Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red

girl tottering around in them, not knowing quite how to deal. Maybe once there had been some other evidence and she tossed it. Or maybe someone else had.
    I was just closing the drawer when I heard the click of a key in the lock. The closet was too easy; whoever it was would look there first thing. There was a fire escape outside the bedroom window, but I’d never manage to fight my way past the heavy drapes in time to make it out of there unnoticed. I imagined getting twisted up in them and hanging there like a helpless target for whomever walked in. I opted for hiding under the bed.
    Even though I had a right to be there, it might turn out to be more profitable to see who was sneaking in and why. It could be the building manager. If it turned out to be Lily coming to keep tabs on me, I’d just look like a fool. Or I could pretend I was searching under the bed.
    I grabbed my toolbox and slid under the bed on the far side from the door. Hopefully that would give the damned ruffle time to stop shaking with my movement. Marguerite had stored a vast collection of shoeboxes under the bed, and I managed to maneuver them in front of me, so if he wasn’t careful about looking, he might miss me.

    Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    117

    I was grateful that I’d formed the habit of putting everything back exactly as I found it while searching instead of tossing a joint and leaving a big mess to clue him in to the fact that someone had been there.
    Peering out from under the dust ruffle, I could see a pair of black men’s shoes, polished to a high shine. So it wasn’t Lily coming to check up on me, unless my take on her was dead wrong. My heart was thundering in my chest, and I tried to keep my breathing slow and easy.
    Didn’t want to give myself away by gasping like a fish out of water.
    A deep sigh sent a shiver up my spine, and I curled my fingers around my gun for comfort. I thought for sure he was going to peek under the bed, but he didn’t. He seemed to be sniffing the air. Maybe he was smelling the same rose scent I had. Eventually the shoes moved away out of my line of sight. I heard him open drawers and the closet doors—I was right about that, at least. Don’t hide in the closet. Too obvious.
    He seemed to know the place, which aroused my curiosity. If he’d been there before, he should have known where she kept it, whatever it was that he was searching for. It was a long five minutes waiting under that bed to be discovered.
    Then his footsteps went out of the room, and I couldn’t hear anything. I really wanted a squint at his face, but he might have been standing right in the doorway, waiting for me to come out. I couldn’t see his shoes any more.
    What the hell, Vegas is a gambling town, and I was willing to take a chance. Of course, not being an idiot, I squirmed out from under the bed on the side away from the door. I crawled on my elbows to the end of the bed and peered around the corner.
    Wherever he was, he wasn’t in the doorway. I got up and crossed the room silently, flattening myself on the wall behind the door and peering through the crack. Nothing. I caught a sound from the living room. I edged around the door and stuck my head out of the room just enough to catch a movement in the mirror at the end of the hallway. He was standing by the front door with his back to me, letting himself out.
    He was tall and he had dark hair, but that was all I got, because like an animal that senses danger, he started to turn but thought better of it and 118

    CATT FORD

    darted out the door, while I stood there with my gun cradled in both hands by my cheek.
    I heard him shut the door and lock it. Lock it? He had a key? So he didn’t pick the lock to get in here. Maybe Marguerite had given it to him, or maybe he took it when he killed her. After a few minutes, I heard faint footsteps on the walkway outside and crossed to the window in time to see him standing there, staring up at the window. I knew, with the lacy curtains under the heavy drapes and the fact that it was light outside, that he couldn’t see in, but it felt like his eyes were boring holes in me. I didn’t dare take a step back for fear the movement would confirm his suspicions. At last he got into a car and drove away. He wasn’t driving a police car; it was an anonymous black Ford.
    Of course I recognized the man. It would have been hard to mistake him for anyone else because of his height and black curly