“And my mother got free advertising for her supplements and new website. Thanks for that, Reuben. She has Loretta taking the orders and Aunt Ellen packaging them up. It’s giving my aunt something more useful to do than talking to conmen on the phone.”
“Can I adopt your family?” Roark asked. “I want to be dem when I grow up.”
“You’re crazy enough to fit right in,” Evie said solemnly. She made Reuben pull over at a fast-food joint so she could have a milkshake and salad. The men happily opted for the biggest sandwiches on the menu, with extra fries.
By the time they pulled into the rear lot of Azalea Apartments, she was feeling more charitable. She’d deduced Jax had set them to following her while he went about his own business, whatever that might be. The poor man still didn’t grasp that she could take care of herself. She simply did it from a different plane than he comprehended.
Roark waited until a janitor approached the back door, then climbed out with his toolbox in hand. He politely stood to one side as the janitor programmed in the key number, then caught the door and entered with him. He texted the number back once he was inside.
“How did he do that?” Evie studied the numbers Roark had sent as Reuben keyed them in. She could barely read the pad in the bright light.
“Hears it. Each number has a slightly different tone. You ought to see him crack a safe. Fortunately, that’s not our usual line of work.”
“Huh, acute hearing? I thought only my family could do that. That’s a for real thing?”
“Ain’t got no idea what you’re talking about. He’s got good ears is all I know.” Reuben held the door for her.
Inside, Evie gestured at a coat closet where employees left their work clothes as well as their outside clothes. She grabbed a maid’s tunic that might fit and found a nametag in the pocket. Most excellent.
The guys opted for safety vests and pulled out their own name tags, as if they might be with a janitorial or repair service.
Pushing a rolling laundry cart, she followed them into the elevator and up to the fourth floor. She sensed a temporal disturbance that usually meant paranormal activity, but this was a retirement home, where old people died regularly. She really didn’t want to investigate any extra ghosts just yet. Her focus was divided as it was.
“What are our main goals here?” Reuben demanded.
“Remove the cameras,” Roark promptly replied. “Then bug their conference room.”
“Talk to everyone we saw on Granny’s camera the week she died?” Goals had never been in her game plan. Knocking on doors was more her style. Consulting the ghost, maybe.
Reuben rolled his eyes. “And just exactly what do you say to a potential murder suspect?”
“Does anyone here drink Gatorade?” she suggested. She had no clue beyond her flyers.
“Coroner hasn’t verified Gatorade yet. Does that stuff even come in purple? You’d be as useful asking about Purple Passion Juice. And why would a maid be asking questions?” Reuben held the elevator door so they could all get off.
Marlene’s door was open and the hall stank of fresh paint. Oh crap.
Twenty-seven
“You two godo what you do,” Roark suggested, peering into the apartment through the cracked open door. “I got the cameras under control. Reuben, turn on your ears.” He liked knowing where everyone was if they split up. He should probably teach Evie to wear a mic and ear buds.
“I’m off to bug a boardroom.” Reuben said into his mic, testing it, before he took off down the hall with his tool bag.
“I need to talk to Marlene,” Evie whispered.
“Then do it in the hall.”
Once assured she wouldn’t barge in, Roark straightened his shoulders and pushed open the door. He didn’t normally use his size to bully, but intimidation was easy. A couple of paunchy painters sloppily throwing a boring beige on the walls glanced up at his entrance. Saluting a curt greeting, he set his toolbox on the counter and climbed up to remove his cameras, as if he were simply maintenance.
The painters didn’t question. Or didn’t dare.
From this angle, through the open door, he could see Evie leaning against the hall wall, muttering to the voices in her head.
When she abruptly wandered off, Roark cursed. He hurriedly removed the first camera. Climbing down, he could see her knocking on the door across the hall. He moved on to the next device.
Wait a minute... She was going into the old guy’s apartment dressed like a laundress?
He peered into the hall again. She’d wrapped her distinctive orange hair in a bandana and donned spectacles. When no one answered the door, she slid a slick flyer under the door. Where the hell had she hidden that?