Meow If It's Murder (Nick and Nora Mysteries) by T.C. LoTempio Read Free Book Online Page A

money on an empty three-room apartment. I rented it, packed up all his stuff, and what I couldn’t sell I’m waiting for Goodwill to show up and take away. You might tell him that, if you run into him.”
    I shook my head, trying to process what Mrs. Rojas had just said. “He’s been missing for six weeks? Didn’t you report it to the police?”
    She snorted. “Why? I could probably tell you what happened.” She held up one large hand and started to tick off on her fingers. “A, he probably shacked up with some broad. I’ve seen some of the women he hung out with, and let me tell you, they had ‘loser’ written all over ’em. B, he’s probably off following up some lead on some case. He told me, right before he disappeared, he had a real doozy he was workin’ on—thought it would bring him, now what’s the word he used? Oh, yeah. Notoriety. He thought it might make him famous.” She let out another snort. “Yeah, right. If I had a nickel for every time he said that—well, he’d be flush with me.”
    I licked at my lips. “But throwing him out on the street—isn’t that a bit drastic?”
    She sighed. “Honey, drastic is deliberately letting a perfectly good apartment sit vacant because you don’t know where the tomcat ran off to when I could be getting over a thousand a month on it. Besides, he’s not exactly homeless. He’s got his office space. Worse case I’m sure he can shack up there until he gets new digs.”
    “Oh”—I breathed a sigh of relief—“he does have an office, then? I wondered, because when I Googled him, the only address that came up was this one.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s probably because the space is rented in his partner’s name.” Her tongue clucked against the roof of her mouth. “Another poor, trusting sap Nick Atkins took advantage of, if you ask me.”
    I looked up sharply, positive the surprise I felt was plainly visible in my expression. “Partner? Atkins had a partner?”
    “Yep. Ollie was a good investigator in his own right, till he got divorced, and then his son tried to kill himself. Poor soul—he tried to drown his troubles in drink, until—and this is about the only good thing I can say about Nick—he took him under his wing. They went in business together, and Ollie’s been dry for two years now. Out of the two, Nick brought in most of the business, so if he’s down for the count, Ollie’s on tough times again. I just hope he can keep it together, ’cause—you see where I’m headed with this, right? Kinda hard to keep up with your bills when you don’t have payin’ renters.”
    “Must be,” I murmured. “If you could just tell me . . .”
    “Anyway, their office is in Castillo, on Clement Street, number 634. Tell Ollie—that’s short for Oliver, by the way—Norma sent you, and if he sees that no-good scum of a partner of his, he better not show his face around here unless he has the three thousand in back rent he owes—or else he can tell it to the judge.”
    I started to retrace my steps back up the hallway. “I’ll give him the message. Thanks.”
    “Wait!”
    Mrs. Rojas disappeared into her apartment and emerged a few minutes later with a large box, which she summarily thrust into my arms. “Here you go.”
    I looked down at the box and the jumble of items jammed inside. “What’s all this?”
    “The few things I didn’t pack for Goodwill. The cat stuff, of course, and I think there were some journals of Nick’s in there—Ollie might want ’em.” She chuckled. “The journals, not the cat. I have a feeling you’re gonna be stuck with him.”
    *   *   *
    T he offices of Sampson and Atkins were located in downtown Castillo, a town about a mile and a half south of Cruz. They were tucked into the basement of a converted firehouse that looked as if it had seen better days, although the neighborhood surrounding it bordered on—for want of a better word—upscale yuppieville. I pulled my Hyundai SUV into the