John smiled thinly. “It pays the bills. I’m getting a little tired of it, but I can’t think of any better options. I haven’t been working in retail long enough to try to get a job as a manager, and I don’t want to work in a fast–food place. I could go back to college and try to get a degree or something, but I’m not sure that would work at my age.”
“Someone stole a router from this place,” said Ian. “We think it might be an employee who hates working here.”
John snorted derisively. “I’ve already told you, I don’t hate working here. I’m just a little bored of it. And what good would stealing a router do me anyway? It’s not like I could use it myself, and the system Harry had is at least five years old. It wouldn’t get me any money on Craigslist or eBay. You know how fast technology moves these days—he probably needed to upgrade the system anyway.”
I nodded, watching him as he spoke. I actually believed him when he said that he wouldn’t consider stealing a router—John had the look of someone who was vaguely disgruntled with life, but couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. He was the sort of person who went around complaining that life was unfair, but would never try to figure out how to rig the game in his favor.
“Can you think of anyone who hated Harry enough to steal the router? Although I agree with you—I’m not sure what good stealing a router would do anyone.”
“Some people are just weird,” said John. “Although, most everyone who works here is reasonably normal. I’m not sure anyone would bother to steal that old piece of junk. Harry believes in way too many conspiracy theories. Just like Janice’s death not being an accident. Sure, I believe she was murdered.”
“Why is it so far–fetched to think that Janice might have been murdered?” I said. “Murders happen every day.”
“Yeah, but Harry’s really got his heart set on proving that it was a murder. He doesn’t want to admit he violated the safety guidelines, and that he’ll get in trouble for that. Besides, if you want to kill someone, you shoot them, not drop a heavy sofa them.”
I nodded. “What would Janice have been doing in the storeroom at that hour?”
“Beats me,” said John. “But it’s not my problem to worry about.”
“Were you and Janice friends?”
John shook his head. “No, I don’t think anyone was friends with her. Emily Grayson would talk to her once in a while, but nobody could really stand Janice. The woman was stuck–up and full of herself, and she’d never talk to you or be nice to you. Whenever she saw a young, poor–looking couple come in through the door, she’d head the other way, but show her a chubby forty–something man with a flashy watch and a new smartphone, and she was all over him. She made sure she got all the big spenders, and sent the scraps our way. No wonder she was employee of the month, every month.”
“How long have you been working here?”
“A little over a year. And you know what, Janice was mean to me every one of those days. One time, I ran a marathon, and I had sore muscles, so I asked her if I could park in her spot in the back. She told me I’d run a marathon voluntarily, and that was my problem, not hers. I even offered her twenty bucks for the parking spot, but she said no. She was so full of herself, and so proud of being employee of the month—I guess she’d never achieved anything else in her entire life, so she clung to her one achievement.”
We asked John a few more questions about Janice, and he spent the entire time telling us what a horrible person she was.
“Did you know anything about her personal life?” I said finally. “Did you ever talk to her about her ex–husband or her love life?”
John shook his head. “I’d heard she was divorced or something, and I’m not surprised. I also heard she never made any friends after she moved here. She’s a horrible, bitter woman, and I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be friends with or married to her.”
“And where were you on Sunday night?” I said.
“Having dinner at Jerry’s Diner, like I do most Sunday nights. I’m not much of a cook, and I like to end the weekend with their food.”
I nodded and handed him my card, telling him to call me if he could think of anything else, and then Ian and I went over to talk to the other salesperson.
Maxine was a slim, petite brunette with her straight hair cut into a stylish bob, and it turned out that she was a new hire, brought on to replace Janice. She seemed sweet and friendly, but she’d never met Janice and couldn’t tell us anything useful. She’d been working at the store for a few days now, and she thought her coworkers were quite nice, and the work itself wasn’t too bad.
Ian and I said goodbye to Maxine and headed over to the storeroom, where we introduced ourselves to Jonas, a bored–looked twenty–something with dirty–blond hair and cynical gray eyes.
“Harry said you’d be coming around,” he said, glancing from Ian to me.
“That makes it easier to get straight to the questions,” I said politely. “Did you know Janice Wilkerson?”
“Sure,” he said. “But only barely. I work back in the storeroom here, waiting for any customers who might need help with their boxes, unloading any new stock that comes in. It’s not too much work, but I stay back here most of the time.”
“So you don’t really chat with the other employees.”
“Nah. I’ll say hi to them, but that’s about it.”
“And what do you think of them?”
“The other employees? They seem okay, but I wouldn’t really know.”
“Harry said there was another employee who works with you?”
“Bob? He works part–time, three days a week. His shift’s timed to coincide with deliveries and busier shopping times.”
I nodded. “I guess we’ll have to come back to talk to him sometime.”
“Sure,” said Jonas. “But he’s like me, tends to stay in back unless he’s out having a smoke.”
Ian and I asked Jonas a few more questions about how he liked working at Betta Furniture, whether he’d heard any rumors about Janice’s death or her relationships, and what he thought about living in Vegas. It turned out that Jonas really liked living in Vegas and had been at a casino on Saturday night, the Watermark. I made a mental note to check up on his alibi at some point, but I doubted that he’d make up something that could be disproved easily.
