Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

said.
    “Yeah,” Ellis said. “No doubt Miller already did that. Okay. Not to worry. Sally and I are saddling up. Locked and loaded. We’re going in.”
    “Just don’t do anything stupid, Duke,” Snow said.
    “No problem,” Duke said. “We’ll try to wait for you to get here—to handle that aspect.”
    Snow snapped the phone shut and shoved it into his front pocket. Alice was already in the car, checking the clip on her nine-millimeter.
    He jogged around to the driver’s side, slid in behind the wheel of the Sonata, and fired up the engine.

With emergency flashers activated, Snow drove at a speed ten miles over the limit, easing through red lights where there was no traffic. Hoping against being pulled over by a Metro patrol officer.
    Arriving at Kevin Miller’s home, Alice and Snow surveyed the area in front of the house. There was no one around.
    Snow skidded to a stop in the driveway next to Jack Roberts’s Thunderbird. He set the brake and killed the engine.
    Turning to Alice, he said, “It looks like Duke and Sally are inside. Here’s the plan: you take the front door, and I’ll slip around to the back—”
    “And do what?” Alice snapped. “Throw rocks at him? You don’t have a gun, Jim!”
    Snow nodded. “That’s a problem alright. You don’t have an extra?”
    “No.” She stared at him with wide eyes.
    “Alright. I’ll admit it—that’s a problem. We’ll just have to make do. You go to the front door and wait there. Make sure your cell phone is on; set it to vibrate so it doesn’t ring. After I get around back, I’ll try to see whatever I can and call you. Okay?”
    Alice nodded.
    They climbed out of the Sonata, easing the doors shut. Alice walked briskly yet silently toward the front door, while Snow crept along the side of the house to the wooden gate.
    He pushed down on the gate latch. It wouldn’t budge. Miller must have locked it , he thought.
    Snow stepped back from the fence, glancing around and looking for anything he might use to climb over the fence.
    There was nothing.
    “Jesus,” he whispered under his breath.
    He trotted around the front of the neighboring house to the front door, rang the doorbell, and waited.
    A few moments later, a teenage girl opened the door. She appeared to be about sixteen, with disheveled, shoulder-length, brown hair. She wore white short shorts and a green top. It was inside-out, and her feet were bare.
    Snow glanced past her into the living room. On the couch sat a teenage boy with tousled blond hair. He wore plaid shorts that seemed to be too big for Shaquille O’Neal. His T-shirt was backwards, and his sneakers lay on their sides under the coffee table. He sat grinning stupidly at Snow.
    Snow wondered briefly what had been going on in there.
    “Can I help you?” the girl said, smiling.
    Snow pulled out his wallet, opened it, and displayed his Nevada private investigator license. The girl looked at it with big eyes.
    “Oh,” she said. “Are you a police officer? We haven’t been doing anything wrong.”
    “No,” Snow said. “I’m a private detective. I don’t care what you’ve been doing. I have an emergency, and I need to get into the yard next door. Do you have a step ladder I can use?”
    The girl’s eyes went from the license to Snow. They were red and dilated. Her smile remained transfixed as she stared at him in wonder.
    “There’s one in the garage,” she said. “Actually there are two: a tall one and a short one. You’re welcome to use either one—if you like.”
    “Thank you,” Snow said. “I appreciate it. May I come in?”
    “Certainly,” she said. And she stepped unsteadily away from the doorway.
    Snow rushed past her into the living room toward the young man on the couch. He was suddenly overcome by the acrid smell of a controlled substance.
    The boy on the couch remained frozen in place, grinning. “How’s it going?”
    “Fine,” Snow lied.
    “We were just watching TV,” the boy said.
    Snow glanced at the flat-panel TV sitting on a stand in front of the wall. It was off. He turned his head back toward the boy. “Where’s the door to the garage?”
    The boy turned and pointed toward it. “You need any help?” he asked.
    Snow gave a quick look at the young girl. She was still standing at the front door. It was wide open, the doorknob still in her hand, the smile frozen on her face.
    To the boy, Snow said, “Thanks, I can handle it. You two stay inside and continue watching