Reunions and Revelations in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery

by A. R. Winters

  “Over there!” Ian pointed with one hand, while the other reached into a pocket. He pulled out his can of bear mace and held it in front of him like he meant business.

  There was a scraggly bush beneath two pines. Movement. Cloth, visible through gaps in the glistening branches.

  “Freeze!” Stone had the kind of voice that made you obey his commands before your consciousness had even processed the words themselves. Whatever—whoever—was moving froze.

  Stone moved, half-crouching, half-zigzagging toward the bush. “Hands up. Out. Now.”

  Ian nudged me. “I need to learn that.” He was still holding his can of mace, but his threat paled into insignificance in comparison to the walking personification of intimidation that was Stone.

  “I’m not sure it’s quite your style,” I told my dorky partner. “I think you need to have lived a certain kind of life, with certain kinds of life experiences to develop that air of authority.”

  “I said hands up,” Stone growled into the bush. For a tenth of a second, he aimed his gun into the air, fired off a shot, and then had its nose pointed straight ahead again so fast that if I’d blinked the crack of the shot would have been the only way to tell his fingers had moved.

  There was a yelp from in the bush. Two hands slowly emerged, followed by a dark blue hat.

  “You!” Ian shouted.

  I didn’t shout. I mean, who else could it have been?

  But I did stare.

  There was a lot of explaining to be done.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Where…? Where am I…?” Norman said, turning his head left and right to take in his surroundings.

  “Keep those hands high,” Stone ordered.

  Norman made a show of blinking slowly, dropping his mouth open. “What is this place?” He looked around. “Are we in Las Vegas?”

  “Close your mouth and move your legs.”

  The lawyer slowly shuffled out of his hiding place so we could get a good look at him.

  “It looks like he wasn’t just wearing his underwear when he left the house,” Ian said to me.

  I was inclined to agree. Unless Norman had run into a cache of brand new, high-quality outdoor gear in the middle of a snowstorm, he had gone out prepared. He was decked out from head to foot in comfortable-looking warm items of outdoor clothing.

  “Where am I?” Norman repeated, doing his best to keep a dumb look on his face.

  “He had a concussion,” I said to Stone.

  Stone bent down and looked into the man’s eyes. He took his left hand off his gun, but the right hand continued to hold it perfectly steady.

  Stone’s arm moved like lightning, delivering a slap across his cheeks. Crack.

  “Oww!” One of Norman’s hands began to rub his face while the other stayed aloft. His dumb expression disappeared and one of severe irritation replaced it. He scowled at Stone. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Just checking.”

  “Checking I have a face?”

  “Checking to see if you had a concussion. Looks like I was right. Drop the bewildered act and get ready to answer some questions.”

  “But I—” Norman looked up, bewilderment crawling back onto his face.

  Crack.

  “Oww!”

  “I said drop it. Or my next one will drop you.”

  Norman shook his head like a dog shaking off water. He looked at me. “I’m feeling better. I think my concussion is clearing up.”

  “What’s going on, Norman? Why and how are you here? And if you claim you don’t remember—”

  I was going to make an idle threat, a nod toward Stone, a mere implication. But Ian beat me to it.

  “I’ll snap every last one of your fingers off,” Ian growled.

  Stone’s eyebrows twitched at Ian’s comment. That wasn’t the Ian he knew. Clearly Stone was an inspiration to my young partner.

  “Don’t hurt me! You don’t understand. I had to escape the house. I was in hiding.”

  Stone put his gun away and then patted Norm down. Then he removed a cable tie from one of his pockets. “Hands.”

  Norm lowered his arms and pushed his wrists together in front of him. Stone secured them with the cable tie, pulling it tight. He looked at me. “You good?”

  “I’ve got him.”

  I got Norm to stand in front of me while I kept one eye on him and the other on Stone as he continued to search the cabin.

  “We thought you were dead.”

  “I know. I wanted you to. Well, not you, but her.”

  “Beryl? She was already dead.”

  “No, not Beryl. Of course not Beryl. Maeve.”