We didn’t learn anything too useful, and finally, I handed Jonas my card and told him to call me if he thought of anything else—unlikely as that was.
“It’s time for lunch,” Ian reminded me as we headed back to the car. “We can eat at Jerry’s Diner and try out their new Angus beef burgers, and we can check out John’s alibi at the same time.”
Chapter Eight
Jerry’s Diner is an institution in Las Vegas. It’s sufficiently off–Strip and strange–looking enough that it deters the tourists, but it’s still within walking distance of most of the major casinos, so the locals can stop by easily on their way to and from shifts. The outside is modest, with a medium–sized parking lot, light blue walls, and pink terracotta tiles.
A large neon sign in front announces the name of the establishment, and the inside is a throwback to the diners of yesteryear—squeaky red vinyl booths; smooth, shiny Formica tables; and glistening white–tiled floors. The aroma of delicious fried food fills the air, and the place gets packed whenever shifts at the casinos let out.
Ian made me stuff the bald wig in my handbag before we went inside and asked around about John. We hit pay dirt when we talked to a waitress we’d met during a previous investigation. Jacinta was a short, sweet brunette who nodded when we told her about John.
“He’s a regular here,” she said. “Comes by every weekend. Sure, he was here that Sunday. He stayed till ten—but you can always check on the security cameras.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I trust your memory.”
Ian and I settled into a booth at the back, placed our orders, and gobbled down our delicious burgers and fries when they
arrived. We were almost done when a familiar face near the front door caught my eye, and I froze.
“Don’t turn around,” I said, fishing the bald wig out of my bag and passing it over to Ian, “but Cecilia just walked in through the door. That woman must have a nose like a bloodhound.”
Ian hurriedly crammed the wig onto his head, and I helped him adjust it. By the time Cecilia saw me and walked over with an enthusiastic smile, Ian had transformed into neo–Nazi Ian again.
“Iannikins!” said Cecilia, leaning down and giving Ian a quick hug across the shoulders and a peck on his cheek, “I knew I’d find you here! I’m so glad to see you again.”
Ian gave me a look that said he was ready to burn all his wigs, and I shrugged. There was no point denying that it was him in a wig.
Cecilia tried to sit down in the booth next to Ian, but Ian shuffled over to the edge, making sure she couldn’t get in, so she sat next to me instead.
“How exactly did you find us?” I asked her.
“I was knocking on the door, waiting for my sweet Iannikins, when I ran into your neighbor, Mrs. Weebly. I asked her where you two might be, and she said you like to eat here.”
I groaned silently. Mrs. Weebly knows far too much about Ian’s and my habits, and while she’s been very helpful to us in the past, this was one time when her nosiness made things worse.
“We should go,” said Ian. “We should get back to our investigations.”
“Actually,” I said, “it’s high time you told Cecilia the truth.”
Ian looked at me, panicked. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. It’s not the start of the day anymore, and you’re not being fair to Cecilia if you don’t tell her the truth.”
“But I don’t wanna,” Ian whined.
“You have to,” I told him. “It’s part of being an adult.”
Ian nodded and took a deep breath. “Cecilia,” he said, as though he were making a grand announcement, “I don’t really love you. In fact, I don’t even like you.”
Cecilia laughed. “Oh, Iannikins. You’re so funny.”
Ian shook his head. “I’m not joking, it’s the truth. I don’t like you, and I don’t want to go out with you. I definitely don’t want to marry you.”
Cecilia smiled. “That’s just because you haven’t gotten to know me enough. We need to hang out some more, and then you’ll see how perfect we are for each other.”
Ian shook his head. “We’re really not. I’m not about to get married, and I don’t want some woman I had dinner with once moving in with me.”
Cecilia refused to give up. “We need more alone time. You see, Iannikins, I’m incredible in bed.” She gave him a wink that made my insides turn, and to his credit, Ian didn’t seem that impressed.
He shook his head. “I’m not interested in you, Cecilia. Please leave me alone.”
Ian glanced over at me, and I nodded approvingly. He was doing well so far.
“I’m sure I can change your mind,” said Cecilia, running her tongue slowly over her lips.
Ian shot me a despair–filled glance. “I tried my best; I can’t do this anymore.”
He stood up and began to speed–walk toward the door.
Cecilia followed him immediately, and I threw some cash onto the table and headed outside after them. Ian increased his pace and headed toward the car.
Cecilia half–ran behind him and called out, “Wait, Iannikins. Don’t leave like this, I’m sure we can talk it out.”
Ian glanced over his shoulder and yelled, “I just want you to leave me alone!”
Cecilia was beginning to freak me out. I didn’t know what her deal was, so I ran over to my car and started the engine. A few seconds later, Ian slipped into the passenger seat, and we took off, not looking behind us.
“That woman is nuts,” said Ian as we drove away. “Completely nuts.”
“She’s not nuts,” I said. “She’s very persistent and very smart, and she’s starting to scare me.”
Chapter Nine
I drove without thinking, rather mindlessly at first, until I found myself in Summerlin. I pulled over to a side street, and Ian said, “Where exactly are we going?”
