you get off it? I’m not doing anything with Officer Gomez.”
“Your loss, I’d say.”
“He’s probably married, anyway, and wouldn’t have anything to do with me, even if I wasn’t involved in an investigation. Most of the good ones are.”
“He’s completely single. And hetero. I checked.”
Not what Casey wanted to hear.
By the time they got back to the Flamingo, Casey’s stomach was growling. She was moving toward the stairs, head down, when she heard someone calling her name. Or Daisy’s name.
Jack beckoned her over to the bar, where he was counting money from the cash register. When she approached he shoved it all back in and shut the drawer. “Hey. You okay? I heard about last night.” He searched her face, his own a picture of concern.
“Just tired. Trying not to think about anything.”
“Can’t blame you. Can I help somehow?”
She stifled a yawn. “Can you take a nap for me?”
“Not that I don’t want to, but…” He gave a sad smile.
Casey perched on a stool. “Did you know her?”
“Andrea? Sure. A little, anyway. She’d come here some evenings, mostly weekends. Hang out with her friend Krystal and whatever guys were lucky enough to sit with them.”
“From what I hear of Krystal, it would have been a different guy every night. Was Andrea the same?”
“The same as Krystal?” He laughed. “Hardly. I mean, she didn’t have a regular guy she hung out with, but where Krystal would take them upstairs with her on a regular basis, Andrea always left them at the elevator.”
Exactly as Casey had figured it. “Did you ever see anything to indicate people didn’t like Andrea?”
Jack shook his head. “Never. Some guys, I think, might have liked to get to know her better, but she really gave off the vibe of not being interested. You ask me, I think she had someone already, maybe back home in Oregon, maybe not, but she just seemed…I don’t know…taken.”
“You know anybody who might have wanted more with her, and felt snubbed?”
“I’m not sure about snubbed, but there were a number I could name.”
“Del?” The guy from the weight room.
Jack grinned. “He was one of them. He might have gotten farther than most—I’m pretty sure he took her out once or twice. But I don’t think he took it too hard. It’s not like other women wouldn’t want a well-built guy who can cook.”
Casey laughed, then choked it off. Del could cook. And he was planning on cooking for her that evening. She’d completely spaced it, with all that had happened. And maybe he wasn’t even up for it, with Andrea dying. She wasn’t sure she was up for eating anything, let alone high-fat, rich foods. But she should check in with him, either way. If nothing else, he might need somebody to talk to.
She jumped off the stool. “Gotta go.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “So soon?”
“I forgot Del was going to cook for me tonight, if he still wants to.”
“He got to you quick, didn’t he? Don’t blame him.” He waved her off. “Go on, then. Enjoy.”
Casey was standing in front of her closet, trying to decide what one wears to a homemade gourmet meal the day after someone dies violently, when a knock came on her door.
“Company!” Death said.
“I’m not deaf.”
Casey opened the door. Del hunched there, a basket in his hands. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his nose looked like it had been blown more than is good for anyone. Again, the standard look around the Flamingo that day. Andrea had affected more people than she probably realized.
Once again, Casey found herself looking at the clock and feeling inadequate. “Oh, Del, I’m sorry. I was going to come up as soon as I got changed. I’m running a little behind.”
He straightened, and plastered a smile on his face. “Figured you would be, so I brought it to you!”
“I don’t know, Del, after what’s happened today, I’m not sure I—”
Del’s face fell.
“Let him in, silly,” Death said. “You’re hurting the poor man’s feelings.” Casey glanced at Death with surprise. Death was now wearing a copy of Jack’s bartending uniform—dress slacks and a button-down shirt, rolled up to the elbows. A nametag on the breast pocket read Old Father Time.
“I’m sorry,” Casey said to Del. “Never mind.” She stepped to the side, and Del walked past, leaving a delicious smell in his wake. He set the basket on the kitchen counter. “If you’ll set the table for two—”
“Oh, make it three,” Death said. “Please make it three.”