Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) by Matt Lincoln (short books for teens .TXT) 📕

hair was up in a tangled ponytail, and she was wearing a rumpled set of pajamas.

“I think we’re fine,” I smiled. Charlie nodded in agreement.

“You can have a seat on the couch,” she replied. “Sorry, it’s kind of messy in here.”

There were pizza boxes and takeout bags scattered around the living room, along with tissues and a half-melted tub of ice cream. It was pretty clear from her appearance and the state of her living room that Clara hadn’t left her apartment in a while.

“It’s fine,” I smiled reassuringly as I took a seat on the proffered couch. “Would you mind going over what happened that night as best as you can remember?”

Clara pursed her lips together and looked like she might be sick.

“You said this will help you stop other people like the guy who attacked Mel, right?” she asked quietly.

“That’s our goal,” I nodded. “You’re the most recent witness, so anything that you can tell us will help.”

“Okay,” she sniffled as she sank heavily into one of the chairs opposite the couch. “I was out with my friends, four of us. We were having a really nice night. Mel had a little too much to drink and was acting all dumb. This guy came up and tried to convince her to go with him. He started getting really pushy, then this guy came out of nowhere and started beating him up. I was so relieved at first, thinking he had come to save us, but then…” She cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“That’s when he attacked you?” I prompted.

“Not me,” she sighed. “Melanie. All she did was ask if he was okay, and he went crazy on her. Some people tried to stop him, but he just threw them all off. It was like he had super strength or something.”

I frowned. Erratic behavior and increased strength were definitely both signs of drug abuse.

“Did he say anything?” I asked.

“No,” Clara shook her head sadly. “Not a word. He just kept attacking whoever caught his attention, even that cop. It was so surreal. He was wearing a bathrobe, too.”

“A bathrobe?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” Clara sniffed. “Like, one of those fluffy robes that people wear around the house. He didn’t have any shoes on either. I kept thinking this had to be some kind of nightmare. None of it made any sense.”

“I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” I responded sympathetically, though my mind was racing. The detail about the perp’s clothing wasn’t mentioned in the report we got from Wallace. That was certainly odd.

“So did it help?” she asked. “You think you’ll be able to investigate better now?”

“I’m sure we will,” I reassured her. “You’ve been a huge help to us, Clara.” She smiled, and I could tell that she was relieved at the thought that her testimony might help someone else.

“We should head to the attacker’s house, then,” Charlie suggested. “We might find something there.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “Thank you again for everything, Clara.”

She nodded jerkily but didn’t actually respond as she stood stiffly up off the chair. She saw us to the door and then quickly shut it behind us. I heard the latch click shut on the other side.

“That was nice of you,” Charlie commented. “Saying that she was helpful, I mean. She didn’t actually give us any new information.”

“She told us about the bathrobe,” I countered. “That’s kind of weird. And it made her happy to think she helped with the case. It doesn’t cost anything to be nice, Charlie.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he shrugged as we climbed back into the car.

According to the GPS, Evans’s house was only about a ten-minute drive from Clara’s apartment. The neighborhood he lived in was marginally nicer, consisting of large, Colonial-style homes with large front lawns. Wallace had said that Evans was a lawyer, so it made sense he’d live in a luxurious area.

“No cops here,” Charlie remarked as we got out of the car and headed toward the front door. “That must mean they haven’t gotten the warrant yet.”

“Let’s just knock then,” I replied. “They said they weren’t able to get in contact with Mrs. Evans. She might be home now.”

“Stop,” Charlie suddenly interrupted me. He was staring at the door in front of us. I turned to follow his gaze and realized why he’d suddenly spoken up. The front door was slightly ajar.

“Didn’t Wallace say that nobody answered when the cops came by?” I asked.

“Yeah, he did,” Charlie responded thoughtfully. He unholstered his gun as he made his way toward the door slowly. He pushed the door open tentatively before stepping inside. I drew my own weapon as I followed him in.

“I’ll take the right,” Charlie whispered before moving toward the right side of the house. I nodded as I moved to the left. The place seemed quiet and mostly undisturbed. Finding the front door hanging open wasn’t a good sign, though, so something was definitely wrong. I was in the middle of clearing one of the rooms when I heard a clattering noise a few feet ahead of me. I approached the source of the sound cautiously. As I moved closer, I realized that the noises were coming from the kitchen.

It was dark inside, but I could see the light of the refrigerator illuminating part of the room. A figure was hunched over and knocking things out of the fridge and onto the floor just beyond the open door.

“Hello?” I called cautiously. I couldn’t be sure if whoever was leaning into the fridge was hostile, but I didn’t want to let my guard down.

The figure stood up straight and peered at me with blank, hazy eyes.

“Oh, hello,” she replied distractedly. “I didn’t realize Dom had a guest over. And me in my pajamas, how embarrassing.”

The woman was wearing a fluffy pink robe and looked a little unsteady on her feet. She spoke to me casually, which obviously wasn’t a normal response to finding an armed stranger in