The Case of the Fake Life Coach in Las Vegas: A Cozy Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Cases Book 3) by A.R. Winters

Author:A.R. Winters [Winters, A.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-07T16:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Rosie and I met in my apartment for a quick breakfast of strong black coffee and muffins that Rosie had purchased from a convenience store before I’d woken up. I’d always known she was going to be a great assistant!

Ready to tackle the day, we drove straight to Tim’s jewelry shop. The hours on the door said that the store should be open, but that wasn’t the case. It was locked, and it looked as though nobody had been there since the day before. I knocked and peered through the windows even though the lights were off inside. Who knew, maybe Tim was in there, sitting in the dark and crying to himself. No such luck. The place had a completely empty vibe about it, and my gut told me that nobody had been in there for a long time.

“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” I told Rosie once we were back in my car. She wasted no time in pulling out her phone, flipping through a few websites—including the Better Business Bureau—and finding Tim’s home address and phone number. I called his number, but nobody answered.

Pressing the accelerator hard, I headed over to the address Rosie had found. Tim’s place was in a modest block of apartments, and although I knocked three times and waited for what felt like an hour, nobody answered. We glanced around, and then I pulled a set of picks from my pocket.

“You’ve got to teach me how to do that,” Rosie said as I worked on the lock.

In the blink of an eye, I opened Tim’s door to a whistle of impressed approval from my assistant.

“I’ll teach you soon. You’ll be a natural, I’m sure.”

We snuck inside and shut the door closed silently behind us.

“Tim?” I called out softly into the dim apartment. No response. “Anyone home?” I called out a bit louder.

The place was dark, the blinds drawn. Thanks to the soft light that filtered past the blinds, Rosie and I were able to make out the shapes of furniture and doors. Tim’s place was a modest one-bedroom apartment, furnished with what looked like flat-pack sofas and a small dining table. There was a door to one side, which I presumed led off to a bedroom and a bathroom, and the living and dining area had a small kitchenette attached.

Then, the silence was broken.

We weren’t alone.

A soft flurry of movement sounded as something moved quickly in the gloom.

My head swung around wildly, looking for the source, but finding nothing. Before Rosie and I could jump back in shocked horror, we heard a soft, plaintive mew. A large tabby cat appeared from behind a sofa, padded toward us, and rubbed against my legs.

“Well, it’s nice to see you,” I told the cat. “But is there anyone else at home? Where’s Tim?”

The kitty mewed again plaintively, and Rosie and I spent some time fussing over her.

“She’s hungry,” Rosie said. “Snowflake always gives me that look if I’ve been a bit late in feeding her.

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