once, she wasn’t the one performing the medical duties.

Once I’d made it out of the fire, Willie and Cal had stayed with me until an ambulance transported me to the hospital. I’d insisted that I was fine, but since I hadn’t been steady on my feet, I’d lost the argument.

“You don’t have a concussion, so that’s a good thing,” the nurse went on. He was friendly and talkative. “Man, with everything they’re finding out about concussions.” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Uh-huh,” I managed. After all the excitement, weariness was setting in.

“I think we’re done here,” he finally pronounced. “I’ll get your paperwork, and I think there’s a detective out there who wants to talk to you.”

“Great,” I said. I sat up slowly.

He laughed as he pulled the privacy curtain back and left our little room.

“You do know how to worry a girl,” Willie said.

I turned to her and asked the question that had been puzzling me since she appeared on Nadine’s lawn. “How did you find us?”

“After you called Cal, he told me what was going on.”

“Can’t keep his mouth shut,” I said, but with humor in my voice.

“Good thing, too.” She leaned forward in the chair. “I had a bad feeling about things, so I told him we should come down and meet you at Nadine’s house. I didn’t have to ask twice. Cal drove us there, while Ace and Deuce followed behind us.” She grinned conspiratorially. “They wanted to be our backup.”

A barely audible tap sounded on the door, and Sarah Spillman came into the room. Her eyes went from me to Willie and back.

“You’ve seen better days,” she said to me.

I nodded and the effort hurt. “I hear you want to talk to me.”

“Yes.” She glanced at Willie, who took the hint.

“I’ll be in the waiting room,” Willie said. She stood up, leaned on the bed and kissed me. Then she left.

Spillman watched it all with her usual detached demeanor.

“I’m exhausted,” I said. “Let’s get this over with, so I can go home. Or am I under arrest for breaking some law? In which case, can I have a private cell?”

She suppressed a smile. “How’d you end up at Nadine’s house?”

I gave her an abbreviated version of events, leaving out Cal’s illegal searches and my encounters with Tony and Ray. I didn’t think she needed to know any of that.

“That’s it?” she said.

“Yeah. Should there be more?”

She stared at me to the point where I grew uncomfortable.

“What?” I asked.

“It must be nice not to have to worry about things like illegal search and entry, warrants…the law.”

“I got the bad guy.”

“Yes, you did. And you were damn lucky you didn’t die in the process.”

“I’ve heard that before.” I took in a deep breath and exhaled, my throat scratchy from inhaling all that smoke. “I just wanted to help Willie.”

Spillman glanced toward the door. “She seems nice.”

“She is.”

Silence stretched between us, interrupted by the sounds of doctors and nurses moving about on the other side of the door.

Something occurred to me and I was almost afraid to ask. “Where’s Nadine?”

“She’s okay. Quite shook up, but she’ll be fine. Her house is a total loss.”

“What a shame,” I said, with complete sincerity. She may not have had good judgment in men, but she didn’t deserve what she’d gotten.

Another knock on the door, and the nurse came in with paperwork. “Here you go,” he said. Then, “Oh, excuse me,” when he saw Spillman.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We’re finished.”

He handed me the paperwork. “You’re good to go. Take it easy for a few days.”

“I will.” I slid my behind off the table and stood up gingerly.

Spillman held the door open for me. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I can’t wait,” I said as I hobbled down the hall to the waiting room.

Willie was sitting with Cal, who grinned when he saw me.

“And you wonder why I don’t want to get involved.”

“Ha ha,” I said. “Someone take me home. And if my mother calls, take a message.”

They laughed as we headed out the door.

Cal left us and went back to his place in the foothills, and Ace and Deuce drove us home. An hour later, I was tucked in bed, and Willie was beside me, her arms draped over me.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmured.

“Me, too,” I said.

She soon fell asleep. I lay awake for a bit, one thing nagging at me: who had called Nick from Stan Pommerville’s house? Both Stan and Leena seemed so sincere in their denials, so who was lying? Then the answer suddenly hit me. It made perfect sense. My brain was finally able to shut down and I fell into a deep, restful sleep.

***

She looked like Leena. Same round face, small nose, flaxen blond hair and brown eyes. She was sitting at a table by the window, staring outside as she fiddled with her coffee cup.

“Mrs. Pommerville?”

Her head tipped up and she met my gaze. “Please, have a seat.”

I pulled out a chair and sat across from her. She nervously toyed with her cup, swirling the liquid in it, then taking a perfunctory sip. I rested my hands on the table and began.

“You called Nick O’Rourke the night he was murdered.”

She wasn’t surprised. She sipped her coffee again and then set down the cup.

“Yes, I did.”

“Because Leena told you what Nick did to her,” I said.

