The One That Kills You: A Private Eye Mystery (C Street Mystery Book 1) by Rick Rothermel

Author:Rick Rothermel [Rothermel, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781685492304
Publisher: Rough Edges Press
Published: 2023-06-26T16:00:00+00:00

28

The next morning, I hit the ground running, starting with a spot at the breakfast Buffet at 7:30. I was checked out of the Silverton by 9. I drove north to Caraway and retraced my steps up the to the peak of the foothills. I took a different path this time, one that gave me a better vantage of the property, though I could only see the plates on the white compact. The derelict cars and the line of outbuildings was clearer from that viewpoint but again a half dozen dead, dusty beaters in a cluster was nothing special in this rural area.

I crossed to my former position to check the cameras, which had worked as intended. The time code for the pertinent action sequences were the 9:40 arrival and 3:25 p.m. departure of the blue Mercedes, driven by a well-dressed female. The white compact arrived at 8:05a.m. and left about 5:35p.m. The SUV I’d seen yesterday hadn’t visited that day. I figured the Merc carried the majordomo, and the white compact the wage worker. What was happening within those walls? I went back across the peak to the preferable position, repositioned the spare camera on the sandbags and sat and watched for a while. No drama this time at all.

After that I backtracked to the truck, again hidden in the depression behind the desert shrubbery. I de-camo’d and hit the highway south. This desert session had been instructive and had of course raised more questions. The more I knew about Grant Carty, the more certain I was that he was the force behind all the villainy. It bothered me that he’d been MIA for five years or so. His hit list of walking wounded, now including Reanna and her daughter as well as Arnie Sutton, probably the Connors and who knows, maybe their hit men as well. Lotsa possibilities afoot. I just needed to find him.

The sun was high and hot as I hit the southbound Fifteen that morning. I left the freeway at the Speedway and took Las Vegas Boulevard south to the eastern set of the loop freeway to bypass the maddening construction-clotted I-15—Vegas wants to be L.A. now—saving a little aggravation but no time to speak of. By the time I hit the slope south of the Las Vegas valley and passed the recent landmark of the ‘M’ Resort I was tooling along as designed, with the cruise set at 85. I put some music on, the Beach Boys late sixties ‘Smile’ album with its classic cuts that predated my birth by a handful of years. The Boys and I do pretty well when no one is listening, and it works wonders for passing the time on the road. I offed at Barstow for lunch, hitting a literal hole-in-the-wall Barbecue spot in downtown for a quick sandwich and a bag of chips. Then I took old 66 south through town to the next return route to the freeway.

Barstow was a sad place, bereft of significant modern

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