Ashes to Dust (Las Vegas Mystery)

man’s eyes. “You look like you could use it,” he said.
    Roberts cleared his throat. “I was kind of hoping you’d let me tag along…you know…maybe I could be of some help to you.”
    “Sorry,” Snow said, “we don’t work that way.”
    “What if he decides to lie about something? I could point it out to you.”
    “There are a lot of reasons why it’s a bad idea. I’m sure that if you think about it, you’ll understand why it’s best if you’re not present while we’re interviewing people.”
    Roberts clenched his teeth and shook his head emphatically. He pointed a finger at Snow. “Now look—I’m paying the two of you a hundred bucks an hour. That’s a shitload of money. And this was my only daughter—dead.” His lower lip quivered. He swallowed hard and blinked back the dampness filling his eyes.
    Alice stepped forward and put her hand on the window frame of the car. Her voice soft and low, she said, “Jack, if you’re not agreeable to our procedures, we’d be willing to step aside and let you find someone else to work for you.”
    Roberts nodded. “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
    “Of course,” Alice continued, “we would keep the retainer.”
    His eyebrows shot up. “Look, goddammit, I don’t appreciate being threatened like that! Alright, I’m leaving. But I expect to see some progress.” He reached up and turned the ignition key. The engine came to life. “And I want timely reports from you two—at least twice a day.”
    Alice smiled and removed her hand from the window frame. “Drive safely, Jack. We’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    “Yeah…fuck,” Roberts muttered. Then he sped away from the curb.
    Looking after the Ford, Snow said, “I have to admit, at times like this you are an asset to the partnership.”
    Alice looked at him. “You think so?”
    “Yeah,” he said. “If it were just me standing here dealing with that guy, I’m pretty sure I’d be minus a client right now.”

    “Is he still out there?” Those were the first words out of Kevin Miller’s mouth as he opened his front door. Wearing baggy shorts and a T-shirt, he was six-foot, early thirties, with close-cropped black hair. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his face pallid.
    “You mean Jack Roberts?” Snow asked. “Yeah, he left. Don’t worry about him.”
    “Don’t worry about him? He’s crazy—and I don’t even have a gun.”
    “What’s he done to make you say that?” Alice said.
    “I could write a book, but I wouldn’t know where to start.”
    “You mind if we come in?” Snow asked. He stood in the doorway with Alice behind him, peeking over his shoulder.
    “Yeah, sure. Come on in. Sorry.” He turned and crossed to the middle of the carpeted living room, then turned around. “Have a seat—wherever you like.”
    Alice and Snow chose the moss green sofa. Miller lowered himself unsteadily into the matching stuffed chair.
    “How long have you known him?” Alice said.
    Miller stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. “Two years—as long as I’ve known Laura. Right from the start, she was dragging me over to Barstow with her to visit him. At least once a month. Every time we went there, it was like driving to hell.”
    “You mean because of the town itself?” Snow asked.
    Miller shook his head. “No, it was the whole deal. This guy is like Satan, and he’s living in hell. An hour after I met him, he pulls me aside and tells me I’m not good enough for his daughter and he wants me out of her life.”
    Alice leaned forward and interlaced her fingers in her lap. “What was the reason he gave?”
    “He didn’t like the way I look. I mean, that’s exactly the way he put it. Then he told me he didn’t like what I do for a living.” He shrugged. “I’m a fireman. I thought these days every parent would like their daughter to marry a fireman. I mean, they can’t all marry doctors.”
    “What does he have against firemen?” Snow said.
    “He thinks all we do is sit around and eat—and sleep. Plus, he didn’t like the fact that I’m at the station twenty-four hours straight. We work twenty-four on, forty-eight off; that’s the way it is.”
    “So the situation never got better between the two of you?”
    Miller shook his head. “Nah, it got worse. The guy hates me for some reason. He was always glaring at me, coming up with subtle insults, hitting me on the arm—hard. One time he wrapped his hand around