Book Club Killer by Mary Maxwell

perched on
the roof read RUSTY RED’S RIVER BOAT . A chorus line of curvy
silhouettes—dancing in front of the words GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS —made it
clear the place was a strip club.
    “You think your brother’s here?” I
asked hesitantly.
    Sonja nodded. “He’s been hanging
out with the guy that owns this place. His name’s Brent. They went to school
together.”
    “College?” I didn’t think Sonja’s
brother was much of a student, but figured maybe I shouldn’t judge a book by
its cover.
    “High school,” she answered.
“They’re perfectly suited to one another; two idiots who don’t think things
like rules and laws apply to them.”
    “Brent must be doing something
right if he owns Rusty Red’s,” I said. “Everybody in town has heard of the
place, even if it’s not very high on the list of socially acceptable establishments.”
    Sonja laughed. It was good to hear
the sound after two days of sorrow and grief.
    “Brent’s dad started the Rusty
Red’s,” she explained. “When he died, Brent inherited the place.”
    “And why do you think your brother’s
here?” I asked, scanning the parking lot. “Do you see his car?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t want Warren
to know this, but I put an app on his phone. It tracks him with GPS. When he
didn’t come home last night, I pinged his location.”
    My eyes went wide with surprise.
“Are you kidding me?”
    “Nope. If he’s sleeping under my
roof and driving our other car, I have every right to know where he is when he
doesn’t come home at night.”
    I agreed with the logic, but
secretly installing a tracking app on her brother’s phone seemed really out of
character for Sonja. She was usually mild-mannered and demure; I’d never heard
her raise her voice in all the time we’d known one another. Even so, besides
being secretive, the GPS sleuthing also seemed more complicated than necessary.
    “Wouldn’t calling him have been
much easier?” I asked.
    She smiled. “Don’t you think I
already tried that? I left about a dozen messages, but he never picked up and
he hasn’t called me back.”
    “Okay, but why the urgency?” I
asked. “Why are you so intent on finding him?”
    She sighed and tapped her nails on
the steering wheel. “Because of what you told me.” She slid one hand down to
the keys and pulled them from the ignition. “If Warren had anything to
do with Rosemary’s death, I want him out of my house and into police custody.”
    “Well, I’m not trying to disagree
with you,” I said. “But don’t you think it could wait?” I nodded my head at the
canopied entrance to the strip club. “This isn’t exactly our comfort zone, you
know.”
    She opened her car door. “I’m not
worried about that. I’ve known Brent forever. If he isn’t behind the bar,
somebody will get him out of the office.”
    I followed Sonja toward the double
glass doors under the bright red awning. Like nearly everyone in town, I was
aware of Rusty Red’s River Boat. But I’d never imagined that one day I would
step inside to find my friend’s brother and ask if he knew anything about a
murder.
    “Well, look at this,” drawled the
skinny guy polishing shot glasses behind the bar. “I’m gonna need to ask for
some identification, ladies.” He winked at Sonja. “You know how the authorities
frown on underage drinkers coming into my high-class establishment.”
    Sonja pulled a stool out. “Cut the
crap, Brent.” She sat down and nodded for me to do the same. “You know I’m a
lot older than you.”
    “And wiser, too,” he said, tossing
the towel over one shoulder. “What’s going on, Sonja? You on the hunt for Warren?”
    “I thought he might be here,” she
said.
    Brent raised one eyebrow. “He’s
facedown on the sofa in my office,” he said. “Stupid sucker lost a bet last
night. Ended up drinking more than his fair share of whiskey.”
    Sonja shook her head. “Why am I not
surprised?”
    Brent smiled at me. “How you