Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

started playing at 3:07 p.m.—and didn’t leave until 8:56, Tuesday evening.”
    “I guess we can cross him off the list of possibles,” Snow said. He looked at Dows and pointed a thumb at Alice. “My associate, Alice James.”
    Dows shook her hand, and she sat down next to Snow.
    On the other side of the bar, an old man with a white beard, a cowboy hat, and hunched shoulders raised his glass and rattled the ice in it. “Barkeep!” he said.
    “Looks like you need to get back to work,” Snow said.
    “You need anything more from me?” Dows asked.
    Snow shook his head. “If I think of something, I know where to find you. Good luck with your moving business.”
    Dows smiled and headed off toward the old man.
    Snow turned his head to Alice. “Did you want to order anything while we’re here?”
    “I’m fine,” she said.
    “The bartender told me Tully was agitated and drinking more than usual Tuesday afternoon—and evening.”
    “That’s interesting,” Alice said. “What do you think caused that? You would think he’d have been relaxed after his encounter with the seductress.”
    Snow turned his head back to the front and watched Dows mixing the old man’s drink. “Well, looking at the facts, he got a call from Laura. Left work happy and excited, on his way to meet her. Then he showed up here three hours later, nervous, on edge, and definitely not happy. What does that tell us?”
    “You think Laura broke it off with him?”
    Snow turned his eyes back toward Alice. “That’s one possibility. Another is that he got caught.”
    Alice nodded. “Then he came here to try and figure out what to do.”
    “Or just let off steam and drown his sorrows,” Snow said.
    “Or maybe give himself an alibi,” Alice suggested.
    Snow nodded. “I think, at this point, we should focus on Crystal Olson. I’d like to talk to some people who know her, who aren’t necessarily close friends. It’s hard to get the truth out of people who have an interest in protecting someone.”
    “She has a Facebook page,” Alice said. “I didn’t look at it very closely, but I did notice quite a few friends on it. I’d like to go back to the office and research some of them, see if we can find anyone local who’s willing to tell us about her. Someone with an objective viewpoint.”
    “You’re on Facebook?” Snow asked.
    “Of course,” Alice said. “It’s very useful.”
    “I thought mostly teenagers used that site.”
    “Jim,” Alice said, “even my mother is on Facebook. She must have a couple hundred friends.”
    “No kidding. Does she Twitter, too?”
    “No, Jim. She tweets.” Alice smiled.
    Snow raised an eyebrow. “And I was happy that I’d recently gotten to the point where I understood e-mail.”

Dr. Nancy Gilmore maintained her office in a remodeled three-bedroom home off Spring Mountain Road a few miles west of I-15. A graduate of UCLA, she was a respected clinical psychologist with a Web site so complicated it locked up Alice’s computer. She had tried three times to access it, with no luck. She found the only way out was to reboot.
    Dr. Gilmore, an attractive woman in her early forties, with short blonde hair, met Alice and Snow at the front door. She wore a navy blue pantsuit and low heels. She escorted them to her office, a combination of two bedrooms with a wall removed. It was furnished with an oak desk, a stuffed couch, and two matching chairs. The walls and carpet were subtle earth tones, complementing the various potted plants surrounding the furniture. Soft lighting from the ceiling accentuated the wood-framed paintings of lakes, mountains, prairies, and cities. The ambience felt cozy, and Snow could feel it melding with his inner being.
    Alice and Snow seated themselves on the couch, with Dr. Gilmore settling into one of the chairs to the side of it. The furniture arrangement forced them to turn their heads to the left to look at her.
    Dr. Gilmore smiled. “So…you’re private detectives…”
    Alice and Snow smiled and nodded.
    “That’s interesting. I’ve never met anyone who worked in that field.” She fixed her gaze on Alice. “And how did you manage to establish yourself in that profession, Alice?”
    Alice sat perfectly straight, knees together, feet flat on the floor. She resembled a prospective employee at a job interview. “I started out in Metro as a patrol officer,” she said. “When I was eligible, I took the test and was promoted into Homicide as a detective.