Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

won’t be until tomorrow morning,” Snow said.
    “Shit,” Roberts said.
    “What’s the problem, Jack?”
    “That means I’ll be up all night.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Watching the bastard.”
    Snow sighed and looked down at his plate. His green bean casserole appeared to have lost its steam. “Where are you?” he said.
    “I’m in my car, down the street from his house. I don’t want him skipping town.”
    “If he were planning that, he’d have done it by now,” Snow said.
    “Maybe so, but I’m not taking any chances. If this was your daughter, what would you do?”
    “I don’t know,” Snow said. “I’ve never had any kids. I’d like to think I would stay out of the way and let the professionals handle it. That’s my recommendation to you.”
    “Then I guess you wouldn’t understand,” Roberts said. “She was all I had left, and now she’s gone. I’ve got nothing left. All I can think about is setting this straight.”
    “Did you happen to bring a gun along with you from Barstow, Jack?”
    There was no answer for a moment. Finally Roberts spoke. “I’ve got a handgun. It’s in the trunk of my car, unloaded. It’s registered and legal.”
    “That isn’t reassuring to me,” Snow said. “I hope you don’t do anything stupid.”
    “Get the fucking guy behind bars, and you won’t have to worry about it.”
    “Alright,” Snow said. “We’ll do our best.”
    “Good,” Roberts said. “I’ll be checking in.”
    Snow heard the connection clicking dead. He folded the phone shut and slipped it into his pocket.
    Back at their table, he pulled his chair out, set his plate down, and seated himself across from Alice.
    “You look troubled,” she said.
    “I am,” Snow said. He sighed. “I just got off the phone with our client.”
    “And…?”
    “I can understand why Harris shoved him off onto us. This guy’s fuse is lit. I’ve got a feeling Kevin Miller will either end up in jail—or dead.”

At twenty-six, Crystal Olson was moderately cute. Her features weren’t perfectly proportioned. Her nose was slightly oversized, her cheekbones lacked prominence, and her eyes were small. She had thin brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. Standing barely above five feet, her physique was that of a gymnast. Twenty years older, her hair cut to the middle of her ears, her mother, Kathy Olson, was an aging version of her daughter. She appeared to be in her late forties. Both women wore jeans and tennis shoes.
    Alice James led them through the vacant reception area and down the short hallway to her office. Snow followed behind, rolling extra chairs down the hallway from his office, one stacked upside down on top of the other. Inside Alice’s office he separated them and offered two of the four chairs in the room to the women.
    He glanced around the room. “Anybody like anything to drink? We have coffee and water…?”
    Crystal and her mother looked at each other solemnly, shook their heads without speaking, and sat down.
    Snow cleared his throat, took out his notepad, and sat down next to Alice’s desk. He looked over at her, then at Crystal. “So, you’re staying at a motel for the time being. Is that right?”
    Her hands folded together in her lap, leaning forward slightly, Crystal nodded. “They’ve sealed my home. We can’t get in there without an escort while they’re still investigating.”
    “Of course,” Snow said. He turned his eyes to her mother. “Ms. Olson, are you from Las Vegas?”
    She sat with her legs crossed, clutching her purse tightly in her lap with both hands as if it were a brick she was preparing to throw at him. “No,” she said. “I’m from Omaha. I teach sixth grade there. Crystal called me after this happened, and I thought it best to fly down and offer my support and assistance.” A hint of a cordial smile crossed her face.
    “Did your husband make the trip?”
    “I’m a widow,” she said, and then she sighed heavily. “And that is one of the reasons I felt it necessary get down here as soon as possible—for Crystal—because this is the second time she has been forced to deal with this sort of tragedy.”
    “Oh,” Snow said. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused. “Your husband was in an accident of some sort?”
    She sighed again. “No. In fact, he was murdered.” She tilted her head back slightly as if to gain courage, and then she continued. “Crystal and I were in Grand Island, Nebraska, visiting my parents for