Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

to have to take a cab anyway, so I figured one more can’t hurt.”
    “How many have you had?” Alice asked.
    “Six.”
    “Six beers in four hours?”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    “You’re supposed to be working,” Alice complained.
    “I had to look normal. Blend in with the other customers. How often you see a guy walk into a bar and sit there nursing warm beer for four hours?” Snow turned his eyes to the urinal nearest the door, walked over to it, and unzipped his fly.
    “You’re in the men’s room?” Alice said.
    “Of course. You think it would be good to sit there in front of the bartender and discuss with you the surveillance I’m performing on him?”
    “There’s no one in the men’s room with you is there?”
    “I can’t be sure. There may be someone in the stall, but if there is—he doesn’t have any feet.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Alice, you seem to have lost your sense of humor. I think it’s the stress of trying to make a go of this detective agency idea of yours.”
    “You thought it was a good idea when you agreed to join me.”
    “That was then. Now that we’ve been working at it for a while, it’s starting to get old. I’m really sick of spying on people. I have to tell you, Alice, I’ve been thinking seriously about getting back into poker. I can feel my confidence returning.”
    “Really,” Alice said. “When did that happen? After the third beer—or the fourth?”
    “Now, see,” Snow said, “this is another problem. You’re starting to act like a wife. It’s sort of like being stuck in a sexless marriage with—”
    “Jim.”
    “What?”
    “I’m not up to having this conversation at a time like this,” Alice said.
    “A time like what?”
    “While you’re half drunk, standing there dealing with nature’s business.”
    “How do you know what I’m doing?” Snow said.
    “I can tell by the tone of your voice.”
    “Oh.” Snow chuckled. “Alice?”
    “Yes?”
    “I still love you. Will you come and pick me up?”
    “I suppose I’ll have to,” she said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. But don’t drink any more beer. Have a cup of coffee and drink that until I get there.”
    “What difference does it make? We don’t have anything else lined up. And you’re just sitting there…unless…”
    “Unless what?”
    “You’re feeling frisky?”
    “Uh-huh. Like that’s ever going to happen. The fact is we’ve got a big client. He just left.”
    “Is he over three hundred pounds?” Snow grinned.
    “Get some coffee, Jim,” Alice said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

They drove in silence for the first couple of miles, Alice James at the wheel of her new Chevy Malibu. She wore a black business suit, matching the exterior color of her car. Her skirt had ridden up to mid-thigh, exposing a pair of long, shapely legs that highlighted her trim figure. At forty-one, she was still an attractive woman. Her straight black hair barely covered her ears, framing her unlined face. To Jim Snow she looked like a young supermodel.
    Sitting in the passenger seat, breathing in the scent of fresh, new plastic, Snow could feel the fog lifting from his head. “I have to say, I do like your car. I’ve been thinking of trading in my Sonata and picking up one of these. A lighter color though. I don’t think black is sensible for Las Vegas.”
    “It’s my favorite color,” Alice said. “It shows I mean business. Besides, these days cars come with air conditioners.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Would you like to stop by your house to change clothes?”
    He turned his head to her. “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”
    “A T-shirt and blue jeans? Jim, you’re forty-six.”
    Snow smoothed back his thinning hair. “Thanks for the reminder.”
    “I just think it would be better for business if we both dress professionally.”
    “We’re private investigators,” Snow said. “Not undertakers.”
    Alice shook her head and sighed. “Alright. Wear what you want. I’ll try not to care.”
    Snow studied her face. Her eyes had narrowed; her jaw muscles were bunched in a knot. “I didn’t know it mattered that much to you,” he said. “Okay, we can stop by my place. I can iron a dress shirt and a pair of slacks.”
    “No, it’s okay. Forget it.”
    Her right hand lay in her lap, her left on the wheel. Snow reached over and put his hand lightly onto hers. Her eyes widened, and her jaw muscles relaxed. “You know, Jim,” she said,