Irish Throwdown (What Happens In Vegas Book 4) by Matt Lincoln (motivational novels TXT) 📗

cooking might have sent chills down my spine. He had gotten better, though. Eliza had stayed with him for a few weeks after he was discharged from the hospital, and Harry had spent a lot of that time picking up cooking tips from her. He wasn’t as good as Eliza was, obviously, considering she was a professional chef with years of experience, but he’d made vast improvements.

I glanced at the clock on my dash and mentally calculated the time it would take for me to get to Harry’s if I factored in a quick stop for beer. It would probably be around six by the time I got there. Maybe I would just spend the night there, especially if I planned to drink. I decided I’d think about it on the drive there and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main street.

Half an hour later, as I left the store with the beer and snacks I’d purchased, I noticed that the streets appeared to be filling up again. It looked like even the threat of crazed, drug-fueled assailants wouldn’t be able to stop Las Vegas from coming to life at night. It was still early enough that the neon signs and glittering lights hadn’t yet come on, but I could already see drunk tourists stumbling out of twenty-four-hour casinos and wide-eyed families wandering into overpriced buffets. Part of me felt it was a little irresponsible of people to be out having fun when there was such a dangerous drug circulating around, but I understood that it was unreasonable to ask people to put their lives on hold. It just made me feel more determined to solve this case as quickly as I could.

The sun was setting by the time I made it to Harry’s. The sky was streaked in shades of pink and orange as the last rays of sunlight peeked out from over the horizon. It was amazing how the scenery around Las Vegas could change so drastically in such a short amount of time. In one direction was barren, scorching desert, and in another was the rolling, rocky mountainside.

I parked my truck in front of Harry’s house and grabbed the shopping bags before hopping out. I was surprised to find that the door was locked when I tried to open it. Harry had always had a bad habit of keeping his door open. He’d always claimed that he wanted to make sure Eliza or I would be able to come in right away if we happened to stop by. It was an unsafe habit and one that I’d gotten onto him about more than once, so I was glad that he was locking his door now. Still, it made me a little sad to think about what had caused him to change his habits.

“Harry!” I called as I knocked on the door. I could hear movement inside the house.

“Hey, Charlie,” he greeted me as he opened the door. “Sorry about that. I could have sworn I gave you a key after I had the locks changed. Eliza insisted after… after everything that happened.”

He stumbled over his words for a moment. It was apparent that thinking about what had happened to Amber a few months ago made him uncomfortable, so I did my best not to bring it up around him.

“It smells good in here,” I quickly changed the subject as I stepped into the house. “Like roasted tomatoes. What are you making?”

“It does smell good, doesn’t it?” Harry asked proudly as he rolled his wheelchair backward to give me ample room to get by. “It’s a baked pasta dish Eliza taught me how to make. Only takes about thirty minutes, including prep time, so it’s good for when you need something fast. I figured now would be a good opportunity to try it out.”

“Well, I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” I remarked.

“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he replied. “Have a seat in the den. The game’s already on.”

There was always a game on at Harry’s house unless Amber was over. Then there would be some sort of princess movie on. Half the time, we wouldn’t even watch the game. It would just be background noise against whatever conversation we were having. Still, it was a familiar aspect of Harry’s home that I’d grown accustomed to.

I set the beer cases down on the coffee table before settling onto the couch. Today’s game was a soccer match between two South American countries. I’d never been a huge fan of sports myself, but I’d spent enough time with Harry that I could follow and appreciate pretty much any competitive sport.

“That kicker’s a little cheat,” Harry grumbled as he wheeled himself into the den. “He went and kicked one of the players on the opposite team and then acted like he was hurt. Low-life cheat is what he is.”

“He didn’t get in trouble for it?” I asked, amused at how worked up Harry was getting over the match.

“No!” he snapped. “Referee’s blind as a bat. Or they bribed him. No such thing as good sportsmanship anymore. It’s all politics and corruption.”

“Careful, Harry,” I teased. “You’re starting to sound like a grumpy old man. Next thing you know, you’ll be screaming at kids to get off your lawn.”

“Watch your mouth,” Charlie scolded me without any bite. “I ain’t got a lawn. And I wouldn’t mind if kids played on it if I did. Nothing around here but a bunch of stuffy old snobs. Could use some kids around to brighten the place up.”

I frowned. I knew that Eliza had been much more protective of Amber ever since she’d been kidnapped a few months ago. She hadn’t been around to visit Harry as much as a result.

“I had a woman try to chase me off her lawn,” I remarked casually, hoping to change the subject again. “Just this morning, actually.”

“You don’t say.” Harry laughed out loud. “What on earth did you do to deserve that?”

“What makes