“I’ll do that, thanks.”
“Can we talk later? I’m in town tonight. I could buy you dinner and you could give me some tips.”
Margot started to turn him down, but the fact was, she wanted to be in the loop on the investigation.
“Okay, but it stays professional.”
“Of course. That was my intention all along. I’m a happily married man.”
“Would you believe that I’ve heard that before?”
“I suppose you have. This time, however, it’s true.”
“There’s a place called Layla’s West. They don’t have food, but there’s usually a food truck nearby and Stan is cool with bringing the food in. Meet you there around six?”
“I can do that.”
“See you then.”
Margot tried the figures as a phone number using both area codes and neither one belonged to anybody. By the time she had finished listening to the recorded voice say, “This number is no longer in service,” she was at the office building where Stick and Shaw rented office space. She parked in front next to a newer looking Nissan SUV with a vanity license plate that read “PI SHAW.” Judging by his new car and office Shaw was doing a lot better than Margot at the private investigation game.
Next to Shaw’s vehicle was a 1970s vintage white Cadillac convertible. Even though it was nearly fifty years old, it looked like it was in a lot better shape than Margot’s Prius. Since Margot didn’t picture Ms. Collins driving around in a car like that, she figured it had to be the client Shaw was seeing.
Ms. Collins, who looked like she should be somebody’s grandma, smiled when Margot came in and told her, “He should be done soon. Can you wait?”
“Of course.”
Margot sat down. Ms. Collins looked up from her computer and asked, “Did you know Stick very well?”
Margot shook her head, “We’d run into each other, but no. He seemed like a good guy and had a great reputation.”
“I can tell you all that was true,” Ms. Collins said as she fought back tears.
Margot didn’t say anything as Ms. Collins regained her composure. She knew she shouldn’t feel any guilt; Stick was a professional who did this kind of work for a living, but Margot couldn’t help it. If she hadn’t hired him to do a job she should have been doing, he’d still be alive.
Once Ms. Collins seemed to have it back together Margot told her, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
Margot didn’t reply to that. She knew Randy took money from the cartel and any time they were involved; death was always a possibility. She didn’t think when she hired Stick that she was sending him to his death, but to say she couldn’t have known wasn’t really accurate either.
The door opened and a short man with thick arms walked into the lobby. He was wearing a cowboy hat, western shirt, and boots.
He looked at Margot, smiled and, tipping his hat, said, “Afternoon ma’am.”
“If you say so,” Margot replied.
He smiled again, showing some gold teeth, and told her, “I certainly do,” before he walked out of the office.
“Mr. Crenshaw should be ready to see you,” Ms. Collins said after the cowboy left.
Margot said, “Thanks,” before heading back to Shaw’s office.
He was sitting at his desk staring at his computer when Margot walked in.
“Could you give me a minute?” Shaw asked her as thick fingers pounded on the keyboard.
Back in his days as a cop, Shaw had been built like a linebacker but since going private, he’d grown soft around the middle.