Laugh or Death (Lexi Graves Mysteries Book 6) Page 8

  "Detective Graves," he grunted as he picked up.

  "Hello, Detective Graves. This is PI Graves calling about Mrs. Graves' robbery."

  "I'm gonna kill the bastard that robbed my wife," said Jord, sounding every bit like he meant it.

  "I'm sure you'll be first in the queue."

  "You bet I am. If he hurt her, they wouldn't ever find his body either."

  "Let's be glad he didn't hurt her. How was she after I left?"

  "Pissed, more than anything. Forensics came by and took fingerprints and photos, but there wasn't much to see. Thanks for clearing the glass. We got the window pane replaced and Lily insisted on opening as normal."

  "I'm glad."

  "I'm not. What if it's open season on the bar now that the local creeps know the takings are good?"

  "How many are stupid enough to steal from the Graves?"

  "True. What can I do for you, sis?"

  "Just wanted to check into the robbery. See what the situation is."

  "So far, nothing. I got security footage from across the street to check into, but it doesn't look like it covers the doors to Lily's bar, and I have her own security tape. I interviewed the employee, Kyle Emerson, but he didn't see much. Got attacked from behind."

  "He didn't see the thief at all?"

  "Not much. Pretty average description. White male, six-foot, average build."

  "That's thirty percent of Montgomery."

  "Yeah. I'm looking for local guys with priors. But it's a needle in a haystack."

  "Is Lily at the bar now?"

  "Yeah. I'm meeting her at the end of her shift."

  "Okay, well, say hi from me and tell her I'm looking into it too."

  "Don't bother, Lexi. I've got the whole of Montgomery crawling over this one."

  "It's no trouble, really. Lily asked me."

  "Yeah, I'm sure she did, but leave this one to the pros, 'kay? There's nothing you can find that we can't."

  Somehow, I doubted that, but given the tense note in Jord's voice, I knew he was in no mood for arguing. Plus, since Lily was my best friend, and asked me to help, he could just lump it. I powered that thought to him telepathically before we said our goodbyes.

  As I got out of the car, I waved to my neighbor, Aidan, who was sitting on his porch step, a beer in hand, watching his hearing dog, Barney, sprawled on the grass. I'd never seen a dog that could spread-eagle so successfully. I waved hi before heading indoors.

  Solomon was picking me up at eight, which left me barely enough time to shower and blow out my hair, and even less time to pick a sexy outfit. I had just slipped into a little, black dress and satin heels when I heard the door open and close. For a moment, there was silence, and my heart did that little jump it always did when I heard a strange noise in the house. That was a leftover side effect from a nighttime break-in when someone tried to kill me on my last case. I still got a little jumpy at unexpected moments. Then Solomon's voice filled the fear void. "Lexi, are you ready to go?"

  "Yep," I said, appearing at the top of the staircase, my heartbeat slowing to a normal rate before striking a pose.

  Solomon gave a long, low, wolf whistle. "You look sensational," he breathed, his eyes running the length of me. "If I hadn't made reservations..."

  I descended, stepping into his arms as my heels hit the floor. He smelled great, and felt great, as his warm arms enveloped me. He rested his head on top of mine, then pulled back a little, stooping his head to kiss me fully on the lips. "I am a lucky, lucky man," he said between kisses, "and I'll never stop telling you that."

  "And I'm a lucky woman," I told him, gazing up at his deep, brown eyes. I could lose myself in them, if staring straight into someone's eyes for too long wouldn't make me look completely crazy; but really, who cared when it was Solomon?

  "C'mon. We don't want to be late and I love having a beautiful woman on my arm."

  "Shame it's just Montgomery, huh?"

  "It'll be somewhere exotic when this case is over. How is your lead panning out?"

  "I'll know in the morning," I told him, taking his arm as we left my bungalow and headed to Solomon's vehicle. "Yours?"

  "No dice with Leo. Not even a parking ticket to his name."

  "Just a regular citizen, hmm? Solomon, did anyone ever tell you that you are too suspicious?"

