4c392a139708e5efb30cc267dbb0c768

“—that you once loaned some money to Van Wilcox. And when he wasn’t able to pay you back at the rates you like to charge he turned to Dickerson who decided to lean on you with some of the information he collected over the years. So you wiped Wilcox’s slate clean, even if that meant taking ahuge loss yourself, and you’ve never forgiven Dickerson.”

“Rumors, rumors,” murmured Bellinowski, looking bored now. “What else have you got?”

“Does this man work for you?” asked Chase, placing a picture of a short guy with a strawberry nose and a purple spot on his upper lip on the table in front of Bellinowski.

He glanced at it.“Possibly. You’d have to ask my personnel manager.”

Bellinowski ran a few clubs in town, one of which, the Club Couture, was currently in vogue with the weekend crowd. He also organized the popular Beach Beats Festival in the summer, which attracted thousands of dance fans.

“What about this guy?” asked Chase, placing down another picture, this one of a tall man with a wispy little mustache.

“Did you really drag me in here to ask me about my staff, Detective? Cause quite frankly I’ve got better things to do.”

“What about this picture?”

Bellinowski glanced at the picture, then frowned.“A rose?”

“You are the current owner of the Happy Petals flower store on Grant Street?”

“You know I am.” For the first time he was looking a little flustered. “Why?”

“I think you know why, Yasir,” said Chase, leaning in. “I don’t know what Dickerson had on you but it must have been enough to make you go after him. So you hired two of your goons to steal a tanker full of duck poop from the Potbelly farm, empty out Dickerson’s safe to make whatever he had on you disappear forever, and then you made him go away forever as well. But not before you made it perfectly clear to him that you were the one that did this, by putting this picture in his safe. So he could have a good think before he died.”

Bellinowski arched an eyebrow.“This is all you got?” He picked up the picture and flicked it from the table. “A picture of a flower? Come on, dude. You can do better than that.” He got up and smoothed out his suit jacket. “Next time you call me in make sure you’ve got a real challenge for me, Detective. This?” He gestured at the file. “Not even theNational Star would print this garbage. No, don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”

Chapter 37

Scarlett Canyon was playing a game of Solitaire. It was the only game installed on the computer in Dr. Tex’s office, and what Vesta must have been playing all these years while she pretended to be hard at work.

Frankly Scarlett was bored. The waiting room was empty. The phone hadn’t rung in ages, and Dr. Tex was ensconced in his office. When she took this job she figured she’d have some fun at Vesta’s expense. But dealing with patients all day long and listening to their sob stories and the details of their illnesses was so tedious she sometimes wanted to scream.

And then there was the fact that she’d been so dumb to volunteer for the job, so she didn’t even get paid to sit here and do the worst and most boring job in the whole world. She’d raised the topic of giving her a contract to Dr. Tex but he seemed immune to her promptings, pretending he didn’t understand.

A part of her had figured that working for a doctor she would get to meet a lot of great guys, that she would flirt a bit and maybe date some of the eligible ones but that hadn’t materialized either. So far all she’d gotten were a bunch of old coots who thought they were God’s gift to women and who ogled her boobs so brazenly she sometimes wished she could punch them in the snoot. But a receptionist didn’t punch patients in the snoot. A receptionist just sat there and beamed and entered appointments into Dr. Tex’s calendar.

No wonder Vesta looked like a shriveled old prune. Sitting in this dumb chair behind this dumb desk listening to dumb stories from dumb sick people would make anyone shrivel up and turn into an old hag. It was happening to her, too. She could feel it. Her face was drying out and new wrinkles were popping up each time she looked in the mirror.

It was bad for her karma, too. All this sickness and disease. Soon it would start to rub off on her and she would get sick herself. How Dr. Tex could stand it she didn’t even know.

The door opened and a new patient walked in. This one looking even more hopeless than the others. She had a bandage wrapped around her head, walked with a distinct stoop, had a pair of sunglasses firmly placed on her nose, and a scarf wrapped around the lower portion of her face. As she approached the desk, she even seemed to stagger.

“Can you please help me?” the woman asked in a weak whisper.

“Do you have an appointment?” Scarlett asked, barely managing to keep the annoyance from her voice.

“I want you to help me,” whispered the pathetic creature.

“Just take a seat and I’ll call the doctor,” she said.