“Well, neither are bras, corsets, or stilettos, but a girl does what she has to do. So, we’re going to Phil’s house.”
I nod. “We’ll give it another thirty minutes, and the sun will be almost down. We’ll be able to drive around to make sure his place isn’t being staked out first before sneaking in.”
“Phil lives—" She clears her throat. “Lived, in a duplex. A quiet street with not a lot going on. Mostly older couples and middle-class families. His next-door neighbor is pretty feebleand hard of hearing so Phil could play his sports as loud as he wanted and not disturb him.
“I think he helped the guy out here and there too. As well as some of the other older couples. Phil was always helping.” Turning away, I see her brush a hand over her eyes.
I drive, making sure we aren’t followed. Dropping Rico off a couple blocks away, I wait until he pulls on a ski mask and disappears between the houses. He’ll make his way in through the back door first and check for cameras before signaling us in.
Inside, the home is almost sterile. No pictures or decorations. An expensive recliner with a small table beside it is centered across from a big screen TV hung on the wall. The kitchen is immaculate. The laundry basket is empty.
We enter the bedroom. The bed is made with military precision. Clothes hang neatly in the closet by color then type. Nothing is out of order. It’s almost too pristine.
“Did he reallylivehere?” I ask.
She turns to face me. “Phil was a simple guy. He never talked about his past or anything except maybe sports. The last twenty years he worked, hung out at whatever club Mom was working at, and he gambled. I don’t even know if he has any family nearby.”
Pausing, she smiles. “When I was about fifteen, I got a job at an ice cream shop. Once a week he’d stop in and buy a two-scoop cone. He swore he wasn’t checking up on me, but I knew he was. I’d see him drive by almost every night I worked. It was comforting to know he cared. Hell, Mom never even came once.
“He’d always stop and check in on me when I was at the club. After Mom died, he stayed in touch more often. We’d go to dinner every couple of weeks, and he helped with the house issue.
“I’ve only been to his home a few times. I do remember there was a laptop usually on the side table next to his recliner. I didn’t even notice, was it there?”
I shake my head crossing the room. On the table beside the bed is an eight by ten picture frame with a photo of a woman who looks a lot like Fancy. In one lower corner is a snapshot of Fancy as a little girl and in the opposite corner is a current day snapshot of Fancy.
A simple man. A man who loved deeply.
He was an accountant. From what Rico learned meeting him at the casino, he loved researching things, information, and spent a lot of time on his computer doing sport team stats.
I pull the drawer open hoping for the laptop. Inside is a calendar and a red pen. Days have been marked off and the word treatment with a time has been entered periodically over the last five months.
“What is that? What do those entries mean?” Fancy whispers beside me.
Rico comes out of the bathroom, carrying a small bag. “There were prescription medicines in the bathroom. Was he sick?”
She shakes his head. “He never said anything. Maybe they’re old.”
“They were filled recently. They have the prescribing doctor’s name. We’ll find out what they’re for. Right now, we should go.”
Fancy pauses at the dresser and rifles through the shirts until she finds what she wants. Hugging a couple to her chest, she grabs a bottle of cologne from the top, along with the photo and calendar before following Rico outside.
“I’m taking the two of you back to the hotel. Then I’ll climb up on the roof where we were supposed to meet Phil and see what I can find.”
“No. We go together,” she snaps.
“I don’t think….”
“I don’t care what you think. I care about catching Phil’s murderer. I can help. Now take us there.”
Using the easiest access, we climb the fire escape attached to a building marked for sale and make quick work of crossing from one roof top to the next.
“I don’t think Phil planned on getting killed. Something went wrong. He was smart and if he had proof to give us, he would not have had it on him. I’d bet he dropped the proof off then went inside to burn time until we showed up,” Rico offers.
We spend the next forty-five minutes trying to find something, anything that he could have left behind on the rooftop. “Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe it wasn’t physical proof, maybe he just had something to tell us. Information we could use.”
Frustrated, we head back to the hotel. I stop at the desk and get the clothes that were delivered for Fancy. When I get up to the room, Rico’s on the phone and she’s hovering nearby.
“Ask them what these medicines are for. What was wrong with him?”
