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He had only drunk half a beer so far, determined to celebrate his gambling win while still partially sober. Afterward, he planned to crash into bed and wake up thoroughly refreshed. As the final commercial break before the game concluded, half his mind drifted to talking to that waitress from the diner tomorrow—Amelia, he thought her name was. The other half longed to take a trip up the coast. He needed to avoid a hangover to start this holiday on the right note.
The man introduced himself as Gary Wells. His daughter had passed away last week under suspicious circumstances, dying of a heroin overdose. The police were convinced it was an accident and refused to investigate further. For Jones to get involved legally, the case had to be officially closed—interfering with active police work was the fastest way to lose his private eye license.
He paused briefly to consider how to proceed without overpromising. “I’m hesitant to take this job because I know nothing about what’s going on. This is a bit outside my usual scope. Investigating murder is a serious matter, and I don’t take it lightly. I only like to get involved when I have enough to start with. I’m sympathetic to your situation, so at the very least, I’ll hear you out. Can we meet tomorrow morning?”
“You have to help me. I beg you. I’ve already waited too long to make this call.”
“The people at the place she worked. I know they’re involved,” Gary stuttered, voicing an accusation he’d never said aloud before. The idea of blaming someone for murder clearly felt alien to him.
Jones knew of The Lake House but lacked specific details. Just a week ago, he’d seen its name in an article in the state paper. Celebrity gossip didn’t interest him, but he rummaged through his stack of old newspapers and found what he needed: “… The de More family did it again. The end-of-winter gala was an astronomical success for the venue, with every film award winner attending the party. In an interview, young Vincent de More expressed shock at his event’s success. In only his second year running the establishment after taking over from his mother, Beatrice de More, now 70 years young, he aims to surpass all who came before him. He credits his fortune to the venue and the staff’s hard work.” Jones wasn’t a wordsmith—his lack of skill with words often got him into trouble—but even he thought using “success” three times in quick succession was clumsy.
Claudia had indeed died of a drug overdose in her apartment. A neighbor found her body the morning after her death. The police initially treated it as a homicide, but with all signs pointing to a self-inflicted overdose, they deemed it accidental within hours and closed the case.
He knew there was little chance of the police reopening the case without a major breakthrough. An ideal plan began forming in his mind: find enough evidence to prove Claudia was murdered, then push the police to take it up again. The seasoned private eye had no intention of taking Gary’s money without a clear strategy.
The sun was setting, and a few people were out. His neighbor was grilling burgers, clearly enjoying himself, and gave Jones a hearty wave. Jones returned a smiling nod. His car waited, ready for another journey. Something told Jones this case would be a long one. With all the reluctance he could muster while still maintaining respect to Brian Wells, he got behind the wheel and headed north again. At least the Dime Bar had an avocado burger he was eager to try. He was already making progress on his earlier resolution to meet at places with reasonably priced food.