said good-bye and left.
George and I sat in silence for a moment.
“You want ice for your face?” I asked.
“Nah, I think I’ll be okay. Where’s Jim?”
“Still at the station. They haven’t released him yet.”
George looked surprised. “I thought if I didn’t press charges, they’d release him right away.”
The weight of leaving Jim alone at the station was starting to get to me. I suddenly felt ridiculously tired and in over my head, but if I wanted answers, now was my opportunity to grill George. “Why did you change your mind about pressing charges?”
He shrugged. “I was so pissed off I wanted to get back at him, but by the time I got to the car—”
“You realized how much you love your brother and decided not to, right?”
George smiled. “Yeah. That’s right.”
I exhaled loudly, letting my impatience show. “Come on, George, be straight with me. You’re avoiding the cops.”
“I’m not avoiding them . . . I . . .” We stared at each other; George closed his eyes in defeat. “I know they’ve been asking around for me.”
“So why not talk to them? Tell them what you know.”
George stood up and shrugged. “I don’t know anything! You got my bags?”
I remained seated. “Yeah. I do.”
He tapped his foot impatiently. “ ’Kay, where are they? You want me to get them? You stay on the couch. You look tired.”
Part of me wanted George to get the bags and leave. The part that was afraid and wanted nothing more to do with any of this. But the other part, the stubborn part of me that can’t ever shut up, said, “Did you break into our cars, trying to get your bags?”
George flinched as if I’d hit him. “What? No. I didn’t even know you had them until today.”
“Someone did. Both our cars were broken into after I picked up your bags from the ME’s office. Once outside Michelle’s house, the other outside El Paraiso.”
George’s eyes darted around the room.
“Do you work at El Paraiso?” I asked.
George nodded.
“What do you do there?” I pressed, wondering how far I could push him.
He looked momentarily confused. I had almost gotten his guard down. “Oh, you know . . .” He waved his hands around, trying to distract me.
“Is it legal?”
“What?” George stared at me, his mouth agape.
I matched his stare. At this point all the runaround was making me angry, and with Laurie tucked away safely in the back bedroom, I felt brave enough to challenge him a bit.
“Whatever they have you do. Is it legal?”
“God, Kate, what are you asking me? I mean, I do . . . I do restaurant stuff.”
“Like what? Bus tables?” I probed.
“Yeah, like that.”
“George, I was there. I know you don’t bus the tables. None of the staff even know you exist.”
He paced around the room. “Sure they do. Like who? Who did you talk to?”
“What were you doing on the pier today, George?”
“Pfft, you know,” He waved his hand around and gave me his famous, charming smile, trying to disarm me. “Hanging out.”
“I don’t buy that, George. Your bags were found there a few weeks ago when they recovered Brad. I saw you there yesterday.”
“You were there yesterday?”
“Yeah. I called your name. You took off running. And you left your bag there!”
He shook his head back and forth. “Sorry. I thought I saw . . . I thought you were someone else.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “I thought I was being followed.”
“Why would you be followed? And why did you leave your bag? How’d you get it back?”
“It’s not important.”
“How come you’ve been so hard to get ahold of?” I pressed.
“What do you mean?”
“When the police found your bags, they called here. We didn’t know where to find you. What’s up with all the secrets?”
“No secrets.”
“Where are you staying? Do you have a phone number or anything?”
“Yeah,” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and jotted something down, then handed it to me. “Here’s my cell phone.”
“We tried this number before. No service.”
“Temporary thing. I threw some money at it last week, so it should be fine now.”
“What about the murder weapon?”
“What about it?” George asked.
“How did you know Brad was killed with one of your dad’s guns?” I asked.
“I don’t really know that. All I know is that it was the same type of gun.”
“How?” I pressed.
“I talked to an investigator, a PI. He said he was hired by Brad’s mother. To look into things. He told me Brad was killed by a nine-millimeter. Dad had a nine-millimeter