As we entered, a long-haired blond man behind the counter raised his arm and waved at us. “Heya, Pete! Good to see you again.”
Baseball Cap Guy nodded, and then he led us toward the back of the tiny place where we took our seats around a small, rickety wooden table. He looked at Ian and said, “Make mine an Americano.”
“Decaf cappuccino,” I said to Ian. “Get yourself a decaf, too.”
I found my wallet and pulled out a few bills, which I handed over to Ian. I figured Pete wouldn’t be paying anything, and I was right.
Once Ian left, I turned to Pete and looked at him carefully for the first time. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, but his face was etched with deep lines and his eyes looked worried. The dark circles under his eyes looked like they were permanent, and when he took off his cap, I saw that his hair was sparse and thinning.
He ran one hand through his hair and looked at me curiously. “Why do you guys keep showing up?”
“I suppose it’s the same reason as you. Harvey Gaudet. Who was he to you?”
Ian returned to the table in time to hear Pete say, “My boss. I used to work there ‘til about a month and a half ago. Who’s Harvey to you guys?”
Ian sat down as I started to explain, “We’re looking into his death.”
“You’re cops?”
“No. Private investigators.”
“Then I don’t need to talk to you.” Pete eyed me warily, as though he was about to push his chair back and walk off, free coffee or no.
“Would you rather talk to the police?” The threat was implied, and it seemed to do the trick.
Pete settled down in his chair. “I don’t like them. They put me on edge.”
“They haven’t talked to you about Harvey?”
He shook his head. “I don’t work there anymore. Why would they talk to me?”
“Why were you watching the dry cleaners?”
Our coffee arrived and Pete took a long, slow sip. Finally, he said, “I lost my job last month because I got hurt. I couldn’t keep working, had to check in to the Valley Hospital.”
“You haven’t been working since then?”
He shook his head. “I got out of the hospital two weeks ago. Not since then.”
“That explains the car,” I said, feeling a wave of sudden sympathy. “You’ve been living in your car.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I’m better now. I was thinking of asking for my job back. They’ve got another guy in there, but I know the job better. Maybe Joan’ll hire me back. I was trying to work up the nerve to go in there and ask.”
I watched him as he talked. He rubbed the side of his neck and took another long sip of his coffee. He seemed hungry, tired, and on edge. I wish I’d thought to order a sandwich for him. If he’d been living in his car, it must’ve been difficult to eat properly.
“What were you doing at Roger’s show?” Ian asked.
Pete shrugged. “Same thing as half the crowd there. I was curious. Thought maybe he killed Harvey. Like his face would give something away, maybe.” Pete smiled wryly, as though at his own folly.
“Where were you on the Tuesday Harvey was killed?” I said suddenly.
Pete looked surprised. “Sleeping in my car. Probably parked near the off-ramp. Why?”
I deflated as quickly as I’d gotten hopefully. “I’d thought maybe you’d parked near the cleaners, that you might’ve seen something.”
He shook his head. “No, sorry. I should’ve. I don’t sleep all that well these days. Need to move my car every few hours, before someone calls the cops on me.”
He sighed, and I felt a pang of sympathy for the many homeless people who were on the streets through no fault of their own.
“You’ll probably get a job soon,” said Ian optimistically. “You seem okay—I’m sure you could work as a cashier somewhere even if Joan can’t give you your old job back.”
Pete smiled politely at Ian. “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid.”
We were getting sidetracked, so I asked, “Why were you at Anastacia’s show?”
Pete raised an eyebrow at us. “Have you seen her? She’s gorgeous!”
“Yes, but—it doesn’t seem like the place a homeless guy would go. There’s something else there for you, isn’t there?”
He leaned back and crossed his arms defensively. “So just because I’m homeless I can’t go watch a show? I don’t deserve some fun?”
I tilted my head. He refused to meet my eyes, so I said, “I suppose we should call the cops now. They’ll probably figure out your connection to Anastacia’s show faster than I can.”
Pete glared at me. “Why do you gotta be like this? I already told you—cops make my life harder.”
“Then tell us about the show.”
Pete growled under his breath, muttering something I couldn’t hear. Finally, he said, “Fine. The thing is, I’ve been dating Anna.”
Ian and I gawked at him. “You’re her boyfriend.”
“Yes. Still am. We’ve been dating six months, and she didn’t dump me when I got sick or nothin’. She gives me a bit of cash here and there to help me get by. Says she’s got faith in me.”
“Why would…” I wanted to ask why someone like Anastacia would date a homeless guy like Pete, but the question died at the tip of my tongue.
Anastacia was already in a relationship of sorts with Roger, and she claimed to be keeping it casual with him because she was seeing someone. Maybe she’d lied about her serious boyfriend? Or maybe she was dating three men at once? I tried to push away any icky feelings that idea brought up. After all, men constantly dated multiple women at once, so why couldn’t a woman do the same?
“You’re wondering what she’d have to do with a loser like me,” Pete said. “And I wonder the same thing! But there you’ve got it.”
“Uh huh.” Ian and I continued to look at him, slightly dumbfounded. Finally, I said, “What can you tell us about Anna?”
