Chapter 67

“You’re the ace detective,” he replied.

Chad’s head rose up and down. “Yeah. Ace. Or at least queen.”

I stared at both of them and grinned. Pride before the fall? Probably, but they were right; I was the detective. This was my case. Now all I had to do was crack it—hopefully without cracking my skull in the process. “So, again, why are we in this basement?”

“The other girls are going to need to help us. They and you don’t know what Auntie’s associates look like, and I can’t go down to the club and point them out. I have video of them at the bar, but it was dark, and they were in the distance.” He rubbed his hands together. “So, we need pictures of them.”

Finally, I got it. “And the photos are in this basement.”

“When Tom and I broke up, the photo albums wound up down here. I know there’s pictures of us with them; we just have to find a few.” He pointed to a far corner, to a stack of boxes eight feet high and equally as wide.