  Solomon smiled. "Don't think anyone's ever mentioned it," he said, checking his mirrors before he pulled out. On the way, I filled him in on the status of Lily's case, saying that my brother told me not to pursue my own investigation. "It's your call," Solomon said when I asked him what he thought I should do. "What do you want to do?"

  "Keep at it," I said.

  "Then keep at it," Solomon said, glancing at his mirrors again.

  "That's the tenth time you checked the mirror. Are you having a bad hair day?"

  Solomon smoothed a hand over his shaved head and laughed. "More like, I thought we were being followed kind of day. Don't turn around!"

  "I wasn't going to, but... really?" I sneaked a peek at my side mirror. Traffic was dense this evening, combined with the dimming light, making it hard to see if anyone was following.

  "Dark compact, three cars back... hang on," Solomon said, pulling out of the way as three fire trucks, sirens blaring, raced past, only a hair's breadth from our car. "Must be a big fire," he muttered as the traffic began to flow again and we took the right.

  "I don't see any compact."

  Solomon glanced into the mirror. "It's gone," he said. "Maybe it was nothing."

  "Nuh-uh, you don't get to say that to me. You tell me to trust my instincts," I said wondering what it was that had been playing on my mind all day. Something Leo had said... something I couldn't quite recall... something my instincts told me was important.

  Solomon smiled. "In that case, we were being followed. I wish I knew why."

  Chapter Seven

  I browsed the menu, my mouth watering. "I want to eat... everything!" I chimed eagerly.

  "Everything?" Solomon arched his eyebrows.

  "I know you want to, too, so don't pretend you don't. The menu is so close to your mouth, you're practically licking it."

  Solomon laughed and moved the menu away. "Am not. I'm carefully perusing it."

  "Licking," I whispered, returning my gaze to the menu. I really could have eaten everything, but if I did, my wardrobe would have become obsolete and I'd be left wearing a trash bag. That simply wouldn't do. The problem was, with so many delicious things listed, how could I narrow it down? Indecision and hunger paralyzed me. Then my stomach gave an embarrassing gurgle, just as the waitress reached us. "That one," I said, indiscriminately stabbing a finger at the all French menu. I knew I should have paid more attention in French class, but with Paris so far away, and seemingly out of my reach, I didn't see the point. I really should have expanded my horizons. Perhaps then, I would have known how to say more than "yes," "no," "a glass of wine," and "do you want to sleep with me tonight?" At least one of those phrases would probably have been useful tonight, and possibly, all of them.

  "An excellent choice, madame," said the waitress, her pen poised over the fancy tablet. "And for monsieur?"

  Solomon reeled off a long question in French, and the waitress replied. I waited while they discussed... something. The waitress beamed and flicked her hair before walking away. "Her family is from the Burgundy region," he told me, "and she suggested a nice wine for us to try."

  "Is there any language you don't speak?" I asked.

  "Sure."

  "Name one."

  "Zulu."

  "Makes sense."

  "There are lots of languages I don't speak, but I have a good ear and pick things up quickly. I think you could too."

  "Really?"

  Solomon nodded, and we quieted as the wine waiter approached, uncorking a bottle in front of us. Solomon tasted it, nodding as the waiter filled our glasses. I sipped mine and smiled approvingly. "Nice."

  "This is nice," agreed Solomon, wavi
ng a hand around, indicating the whole restaurant. "You and me. Alone."

  "I like alone time," I said, winking, and hoping he caught my drift. Judging by his broadening smile, he did.

  "Dating you... being with you... makes me a very happy man."

  My heart swelled at hearing that, but before I could confess the same, the waitress returned, bearing our plates. She made a little show of setting them in front of us. She barely looked at me, but gazed at Solomon while setting down his plate, then began flitting around him and asking something in French.

  "I think our waitress has a crush on you," I said, peering at my entree. What exactly did I order? It seemed to be some kind of soup. With something in it. I hoped it was something I could easily identify and not something gross.

  "Pffft," laughed Solomon. "She's just making sure we get good service."