  “Why would you want her to think you were dead?” Ian asked him.

  “Because she was trying to kill me!”

  Ian and I looked at each other.

  “Maybe you are concussed,” Ian said to him. “She was trying to help you.”

  Norman’s eyes were wide and desperate. “She wasn’t! It was a trick. She pretended to be a nurse so she could keep an eye on me.”

  “Why?” I asked him.

  “Beryl left me almost everything in her will. That made Maeve mad, really mad. For more than twenty years she had been told she would receive a pension, or a trust, to provide for her in her retirement. Of course the pension never happened while Beryl was alive—she never let Maeve retire—but Maeve assumed the trust would be created. That she would be rewarded for her years of service.”

  “Go on.”

  “But when Beryl made her will, she changed her mind. She said that social security is good enough for anyone. And she said Maeve didn’t do a good job anyway, but it was too much hassle to replace her.”

  “Beryl wanted to punish Maeve by leaving her out of the will?”

  Norman nodded at me. “She did. I tried to talk her out of it—”

  “Really?” Ian asked dubiously.

  “I guess I didn’t try too hard—” Norm shuffled in the snow, not meeting my gaze.

  “Because she put you in the will instead.”

  Norm didn’t say anything but continued to find looking down at the ground absolutely fascinating. A small shrug of the shoulders was his only response.

  “So Beryl put you in her will, Maeve got mad and killed her, and then she tried to kill you?”

  Norman finished his inspection of the ground and looked me in the eyes, leaning forward. An attempt at earnestness? “I doubt she would have tried it, but because of the avalanche, and the weather, and my concussion, it was like I was delivered to her wrapped up in a bow. She had me right there and decided to take advantage.”

  “Your concussion was fake.”

  “No! It wasn’t, not at first. I don’t even know how I got from my car back to the house. But then Maeve started giving me these pills and I felt like—I mean, I don’t know what I felt like. I couldn’t think straight. All I wanted to do was stay in the bed. I think you came to see me, right? But I couldn’t even begin to tell you what happened.”

  “Then how did you escape?”

  Behind Norman, Stone was crouched down, peering at something intently. I could see a few unburned pieces of wood around him, the remains of a dresser or cupboard.

  Norman slowly shook his head, in disbelief at what he was about to say. I was ready to disbelieve him too.

  “Something inside of me, some survivor’s instinct, knew something was wrong. Even in my dazed state, I cottoned on to the fact that Maeve was out to get me. So when she gave me pills for the last time, I only pretended to swallow them. I hid them under my tongue. As soon as she was gone, I spat them out. Later that night, my senses began to return.”

  “And you snuck out in the night. And what, did you sew yourself those clothes while you were waiting? Hunt down a wild polyester-cotton blend bear, perhaps?”

  Norm looked down at his outfit.

  “I had these stored in the house. I don’t think Maeve knew about them.”

  I gave him a skeptical look. “Re
ally? Go on, enlighten us: why did you have a set of outdoor clothes hidden in Beryl’s house?”

  “Oh no, they weren’t hidden, not like that anyway. They were in a cupboard in Beryl’s office—the library.”

  I put my hands on my hips and raised my eyebrows at him.

  “It’s true! I often come over for a meal on Sundays, and Beryl and I talk a lot.” He looked down at his boots. “We used to, anyway.” He lifted his chin to look at me again. “But as you know, Beryl took a nap every afternoon. But she always wanted me to stay longer. So I started going for walks while she napped. After a while, I decided I might as well leave some outdoor-weather gear in the house.”

  It was possible. But not likely.

  “Why did you leave your old clothes? Why did you make tracks leading off a cliff?”

  “Because of Maeve! I didn’t want her to find me. I knew she’d kill me.”

  “You faked your death to hide from a sixty-something housekeeper?”

  Ian gave him a scornful look. “That’s not very masculine, is it?”

  “I was injured, I wasn’t thinking straight, and I was scared, okay? Maybe I didn’t make the best decision.”

  “You could have come and talked to me, or Uncle Joe. I’m sure between all of us we could have protected you from little old Maeve.”

