She places her hand to my jaw, waits for it to release, and nods. “Well, according to Grizz’s old lady, he groped our soon to be dead guy, only a lot further up the leg.”
“You lost me.” Either lack of sleep and worry has caught up with me, or she’s not making sense.
“Oh. Sorry. I left out the part where Chandler was dressed as a female hooker.” Her mouth doesn’t curl up. She must be serious.
Struggling to understand, I picture the big biker feeling up a middle-aged male chemist dressed in drag and shake my head. “No way.”
“Yes way. Grizz grabs balls, goes berserk, and beats poor Ray senseless but he wasn’t dead, not yet. He called for help, and someone picked him up. That person is our killer.”
“And?”
“I’m getting there. At first, I wasn’t sure. Then, I got this text from you. Here. Look.” She shoves the phone message in my face.
“It’s obviously a fake.” My oversized photoshopped head is pasted over another man’s monkey-hair chest.
At my what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you look, she blushes. “I might’ve had a few beers and to be fair, it was four in the morning. Eventually, I stopped for coffee and figured it out. But it was a clue, right? So, I followed the directions to here. Anyhow, after I arrived, I did some reconnaissance. Maureen and Ray are in the basement, armed to wazoo. But why me? The only plausible explanation is Grizz’s old lady contacted them.”
My head hurts. “Hold on. The woman in the bathroom called our black widow. But why?”
“Barb said she was the only one who saw what really went down. The rest of the club assumed Grizz disposed of the body. None of them would snitch, not even for a million bucks.”
“Wait. Don’t tell me. Barb has a huge new deposit in her bank account.”
“Correct. She’s been extorting money for years. The only thing I can’t figure out is why Mrs. Chandler posted a million-dollar reward for finding the killer if she’s the one who did it.”
“Well, I suppose, once Ray was found, she needed to look like the grieving widow.”
Landy sighs. “She was so certain no one would ever suspect her.”
“But what went down, once you got here? How did Lou and Barb end up on stretchers?”
“That was truly unexpected.”
“You’re driving me fucking nuts. Out with it.”
“Calm down. Where did I leave off?”
“You had just finished a perimeter check.” Ready to take her over my knee, I grit my teeth but Landy, lost in her story, misses my irritation.
Eyes far off, she continues her story. “I went up the back deck, climbed in a bedroom window, and snuck down the stairs. For a while, I listened to them argue. Our widow blamed Lou for not shooting us and he said she was at fault for killing her husband in the first place. Oh, and I have it all recorded on my phone.”
She presses play.
Maureen’s hysterical voice sounds first. “He was ninety-five percent dead. I simply left him at a construction site. You don’t understand. He was dressed as a woman. Do you know how humiliating that was?”
Lou takes a moment to respond. “You fucked up. Admit it. I’m not taking the fall for you.”
“Bastard.” Her voice is cut short by a shot fired.
After the second round goes off, I wonder which one died. “Who offed who?”
“Whom.” She Googles it and shows me proof on a site calledThe Grammar Nazi.”
“Dear Fucking God almighty. Fine. Whom killed who?
She shrugs. “When I entered the room, they were both down. After I disarmed them, I called the police, and you showed up. End of story. Sorry I stole your thunder but don’t be too disappointed, you still have the Chinese drug lord trying to kill you.”
“About that…”