  "She nearly dumped my soup in my lap." I picked up my spoon and prepared to eat as a waft of Solomon's entree caught my nose. It smelled delicious.

  "You wish you'd ordered mine, don't you?"

  "No," I said, dipping my spoon and raising it to my mouth. Oh yuck-yuck. It was cold. Cold soup. For the love of soup, what was all that about? I barely managed to refrain from pulling a face as I muttered, "So delicious."

  "Shall I translate the menu?" Solomon offered.

  "Nope. I understand." Immediately, I wished I said yes, but I hated looking like a plebeian who couldn't read a menu. I resolved to ask my mother if there were any language classes at her adult ed school. I was pretty sure if one existed, she'd taken it. She seemed to have tried everything else. Plus, I could win major daughter points by offering to take a class with her. Probably not as many as the time I got roped into her survival skills class, but at least, the knife she bought me for that came in very handy. I still had it.

  "No problem. I love it when you do your brave I'm hating this face."

  "I'm not hating it," I said, right before the cold slime slipped down my throat. "I'm immersing myself in culture." Pretty much drowning myself with it, I thought, but chose not to add.

  "You want to get a burger on the way home?"

  I pouted, "Yes."

  "If you let me translate the menu, I can show you the word for burger. Speaking of home, maybe we should talk about..." Solomon never finished his sentence because a terrified scream rang out, which caused all dining conversations to cease. We looked over to the bar where the scream came from. When I saw why, I sat bolt upright and Solomon reached for my arm.

  Two gunmen were standing at the bar. Their faces were covered with black ski-masks, that had only the eye holes open a slit. They wore black jeans, with their jackets zipped to their chins, and gloves. One had a pistol pointed at the barman, now frozen with his hands in the air, and our waitress who was also immobilized at the bar. The other gunman held an automatic weapon pointed at the diners. Even without knowing the magazine capacity, I worried that an indiscriminate shooting could result in a lot of casualties. Around us, the other diners were clearly coming to the same conclusion.

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  Solomon squeezed my arm as I looked at him in panic. He gave a short shake of his head and dipped his gaze down. Don't engage them, he seemed to be telling me, don't draw attention.

  "No one move!" yelled the gunman pointing his weapon at the barman. "Hand over the cash and no one gets hurt."

  The bartender, his body shaking lightly, dropped his hands, reaching for the cash register. I watched as he grabbed whatever cash was inside, planting the bills on the bar. "From the safe, moron," yelled the gunman. "Take me to the safe."

  "We... we don't have a safe," the bartender replied, his hands back in the air. "That's all there is, I swear."

  The pistol man glanced at his comrade and nodded. The ensuing unexpected burst of gunfire had us all ducking for cover. Ceiling debris rained on the table next to us. "Don't mess with me, man," he yelled. "I know about the safe in the back. Let's go."

  "I don't have the code."

  "That's why you're going to call the manager over here."

  "He's not here."

  "Then who's that?" asked Pistol, as I decided to call him, waving his pistol at the navy-suited man crouched by a towering, potted plant in the corner. "You! Manager. Get over here, or you'll be cleaning brain tissue off the whiskey for the next week."

  "What do we do?" I whispered to Solomon as we slowly sat upright, our bodies still bent towards the table.

  "Nothing. We wait."

  "For?"

  "I texted a nine-one-one already," Solomon whispered, reiterating, "We do nothing. These men are not pros. They're unpredictable."

  "How do you know they're not pros?"

  "If I were robbing this place, I wouldn't do it now, filled with diners, and even if I were stupid enough to, I'd round us all up first and take our cell phones."

  "You two. Shut up!" yelled one of the gunmen. He fired off a couple of rounds. As the wine bucket on our table exploded, glass flying into the air, Solomon launched himself towards me. He grabbed me and threw us to the floor before covering me with his body.

  "Are you hurt?" he whispered as I gasped for breath. His hands were patting me, searching for wounds. If I were really honest, the patting was quite nice, but I would have enjoyed it even more if Solomon weren't checking for bullet holes.

