Butcher Road (A Mountain Mystery) by Shoultz D.R

Author:Shoultz, D.R.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

- 10.3 -

DETECTIVE JONES and her new partner, Jim Ames, rolled to a stop in front of Woodhill Apartments in southwest Charlotte. Chelsie Graham, a former girlfriend of Rubio Garcia, was reported to live in unit 4B.

“Nicer than I expected,” Jones said, stepping from the car.

The two-story, stucco and stone complex stretched half the length of a football field and looked like any number of newer apartments that had sprouted across the south side of the Queen City.

Single stall garages lined the parking lot across from their corresponding units. The door to garage 4B was up and a red Mercedes 500-E was parked inside.

“I wonder what Ms. Graham does for a living,” Ames said.

“Let’s go find out,” Jones replied.

Ames approached the door and knocked as Jones stood to the side, reaching under her jacket to her .38.

Clicking footsteps from inside grew louder as they approached the door. The door cracked open and blue eyes beneath blonde bangs peeked through.

“No soliciting! Didn’t you read the signs?” she scolded.

“We’re with the State Bureau of Investigation,” Ames replied, showing his badge. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

The woman studied the badge for a moment and then moved back, swinging the door open.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Do you mind if we step inside?”

“I guess not,” she replied, moving back, allowing the detectives to enter.

Wearing yoga pants, a bulky sweater, and heavy eye shadow, the attractive woman appeared to be in her late thirties, clinging to her twenties.

Jones peered from the entry to the adjoining rooms. The apartment decor was a mixture of uptown chic and redneck rubble. The dining room contained a tall, ebony hutch filled with crystal and fine china. A tacky Naugahyde sectional adorned with zebra pillows was featured in the living room.

“Are you Chelsie Graham?” Ames asked.

“Yeah. That’s me. Can you tell me what this is all about?”

“We’re looking for Rubio Garcia. We’ve been told you know him.”

“Sure. I know him, but I haven’t seen him in weeks,” she replied.

“When and how did you meet?” Jones asked.

“We met at Big Al’s over on Brookshire about a year ago. I dance there, or I used to. He came to my rescue one night when a customer was getting a little pushy.”

“How well do you know Rubio?” Jones continued.

“We dated for several months. He was fun and good to me, but he never talked much about himself. He said he was an independent contractor and did work for a lot of different folks.”

“Why did you stop seeing him?”

“I got tired of all the secrecy. He’d ignore my questions if I got too personal. It became a little spooky.”

“Is that your red car in the garage?” Ames asked.

“Yeah. I just got it.”

“Do you mind if I ask how a dancer can afford a new Mercedes?”

“I don’t dance no more, not since a good friend died and left me more money than I’ll ever spend.”

“A good friend?” Ames asked.

“Yeah. I’d been good to Mr. Petri for a long time, if you know what I mean.

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