Laugh or Death (Lexi Graves Mysteries Book 6) (4 page)

"Maybe I'll become a private dick," she said as I picked up my purse. "Seems anyone can do it."

I sighed and left, checking my reflection in the plate glass door. I didn't look like a lonely person, or one that didn't have a boyfriend. In fact, I thought I looked pretty nice
, but all the same, Angie's sympathy put a crimp on our otherwise successful little meeting.

S
itting in my car, I used my phone browser to call up a list of pet grooming salons and pet stores in Montgomery. There were three in the immediate area, and another a little further away on Century Street. Two grooming salons, one pet store. The second pet store on Century I immediately discounted as too far away for Nancy to stop by the diner on her lunch break.

Glad
for the chance to find Nancy this very afternoon, I chose my first location to visit on the basis of it being only two blocks away. Leaving my car, I walked there, rather than searching for another parking space. I was getting more excited with each step. Nancy was close by, I could tell, and I was on the cusp of finding her, but as I pushed through the door of Fur Babies, I had to concede it would be far too easy to find her on my first day of looking.

"Welcome to Fur Babies," beamed the teenaged receptionist, all white teeth and bright highlights. "Are you collecting your pet?"

"No, I'm..."

"Booking in a pet?" she cut in.

"No..."

"Making a new purchase today? Did you bring your loyalty card?"

"No, that's not..."

"Are you interested in our Mommy and Me
Pamper and Pooch session?" she interrupted again, thrusting a brochure at me. The cover featured a glamorous young woman with scarlet nails cuddling a chow chow that was wearing a tiara. "Pedicures for both of you and a blow-out too. We only have a few spaces left!"

I blinked at the sight of the
dog's red nails. "People really do this?"

"It's the new
est big trend for our clients and their fur babies; and who doesn't love to pamper their pooch?"

I thought about my neighbor's dog, a big
, slobbering mutt named Barney who was supposed to be a hearing dog, but turned out to be a noise-making dog. I really couldn't imagine Aidan bringing Barney here, although if I needed to stake out the place, I supposed Barney could come in handy... probably for the first time in his short life. He would probably smell nicer afterwards too.

"Actually, I'm here about something else," I said, flashing her my PI license
. I produced the smiling photo Leo gave me. "I'm looking for this woman and wondered if she worked here. Her name is Nancy."

"No, there'
re no Nancy here," the receptionist replied, studying the photo carefully.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. My mom owns Fur Babies and my sister and I are the only employees. I've never seen this woman."

"Thanks for your time," I said,
walking away before she could bamboozle me with anymore pet pampering. Leaving the store behind me, I took the next left and walked four blocks further before I came across Pretty Paws, the second grooming salon on my list.

Pretty Paws wasn't quite the parlor that Fur Babies
was, but it seemed pretty busy as I joined the queue behind two chihuahuas in smart, little jackets. The half-gate separating the reception area from the salon opened and a sweet-smelling labrador launched itself into its waiting owner's arms, bowling her over. I waited as the labrador and its owner had their slobbery greeting before waving their cheerful goodbyes to the staff. Then, I had to wait a few more minutes as the chihuahuas were booked in.

"How can I help you?" asked the receptionist. She wore a black
, salon uniform with the name, "Joelle" embroidered on it.

"I'm looking for someone and I thought she might work here," I said as I produced the photo again. "Her name is Nancy."

"Oh sure. Yes, Nancy works here."

"She does? Really?" I squeaked,
feeling incredulous of my luck. "Is she here now?"

"She was just here," said Joelle, looking around. "Uh, let me go check. Who shall I say is asking?"

"Lexi Graves, I'm a private investigator."

"A what now?" she asked as one of the
chihuahuas pitched a high bark.

I yelled my name and credentials again, just as the dog stopped its litany, making me appear rude
before heads turned towards me. I glared at the dog, and I swear, it laughed at me as it was handed over to a waiting assistant. Its owner hurried out, giving me a nervous backwards glance.

