Laugh or Death (Lexi Graves Mysteries Book 6) Read online

  "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.

  I jumped again as I turned around, only to find Solomon filling the doorway. "Nothing in the bedroom," he said, "and I mean nothing. No clothes in the wardrobe. No cosmetics on the dresser or in the bathroom. Not even a toothbrush."

  I waved a hand at the kitchen. "Here too. Even the fridge is empty. It's like she was never here." I squeezed past Solomon, which, to be fair, was not awful — not at all — and approached Joelle. "Can you tell me what's missing?" I asked her.

  Joelle shook her head. "Where is Nancy?"

  "That's what we're trying to find out. Look around, tell me what's missing."

  Joelle stepped into the living room and made a show of lifting her chin as she slowly scanned the room. After her eyes reached mine again, she shrugged. "Nothing."

  "Nothing? Nothing at all?"

  "Not that I can see."

  "When was the last time you were in here?" Solomon asked from behind me.

  "Last Thursday. Nancy left her book downstairs in our kitchenette behind the parlor so I brought it upstairs. I was only inside for a minute, and I wasn't really looking, but I don't see anything missing."

  "No photos? No personal items?"

  "No, she didn't have any photos. I remember that. She said she wasn't fussy about having stuff. I guess she was a minimalist."

  "What about clothes?"

  "Sure, she had clothes," sniffed Joelle, frowning again, "but I always saw her in uniform except for a few occasions."

  Solomon persisted, "What did she wear when she wasn't in uniform?"

  "Jeans, t-shirts. Nothing fancy. Kind of boring, actually."

  "Where from?" I asked.

  "I don't get why you're asking me this stuff," Joelle said, ignoring my question. I looked back to Solomon, seeking an indication of what to do next. He inclined his head towards the bedroom, but I was pretty sure what crossed my mind didn't cross his. I ignored Joelle's question and headed for the bedroom, looking around as Joelle repeated her question to Solomon. Solomon was right; there was nothing here. The duvet and pillows were stacked in a pile in the middle of the double bed and the closet door was closed. I opened it. A few hangers remained on the rod, but no clothes. Nothing in the drawers either. I opened the laundry hamper lid, but it was empty.

  The bathroom was off the bedroom and I stepped inside. It was tiny. Just a shower cubicle, toilet and sink with a sliding mirrored cupboard mounted above it. The bathroom smelled of cleaning products too, and once more, was devoid of anything that suggested someone lived there.

  I stepped back into the bedroom, just in time to hear Solomon thanking Joelle for her time and asking her to call if Nancy turned up.

  "You don't think she will?" asked Joelle.

  "I think she's gone," said Solomon.

  "But why?"

  "That's what we need to work out. If you speak to her, give her my number and tell her to call. She's not in any trouble. We just need to know she's okay."

  I followed Solomon out, leaving a confused and worried Joelle to lock up. "Did you get anything else out of her?" I asked.

  "She's pretty clueless. I asked her a few things about Nancy's life and her demeanor, and either she doesn't pay attention, or Nancy is very good at revealing as few details as possible."

  "Maybe they just aren't that close of friends," I said. "I could barely tell you a thing about Fletcher's life. Actually, I think he's a robot. I think he plugs in overnight to recharge."

  "Point taken." Solomon's car bleeped open and he reached for the door, opening it for me, and shutting it as I settled into my seat.

  "What I don't get is why she just disappeared," I said as we followed traffic in the direction of the agency. "She hasn't done anything wrong."

  "That we know about."

  "And I don't get why she's using her full name. Do you think she's remembering stuff?"

  "I'm not entirely convinced she ever had amnesia."

  "Really?" I gave a disappointed pout. "Then why not go home? I know she didn't have a job, but she had Leo. He's obviously nuts about her."

  "Dig deeper into her background," said Solomon as we pulled into the parking lot. "Find out everything you can about her. If she's okay, there's a reason she's not going home."

  "I'd like to look into her most recent history," I countered. "I want to know what she's been doing in Montgomery the past four months."

  "I'd like to know where she was for the two missing months since leaving her hometown and ending up here."

  "I'd like a socia
l life, but it doesn't look like I'm getting one until this case is over."

  Solomon laughed as he slid the SUV next to my VW. "I would offer to take you to dinner tonight, but I'm going to stake out Leo instead."

