The Grey Tier (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

LUCAS STAYED UNTIL I fell asleep. Of course, I don’t know when he left, but he wasn’t there the next day.

I was trying so hard to focus on the here and now—on humans and human interactions—but let’s face it, it wasn’t easy. My brain was on tiers, and black versus white, and all the bits and pieces in between. And on Lucas.

However, after Roger’s visit last night, I’d been able to fill in some key details of Nick’s mysterious life. And now I had an additional mystery: Wwas Nick really Joshua’s father? Or was Roger? And if Becky could accidentally kill Roger . . . well, was it too much of a stretch to imagine she’d killed Nick in a fit of anger as well? Lastly, I felt obligated to tell someone, anyone, about Becky’s involvement in Roger’s death. But who? I mean, showing up at a local police station saying, “Hey, the ghost of Roger Hawks visited me last night at my house and told me his ex-girlfriend Becky Styles killed him. But it was mostly an accident.” Yeah, that’d go over real well . . . likely ending with me in seventy-two hour hold at County General.

At the end of the day, Nick was still dead and his killer was on the loose. This needed to be my main focus for now. As for the past, it only mattered so much as it shed light on the current situation. So I hardened my resolve to focus on Nick’s death and deal with the other stuff once I’d gotten answers about that.

But first, Simone.

Later that day, after making up Simone for a book signing event to promote a book she had not actually written (although her name was on the cover), she insisted we play dress up and go out to eat.

Although Simone was kinda, sorta of on my list of suspects in a roundabout way via Dwight, I knew I needed to go back and investigate George Hernandez and Pietro SanGiacomo at Jorge’s and I would need some back up. I was a bit nervous they’d recognized me from my earlier stint as a private investigator, which is why I figured having Simone along would be a good foil.

Simone and I were already in my van, driving down the road, when I nonchalantly said, “I was thinking we should eat somewhere else tonight. I mean, normal people do eat at other places besides Denny’s, you know.”

Simone looked at me suspiciously. Thing was, she
loved
Denny’s and wasn’t very open to branching out to other restaurants. “Like where?”

“Oh I don’t know. How about Mexican? There’s this nice little place in Venice Beach I know of but . . .” I frowned as if reconsidering.

“But what? Spit it out, Edie!”

“Well, maybe it’s too much of a risk. You might be seen and . . .”

Simone interrupted me, “Venice Beach? Let’s go.”

Gotcha!

I parked on a side street about two blocks from Jorge’s. I sighed and turned to Simone. I had been trying to figure out how to use her in my evening antics. I figured the best way to do so was to be up front and see how she reacted.

“Okay, you know how you like to play dress up on these outings? You look good tonight, by the way.”

Simone smiled. “I am Debby tonight, and are you trying to hit on me, Evie? I mean, I have kissed a girl before. But I’m not that into it. For you though . . .” She closed her eyes and leaned towards me with puckered lips.

“Come on, Simone! I’m being serious here,” I said, exasperated and not a little curious how she’d respond when I dropped the other shoe. I cleared my throat, “Tonight, I am also going incognito.”

Simone’s eyes popped open and her mouth made a little O of surprise. And then she grinned. “Really? How cool. But why?”

“We have a job to do,” I said, reaching into the backseat for the duffle bag holding my wig and some other stuff.

“A job? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Here goes nothing. “The guy who owns this restaurant is, well, not a nice guy. He knew Nick, and he was out to get him because he claims Nick stole his fish taco recipe.”

Simone frowned, and then laughed out loud. “You gotta be kidding me! That is so lame.”

“It is, I agree. The thing is, this guy, George Hernandez, and this other guy, Pietro SanGiacomo, who is some kind of bookie and who also had it out for Nick, are involved in something shady together. I think they may have had Nick killed or, I don’t know, I just need some answers and you get to help me.”

Simone eyed me for a long minute. “Priceless,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Should I start calling you Sherlock now?”

“Look, are you in or not?” I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in my VW being insulted. I had a job to do.

“Yeah, okay. I’m in. But if this was the plan all along, why didn’t you just spit it out in the first place? I mean, you didn’t have to try and persuade me to go to this place instead of Denny’s . . . you could have just told me your plans.”

She was right. “You’re right, Simone. I’m sorry. I just . . . I guess I thought I had to get you here first and you’d be more open to helping me out once we arrived.”

Simone rolled her eyes but she was smiling too. “Whatever. So, what’s the plan?”

“We go in. We eat. You be Debby and I’ll be, uh, Chantal.”

“Chantal?!” Simone barked out a laugh. “You do realize that’s a total porn name, right?”

I didn’t bother responding. “There’s an office upstairs above the restaurant. When you are paying the bill, I am going to get up and act like I’m going to the bathroom. I need you to create some kind of distraction so no one sees me go up the stairs and into George’s office. Give it about ten minutes, then head out to the van and wait for me.”

We spent the next few minutes donning our disguises and once everything was in place, Debby and Chantal, two friends on the town, stepped out of a beat up VW and made their way to Jorge’s for dinner.

An hour or so and a margarita later, we were finishing up a tasty plate of tacos and enchiladas. I had not seen George or Pietro and figured it was a positive sign. The waitress (thankfully, not the same one from the last time I’d been here) dropped the check off at the table. I leaned across towards Simone.