"I'll see if she's in the back," Joelle said, giving me a smile and patting the dog as she passed. She disappeared through a door, leaving the two groomers at their stations. I watched as they clipped fur
, trimmed nails, and wiped eyes until Joelle returned. "That's odd," she said. "I can't find her. Maybe I got her shift wrong and she left already."

"Maybe," I said, "Has she worked here long?"

"Four months... Hey, Emily, how long has Nancy worked here?"

One of the groomers glanced upwards as she worked. "Four months," she
replied before returning to her clipping.

"Yeah, four months," Joelle confirmed again.

"I think her surname is Grant, is that right?" I asked, acting on a hunch. Even if I were wrong, I might get the surname Nancy now used.

"Yep." Joelle nodded. "We're lucky to have her. We just put the ad in the window and she walked right in."

"Can you tell me where I might find her now?"

"I guess
she’s at her apartment. She lives upstairs and the door is the black one next to the storefront."

I thanked Joelle, handed her my card in case Nancy returned
, and left, pausing at the door that led to the upstairs apartment. I rang the buzzer four times, but got no answer. Stepping back, I was sure I saw the curtains swishing as if someone just withdrew suddenly. Even if she were inside, there was nothing I could do if she chose not to answer.

Staking out the residence was pointless too. It was starting to drizzle and my car was several blocks away. I could stay
there and get wet, not knowing if Nancy was really inside, and even if she were, she could leave by a rear exit if there was one. I could have gone searching for the rear alley and an exit, but if she were watching, she could leave via the front. Same problem if I left to get my car: Nancy could be gone before I got back. Instead, I decided to return another day. All the way back to my car, I was puzzled, if Nancy were inside her apartment, why didn’t she answer the door? Surely, an amnesiac would be thrilled to learn someone was looking for her, wouldn’t she? So why hide? Even more perplexing was that Nancy seemed to know her full name. If she remembered that, what else did she remember? The further away I walked, the more convinced I was that I made the right decision. Whatever was going on, I didn't want to spook Nancy.

Until my questions could be answered, I had a hot dinner date with Lily.

~

Lily and Jord's new home was lovely. High ceilings, big windows, and comfortable furniture that didn't all come from I
KEA. I parked next to Lily's Mini and walked over to the front door.

"We're
eating takeout," said Lily as she opened the door. "I do not understand the oven."

"Maybe it needs a therapist," I suggested. "Someone who understands it."

"My oven does not need a therapist. Just a chef." She held up several takeout menus. "Plus, I am a competent order placer for other people's cooking."

"Sounds good to me. I got a new case."

"Tell me all the details. If it's not very interesting, make some up."

"It is interesting," I assured her as I followed her into the kitchen and took my place at the island. "My client engaged us to find his missing girlfriend, Nancy. She had a bump on the head and wandered off
, so we're working on the idea that she has amnesia."

"How romantic," sighed Lily. "Has he been searching
for years over thousands of miles?"

"A few months and around a hundred."

"A hundred thousand miles? All the way to Montgomery?"

"A hundred miles, but yeah, all the way here when someone emailed him a photo that seem
ed to be her. I checked it out and tracked her down to a pet grooming salon."

"
Such an ace detective."

"I know, right? Only here's the weird thing. Two people recognized her as Nancy
, even though we thought she forgot everything, and one of those witnesses confirmed her name in full."

"Is that allowed?" pondered Lily, opening the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of wine. She poured herself a large glass and a small one
for me, since I was driving home in a straight line. "Are amnesiacs allowed to know their own names?"

"I don't know. I'm going to ask Alice first chance I get. It is weird, isn't it?" I asked
. It was something I asked myself several times on the drive over. "If she can remember her name, but nothing else, why not go to the police, or a hospital and ask for help?"

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found," said my brother, behind me. I swiveled on my chair and greeted him with a wave. He
squeezed my shoulder as he passed me to kiss his wife.

"Why not?" I asked.

"For the same reasons plenty of missing people don't want to be found," said Jord, taking Lily's wine and sipping it before returning it with another kiss. "Nice. Fruity, like you."