  "That man has no idea how lucky he is, and also, it's not the worst excuse for skipping out on dinner with me. Plus, I'm plenty fabulous with a microwave meal and the TV remote."

  Solomon gave me a long, lingering, lip-reddening kiss, that had me sighing. "Oh baby, you really need to get out more."

  I batted him playfully on the chest and climbed out of the car, walking upstairs with him hand-in-hand. "I plan on getting out in the sunshine when I win our bet."

  "You won't win, but there will still be sunshine."

  I narrowed my eyes. "I'm going to win. Right after I figure out what the hell is going on with Nancy Grant."

  "The sooner you admit defeat, the sooner we can pick up some brochures at the travel agency."

  "I already picked some up and I will never admit defeat." I gave Solomon one last kiss as we reached the top of the stairs. "Never!"

  "You have the best spirit." Solomon smiled, squeezing my hand as he continued up the stairs, leaving me to my research.

  Several fruitless hours later, I was on the couch, a microwave meal on my lap, and the TV remote in my hand. With some people, after an hour of Googling, you can find out everything about their lives. However, others, like Nancy Grant, seemed to live entirely off the grid. With nothing to find in her previous life, I soon switched to noting ideas about her current one. Learning what she'd done for the past four months was just as hard. Nancy had no online footprint, and I wondered if that was by coincidence or design.

  Finally, I had to concede defeat, but since Solomon had already departed for his surveillance, I happily escaped from the office without having to admit drawing a blank.

  Now at home, I slurped the last of my noodles and focused on my notepad where I wrote, What do I know about Nancy Grant? Underneath, I made a few notes: she knew her name, could hold down a job, had a few possessions, left in a hurry, but not before sanitizing her entire apartment, and had lived and worked in Montgomery for four months. The people who met her seemed to think she was okay.

  It wasn't a lot, but it was a start, I decided as the TV show I'd been waiting for sounded its opening credits. I set my bowl on the coffee table and my notepad next to it, then curled my feet under me. I watched as the hero, currently on the run from an unknown, but highly dangerous enemy, moved around his apartment, suddenly alerted to a deadly presence outside. As I watched the bad guys closing in, the hero stuffed a few things into a bag, and disappeared into a secret tunnel, escaping mere moments before he could be captured.

  "That's it!" I yelled at the screen, bolting upright. "That's what Nancy did." I grabbed my cell phone and tapped a text message to Solomon. Nancy had a go bag, I texted.

  A moment later, I got back, "Why?"

  "Good question, John," I muttered, pursing my lips as I thought. She expected to run, I tapped.

  "I'm winning this bet," replied Solomon.

  I stuck my tongue out at the screen, but instead of replying, I called my oldest brother, Garrett. He picked up just as I thought the line would ring out. "Hey, sis," he said, sounding like he was breathing hard.

  "What're you doing?"

  "Running."

  "Exercising? Good for you!"

  "Chasing a suspect. It's exercise with incentive." There was a thud, a grunt, and some more thudding sounds before Garrett came back on the line. "I won," he said. "Me, one. Dumbass here, nil. Cuff him."

  "Why the hell would you answer the phone if you're chasing a suspect?"

  "I checked caller ID first. I thought maybe you were calling out of the goodness of your heart to offer to babysit. Sam is preparing booby traps for you."

  "Should have told me that after I offered. Now I have to decline," I said smugly. I tried to conceal any trace of fear at the thought of my nephew's imaginative booby traps. The kid was getting harder and harder to outsmart. At least, babysitting Victoria would be relatively safe. Probably.

  "Damn it!"

  "But I do have a question. How does someone disappear without a trace?"

  "Disappear?"

  "You know, go off the grid. Leave their lives and start afresh?"

  Garrett paused. "Did you piss Solomon off?"

  "No!"

  "Oh, thank God. I would hate to be called on to defend your honor."

  "I'll defend my own honor, thanks, but about disappearing..."

  "Well, if you really want to disappear, you have to be super careful not to leave a paper trail. No bank records, all cash payments, maybe a fake ID. It's hard. It takes a lot of money if you want to maintain a standard of living... and not eat out of dumpsters."

  "So you couldn't do it for free, or for very little money?"

  "Sure you could. People bum food or dumpster-dive all the time, and live on the streets, taking jobs for cash and no questions. It's not a good life. It's not a life that promises longevity either. Hunger and cold can force people to make bad choices."

