St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

be certain Ms. Breck hadn’t hidden anything, he took out the SUV’s overhead light and ripped up the seats with the machete.
    Nothing.
    More nothing under the spare tire, which he took bites out of with the machete.
    He almost punched holes in the motor oil cans on the passenger side, but decided he didn’t want to drip all the way back to his van.
    Where are the paintings?
    She didn’t take them inside with her. Even rolled up, they wouldn’t have fit in that little belly bag she wore.
    And the fitted jacket she wore over her jeans didn’t leave room for anything but the body beneath. Not a great rack, but she had a nice way of moving.
    He checked the guard—still sucking on coffee. Moving quickly but not in a way that would attract attention, he went back to his van for a few more items, then returned to work on the SUV.
    Stage setting. Jesus. I shoulda been a producer.
    Even as he worked, he kept an eye on the parking lot. If the clever Ms. Breck decided to come out before he was done, well, shit happened.
    And he had a load with her name all over it.

12
    EUREKA HOTEL, NEVADA
SEPTEMBER 13
11:00 P.M.
    J ill forced herself not to reach for the room phone and call the desk again. They were as tired of telling her that she had no messages as she was of hearing it. She’d used pay-per-view to see a recent movie that interested her, lost a few bucks and gotten her hands grimy playing the penny slots, ordered another hamburger, and finally returned to her room after three hours of perching on the deliberately uncomfortable stools in front of the cheap slot machines.
    I should have brought my dirty clothes. Bet there’s a laundry somewhere in the hotel. Then the trip wouldn’t have been a total waste of time, money, and gas.
    She watched the bedside clock crawl through a few more minutes. How bad could connections be between east Texas and Nevada? Was Blanchard hitchhiking?
    She paced and then paced some more. After the physical activity of the river, her body wasn’t used to hanging out in smoky rooms.
    Screw this. I’m going for a walk.
    She grabbed her jacket and the belly pack that doubled as her purse and headed for the elevator. Ignoring the relentless mechanical yammering of the slot machines in the casino, she strode toward the front doors.
    After the air in the hotel, the wind was like diving into cold rushing water. For the freshness, she’d live with the flying grit. She paced the front of the hotel several times, wishing she was doing something useful.
    Check the oil in your SUV. That’s useful. Then you won’t have to do it at dawn tomorrow, when you leave this place.
    On the subject of oil, her vehicle could only be described as greedy. It had a quart-a-day habit.
    Check the tires while you’re at it.
    Give the SUV a wax job.
    Do something besides fidget.
    She dodged a latecomer hurrying to the check-in, crossed the driveway to the parking lot, and headed for her aging SUV. The lot was partially full. Compressors on refrigerator trucks rumbled, waiting for drivers to bust out at the tables or stop hitting on waitresses. Some of the RVs had lights on inside, either night-lights or a beacon for bleary gamblers to stumble toward when they got tired of losing.
    The guard’s golf cart was idling at the entrance to the parking lot. A low conversation came on the wind, the guard telling a newbie where the overnight RV parking was. The mercury-vapor lamps cast a ghastly orange glow over everything, changing colors dramatically. If Jill hadn’t known exactly where she was parked, she never would have recognized her vehicle. She cut through ranks of monster pickup trucks and SUVs the size of railroad cars. Finally she could see her own modest rig. It looker even smaller than she remembered.
    Then she realized that the left front tire was flat.
    So was the left back tire.
    She froze, listening for any sound, searching for any movement.All that came was the wind and the sound of voices headed toward the casino, away from her. Warily, keeping other vehicles between herself and her own car, she circled the SUV.
    Four flat tires.
    Front door ajar.
    I locked it. I know I did.
    When Jill was sure she was alone, she stood back and dug a tiny, powerful penlight from her waist pack. She sent the narrow beam over the interior of the car.
    Nothing moved.
    No one was inside, sleeping off a drunk or waiting for a victim.
    The seats had been ripped apart. The dome light was broken. There was a piece of paper