"Yuck. Anyway, there's all kinds of reasons," I said, counting them off on my fingers. "
Perhaps she wants a new life, she’s running from something, she made a mistake and doesn't want to go back, or she fell out with a family member, or a friend, or an employer..." I paused, thinking about what I knew about Nancy. She didn't have an employer, or family, or close friends. Just Leo Chandler. "Maybe Solomon
is
right, maybe there
is
something off about this case." I filled in Lily and Jord while we dished out our food. Finally, Jord said, "If Solomon thinks there's something suspicious going on with this guy, you should listen to him."

I thought about the brochures I collected that afternoon.
And the strange mystery of Nancy Grant, the amnesiac who knew her name. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Chapter Four

My first task of the day, before going to the agency for our daily meeting, was to head over to Nancy's apartment and see if she would answer. Five minutes of knocking and pressing the door buzzer made it a wasted trip. As I stepped back, I could see that the curtains hadn't moved since last night and there were no signs of life.

I did the next best thing to solving the case, and walked into Pretty Paws
, in search of Joelle. I found the receptionist immediately, sitting at the desk, her fingers busily tapping at a keyboard I couldn't see. A quick look around confirmed she was the only one in there and the parlor was otherwise quiet.

"Hey," she said, looking up. "Did you find Nancy?"

"Actually, no," I replied. "Have you seen her since yesterday?"

"No, but she called in sick right after you left. She said she must have eaten something bad at lunch and had to run out."

"So she went home?" I frowned, wondering why she didn't answer the door if that were the case. Maybe she was too busy throwing up, I decided.

"I guess." Joelle shrugged, and returned to her keyboard, squinting slightly before tapping a few more keys
and returning her attention to me.

"I just tried her door and she's not answering. Is she due in today?"

"Sure, in an hour, though... if she's ill... maybe not. She's supposed to call soon one way or the other. Do you want me to tell her you're looking for her?"

"No, that's okay. I'd rather explain things when I see her."

"If you want to wait, we have magazines." Joelle pointed to the neat stack of animal-friendly magazines and gossip titles on the side table in the small waiting area.

"Thanks," I said, flashing a sm
ile as I made the snap decision to wait awhile. If I were lucky, Nancy would walk right in and I'd get a chance to talk to her, and explain what was going on. If weren’t lucky and she didn’t, at least the phone call Joelle said she expected, would confirm if Nancy was upstairs in the apartment. Then I could start my relentless buzzer-pressing again until I annoyed the heck out of the woman. While I waited, I picked up a magazine, and thumbed through it, reading all kinds of trivia about pets.

I considered getting a pet, but
eventually decided I didn't really have the lifestyle for it. Also, if I wanted to stroke something furry and relaxing, I had a really cute mohair sweater that didn't poop anywhere or claw anything. Plus, as a PI and a woman, I was afraid of falling into a huge cliché. The first step was acquiring a pet, the second was losing my sense of fashion before battling bad hair. There was no way the latter two would happen to me. I worked too hard on my image and respected my reflection far too much to jeopardize it.

As I waited, a couple of clients came in and dropped their dogs off with the grooming technicians
. Joelle took several bookings over the phone, but a half hour later, there was still no call from Nancy when I walked over to the desk to check.

"I just tried calling her," said Joelle, with a puzzled look, "and she didn't answer her phone."

"Can you try her again? Maybe she didn't hear it?"

"Sure." Joelle picked up the handset, dialing from memory. We both waited as the phone rang out
until finally, Joelle shrugged and hung up.

"I have to go," I said, checking my watch and trying not to sigh at my wasted trip, "but I'll come back in a couple of hours. Can you call me if you hear from Nancy? You still have my card?" Joelle nodded, holding my card up. I was surprised; they often ended up in the trash.

"Sure thing. She's probably in bed if she's ill."

"Probably," I agreed a
s I left.

