Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

list.
    “Jack Roberts. Another nutcase. Although he doesn’t seem to me like a killer, and there’s no evident motive. Kevin Miller is still a strong contender. No alibi; he had motive, means, and opportunity. He might have had a key to the front door.”
    “I was thinking,” Alice added, “that maybe something was going on between the dentist and Laura that he found out about—and went over there to confront her.”
    “But they were already broken up. He would have to expect that she was seeing someone. I wonder if she was dating anyone recently.”
    “What about the dentist? What’s his name?”
    “Andrew Tully,” Snow said.
    “He seemed really nervous, like he knows or suspects something that he’s not willing to divulge. I’d like to know what those phone calls were about. He’s engaged to Crystal. Maybe he got into a sticky situation with Laura, and she threatened to tell Crystal about it. Maybe he killed her to keep her quiet.”
    Snow nodded and then shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. That seems like a long shot.”
    “I don’t think so,” Alice countered. “We need to find out where he was Tuesday night. We didn’t even ask him.”
    “I would have,” Snow said. “But I wasn’t thinking of him as a suspect. Now that I think about it—you could be right. So we put Andrew Tully on the list as a slight possible.”
    “Who else?” Alice asked.
    Snow shrugged. “What about Crystal Olson?”
    “I’d put her up near the top of the list,” Alice said. “She was the last person to see the victim alive—plus she discovered the body.”
    “Motive isn’t clear, but she already slugged her with her fist. There’s a slim chance she could have graduated to a baseball bat if her temper is as bad as it sounds—and something flipped her over the edge. But what about the boots? I doubt there would be a pair of men’s size twelve work boots in a house with two women.”
    “That’s definitely a large fly in the ointment,” Alice said. “No getting around that. And Crystal is a tiny woman. She’d have to drag the body out to her car.”
    “Or Laura’s car. It was in the garage. Out of view of the neighbors and passing motorists.”
    Alice nodded. “She could drag the body out to the garage. But she’d have a tough time getting it into the trunk or the back seat. I don’t think she’s strong enough.”
    “She could have done it,” Snow said. “But she would have scraped some skin off on the edge of the trunk. I don’t think she would even try to get her into the back seat by herself. She would have to lift her torso to get it up onto the seat, and then go around to the other side and drag her the rest of the way in. That would have left some skin behind in the back seat. But the lab didn’t find anything.”
    “So, if they used Laura’s car to dispose of the body, it had to be a big, strong man, or two or more people. They didn’t find any trace evidence in Crystal’s car. So, somebody else’s vehicle was used to transport the body. And why didn’t the perpetrator just leave the body where it lay, burn the house down, and leave? Seems kind of stupid going to the trouble of taking the body all the way out to the edge of the desert and increasing the risk of getting caught.”
    Snow considered this for a moment. “You’re right. Setting the house on fire would be a lot easier. Less chance of leaving evidence behind.” He shook his head. “What did Mel say about the possibility of the body being dragged? They find anything?”
    “Nothing. He said the garage floor was clean, no dust to leave a trail in. And nothing inside the house or on the front walkway.”
    “Maybe she swept it afterward,” Snow offered.
    “She would have had a busy night,” Alice said. “So, what have we accomplished during our first thirty hours into this case?”
    Snow considered this for a moment.
    “We’ve pissed off our client to no end. And we helped send a deranged man running bare-assed into the streets of Las Vegas.”
    Alice smiled. “Now aren’t you glad you gave up poker?”
    Snow nodded. “It’s good to screw up something different for a change.”

She came to her front door in a red tank top and scanty black running shorts. In her early thirties, she was tall and slender, with even features and straight brown hair resting on her tanned shoulders.
    Alice offered a smile. “You’re Erin Potter?”
    The woman returned the smile. “Yes. And you’re the private