She nodded and studied the table. “I was never particularly fond of Nick when they were dating, but I wasn’t going to interfere. Then when everything went bad with Stan’s business, I was relieved that Leena broke up with him. But I had no idea of what he’d done until she told me.” She looked up at me. “I don’t know why Leena chose that night to tell me, but she did. I was so angry at Nick, I couldn’t see straight. Leena left and I called him. Can you believe he tried to downplay what he’d done?” She shook her head in disgust. “I lit into him, and then he said someone was at the door, and he hung up. It was probably a lie just to get off the phone, but I felt better for calling – a little bit, anyway.”

The interruption was probably Ken coming to visit…and commit murder. What if Nick had kept talking to her? Would he still be alive?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know Leena would tell you.”

“I’m glad she did.” Her face clouded. “And I’m glad Nick’s dead. I know, that’s a terrible thing to say, but he’s done so much damage to my family.”

I didn’t say anything, because who could fault her for that?

“I need to go,” she said. She pushed away from the table and stood up. “I hope your questions are answered, but even if they’re not, I hope you’ll leave us alone.”

I watched as she worked her way between tables and then out the door. I sat for a while, feeling the aches and pains of my body. I must’ve looked a sight. Then I laughed, relieved that my mother couldn’t see me now. Talk about worrying her into an early grave. With that thought, I got up and headed for home.

THE END

Thank you for reading Torch Scene. If you enjoyed it, would you please write a review? You have no idea how much it warms my heart to get a new review. And this isn’t just for me. Think of all the people out there who need reviews to make decisions, and you would be helping them.

You are awesome for doing so, and I am Grateful to you!

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

Detective Sarah Spillman appears in three short stories that you can read in the short story collection, Take Five. It also includes a Reed Ferguson short story, Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat. You can also buy the stories separately.

Purchase Take Five here: http://amzn.to/14iNQCA.

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Purchase Dance of the Macabre here: http://amzn.to/1nicv4r

What Others Are Saying About Nephilim Genesis of Evil by Renée Pawlish

5 Star Review

Stephen King and Dean Koontz have long been known as masters of horror. I believe you can add Renee Pawlish to that list… The plot is entrancing. It grabbed my attention from the beginning and held it to the end.

Readers’ Favorite

A Spooky Blend of Biblical Intrigue and Modern Paranormal

This book is clearly written by a pro. The scenes are colored with rich description, depth of character and a cast that is reminiscent of Henry Fonda’s On Golden Pond. However, there is an evil in this story that FINALLY brings the Nephilim to life and uncovers the dark secrets that scripture has keep hidden for millennium. If you enjoy reading supernatural fiction that meshes our distant past and the present, you will enjoy this most excellent book.

Kindle Book Review

I Couldn’t Put It Down!

This book grabs you immediately and it doesn’t turn you loose until you’ve read the last word. Carefully plan when you will begin reading it because it’s more than likely you won’t be able to put it down. Renee Pawlish is now on my favorite writer list and it’s not a long one.

Bert Carson, author of Southern Investigation
www.bertcarson.com

Buy the eBook version of Nephilim at Amazon - http://amzn.to/stBSss (sample chapters available).

Nephilim Book Two Available Soon

The long-awaited second book in the Nephilim Trilogy will be released soon! Visit www.reneepawlish.com for more information.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Renée Pawlish is the author of The Reed Ferguson mystery series, Nephilim Genesis of Evil, The Noah Winter adventure series for young adults, Take Five, a short story collection that includes a Reed Ferguson mystery, and The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within, about a haunted house investigation in Kansas.

Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents’ cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.

Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com.

The Reed Ferguson Mystery Series

This Doesn’t Happen In The Movies - http://amzn.to/qIvvG9
Reel Estate Rip-off - http://amzn.to/skX6GV
The Maltese Felon - http://amzn.to/J7LYSM

Farewell, My Deuce – http://amzn.to/MhbBZr

Out of the Past - http://amzn.to/1jCy1Qq

Torch Scene

Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat - http://amzn.to/11HsXzk

The Nephilim Trilogy

Nephilim Genesis of Evil http://amzn.to/stBSss
Books Two and Three soon to be released.

The Noah Winter Adventure Series

The Emerald Quest - http://amzn.to/y2q8WU

This War We’re In

Middle-grade historical fiction - http://amzn.to/19tYyK3

The Sarah Spillman mystery short stories

Seven for Suicide: http://amzn.to/1kIvesw

Saturday Night Special: http://amzn.to/1icGeuU

Dance of the Macabre: http://amzn.to/1nicv4r

Take Five

A Short Story Collection - http://amzn.to/14iNQCA

Codename Richard

A ghost story – http://amzn.to/1d43Wmr

The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within

Non-fiction account of a haunted house investigation in Kansas.
http://amzn.to/AkPNfF

Table of Contents

- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Torch SceneCHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN“Pommerville.”
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- What Others Are Saying About
- ABOUT THE AUTHORRenée