“Hello, Emersyn,” Agnes greeted, her gaze coming to rest on Wyatt. Clearly intrigued, she nudged her glasses higher on her nose. “Who’s your handsome friend?”
My totally-not-a-friend stood up and offered his hand. “Wyatt. Nice to meet you.”
Agnes’s eyes lit up, and a knowing smile appeared on her face. “Of Wyatt Investigations?”
“What?” I blurted out. How could she even know about the fake PI firm?
Agnes ignored me. She was laser-focused on Wyatt. “My daughter and I own a bakery. We’re thinking of getting a security system, but don’t know where to start. Do you think you could help us out?”
“Absolutely.”
I gaped up at him from my seat on the steps.
Agnes, however, beamed at him. “You can find me at Tasty Buns. Two blocks down.” She nodded to the south.
“I’ll be sure to stop by,” Wyatt said, his smile practically oozing charisma.
Still beaming, Agnes gave him a finger wave. As she passed me, she leaned down and said in a giddy whisper, “I bet he’s got some tasty buns!”
My eyes widened as she jogged up the steps with more vim and vigor than I’d ever known her to possess.
Wyatt laughed, so I knew he’d heard Agnes’s parting words. For some reason, heat rushed to my cheeks. Definitely not because I was thinking about his buns.
I shot to my feet, gripping my phone in one hand. It was time to get this guy out of my life.
I was about to thank him again and send him on his way when a woman’s scream tore through the air.
Wyatt and I spun around to look at the front door of the Mirage, which was still drifting shut.
The scream had come from inside.
By the time that thought had sunk into my brain, Wyatt was already running into the building.
I charged after him, leaving my groceries behind.
Another scream sent an arctic chill down my spine.
We ran toward it, Wyatt still ahead of me.
When he reached the open door of Freddie’s office, he stopped so abruptly that I ran into his back. He put out an arm to keep me from passing him, but I leaned over it and peered into the office.
The pungent smell of alcohol hit my nose.
I drew in a sharp breath. The alcohol fumes burned my throat, and my stomach roiled. I was in danger of losing my meager lunch.
Because Freddie Hanover, the Deco Mirage’s superintendent, lay on the floor of his office with his head resting in a pool of blood.
Chapter
Seven
Agnes stood next to Freddie’s body, her hands pressed to her mouth as she sobbed. My own body had frozen into a useless statue, with a cold-as-marble chill in my bones, but my mind had zipped into hyperfocus. A nasty wound on Freddie’s head seemed to be the source of the pool of blood. A brown bottle lay smashed on the floor, shards of glass all around. I figured it was the most likely source of the alcohol fumes, although I couldn’t see a label on the remains of the bottle.
“Is he…?” I couldn’t get the final word out, even though it was clanging in my head over and over again.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
Wyatt took a careful step closer to Freddie and crouched down to press two fingers to his wrist.
