Shooting On the Strip Read Free Page A

laughter.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Did I hear Madame say she would like a hand cleaning wipe?” asked our waiter. “I’ll get you one.” He bent down and whispered. “You might want to put the condom back into your purse.”
    “Condom?” I turned the package over in my hand. Come to think of it, it did feel strange…for a wipe.
    By now, Luke was laughing so hard that tears were coursing down his cheeks. Though my blush probably rivaled Dan’s as I dropped the condom back into my evening bag, I began laughing too.
    I did succeed on one account—Dan didn’t talk business…or anything else…until after we’d finished eating.
     
    After dinner, we took Dan back to our suite where he could show us a video on his laptop—again, where Luke was concerned, because Luke had seen the footage when Dan had shared his screen during their video chat.
    “You see, the private investigator had been tailing our employee—Martin Wilson—and filmed various activities to prove that he was faking his work-related injury,” Dan said.
    According to Dan, Mr. Wilson had alleged he’d hurt his back working in the warehouse. However, the video showed him in a parking lot loading boxes into a moving truck.
    “It’s a good video…excellent quality,” Luke said. “Your guy must’ve been using some great surveillance equipment. But there’s no way to tell how heavy the boxes were. If we don’t know that, we can’t use this in court to say that Wilson was lifting as much or more than he would at our warehouse.”
    “That’s where the P.I.’s testimony would have been invaluable,” said Dan. “When he brought me the footage, he told me how suspiciously Wilson acted prior to the arrival of the U-Haul. He said Wilson seemed afraid of being caught. He also said it was apparent that Wilson was straining under the weight.”
    “If he didn’t know the investigator was there, maybe he was worried about the contents of the boxes,” I said. “Do you have any idea what was in them?”
    “No. The P.I. copied the identifying information off the moving truck and was going to see who’d rented it and get back with me,” Dan said.
    “Who rented it?” I asked.
    “That’s just it. My guy has been missing since the day he delivered the video.”
    “He didn’t leave the information on the truck with you?” Luke asked.
    Dan shook his head. “No. I trusted him to look into it and get back to me. I didn’t think I needed the information.”
    “How long has the investigator been missing?” I asked.
    “Two days.”
    I frowned. “Of course, you’ve sent someone to look for him.”
    “Naturally,” said Dan. “He’s not at home. He’s not at work. He isn’t visiting known relatives.”
    “What are the police saying?” asked Luke.
    “Basically, there’s no body and no crime as of yet.” Dan sighed. “It just doesn’t feel right. That’s why I called you.”
    “I’m glad you did,” Luke said. “Brandy and I will start looking into this right away.”
    “Thanks.” Dan appeared relieved to be able to share his burden.
     
    Once Dan had left, Luke and I talked strategy.
    “What do we do first?” I asked. “Do we talk with Wilson or try to find the investigator?”
    Luke pursed his lips. “We need to talk with Wilson, of course, but I don’t know how to go about it without looking suspicious. We don’t want to end up in the same place as the investigator.”
    “How about we take Mr. Wilson a gourmet food basket? We could have the concierge find us something.”
    “And that would work how? ‘Hi! Here’s some food. Are you faking your injury? And did you kill our private investigator?’” He chuckled.
    “No, Mr. Smarty-Pants. We’d deliver the basket to his home and say we happened to be in town and that we met with Dan and were told of his injury,” I said. “We could say we were very sorry.”
    “If we do that, babe, we end up looking like the company is at fault.”
    “If the man is receiving