I glanced around the room, completely disoriented. Where was I? And then suddenly it came flooding back. I’d found a dead guy, Rachel was missing, and I’d passed out at the hot Italian guy’s place—the guy who thought he might be suspect numero uno. My head throbbed out a rhythm similar to Beethoven’s Fifth. Good God, why had I drank so much? It certainly didn’t solve any of my problems. On the night table was a tall glass of water. Apparently, Gus had left it for me. What a nice guy. Still, I couldn’t be too careful. If what he’d blurted out last night was true, he had a lot to gain from Dan’s death. Like half ownership of DelVecchio’s. We had talked into the late hours of the night. He’d been emotional about losing his friend and, let’s face it, I wanted the company. But what had I agreed to? He’d asked me to help him find out who killed Dan. But I wasn’t qualified to investigate anything. That’s what the police were supposed to do, right? And what about Rachel?
