Two

I woke up tired and shaken. Two days since Alice’s death and the hurt still burned in my heart and gnawed at my soul. I could think of nothing else as I showered, dressed, and then fixed a bowl of corn flakes. After three bites, I pushed the cereal aside.

My hands shook. Tears welled in my eyes. I banged my fist on the table and totally lost it. The hurt, anger, and fears poured out into a big mess of ugly.

Alice’s killer wore baggy clothes, so there wasn’t much to go on as far as build, except he wasn’t particularly tall. An angry ex-spouse is always a good starting point. Robert Milner topped both my lists—my suspect list and my shit list.

It was a short drive to the Law Offices of Milner and Laughlin. I parked Patsy and entered the building. The nameplate on the receptionist’s desk read ‘Miss Missy’, as it had the several times I'd been there before. How cute. I guessed her hair color as Miss Clairol Way Too Blonde 69. But it worked okay with her 1950s bouffant hairstyle.

“Good morning, Ms. Grace. How can I help you?”

I bypassed her with no acknowledgement and marched down the hallway toward Robert Milner’s private office. I’d gone but ten feet when I heard the footsteps echo off the tiled hallway behind me.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Missy Missy’s treble-timbred voice trilled over my shoulder. “You can’t just go into Mr. Milner’s office unannounced. You need an appointment. He’s a very busy man.”

I stopped and pivoted on the two-inch heel of my pump. I swooshed several locks of hair from my breast to the back of my shoulder.

She came to an abrupt halt; her ample cleavage didn’t. That took a few extra seconds.

My gaze pierced her with laser beams capable of destroying high-quality kryptonite. “Look, Miss Missy, I’m in a really bad mood and I’m not ready for a bunch of crap. So, please, just go back to your desk like a good little receptionist and let me be. I have important business with Mr. Milner and I’m going into his office to address that matter. Don’t get in my way—you really don’t want to do that because it won’t be pretty if you do.” I narrowed my eyes and set my chin. “Do we understand each other?”

She stared at me glassy-eyed, her face blanched whiter than a sheet in a Clorox commercial. The Barbie Doll wannabe mumbled something unintelligible before doing a clumsy about-face. She scurried back to her desk as fast as the clacking of her four-inch heels could carry her fake boobs and Botox lips. Her bouffant bounced with every step.

I yanked open the door to Robert’s office and then slammed it behind me as hard as I could once inside the room. “We need to talk!”

He sat behind his desk, hands clasped over his belt buckle, head tilted back. I wasn’t sure but his eyes appeared to be closed. The outdated skinny tie hung loosely with the top button of his white dress shirt undone. His disheveled suit jacket rendered it impossible to see if his arm was bandaged—maybe from a gunshot wound. And yeah, he was really busy.

“What in the hell do you want? Someone murdered my ex two days ago and I have a monster headache, which just got worse thanks to your high and mighty entrance. And I've been bombarded with more cases than I can handle at the moment. I already have enough to worry about without you adding to it.”

I took a seat in one of his leather client chairs, crossed my legs, and stared at him for a good ten seconds. I’d chosen a gray Armani jacket with matching slacks and a plum-colored blouse. I nixed the matching skirt and opted for the slacks. I didn’t want his pervy eyes trying to look between my legs. I’d been down that road with him.

Six or seven feet of beige carpeting spanned the area between my chair and his desk. The floor covering was as drab as his almond-colored walls. “I’m sure you’re as depressed about Alice’s death as I am about the Tooth Fairy being a cheapskate. So tell me; why did you kill her?”

He tilted his head downward and gazed at me with cold, unblinking eyes. “I got nothing to say to you. Get the hell out of my office! Now!”

“I won’t be long.”

“You’ve already been here too long.”

“How about showing me your left arm?”

“The only thing I’m gonna show you is the door. Now, take your ass and your attitude out of my office.”

“Got something to hide?”

“Out! Now!” His finger stabbed the air as it pointed to the door.

Little-man bravado strikes again. Short, insecure men are so often the epitome of self-delusion. But I enjoyed how he shifted in his chair and fidgeted his hands—all the things that told me he was uncomfortable. The greater his discomfort, the happier I was. And perhaps his nervous mannerisms were an unintended suggestion of guilt? I could hope.

“Do I have to call the cops to get you out of here?”

“Phone’s on your desk. If they haven’t already, I’m sure the cops are anxious to talk to you. And if you think the cops are gonna be a pain, just wait until I come down on you with the big hammer. Wham!”

He flinched, much to my amusement.

“You’re one crazy-ass bitch.”

“You might want to make a mental note of that.” I rose from the chair and approached him. I leaned forward, my arms locked at the elbows and hands clamped like Vice-Grips on the front edge of the desk. I conjured my best Dirty Harry voice. “If you had anything to do with Alice’s death, you’d better pray the cops take you away before I get to you. Otherwise, I’ll make you hurt like you can’t imagine. I’m talking pain worse than an acid-coated wire brush attached to a high-speed drill stuck up your skanky ass.”

“Are you threatening me, Olivia?”

“Call it what you want. But don’t sell me short, Milner. That would be a seriously bad decision.” I executed an abrupt turn and marched out of his office. I didn’t bother to close his door on the way out.

As I approached Miss Missy’s desk, I gave her my cheesiest smile. “I’ll make an appointment next time. My bad.”

As I guided Patsy from the parking lot to the street, I allowed myself the promise of a smile. I didn’t learn anything of substance from Alice’s ex, but that wasn’t my primary objective, although it would have been nice. More than anything, I wanted to put him on notice and make him uncomfortable. The more pressure I could put on him, the more likely he was to screw up if he was, indeed, Alice’s killer. Pressure is a process, not a singular event. Besides, I really enjoyed seeing his sorry ass squirm.

As much as I deplored and suspected Robert Milner, it would be foolish to think there could be no other suspects. I was off to find more potential bad guys.

But first, I needed to check in with Butler Farms. I’d spoken with them only once since I'd taken on the case several days ago. I pulled to the curb on Truxtun Avenue and keyed them on my cell phone.

Anna Flores, my contact at the Butler Farms Security Office, answered on the third ring. “Hi, Olivia. I was gonna call you in a few minutes. I’ve got some new information on our guy in question.”

“Tell me.”

“Andy Bishop. We hired him three months ago to fill a vacancy as a data analyst in our production department. Today is the fourth consecutive day he hasn’t shown up for work and we’ve not heard a word from him.”

“He may have a good explanation for his disappearance.”

“That’s possible. Likewise, we can’t simply ignore his absence and arbitrarily assume there’s no connection.”

“Fair enough. Anything else?”

“He doesn’t have a land line and the cell number he gave us is out of service."

"How nice."

"But we think we know where to find him. If you can drop by my office around two o’clock, I’ll have a copy of everything for you.”

“That’ll work. Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Where do you think he’s camping out?”

“Las Vegas.”

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