My phone buzzed around 11:00 PM with a call from Zoe. In a panicked breath, she exclaimed, “He killed her!”
“What!?” I shouted over the noise in the club.
“He killed her!” Zoe shouted again.
I told her to hang on and stepped outside onto the sidewalk where I could hear. Lights from signage bathed the boulevard. Revelers listed up and down the sidewalks, staggering from bar to bar.
“Who killed whom?” I asked, knowing what she was going to say.
“That guy killed his wife.”
“Richard Pearson?”
“Yes. He strangled her.”
“You saw this?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at the house next door.”
“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute. Do not confront Mr. Pearson. Do not go over there.”
“Please get here soon. I’m freaking out.”
“I noticed.”
I ended the call, slipped my phone into my pocket, and dashed back inside to tell JD. I weaved through the crowd and found him by the bar, holding court, regaling several young beauties with tall tales.
I gave him the scoop.
“You think she actually witnessed a murder?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m going to run over there, talk to her, and see what’s what.”
Jack didn’t look thrilled about leaving the lovely ladies, but duty called.
We excused ourselves, left the bar, and hustled back to the Wild Fury van. We hurried to Stingray Bay, and I parked the van in front of the vacant McMansion.
Zoe’s crystal blue compact SUV was parked out front.
The house was dark.
There were a few lights on in the Pearson residence next door.
JD and I walked up the driveway of the listing to the back patio. It was empty.
“Zoe?” I called out.
She emerged from the shadows behind the garage, looking frazzled. Her hands trembled. “Thank God you’re here.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What does that matter?”
“Where did this take place?”