  "I don't think so," I replied, trying not to whimper as I mentally assessed myself. Even accounting for the sudden adrenaline spike, I didn't feel any pain, or even worse, any part of me leaking. The little, black dress would live to see another day, and so would I! "You?"

  "I'm fine."

  I started to move, but a hand between my shoulder blades pressed me back to the floor. "Stay put," said Solomon. "I don't want to be in their sights again."

  I nodded my compliance, which wasn't hard since I agreed one hundred percent. We waited, listening, but I couldn't see anything from my position facing away from the bar. "What's happening?" I asked, noticing Solomon watching.

  "The manager took the pistol guy into the back, leaving machine gun watching us."

  "Everyone else is on the floor," I said, scanning the room from two inches above floor level. I had an excellent view of table and chair legs, as well as several prone people with frightened faces. I could also see the boots of the gunman. They looked cheap and I hoped he got blisters.

  "Let's hope they all stay there. We do not need any wannabe heroes today."

  "Including you," I whispered, noticing a trickle of blood leaking from Solomon's forehead and down his cheek.

  "I'm armed."

  "I don't care!"

  "I've taken out more than these two idiots."

  "Good to know. All the same, you're bleeding, so please, don't. And why are you armed on our date?"

  Solomon didn't answer as he touched his temple, dabbing at it. His fingers were a little red when he brought them to his eyes, but the scratch already appeared to be clotting. "It's nothing. Probably got caught by a shard of glass. Anyway, like I said, we'll stay put and..." He paused as a shout rang out from somewhere behind the bar. Seconds later, I saw another pair of booted feet hotfooting it into the restaurant. Around us, heads began to rise, and blinking eyes, looking towards the noise. "Let's go," yelled a voice that I assumed belonged to the feet and the two men racing towards the back. A burst of gunfire resulted in everyone pressed against the floor again.

  "I think they're gone," I said a moment later.

  "Stay down." Solomon pulled himself into a crouch, then surreptitiously peered over our table. "They're gone," he said, audible only to me. "I'm going to check on the manager. Stay down until I get back. Do not move!"

  "Okay." There were times in my life when I would have been happy to ignore Solomon and do my own thing, but this wasn't one of them. The flash of panic, however fleeting, across his face was enough to assure me that he was still worried. I watched from my flattened vantage point on the floor as he made his way quickly from the tables to the bar. I hea
rd him say something to the bartender, or so I assumed, before he was out of sight. I didn't have to wait long for him to return. Just as the alarm began a low hum through the restaurant, Solomon returned with the manager. In the interceding minutes, the manager looked like a different man with his suit now disheveled. Limping, with his head bloodied, I watched a trickle of blood run across the manager’s cheek and drop onto his collar.

  "Everyone, we're safe. The gunmen have gone," Solomon announced as I slid my knees to my chest. Drawing myself into a kneeling position, I had to be careful not to get caught on any of the broken glass. I saw him helping the manager onto a barstool as the bartender's head bobbed cautiously above the bar.

  "How do you know that?" yelled a man's voice from the back of the restaurant.

  "They ran out the back and set off the alarm," yelled Solomon. "I secured the door and they can't re-enter."

  "You can't be sure. They could come in the front," persisted the same voice.

  "Listen for sirens and think about that," Solomon replied. The chorus of police sirens began to overtake the soft, piped music and the restaurant's own alarm. "Everyone pick up your napkins, grab a pen if you've got one, or borrow one, and write down what you saw. The police will be here in a few minutes, and the sooner you get your statements down, the better," Solomon ordered.

  "The napkins are linen," sobbed the manager, his head in his hands. "Brand new! From France!"

  "Buy new ones," said Solomon. "Call it a ‘staying alive’ treat."

  As I dusted off my chair and sat, reaching for a pen in my purse and a dry napkin, it appeared that the other diners were simply too shocked to do anything but follow instructions. By the time MPD burst their way through the doors, the diners were calmly writing their observations.