Red Roses in Las Vegas by A.R. Winters Read Free Book Online Page B

Wealth Solutions slid open when we got there. The place was brightly lit, with some of the blinds pulled up, and there was a fresh vase of flowers on the receptionist’s desk. The open-space work area was still empty, and there was no receptionist waiting behind the fresh flowers.
    Ian and I took a few tentative strides forward. When I got to the branching-off corridor, I glanced to my right, and noticed that only one of the doors was wide open. It was beginning to feel a bit like the night Jack and I broke in, and I didn’t want a repeat of those events, so I called out, “Helloo-o?”
    I heard papers being pushed aside, and a fat, jolly-looking man walked out of the door. He had thick grey hair that framed his face messily, and a puffy face.
    “You must be Tiffany,” he said, walking towards me, and Ian and I stepped forward to shake hands. “I’m Clark.”
    “Tiffany,” I said. “And this is my friend, Ian.”
    “Partner,” said Ian, shaking Clark’s hand. “We’re co-detectives.”
    Clark glanced at me, and I smiled thinly. This was probably how commitment-phobic guys felt when they were introduced as someone’s boyfriend.
    Thankfully, Clark let the comment slide, and I told him how much I appreciated his making time to talk to us.
    He brushed away my gratitude. “Anything for a friend of Jack’s,” he said, turning around and leading us to his office. “Just let me know what I can do to help.”
    Clark’s office was set in a corner, with windows along both sides, but the only view he had was that of Sunset Road and part of the wide, open grounds of McCarran Airport. The floors had thin, industrial-grey carpeting, and in addition to his large desk with its two visitors’ chairs, there was another round table in the corner, with six chairs grouped around it. A low sofa clung to one wall, and a potted palm stood alone in different corner. The walls were bare – no artwork, no photos, no framed diplomas.
    I was a bit surprised at the lack of artwork. Clark had blue-grey eyes that glinted with what I assumed was a sense of humor, and I’d expected framed prints on his wall, saying things like, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we diet,” but I suppose he wanted to keep things serious at work.
    We sat down opposite him, and Clark said, “This business with Adam. Pretty nasty. I don’t really believe an old grandma could pull it off.”
    “Why not?” I asked. Maybe the guy was being polite, but I needed ammo, just in case we had to go to trial.
    “For one thing, how’d she get away? Jack and you were there, and I don’t think an old lady could run away that fast.”
    I nodded. “You’re right, but I don’t know if a jury will believe that. Some old ladies move pretty quickly – have you seen them rush into the stores when Metamucil’s on sale?”
    Clark laughed, a loud, booming laugh and said, “Well, now that you mention it – my mom can move pretty fast to get the cookies out of my way.”
    “How terrible.”
    We shared a sympathetic smile, and Ian said, “Tiffany, why are you wasting this man’s time?” He turned to Clark and said, “Tell us about Adam. Did he have any enemies?”
    That should’ve been my line.
    Clark shook his head. “Nope.”
    “Let’s start at the beginning,” I said. “What kind of work does your company do? What did Adam do?”
    “We’re a financial advisory service,” Clark said, glancing from Ian to me. “We tell clients what to do with their money, and most of the time we’ll make the investments for them, if it’s a vehicle like hedge funds or ETFs. We’ve also got a couple of traders on board – Adam was one of them – so if a client wants more hands-on management than investing in some other firm or ETF, we can do that. We can customize their strategies.”
    “Right. So Adam was a trader.”
    “Yes. He was meant to do long-term, buy-and-hold stuff, although I’ve heard that he did some short-term trades as well.”
    “What does