Page 72 of Ruthless Riches
“Sounds great,” I said, letting her think she was still in control of everything. “I’ll bring dessert. What time is good for you?”
“Eight would be perfect.”
After we ended the call, I got ready. I packed a few things in a bag, hit up the nearest mall for some necessary gear, and picked up a tiramisu from a local restaurant. Then I drove up to the city.
When Sascha answered the door, I held up the tiramisu. “Lexie’s favorite dessert,” I said. “I thought it might help us feel close to her.”
Sascha smiled. “Thank you,” she said, taking the dish from me. “That’s really sweet. Anyway, come in.”
As I stepped inside, she gestured toward the dining table, which was set for two. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I ordered takeout. I really can’t be bothered cooking right now.”
“Hey, no judgment from me,” I replied, lifting my palms. “I got the tiramisu from a restaurant.”
She smiled faintly and waved toward a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get the food.”
She went into the kitchen to start serving everything up. While she did that, I called out to her. “How did things go with the police?”
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “I gave them a statement, but I was right about the cameras,” she said. “There’s none in that area.”
“Damn. What about the bar?” I said. “Can they ask the staff to see if anyone remembers seeing you in there a couple of nights ago? They might remember who you were talking to, or who you left with.”
Sascha returned to the table with two plates of delicious-smelling lasagna and salad. “They can do that,” she said, setting the plates down. “But the bar is always crowded, so I doubt the staff will remember seeing me.”
“Seems like the guy planned it all out, then,” I said, lifting a brow. “Did everything to make sure he’d never be found.”
She averted her eyes. “Yeah. I guess we’ll never really know what happened the other night,” she said. “It’s not important, anyway. Not compared to Alexis.”
I nodded slowly and picked up my fork to take a bite of food. As I did so, Sascha jumped up. “Shit. I totally forgot about the drinks. I’d usually suggest wine for this sort of food, but I’ve been craving whiskey. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
She picked up the glasses on the table and took them into the kitchen. Then she turned her back on me to face the counter.
It wasn’t lost on me that she insisted on pouring the drinks out of sight.
When she returned to the dining area, she held one glass toward me. I decided to do a little test to see if she’d be willing to switch drinks.
“You should have that one instead,” I said, dipping my chin toward the proffered glass. “It looks like it has a bit more in it, and after the last few days, you definitely need it.”
Sascha’s smile wavered slightly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll have the smaller one,” she said, placing the first glass down on my side of the table. “It’s strong stuff.”
I picked the drink up. Then I scratched the side of my head with my free hand to shield my face and the direction of my gaze as I inspected the contents of the glass. There was a tiny amount of white sediment swirling at the bottom—a telltale sign of a crushed-up pill that hadn’t completely dissolved yet.
I was right. Sascha was definitely planning to knock me out so she could sneak out of the apartment later.
I raised the glass like I was about to take a sip. Then I started coughing loudly. “Fuck,” I croaked between coughs, rubbing my throat. “Could you get me some water?”
“Sure.” Sascha hurried back into the kitchen.
While she was filling a cup from the water dispenser on the fridge—one I could see, thankfully—I poured my whiskey in the nearest indoor plant pot. Then I raised the glass back to my lips and tipped it backward. When Sascha returned to the dining area, it looked like I’d just downed the entire contents of the glass.
I set it down on the table and gratefully accepted the water. “Hopefully this’ll help more than the whiskey,” I muttered before gulping it all down. I coughed again for good measure, and then I sat back and sighed. “Shit. That’s better.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. There was just a bit of food stuck in my throat. It’s gone now.”
She eyed my empty whiskey glass. “Want another drink? You didn’t really get to enjoy that first one.”
