The Real Mrs. Price by J. D. Mason Page B

trying.
    â€œWelcome back,” the woman behind the counter said, wiping off the space in front of him and putting down a place setting.
    Roman noticed that she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. She looked guarded.
    â€œYou need a menu?”
    He shook his head. “Nah. I’ll take the special. And a beer.”
    â€œHe was on television,” Lucy whispered. “On the news with Marlowe.”
    Moments later, he slowly turned and looked over his shoulder right at Roman and Lucy. That good old intuition of Roman’s kicked in, and he had a strong feeling that the man’s being here wasn’t a coincidence.
    Their waitress brought the check. Roman paid, and the two of them left, but once outside, he searched the nearly empty lot for the black sedan that he’d seen that guy inside drive Marlowe away in. Roman pulled out his cell phone and took a picture of the plate. Illinois.
    â€œWhat are you doing that for?”
    â€œJust curious,” he said casually.
    â€œYou’re not just curious, and since I’m still paying you, I’d like to know what’s going on.”
    He looked at her and sighed. Lucy stubbornly folded her arms across her chest.
    â€œI want to know who he is and what he is to her.”
    â€œWhy would it matter?” Lucy curled one corner of her red-stained lips, and he surprised himself and almost smiled at the gesture, thinking that it was … cute.
    Roman quickly shook it off. He wasn’t here for cute. “If Marlowe did kill that guy in the car, she would’ve needed help.”
    Lucy’s eyes suddenly widened.
    â€œThere’s no way she could’ve done it by herself,” he concluded.
    A big, strong dude like that could easily manhandle the Ed Prices of the world. Marlowe was a lovely woman, so yeah. Finally, he could begin to make sense of a situation that had stumped him from the beginning.
    *   *   *
    Back at the hotel, Roman logged on to his laptop and plugged in the tag number of the sedan. Lucy refused to go back to her room and sat on the bed behind him while he pulled up the information.
    He almost laughed when he saw it. “It’s registered to a corporation. Acme LLC in Michigan.”
    â€œAcme? What does that stand for?”
    â€œNot a damn thing,” he muttered. “Remember those old Road Runner cartoons?” he asked, turning to her.
    She nodded.
    â€œAcme? They delivered the bombs and the anvils and all that crap that that coyote used to try and catch that Road Runner.”
    Lucy smirked. “This is a joke. Right?”
    He nodded. “On us.” Roman tried doing a search on Acme LLC in Michigan and came up empty.
    She was disappointed, and it showed. “So it’s a dead end?”
    â€œAre you kidding?” he asked, excited about something for the first time in a long time. “It’s a clue, Lucy.” He laughed unexpectedly.
    â€œTo what?”
    â€œI have no idea. But that big sonofabitch doesn’t want anyone to know who he is, which means he’s hiding something, or the two of them are. I’d like to know what.”
    Real private investigator work was boring as hell. All of a sudden now, this case had some legs underneath it. There was a real mystery here and a possible scenario playing out in his head, damn near to music. Who’s to say that Marlowe Price didn’t have a lover and that he didn’t kill Ed Price for her? Stranger love triangles had happened.
    â€œDoes this mean you’re not leaving in the morning?” She crossed one of those long legs over the other. Roman didn’t think she’d meant it to be seductive, but it sure looked that way to him.
    He hadn’t been with a woman in ages, and he missed them, the feel of them, the smell, the taste. Women were traps, though, and the last thing he needed right now was for an anvil to fall on his head.
    â€œThis means I’ll probably stay a while