Page 20 of Random in Death

“Did they finish? Clear you to clean?”

“We’re cleaning, aren’t we? You gonna arrest us for cleaning so the frigging health department can cite us for not?”

“No, ma’am, I—”

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me!” She stabbed a green-tipped finger at Eve. “I’m not your ma’am.”

“Now, Glo.” Leaning his mop on the counter, Harve came around it to pat her. “Everybody’s just doing their job.”

“I’m doing mine right here, and don’t need some fancy badge coming in telling me how to do it. We’ve run this place for more than twenty years. You know how many times we had to have the cops in? I’ll tell you,” she snapped before Eve could respond. “Three.”

She jerked up three fingers in case Eve needed to count.

“Three times in more than twenty years. We run a decent club, and don’t put up with any bullshit. Somebody crosses a line, out they go. Nobody—”

She broke off, covered her face with her hands.

Given the length of her lashes, it surprised Eve they didn’t spider their way through her fingers.

“Oh Jesus, Harve. A kid died here. A kid.”

“I know, babe.” He put his arms around her, and though his head barely reached her shoulder, seemed to provide the rock for her to lean on.

“Just kids,” she said. “Just kids. We’ve been doing these kid nights for years. A kid tries to sneak in some booze, we take it, dump it. They get one warning. Screw up again, and out. Try to sneak in illegals, same deal. If it’s hard stuff? No warning, banned and that’s that.

“Now a girl’s dead, in our place, and you cops are saying it’s an overdose, and maybe even somebody did it to her. How the hell did that happen?”

“It’s my job to find out,” Eve told her. “Ms. Reiser.”

“Ah, fuck it. I’m Glo, and I’m going to half—only half—apologize.”

“I’ll half accept,” Eve countered, and got the faintest smile. “Glo, I’ve corroborated that your alcohol is and was securely stored away during this event. Your beer taps locked and secured. I have no reason at this time to conclude that either you or your partner are responsible for the circumstances that resulted in Jenna Harbough’s death.”

“She died here.”

Because she understood, Eve nodded at the simple statement. “Let’s find out how and why. My detectives are nearly through the interview process, and the last should be released momentarily. I’d like to see how the club area looked during that final song.”

“I’ll get the lights for you. We’ll get through this, Glo.”

“Yeah, we will. Sure we will. You want the music, too? We’ve got the boys on the house loop. I can cue up the song. It’s not tonight’s live version, but it’ll be close.”

“That would be helpful. Before we do that, let me check, see that the interviews are complete.”

When she went out, McNab had only a handful left.

“Peabody took another six or so a few minutes ago,” Roarke told her.

“Any luck with that?”

“Not so far, and it’s going to be problematic.”

At his gesture, she walked over, looked at the screen.

“A lot of groups, and a lot—primarily boys—with their heads down, hair flopping over, hands in pockets.”

“Trying to look frosty. Bet you did that back when.”

He smiled. “If your head’s down, you might miss a pocket ripe for the picking. In the game, it’s more important to look invisible, or at least innocent, rather than frosty.”

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