Page 40 of Elsie's Strong Shelter

Elsie hurried to the look at the computer screen. “Looks like they use the same accounting software I use at the store. A quick glance makes everything seem like the books are clean, but if Malcom was using the bar to launder money, he wouldn’t keep it on the computer the rest of the staff can access.”

“Agreed,” Dean said. He opened the drawers of the filing cabinet, but nothing stood out. “Looks like mostly product receipts and payroll information.”

Elsie clicked out of the program and scanned the digital files. “Not much on here.” She plopped on the brown leather desk chair then opened the top drawer. Reaching inside, she shifted around the clutter of paperclips and post-it notes. Excitement flashed on her face, and she pulled out a key. “Wonder what this is for. There’s a tiny piece of paper taped to it. Says A2. Sounds like an apartment number or something.”

Dean came up beside her and took the key. “Might be the key to the apartment above the bar. There’s only one way to know for sure.”

16

Anxiety zipped through Elsie’s veins. She tapped her toe against the stained carpet at the top of the stairwell and willed the key to work in the round doorknob. She’d already been a part of one break-in this morning. Even though she’d do whatever necessary to get into the apartment Malcom kept above the bar, she hoped to do so in a more legal capacity.

“The key fits.” Dean whispered and swung open the door. “Hurry.”

She brushed past him, the heat of his body causing butterflies to awaken in the pit of her stomach, and the shock of the inside of the apartment stopped her in her tracks. The gleaming hardwood floors and sleek, modern cabinets stood in stark contrast to the bar downstairs. An impressive collection of liquor bottles lined the shiny white marble.

A hand on her back prompted her forward. “This is not what I expected,” she said, spinning around to face Dean.

He let out a low whistle, darting his gaze around to take in the room. “Doesn’t make sense Malcom chose to live in the shithole where we found him when he had this place.”

“Maybe that’s because he doesn’t have any furniture in here.”

The kitchen and living room were one open space. Thick, black curtains hung from the window on the far wall, but the living room was empty.

Dean walked toward the kitchen cabinets and flipped open door after door. “Fancy glasses in here, but that’s about it. Let’s hope we find something in one of the other rooms.”

Elsie waited for Dean to lead the way down the hallway. Fear heightened her awareness, but at least there wasn’t the putrid scent announcing death like in Malcom’s other residence. She peered over Dean’s shoulder into the bathroom. The space was small but as high-end as the front of the apartment with its white pedestal sink, tiled shower, and platinum finishes.

“I can’t wrap my mind around this apartment belonging to the same man as the house we were at earlier.” She trailed her fingertips on the soft fluffy hand towel, a pristine white that looked as if it had never been touched.

“Let’s check the bedroom. There’s got to be something more in there than decorative towels and booze.” He flipped off the light and stepped across the hall.

Her nerves tightened into a little round ball. Either they’d find something useful or end up right back where they started—with jack shit to help figure out what happened to Mila.

Dean pushed open the door, turned on the light, and frowned. “What the hell?”

Hesitating, she wrinkled her nose and closed her eyes. “Should I stay out here? Do I want to see?”

“He’s using this as a storage area,” Dean said. “Looks like poker tables.”

She blinked open her eyes.

Dean crossed the room to the closet and peeked inside. Plastic cubes stored poker chips, playing cards, and folding chairs. A big black safe took up half the closet space. He tugged on the handle. “Locked, and we need a combination to open it. Iwouldn’t even know where to start to figure that out. At least not without more information about Malcom.”

“What about Calvin? If he’s in front of his computer, he might have an idea.” She tilted one of the round tables to see the green felt on the other side. “Is it normal for people to have this much stuff for a poker game? I’m afraid UNO is as far as my card knowledge goes.”

“I have some buddies who take their poker pretty seriously and may have one table in their basement or man cave for an occasional game, but nothing on this scale. I mean, you only need a fraction of the chips that are in the closet for a game with people who’d fit on one table.” He dug his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “I’m taking your advice and calling Calvin.”

A quick thrill shot through her. “Can you put it on speaker?”

“Sure.” He pressed a button then held the phone between them.

She moved closer to his side to hear better. The thrill from moments before intensified.

Stop it. He’s giving his failed marriage another shot. Don’t drop your guard. Just focus on the problem.

“Hey, man,” Calvin said when the line picked up. “What’s up? Find anything?”

“A weird-ass apartment with nothing but booze and a shit-ton of poker equipment.” He locked his gaze with hers and widened his eyes as if to exaggerate his point. “Found a safe that has a combination lock. Do you have any information that could point to a four-digit combo Malcom might use?”

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