Page 166 of Little Sunshine

“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on those? That all happened last night. Forever ago.”

“Never.”

“Well, feel free to work extra.” I put my cupped hand to my ear. “I think Maximo just said it’s mandatory overtime.”

He chuckled.

But he did it with hazel eyes blazing in anticipation.

There was no rush.

It could wait.

I had lots of time.

I…

I was procrastinating because I was a coward.

After Ash and Maximo left, I’d showered before fixing another coffee that I’d drunk out on the balcony with my iPad. Instead of reading like I’d intended, I’d spent a couple of hours looking up different hotel rooms.

I’d always been curious about how a hotel came up with the design they used for rooms. As far as I knew, the bulk of The Roulette’s furnishings and decor were a hodgepodge from auctions of failed hotels.

It seemed like bad luck to me.

But for hotels that actually cared, I was curious what went into it. I’d never bothered for the same reason I never window-shopped.

Looking at things I could never have was like sticking my head in a mousetrap I’d set myself—pointless and painful.

When I’d gone back inside, I’d grabbed my phone and…

That was as far as I got.

Staring down at my text thread with Juliet, I wanted to explain—yet again. But there was a limit to how much annoying bullshit someone could take, even from their no-longer-fledgling friend. And despite Maximo’s order earlier, I was worried I’d exceeded that quota.

Juliet and I may have had similar-ish backgrounds, but we clearly didn’t have the same flaws. Weaknesses.

Issues.

With a sigh, I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. It was still on the news that Ash had been watching.

I was about to switch the channel to something actually watchable when the man’s words caught my attention. Standing outside of a run-down motel that made The Roulette seem like The Bellagio, he pointed to the side. “That poor maid, man. I hope she can sue for emotional distress or hazardous conditions or something because that’s just wrong.”

“Let’s go back to yesterday,” a reporter said.

“Well, there’s been all those stabbings around, ya know? So when they found the body, that’s what we thought it was. That the Vegas serial killer struck here.”

The reporter quickly smiled at the camera. “Authorities have already assured the public that those stabbings are unrelated to each other.”

He arched a brow. “And cops never lie?”

“About this body,” she prompted to keep things on track.

“Oh. So neither of those dudes have been around, but this isn’t a summer camp. No one is taking roll call and enforcing curfew. But then the smell started. No AC and all. Management sent that poor maid to check it out instead of going themselves because they’re lazy bastards. And that’s when she found the guy. He wasn’t stabbed, though, so it isn’t the serial killer. I overheard them say he’s likely been dead for a week. Maybe an overdose.” He shook his head. “All that time missing, and no one came to check on him. Sad.”

“Do you know if the deceased had a history with substance abuse.”

“I don’t judge which sins people dabble in when they visit Sin City. And dead or not, I’m no rat.” He started to walk off frame before sticking his head back on camera. “But yeah, that dude was a tweaker.”

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