“Not much,” Pete admitted. “Our relationship is still pretty new. She’s a great gal though, really nice.”
“And what about Harvey?”
“He was okay,” Pete said, not meeting my eyes. “Wish I hadn’t lost my job, but it is what it is.”
“Did he have any enemies?”
“No,” said Pete.
“None at all? No customers who got mad at him, nothing?
“Nope—no, hang on. Now I think about it, there was one customer. Guy named Gregory Tullius. Got real mad at Harvey. Made all kinds of threats.”
“Why?”
Pete shrugged. “Not sure. But he was mad. Steaming mad.”
I looked at Ian and nodded, my sign that he could ask any questions if he wanted to.
Ian drained the rest of his coffee in one gulp and said, “Where do you park, most nights?”
“Different spots,” Pete said. “Off the highway. In one of those off-Strip roads sometimes. I’m gonna buy shades for my windows and leave them up, then no one’ll know I’m sleeping there.”
“That’s a good plan,” Ian said. “You should apply for a job at the Robertson’s off Stevedore. I remember seeing a Help Wanted sign in the window.”
“Thanks, man,” said Pete. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter 16
“This is the second time someone has mentioned Greg Tullius,” Ian said as we rode the elevator up to our floor of apartments. “Something’s up with that guy.”
“Something’s up with everyone we’ve talked to so far,” I muttered. “And what happened with Anastacia? How come you didn’t talk to her?”
“I tried to talk to her,” Ian protested as we got out on our floor and headed toward our doors. “I saw her come down off the stage and head toward the bar. But one minute I saw her, the next she was gone. She must’ve gone out before I saw her. And then I got worried about you, so I came out.”
“We’ll try talking to her again tomorrow,” I said. “She’s got the same show on, same time.”
&nb
sp; “What about your shift?”
“It’s an earlier one. I can try to move it up a bit more if I have to. Anyway, I’m going to talk to Greg tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll come too! No, wait—I’m supposed to go on a wine tasting trip with Sally and her mom. How about we go talk to Greg the day after tomorrow?”
We were at Ian’s door now and I shook my head. “I don’t want to delay. Every day counts.”
“Oh.” He looked at the floor sadly. “Okay, how about I tell Sally we’ll go wine tasting another day?”
I looked at him seriously. “No, you made a date with her, and her mom will be there too. You need to show up for her.”
“Really? I’m sure she’ll understand…”
“I don’t think so. I’m not actually your employer. If it was me in Sally’s shoes, I wouldn’t understand. And you guys haven’t been seeing each other that long. You gotta give her more time.”
Ian let out a loud breath. “I suppose you’re right.” And then he suddenly brightened. “I do like spending time with her, though! She’s cute and funny and even her mom is pretty nice to me.”
I smiled. “See? There you go—you’d rather be with Sally than talking to a suspect with me, anyway. This is your first real relationship. Give it some real effort.”
I said goodbye to Ian and headed down a few doors to my apartment. As I slid my key in, I had a sudden premonition that someone was in my apartment.
A chill shot down my spine, and I glanced this way and that along the hallway. There was no one there, so I opened the door to my apartment, reaching inside to flick on the light in my living room.
The first room in my apartment is my living-dining room with the kitchenette on the other side. A door leads to my bedroom, and there’s a small bathroom attached to the bedroom.
No one was in the living-dining room, but I left the front door open as I walked in. I checked quickly under the sofa. No one there, either.
Maybe I was wrong about my premonition, I thought, as I quickly checked around in the kitchen. Stone had shown me how to do a walkthrough of my place to make sure it was safe, and I felt grateful for his advice.
Heading over to the bedroom, I flicked the switch on there.
Beyond the window of my bedroom, there’s a small fire escape. Once I’d checked under my bed—again, no one—I headed over to the windows and pulled open the drapes.
And screamed.
A man was standing there, flush against the glass.
At my scream, he clapped a hand against my mouth.
I was about to reach up and grab his wrist, and use one of my Krav Maga moves to push him off me, when I saw who it was.
Stone.
I almost sagged against him with relief.
When he removed his hand, I gave him a playful punch on the arm and rushed over to lock my front door. I didn’t want my neighbors running in, wondering what was going on.
“What’re you doing here?” I said. “Why hide behind my curtains?”
“Needed to know you were being careful.”
I grunted my annoyance, and looked back at him. His dark eyes were twinkling. “I’d never have pegged you for a prankster.”
“Not a prank if it’s got a purpose.”
“So you broke into my apartment and hid in my bedroom for… a purpose? Like what?”
“Like giving you some info.”
Stone sat down on my sofa, and I sat next to him. “Info on…?”
“Info on Harvey.”
“I’m listening.”
“I asked around, and word on the street is that Harvey was into some shady stuff. He’d switch out real furs with fake ones and sell off the real ones. He’d line the fakes with the same fabric so the owners couldn’t tell them apart.”
“Wow.” I turned the news over in my mind. “Sounds like some risky business. On the one hand, I don’t know much about fur. But isn’t the fake stuff almost as good as the real these days?”
Stone lifted his shoulders a tad, indicating that he knew just about as me when it came to fur.