I looked at him and took a deep breath to calm down. Ian had managed to remove his wig, and he was looking like himself again. In between deep breaths, I said, “Doesn’t Cecilia scare you a little?”
Ian shrugged. “I don’t understand women. They’re all kind of strange.”
I nodded. Sometimes I felt the same way about men.
“We’ve got a bit over an hour before we have to go talk to David. We can head back to Betta Furniture and see if any new employees have started their shift, or we can go and check out Janice’s apartment.”
“I’m not sure we’ll learn anything from Janice’s co–workers,” said Ian. “None of them seemed to like her too much, which means they probably didn’t bother to get to know her too well. And I don’t think any of them would bother to actually kill her themselves.”
I agreed with him. “I’m not sure what we could learn from Janice’s apartment, but maybe her neighbors know something. It’s worth a shot.”
Janice lived in an apartment that had clearly been built in the fifties and forgotten about since. It was only a few blocks away from Balzar Avenue, one of Vegas’s notorious crime hotspots, and this part of town was neither particularly unsafe nor family friendly.
The gangs and thugs didn’t usually bother to come all the way out here, but it wasn’t the kind of place where you’d leave your car unlocked or walk down the street alone at night without being fully armed with a knife, a gun, pepper spray, and maybe a pair of nunchucks.
Janice’s apartment was on the second floor, and Ian and I walked up the stairs and loitered on the balcony that wrapped around the front of the building. I knocked on her apartment, but as I’d expected, nobody answered. So I tried the apartment next door instead.
I rapped three times, rapidly, and the door was opened by an ancient woman in a neon green tracksuit. She had dark, beady eyes that seemed to miss nothing, tightly permed white hair, and skin that hung off her face in big wrinkles.
“What?”
The woman stared at us accusatorily, and I instantly felt guilty, as though she’d caught me trying to rob her of her Social Security check. Ian clearly felt the same way, because he immediately started stuttering.
The woman glared at Ian, which shut him up, and I somehow managed to find my voice and introduce ourselves.
“We’re investigating Janice Wilkerson’s death,” I said.
The woman stared at me judgmentally for a few long seconds, and I got the impression that she was trying to read my mind. So I forced myself to think pure thoughts and tried to look like I was a good, honest person. Which I was, really.
Finally, the woman nodded, as though she was convinced that Ian and I weren’t here to cause any mischief. “I’m Helen. What did you want to know about Janice?”
“Well, to start with, did you know her?”
“Sure, I knew her. She moved in six months ago, but I like to keep an eye on everyone’s comings and goings. You never know what people are up to, and I don’t like the idea of living out here by myself among strangers. People these days, they don’t like to stop and talk to you, so it’s up to you to find out about them.”
I’d clearly found this building’s Mrs. Weebly, the nosy gossip who kept track of everyone else’s lives, and I couldn’t believe my luck.
“I take it Janice didn’t talk to you too much?”
Helen shook her head. “No, never. She mumbled when I’d say hello to her, or ask her how she was doing. And she never went out of her way to ask me how I was doing. But who can blame her? I found out she’d gotten a separation from her husband, so maybe she was sad about that. Although, I don’t know what she had to be sad about—she was young, reasonably attractive if she put on a bit of makeup, and she had a good job. Not to mention, she got herself a new boyfriend quick–smart.”
I felt my eyebrows rising toward my hairline. “She had a new boyfriend?” This was the first time I was hearing about this.
Helen nodded. “Sure, but I reckon they were keeping it a secret. I found out because I have a hard time sleeping. I’d be up at night, and I’d hear her come in from work. She’d go home, and then a few minutes later, the man would go in after. He never stayed the night, just a few hours at once, and the last time I heard them, they were having a big fight. I didn’t see him for a few days after that, and then of course I heard that Janice died. So maybe they broke up before she died.”
“Did you ever see the man?” I said, unable to stop my pulse from quickening with excitement. “What did he look like?”
Helen shrugged. “Like I said, they never came in together. He’d go in after her, and one time I came out of my apartment when he was walking toward her door, and he just strolled on, as though he was going somewhere else.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “I always say, if he’s too ashamed to be seen in public with you, you’re better off without him.”
“Maybe she was afraid to be seen in public with him,” said Ian.
Helen pursed her lips and shook her head, unconvinced. “I reckon he was a catch. A divorced woman like her—of course, she didn’t have any kids to mess things up. But still, he was reasonably tall, reasonably handsome.”
“How old was he?” I said. “Did you get a good look at his face?”
“I’m not very good at guessing young people’s ages these days. He was what—maybe in his thirties? Like I said, reasonably tall. Brownish hair, I didn’t get a good look at his eyes. Average looking, not too ugly, not too handsome.”
I felt my spirits deflating. Helen’s description narrowed it down to about half the men who lived in Vegas. “Did you ever talk to him?”
“No,” Helen said. “Those two really went out of their way to keep everything a secret. Although, everyone’s so modern these days, and life’s so short, I don’t see the point of keeping silly secrets like this.”
Furniture Fatality in Las Vegas Page 4