Death of the Eviction Man

My business phone rang. I stared at the digital clock next to my bed. It flashed 1:34 a.m. with way too much brightness for that time of night. My boyfriend Darryl turned over with a groan and asked groggily, "Babe, do you want me to get that?" The call was probably from my former client Suzanne. A few months ago, she had hired me to find her long-lost daughter Catalina who had vanished more than twenty years ago. I had looked everywhere: online, newspapers, death indexes, and the courts. To my chagrin, I couldn't find one clue on what had happened to her. Suzanne wanted her money back. I had refused because I had done my job. In the beginning, she would call during regular business hours and make her demands. Now, she was calling at all times of the night, and she'd even posted a few mean online reviews. If her harassment didn't stop soon, I might be forced to get a restraining order against her. "Check the caller ID," I ordered. "It's blocked," Darryl replied as he leaned over to see the screen. "Then let it go to voicemail." "Okay, babe." The phone rang two more times. My answering machine clicked on. The caller hung up. Good. It must've been a wrong number. The phone rang again. Goddamn it. Why couldn't Suzanne leave me alone? "Babe, I think they really want to talk," Darryl said. "Go answer it then," I replied. "Tell Suzanne that I don't take calls outside of normal business hour. No, better yet, tell her I'm not here, that I'm out of town or something." Darryl nodded. He picked up the phone and mumbled "hello." He spoke with the caller for a few seconds and turned to me. "This lady isn't Suzanne. It's somebody else. She wants help on a case. What should I tell her?" How could he ask me such an asinine question? A case meant money. "Hand me the phone." Darryl nodded and gave me the phone. I cleared my voice as I switched on a small lamp next to my bed. "This is Erika Mudrose speaking. How can I help you?" "Ma'am, my name is Liz - Liz Pullroy. I'm so sorry for waking you in the middle of the night... I was just going to leave a message for you to call me in the morning. I really need your help." I rubbed my forehead. The name Pullroy didn't sound familiar at all. "No problem. What do you need help with?" I asked. Liz sighed. "My husband was found last Thursday with a bullet in his head." "Ma'am, I'm really sorry about your husband," I said in a somber voice. I wondered about the lack of emotion in her voice. I then realized that she could still be in shock. "Where was he found?" "At the Criteway Hotel. You know the one near the Chatlyn County airport."