“You still up for this?” I asked in a lowered voice.

“Hell, yes!”

Simone put the credit card in the bill folder and I waited until I noticed the waitress making her way back to our table before I got up to leave. As I headed toward the stairs, I heard Simone say, “You overcharged me!”

I quickly glanced around and headed up the stairs. So far so good. First, I’d try the office I had heard Pietro and George in before. Of course it was locked, but I had a trick up my sleeve, one I could thank my big sister, Hannah, for teaching me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the necessary item . . .

. . . and picked the lock with a little effort. I was in the office in under two minutes. I closed the door behind me, using the light on my phone to look around. George’s office was large with a desk, file drawers, and an interesting looking printer. On the floor next to the printer lay an aluminum briefcase. I picked it up and opened it. My breath caught in my throat. It was filled with hundreds of hundred dollar bills! I looked back over at the strange printing machine and put two and two together. These guys were laundering money!

Unfortunately, my great revelation came a little too late. Because the next thing I knew, there were footsteps outside the door and then it flew open.

It took all of ten seconds for George Hernandez to spot me, standing in the middle of his office like a deer in the headlights.

“What the hell?!” He shut the door behind him. I tried to sprint past him and make it to the door. But even though he was a big guy, he was surprisingly fast. George grabbed my arm, spun me around, placed a big, beefy hand over my mouth, and tossed me to the ground. My wig flew off and my head clanked hard against a metal file cabinet. On top of feeling dizzy, our skin-to-skin contact kept sending me disturbing visions of flames and George running from a house engulfed in flames.

Before my mind could register more, George had placed duct tape across my mouth and tied my hands and feet together. I was, to put it bluntly, trussed up like one of those rodeo calves. This was not good.

George eyed me carefully, echoing my thoughts, “Not good,” he said. “This is
not
good.”

You’re telling me.

He dropped into a nearby armchair and stared at me glumly. “What were you doing here?” He wiped the perspiration from his brow. “What am I going to do? I can’t let you go. Not now that you’ve seen this.” He ripped the duct tape off, giving me a good idea why those poor ladies always winced in pain when my mom gave them a lip wax.

I cried out, tears springing to my eyes.

George darted a nervous glance back at the closed door, and hissed, “Shut up! What were you doing here?”

“I-I thought you killed Nick. I was trying to find something to incriminate you.”

He threw up his hands angrily, “I didn’t kill Nick!” He placed the duct tape back over my lips. “I may not be on the up-and-up, girly, but I am no killer. That’s why this is a problem.” He sighed and took out his cell phone. Whoever he was calling, didn’t answer. “I’ll be back. I may not be a killer, but I know someone who is.”

In the ominous silence of George’s empty office, I frantically tried to come up with an escape plan. Simone had to come looking for me. Didn’t she? Wouldn’t she? I simply couldn’t lay around, waiting for her. I had to do something.

My cell phone was in my pocket. I scooted as close as I could to the file cabinet and attempted to push the phone up and out of my pocket by rubbing against the cabinet’s corner. It took a few tries, but it worked. The phone popped out onto the ground and I used my hip to slide it over a bit until I was sure I could reach it with my nose if I bent at the waist. Yeah, not the most glamorous situation but you use what you’ve got when the going gets tough. My nose kept hitting the utilities button but finally, the phone screen lit up. Thankfully, Simone was the last person I had dialed. I pressed the button and it began to ring. After three rings it went to voicemail. Shit.

I tried again and she finally picked up.

“Evie! Where the hell are you?”

I grunted as loudly as I could into the phone.

“Evie?! Where are you? Let’s go!”

I grunted and groaned again, this time louder. Finally, she clued in.

“Oh no! Are you in trouble?”

“Mhhm-mmh.” Hallelujah!

“Okay, are you still there? In that office?”

“Mhhm.”

“Oh fuck! Okay, I’m coming in!” She hung up and I stared at the phone wondering if I should even try to call 9-1-1.

Five minutes later I heard a loud commotion downstairs. A minute after that, the office door swung open, and there stood Simone, in all her glory, and a very shocked looking restaurant hostess. Simone marched into the office as if it she owned it and knelt down beside me.

“Come on, Evie,” she said calmly and began untying my hands. She tossed a glance back at the hostess. “Well, don’t just stand there, moron. Go call the cops!”

As soon as she’d left the room and Simone pulled the duct tape off, I jumped dizzily to my feet and hissed, “We gotta get the hell out of here. Now!”

Simone nodded. “Roger that, girlfriend.”

I took her arm and she guided me rapidly down the stairs, out the front door (we were lucky the hostess had her back to us or we’d have never made it), and to the van.

“I can’t drive, Simone. I got knocked up pretty bad back there. My keys are in my purse.” She loaded me into the passenger seat, found my keys, and we peeled out of the parking lot at lightning speed (for my VW, that is). I wondered, fleetingly, where George had gone.

We drove in silence for a good five minutes. Finally, she turned to me, her face questioning and concerned.

“What the hell happened back there?”

I filled her in on all the gory details. She giggled when I got to the part about me dialing her number with my nose. And then, after another pause, she said, “The cops are going to get involved. The only way to get that twit of a hostess out of my way was to take my wig off.” She sighed. “Are you okay? What did he do to you?”