Solomon had already convened the meeting by the time I arrived
, but waited for me before starting. Despite the expansion, our daily meeting was restricted to the boss, four detectives, and Lucas. Occasionally, one or more of us couldn’t make it, but Solomon liked to keep us all as close as possible and discuss our current cases as well as potential cases that we got approached for. His idea, he once explained to me, was to remain closely knit, while enabling us to share resources and theories. In my first few months with the agency, I was often the butt of jokes during the meetings, and my colleagues didn't take my relatively untested PI skills particularly seriously. Since then, however, I worked my butt off, and with a raft of solved cases under my belt, I finally earned their respect. Plus, Delgado was dating my sister so he had another reason to be nice to me.

"Where are you on your hair-brained case?" asked Delgado. "Did you lose yet?"

Maybe not all that nice. Since I couldn't lift one perfectly arched eyebrow, I lifted both and fixed him with my best no-nonsense look.

"What's with the crazy face?" he asked.

"I'm giving you The Look," I told him.

Delgado glanced to Fletcher. "What's that?"

Fletcher shrugged. "It's that female thing where they look at each other, make a few small facial movements, and then nod like they've had an entire conversation."

"I don't speak that. I speak Spanish and English. Sometimes I speak Fist."

"That's why it took you so long to get a girlfriend. You gotta learn this stuff, bro."

Delgado narrowed his eyes. "That's a mean comment. I was waiting for the right woman."

"Guys, guys," I spoke over them while waving my arms. No dice.

Solomon spoke next
. "It surprises me that the female species tolerates either of you. Now we're all here, let's get to work. Fletcher, what have you got?"

Fletcher took us through his case
, which involved searching for a large amount of cash a woman suspected her husband was hiding. It was a complicated case, and required Fletcher to call in a forensic accountant, which Solomon promptly approved. Delgado and Flaherty teamed up to run surveillance on two brothers suspected of being behind a string of non-violent home burglaries. Finally, Solomon and I were up. Clearly, our case was already common knowledge as Solomon jumped straight in.

"Where are you at?" asked Solomon.

"You first." I crossed my arms like I meant business.

Solomon blinked, but didn't challenge me. "I checked out Leo Chandler and he's exactly who
m he says he is. DMV records confirms his identity and address, and financial records show nothing out of the ordinary. He's not present on any social media, and doesn't have any kind of online profile. He drives a Toyota Corolla, and has no criminal record."

"Bet you feel bad for being so suspicious now," I said.

"Not one bit. There's still something off about him and I will find it," he replied, with absolute determination.

"Great, but you're wrong about online profiles. He definitely uses online forums
, but I'm waiting for him to confirm which ones," I said, feeling smart at surprising Solomon. "So, what's next?"

"Your turn." Solomon smiled as he ignored my question. So much for sharing. "Where are you with the case?"

"I got an ID from the photo Leo brought in and I tracked down the woman in it. She works at Pretty Paws as a grooming technician and she's been there four months."

"Is it Nancy?"

"Yep, pretty sure, but I haven't met her yet."

"How are you
so sure?"

"She's using the name Nancy Grant, so, yeah, I'm sure it's her." Each of my colleagues looked up, their faces blank. "What?"

"An amnesiac who uses her name?" asked Lucas, echoing my earlier thoughts. At least, I wasn't the only one who found it puzzling.

"Maybe she remembered that bit?"

"And can function well enough to get a job?" he continued.

"Muscle memory?" I suggested
, wishing I had a better answer. I'd yet to come up with answers for the very same questions.

Solomon waved a hand at Lucas, quieting him. "Did you talk to her?"

"Not yet. She left work early yesterday with food poisoning, minutes after I got there. I tried her apartment yesterday and this morning too, but no dice."

"Let's go." Solomon scraped his chair
backwards and stood. "We need to talk to Nancy right now. Meeting's over."

"Joelle at Pretty Paws said she'd call as soon as she spoke to Nancy."

"Forget that. We need to get over there now." Solomon rounded the table and opened the door, indicating I should go through it.

I grabbed my jacket and purse. "What's the hurry?"

Solomon looked over his shoulder as I hastily followed him. "You don't think it's a coincidence Nancy got food poisoning as soon as you came around asking questions?"

"Um... I do now."