  "Thanks, Garrett, I appreciate the help."

  "No problem. About that baby..."

  I hung up before he could ask. I liked to hold out my babysitting favors for actual favors, and answering a few simple questions didn't count as such. Instead, I picked up the remote, unpaused the TV show and grabbed my notepad. Under What do I know about Nancy Grant? I wrote three words: Money? ID? Why?

  Nancy Grant must have had money to run. And she must have had ID to keep moving. The real question was, why? Why didn't she want me to find her? And, more importantly, why didn't she want Leo to find her?

  Chapter Five

  The following morning, despite being armed with the new theory that Nancy prepared a go bag, enabling her to run at a moment's notice, I was still stumped as to why. So Lily and I were now parked outside Pretty Paws and Nancy's apartment to find out why.

  "Do you think she'll come back?" Lily asked. She wore a baseball cap and shades with her jacket zipped up to her neck. She couldn't have looked any more suspicious.

  "I doubt it."

  "So why are we here again? And should I get coffee if it’s going to be a while?"

  "We're here to see what happens next," I told her. "Maybe someone will try and call her apartment and we might follow them somewhere. Or maybe one of her Pretty Paws colleagues will get a call and go somewhere to meet her."

  "So we track them, we find her?"

  "Pretty much."

  "Why couldn't you track someone a little more social?" Lily asked. "Why couldn't you stalk someone who frequents my bar? Then I could make money while you make money."

  "Your bar isn't even open!"

  "It will be later! Do you want coffee?"

  "I want coffee," I admitted, waiting for Lily’s furtive look to the right, then to the left, before exiting the car. She scurried along the sidewalk and darted into the nearby Starbucks. I sighed. If she hadn't blown our cover already, she probably would on the way back. On the plus side, my plan wasn't exactly airtight, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't uncover a thing during this surveillance stint. However, the coffee would make up for it. Much as it grated on me, I had to admit Lily had a point about Nancy's social life. I hadn't learned a great deal about her since my investigation started, but I had a strong suspicion that was because there wasn't much to find out. Nancy wasn't a wild social butterfly. She didn't have a close network of friends or family to stake out or pump for information. She didn't have any hobbies or habits that I discovered, barring the occasional lunches at the diner. As far as I could guess, Nancy didn't do much at all. She worked and kept a neat apartment with a few personal items, only the barest necessities that she could pack up in a hurry before fleeing, and that was it.

  The car door opened and Lily slid inside, immediately handing me the steaming paper cup. "Any sign?" she asked.

  "None. Of anyone."

  "Maybe I should
go inside Pretty Paws, pretending I have a pet, and pump them for information?"

  "Maybe not," I countered.

  Lily lowered her sunglasses and frowned. "Don't I look like a pet owner?"

  "You kind of look crazy right now."

  "You said no wigs or hats! What do you want from me?"

  I laughed and pointed to her baseball cap.

  "It's a cap, not a hat," Lily sulked. "You just don't get the benefits of a disguise."

  "Remember when we had to dress up as a pony?"

  "Yeah, look at all the information we got then! Maybe we should..."

  "No!" I cut in. "No, absolutely no dressing as ponies again! Pretty Paws would see right through that."

  "We could just lie in a corner. No one would notice us."

  I fixed Lily with my are you serious? face and she blinked. "I remember when you were fun," she said, blowing into her coffee before taking a sip. "I remember when you were a risk-taker."

  "I remember a time when I didn't find dead bodies lying all over the place."

  "Yeah, those days did have their plus points. If we're really lucky, we might find one today. Are you sure Nancy wasn't dead in the apartment? She could have been hanging in the closet. People do that, you know."

  I shuddered. "I checked the closet and she wasn't in it. And I don't want to find her dead. I want to find her alive so I can ask her some questions and reunite her with her long lost love."

  "That's so romantic," Lily sighed.

  "I also want to win my dream vacation so we need to find Nancy," I said, pausing to look up at the apartment's windows, then down and around. Several security cameras were mounted on the storefronts. "She didn't leave via the front door as far as we know because no one saw her," I said, "but she could have slipped out on the rear fire escape."

  "Yeah? So?"

  "So if there are cameras at the front of these premises, maybe there will be cameras at the back too. We can at least find out which direction Nancy went. Maybe even see if someone was with her."

  "Or if she was dragged out, dead," added Lily, far too cheerfully.