“Anyway, I guess if you’ve got a real fur valued at—what? Five, six figures? However much a good fur sells for—and then you’re duped, you wouldn’t be happy.” I frowned. “Maybe that’s why Greg Tullius was so mad at Harvey.”
“Greg Tullius?”
I told Stone what I’d heard about Greg’s anger at Harvey, and he listened intently, his dark eyes serious and unsmiling.
“I’ve heard of Greg,” he said when I’d told him everything.
“And?”
Stone shook his head. “He’s not a nice man.”
“Not nice as in kind of grumpy, or not nice as in—involved in shady stuff? Maybe criminal?”
“The second one.”
I pressed my lips together, weighing my options. “Hmm.”
“I don’t like you going to talk to him alone. I’ll come with you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said quickly. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Ian’s not going?”
“No, he’s got a date.” I smiled proudly. “He’s still seeing Sally! And she’s such a nice girl, I hope the two of them can work things out.”
Stone nodded. “I hope so too. But if you’re going alone to talk to Greg, I’m coming with you.” I started to protest, but he cupped one hand against my cheek. “I know you’re fine on your own. But I’ll feel better if I’m with you.”
His hand felt strong and warm against my cheek, and when he removed it, I felt an emptiness. Confusion ran through my veins, and I nodded. “Okay.” I wanted Stone to be with me. Whether that was when talking to Greg, or anywhere else.
Our eyes met. For a second, I thought maybe Stone knew exactly what I was feeling.
But then, he stood up. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
I didn’t bother standing. I watched from where I sat as he walked out, closing the door behind himself.
Chapter 17
The next morning, I had breakfast by myself. I’d managed to sleep in ‘til ten, with not a single peep from Ian. As I wondered if he was already on his date, I made myself a mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal, and then I settled in front of my small TV and turned on the news.
My phone rang, and I put the news on mute as I answered it.
It was Elwood.
“CSI reports are back,” he said. “Gaudet had hypothermia, but he also had severe blunt force trauma to his head that might’ve killed him. Time of death is between five in the afternoon to three the night before.”
“Wow. That’s a pretty long window.”
“Yep. Hypothermia really messes with a time of death.”
“Did you find out anything else?”
There was silence for a moment, as though Elwood was wondering whether to say anything or not. Finally, he said, “The guy had a couple of broken bones, a few broken ribs.”
“Right. Maybe from when Roger stuffed him into the oven.”
“Maybe. Also, he had a great big head trauma.”
“Meaning?”
Elwood sighed. “Meaning someone hit him on the head before he was killed.”
“Maybe they knocked him out, then froze him.”
We chatted a bit more about the info, but I learned nothing else that was new. I didn’t say anything about Pete; I felt sorry for the guy, and I didn’t really see how he’d be involved in Harvey’s death.
After I hung up, I turned the volume back up on my TV, just in time to watch a long report on Harvey Gaudet’s death—one that focused on Roger Briars.
Figures, I thought to myself. Roger was a former celebrity, and people liked to hear about celebrities.
A prickle of worry twisted into a knot in my stomach as I watched the report. Was I doing the right thing by working for Roger?
I mean, it was all to be nice to Nanna and try to make her feel better, but what if Roger really was a killer? I had yet to research more into what happened with Alicia
Tumal. What if Roger had murderous tendencies?
The report started off by recounting the events between Alicia and Roger. They showed old photos and videos of the two of them as a happy couple, and then ominous music played as they talked about Alicia’s disappearance.
“Alicia Tumal was last seen by her manager, Nick Stephanopoulos, when the two had a meeting at a coffee shop just off Hollywood Boulevard. Nick claims he dropped Alicia off at home and then left. His last vision of Alicia was of her walking up to her own home.
“Police say Nick then spent the rest of the evening and night at various meetings and parties.
“Alicia’s fiancé, Roger, was also at a meeting that evening, but he got home around eight o’clock night. He claims that he never saw Alicia that night. When she couldn’t be accounted for the next day, he talked to police, but was asked to wait another twenty-four hours before filing a missing person’s report, which he did.
“Alicia Tumal was never seen again.”
The report cut to a commercial break, and I used the opportunity to make a quick dash to the bathroom. When I came back, I caught the last few seconds of a toothpaste ad, before the report started up again.
This time, the program talked about Roger’s reaction to the news of Alicia’s disappearance. They showed snippets of his public pleas for anyone to come forward with information, his two weeks of being absent from public view.
And then, about sixteen days after he’d reported Alicia going missing, he was spotted leaving a nightclub with a blonde model. The two were photographed kissing passionately before stepping into Roger’s sports car.
And that’s when the public turned on him.
Over the next few weeks, Roger continued to be spotted with other women, and speculation that he’d killed Alicia rose to a fever pitch.
Alicia’s sister, Nadia Tumal, was one of the most vocal people who claimed Roger had a hand in Alicia’s death. She arranged protests around the city, but to no avail. No more information on Alicia was found.
“And now,” the report went on, “Nadia Tumal is arranging protests regarding Harvey Gaudet’s death. She claims that a man who killed once has struck again—this time caught on camera—and now it is time for justice to be served.”
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