"Or that she had a convenient excuse not to turn up for work the day after?"

"It's something I'm considering." I huffed out my next breath as we exited the doors, h
eading for the stairs to the parking lot.

"Could she have overheard you when you went to Prim Paws?"

"Pretty Paws," I corrected him before admitting, "and maybe. I didn't really look at the employees when I inquired about her, but Joelle said Nancy was on that shift and yeah... she left early."

"Th
at’s the kind of red flag you need to look for, Lexi." Solomon reached for my hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it as my heart thumped at the simple error. It didn't escape my notice that if Nancy had nothing to hide, or really didn't know who she was, there would be no need to take off, or avoid me. I puzzled over that as Solomon drove us to the grooming parlor, and mentally kicked myself for thinking my quiet investigation wouldn't spook her.

Instead of heading inside Pretty Paws, I tried the apartment
, but after no answer, I had to concede defeat. "Maybe she did turn up for work?" I suggested.

"Did this Joelle call?"

I checked my phone, even though I knew the answer without looking. The screen was blank. "No."

"Then we need to get inside."

The parlor was busy the second time I entered that morning, but Solomon cut through the line and I followed in his wake. "I need to speak to your employee, Nancy Grant," he told Joelle.

"She isn't here." Joelle flashed a look at me and I waved half-heartedly. "Who are you?"

"I figured that. You need to let us into her apartment," Solomon replied, ignoring her question.

"I can't..."

"You can," he told her, his voice cold. "This could be a matter of life or death."

"Really?" Joelle froze. "Do you think the food poisoning was that bad?"

"Potentially," I said. "If she didn't call, definitely."

"She didn't call, but I can't..."

"It's important that the police get inside," I said.

Joelle frowned. "I thought you were a PI. Are you the police?"

"Not me," I said, inclining my head towards Solomon. Solomon looked away, but didn't deny it. Later, he'd probably claim he didn't hear it either, but by then, we'd already have gotten access.

"I have keys, but I really shouldn't... not without Nancy's permission."

"She'll forgive you if she lives," said Solomon, sounding unmoved as Joelle's eyes widened. She scrabbled in her desk and produced a key.

"Okay," she said, "I really hope she's okay." She waved
for a technician to take over the desk and we followed her outside, waiting as she unlocked the street door. We followed her up a narrow flight of stairs and she unlocked the apartment door, the only one on the floor. I figured the other apartments had their own entrances further along the street. "Nancy?" she called, pushing the door open, stepping back as Solomon edged her out of the way. I followed him inside, noticing the bulge in his waistband, barely concealed by his leather jacket. He was packing, and not in the good way.

"Nancy?" he called. "This is John Solomon with the Solomon Agency. If you're here, make yourself known."

Silence greeted us as we moved further inside, leaving the small entrance room — devoid of coats and shoes, I noted — and into the living room. If I were home ill, I would have the TV on, or the radio, but there was nothing except an eerie silence. As Solomon veered left into the kitchen, I scanned the room, immediately noticing the lack of personality. IKEA couch and coffee table. Small TV and cheap DVD player. No DVDs. No photos on the mantel or pillows on the couch. No magazines or books or candy wrappers or ring stains from coffee mugs. No flowers or plants or vases. Nothing that said "it's good to be home!"

"Kitchen's clear. I'll check the bedroom," Solomon said, sliding past me so quietly that I jumped when he spoke.

Joelle was waiting in the doorway, but now she appeared in the living room, asking, "Is she okay?"

I turned around, catching the worry in the frown lines that marked her forehead. "I don't think she's here," I told her, turning away to check the kitchen. Just like the living room, the kitchen was stark. No bowls or plates in the sink. Nothing drying on the drainer. I opened the fridge. Empty and completely clean. I checked the trash too
, but it was empty, and the liner gone. I checked every cupboard, but most were bare except for a few dried food items and a cheap dining set. There was no radio, no cute timer, no half-wilted herbs or a smart apron. The counter-tops smelled of Lysol. There was nothing to suggest anyone had ever used the kitchen, much less lived there recently.