“Lou told me I couldn’t say anything. That if I did, the cops would come after me as some sort of accomplice. And then he’d have to kill me, too.”
“Accessory,” Tim corrected. “He lied to you, Rosalie. If you’d told the police what you witnessed, they would’ve been able to protect you from him.”
I could feel her fear, though. It was alive in this room, probably lurking under the sofa, the chair I was sitting in. She’d lived in fear of Lou Marino, and it wouldn’t have been too hard for him to convince her to keep quiet.
We all jumped when Tim’s cell phone started ringing. He took it off his belt, glanced at the caller ID, and stood, walking out of sight, down the hall and into the kitchen. I could hear him murmuring, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Rosalie shifted on the sofa, pulled her feet up underneath her. It looked as close to a fetal position as she could get into while sitting up.
“You really think I won’t get into trouble?” she asked softly.
I’d been trying to eavesdrop on Tim, so when she spoke, it caught me by surprise.
As did another thought I had. Something about her story didn’t add up. Something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, though. My head was all jumbled up like a jigsaw puzzle that had too many pieces missing.
Before I could question her, though, Tim strode back into the room, clipping his phone back to his belt. He cocked his head at me.
“We’ve got to go.”
I stood up, a little too quickly, because the little daggers were back. It had been okay while I was sitting, but too long in one position seemed to exacerbate the situation.
Tim didn’t seem to notice this time, however. He nodded at Rosalie.
“I’ll be back, probably with another detective, to take your statement. Make sure you don’t go anywhere.” It was not a request.
Rosalie, who was plainly very susceptible to direct orders from men, nodded meekly. But as Tim started to turn, she said, “What if my father calls? Shall I tell him you’re looking for Sylvia?”
Tim’s jaw tensed. “That would be a good idea,” he said curtly. “Come on,” he said to me.
I shrugged at Rosalie as I followed my brother out the front door and to the Impala. He held the door open, but it was clear if I didn’t get in quickly he might leave me here.
“What’s the hurry?” I asked when we were both settled and he started the engine.
“That was Flanigan. He’s over at that wedding chapel.”
“That’s Amore? Why?”
“Someone’s shooting at the cars driving up.”
Chapter 59
I had a vision of a bloody Dean Martin in a torn tuxedo waving a gun around, taking potshots at unsuspecting brides and grooms. Now
“Is it Dan Franklin?” I asked. Maybe all the killing had finally gotten to him.
“No one knows. The shots are coming from inside.”
“How?”
“Through the drive-up window.”
“Has he hit anyone?”
“Not so far, but Flanigan doesn’t want to waste time. He’s got the cavalry out there.”
We made our way back down Charleston, past all the strip malls and the Terrible’s, and turned down Las Vegas Boulevard. The lights at Fremont Street, flashing every which way to entice late night revelers, were bright enough to warrant sunglasses.
As we passed Murder Ink, I saw a light on.
I grabbed Tim’s arm. “Stop,” I said.
“What?”
“Someone’s in Murder Ink. We know it’s not Jeff.”
“We don’t really have time for this. Doesn’t he have a security service?”
“I don’t know. But I feel like something’s wrong.”
Tim gave a heavy sigh that indicated I was being a royal pain in his butt, but he eased the car over against the curb and cut the engine.
“You stay here,” he instructed.
“No way,” I said, opening my door at the same time he opened his. “This isn’t a place where I want to be alone at this hour.”
He couldn’t argue with logic, so he agreed and I followed him across the street to Murder Ink. We peered into the front window and saw that the light was coming from the back room. Tim put his arm out and said, “Stay behind me.”
We went around to the side alley and around the back. The smell from the Dumpster back here was overwhelming, and I put my hand up against my nose.
“What are they dumping back here?” Tim muttered.
“It’s the Chinese take-out place,” I said, indicating the screen door and the clanking of pots and pans inside.
Murder Ink’s back door was ajar.
Tim pushed the door in slowly. We could hear rustling, as if someone was going through papers, and then something fell with a thud.
Tim’s hand was on his gun at his hip, ready to pull it out if necessary. I made sure I stayed behind him, but the curiosity was killing me. Who was in there?
In a smooth move, Tim shoved the door open, and we both bounded inside.
Sylvia looked up, frowning, as she held a box of baby wipes.
“You’re not supposed to come through the back way,” she admonished, as if it were every day someone broke in through the back door.
I took a deep breath, relieved it was her. “You’re okay,” I said.
“Why wouldn’t I be, dear?” she asked. “Except Jeff left this place a mess. Where is he, anyway? I thought he was with you.” She cocked her head toward Tim. “What’s he doing here?”
“Where’s Bernie?” I asked, not answering her questions.
Her mouth set in a firm line. “He brought me home, but I couldn’t just sit around. I’ve got insomnia, you know.”
I didn’t know, and it didn’t seem relevant right now.
She was still talking. “Bernie said the Gremlin was in the shop, but I found it in the carport like usual, but he’d covered it over with a tarp. I drove that over here.”
I’d seen a car in the alley, but it hadn’t registered. Unusual, because it’s such an unusual-looking car.
“Where’s Jeff? I thought he was with you,” Sylvia said, indicating me.
Tim and I exchanged a look. She noticed.
“What’s going on? Where’s my son?”
I sighed. “He’s in the hospital. There was an accident.”
All the color drained out of her face, and it was almost as if her tattoos went black and white for a second. She dropped down into the swivel chair next to her, all her defiance gone.
“Is he okay?”
I nodded. “He’s in surgery.”
“What happened?”
I couldn’t sugarcoat it. I told her what happened out in the desert.
She took some deep breaths, then pushed herself out of the chair. “I need to go to the hospital.”
I looked at Tim. “Why don’t you head over to That’s Amore, and I can take Sylvia to the hospital. We can take
