Fool Me Once(41)

“What can I do for you?” Lulu asked.

There was no reason to play around. “My sister used to call here. I’m trying to find out why.”

“We accept table reservations. Maybe that was it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Lulu shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Lots of people call here.”

“Her name was Claire Walker. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Even if it did, I wouldn’t tell you. You know what kind of business we run here. We pride ourselves on discretion.”

“Nice to be proud of something.”

“Don’t play the judgmental card, Miss . . . ?”

“Maya. Maya Stern. And my sister was murdered.”

Silence.

“She had a hidden phone.” Maya pulled it out and brought up the history. “The only calls she made or received were from here.”

Lulu did not so much as glance down. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“But there is nothing I can tell you.”

“I can turn this phone over to the police. A woman kept this phone a secret. She only called here. Then she ended up murdered. You don’t think the cops will be all over this place?”

“No,” Lulu said, “I don’t. But even if they choose that route, we have nothing to hide. How do you know the phone was even your sister’s?”

“What?”

“Where did you find it? In her home? Does she live with someone else? Maybe the phone was theirs, not hers. Was she married? Did she have a boyfriend? Maybe it was his.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You sure? A hundred percent? Because—and this will shock you—men have been known to lie about coming here. Even if you could somehow prove that the phone did indeed belong to your sister, dozens of people use the phone here. Dancers, bartenders, waitstaff, chefs, janitors, dishwashers, even customers. How long ago was your sister killed?”

“Four months ago.”

“We delete our video surveillance files every two weeks. Again it’s about discretion. We don’t want someone getting a warrant to see if their husband was here or anything. So even if you wanted to look at tape—”

“I get it,” Maya said.

Lulu gave her a patronizing smile. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more help.”

“Yeah, you seem pretty broken up about it.”

“If you’ll excuse me.”

Maya stepped toward her. “Forget the legal for a second. You know I’m not out to catch an indiscretion. I’m calling on your humanity. My sister was murdered. The police have all but given up hope of solving the case. The only fresh lead is this phone. So I’m asking you, as a human being, to please help me.”

Lulu was already moving toward the door. “I’m terribly sorry about your loss, but I can’t help you.”


*

There was an explosion of sunlight when Maya exited the club. It was always nighttime inside places like this, but in the real world, it was barely noon. The sun beat down upon her with both fists. Maya squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand, staggering like Dracula dragged into daylight.

“Didn’t get the job?” Meathead asked.

“My loss.”

“Shame.”

“Yeah.”

So now what?

She could indeed do as threatened and bring it to the police. That, of course, meant bringing it to Kierce. Did Maya trust him? Good question. Either he was in some ways taking payoffs or Caroline was lying. Or Caroline was mistaken. Or . . . didn’t matter. She didn’t trust Caroline. She didn’t trust Kierce.

So who did she trust?

Right now it didn’t pay to trust anyone, but if there was still one person she believed was telling the truth, it was Shane. Which meant, of course, she would have to be careful. Shane was her friend, but he was also a straight shooter. She had already pushed him to do something that he hadn’t liked. She was supposed to see him that night at the gun range. Maybe she would talk to him there, but now that she really thought about it, that seemed unlikely. He was starting to ask too many questions . . .

Wait, hold up.

Maya had been walking through the parking lot, still blinking away the onslaught of the light change, when she spotted it. At first it meant nothing. She was seeing it at a great distance, and there were plenty of them on the road.

Plenty of red Buick Veranos.

This one was parked in the far corner of the lot, half hidden between a fence and a Cadillac Escalade, a big SUV. She looked back toward the door. Meathead was checking out her ass. Big surprise. She waved and started toward the red vehicle.

She needed to see if the license plate matched.

Along the top of the fence, Maya could see surveillance cameras. But so what? Would anyone be watching right now, and if so what would be the harm? She had a plan of sorts. In one of her very rare smart moves recently—not wanting to get caught unprepared again—she’d bought several GPS trackers at the mall. The first was, of course, on Hector’s truck.

A second was in her purse, ready to go.

The plan was simple and obvious. First, make sure she had the right car by checking the license plate. Second, walk past the red Buick and slap the GPS tracker under the bumper.