Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

more whiskey to help open it up.
    Elaine Roberts raised her head up and met Alice’s gaze. A tear slid down Alice’s cheek. She opened a drawer, removed a tissue from the box inside it, and dabbed at her cheek.
    “I don’t want you to feel bad, missy,” Elaine said. “You did the right thing. Had I been there, I’d have shot him myself.” She took another drink of water. “I have to say, I’m not very proud of my son. I never have been. He was always a big pain in my behind. Now that he’s gone on to meet his maker—I surely hope He has less trouble with Jack than I did.
    “I don’t think anyone was ever able to figure out the cause of it, but Jack always had a death wish. When he was twelve, he was seen sitting on the railing of an overpass, looking down at the traffic below. Trying to get up the guts to jump. A passing motorist went to a pay phone and called the police. They grabbed him and took him to the station. Several months of counseling followed that episode. We were told he was cured. The counselor told us he was just looking at life the wrong way, and he’d convinced him to look at the bright side.”
    She shook her head and took a sip of water. “When he was fifteen, he stood on the railroad tracks in front of an oncoming train. At the last minute, he jumped out of the way. The police were called. They took him down to the station. More counseling.
    “My husband and I, rest his soul, started to think Jack might be homo.” She raised her hands in front of her. “Now, I don’t have anything against that lifestyle, but I do realize a lot of inner turmoil is created in some of those people when they can’t properly deal with their lot in life and just get on with it the way normal homosexuals do.”
    Elaine let her hands fall back into her lap. “It wasn’t long after that, Jack started showing an interest in girls and female pornography, so we realized his problem lay somewhere else.
    “He tried, without success, many more times to do himself in. Always with the same result—failure. Eventually we stopped worrying about it. It was obvious his survival instinct was too strong—and now this. I think he finally figured out a way to get it done.”
    She leaned back in her chair. “But here’s what else I think, and this is concerning the death of my granddaughter: I’m afraid Jack might have been the one who killed her. I realize Laura had her flaws, and I also know Jack wasn’t happy with the way she turned out…”
    “You think he might have intended it as a murder-suicide?” Alice said.
    Elaine nodded. “I think that is a definite possibility. I think he may have killed her and then couldn’t get up the guts to kill himself—so he took her out into the desert and burned up her body to destroy the evidence. Then hired you two.”
    “But he had a gun,” Alice said. “Why not just shoot her, if he wanted her dead?”
    “I thought about that,” Elaine said. “I think it’s possible he’d built up a lot of rage toward that girl. And he decided to let it all out—with a baseball bat.” She put her hands up in front of her. “Now, maybe I’m wrong. And I hope I am. Maybe somebody else murdered Laura. That’s what I want you two to find out for me.”
    “You’d like us to continue the investigation?” Snow asked.
    “How much will it cost me?” she said.
    “For one investigator, it’s sixty an hour, plus expenses. If we work together as a team, which we prefer, it’s a hundred an hour for both of us.”
    “Okay,” she said. “That’s fair. I’ll take the both of you. Now, I’m willing to pay whatever Jack owed you for the time you’ve spent up until now—along with whatever it takes to find out who murdered my granddaughter. I’m an old woman. I know I won’t live a lot longer, but I don’t want to spend my last years fretting and wondering as to what happened with Laura. I want to know so I can mourn properly and set it to the back of my mind. Alright?”
    Alice and Snow nodded.
    “Any information you need,” Elaine said, “I’ll be happy to give it to you. I’m planning to stay in Vegas until after the funeral. I intend to mourn for my son in a practical way—shoot some craps and see a few shows.”

“Jack’s Market.”
    “Good morning,” Snow said. “May I speak to the manager?”
    They were sitting in Alice’s office, hunched over her speakerphone.
    The voice sounded like that of a young man, rushed and impatient. “He’s not