  “Perhaps I should have. But when Beryl was murdered, I realized how far gone Maeve was. To kill her in cold blood, in the night, like that? All because of some money? She’s dangerous.”

  “Whatever she is, we’re going to take you back to the house. The authorities will be here later. In the meantime, you can lock yourself in a room to keep the big scary housekeeper away from you if you like. We’re getting out of here today. So what happened here? Cooking experiment gone wrong?”

  “No! It was Maeve! She must have found out I was here. Last night, I thought I heard someone coming—the sounds carry very well at night—so I snuck out to see who it was. It was her! Like an evil witch, in the dark! She came up to the cabin, peered through the window, and then she started firing this big gun at the bed. She emptied the whole thing right through the window! If I’d been in that bed, I would have been a human strainer.”

  “Then she burned it down?”

  “Yep. Didn’t even open the door. Just spread gas all over the place and lit it up.”

  Silently, Stone loomed up behind Norman. Of course he had listened to every word. “Gas was used,” he confirmed.

  “You expect us to believe Maeve came all the way out here, in the middle of the night, tracking you in the dark? That old lady? And after you’d already faked your own death? Does she have a sixth sense for hidden supposedly-dead lawyers?”

  “Not exactly. Yesterday I cooked in the cabin, and I put some wood that was too wet in the fire. It made a lot of smoke. I think she must have seen the smoke yesterday, and then figured out it had to be me. She knew about this cabin of course. It was one of the old mining cabins. Most of the rest have fallen down, but Beryl kept this one maintained. She used to use it as a kind of art studio when she was a bit younger.”

  “Wow,” Ian said, giving Norman a small round of applause. “That’s quite a tale you’ve told us.”

  Norman nodded sadly. “It’s been a tough few days.”

  “Come on,” I said, “let’s get back to the house. Maeve should have breakfast ready—unless of course she’s poisoned it.”

  “Don’t let her prepare mine separately,” Norman said, his voice serious.

  We began to walk back the way we came, Norman in front, hands still tied in front of him. After a short distance, Stone touched my arm.

  “Tiffany. Come. I want to show you something.” He nodded at Ian. “Keep going, slow, we’ll catch up in a moment.” He gave a look toward Norman’s back, the implication clear: keep an eye on him.

  Stone led me back to the smoldering ruin and lifted up the fallen, half-burned door of a cupboard.

  We both crouched down. There was a mess of molten plastic and metal underneath.

  “What is it?”

  The corners of Stone’s mouth twitched again.

  He told me.

  I gasped. A shiver ran down my spine. Stone grabbed my hand and pulled me up straight.

  “Come on,” he growled. “In case he makes another run for it.”

  Stone and I hurried after Ian and Norman.

  Everything was falling into place.

  But if I wasn’t careful, things could still fall apart entirely.

  * * *

  Our plan evolved and changed on the way back to the house. When we were getting close, Ian ran ahead to check if the coast was clear.

  When we got his signal, we hustled Norm inside, and then snuck him up the staff staircase next to the kitchen.

  “This way,” Ian said, dragging Norman by his cuffed wrists toward Ian’s bedroom.

  There was a lock with a key on the inside. Ian removed the key. “Stay in here, for your own safety. We won’t let Maeve know you’re here. The authorities should be here later.”

  Norman looked at us nervously.

  “Just stay here, Norman. Everything will be fine.”

  The three of us left him in the room. Ian then locked the door from the outside, pocketing the key. He crouched down and whisper-shouted through the lock.

  “Now she can’t get in!”

  Norman responded with a shaky, “Okay.”

  “To the library?” I asked.

  “I’m going to check in with the police first,” Stone said. “I’ll see you there.”

  While Stone went off to use his radio and satellite phone, Ian and I went back into the library, which now felt more like our office.

  “Who are we interviewing?” Ian asked me.

  “No one. At least not yet. Start searching.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “A listening device.”

  “Huh? A bug? Like a hidden microphone or something?”

  “Yep,” I said to Ian. “In the cabin, Stone found the burned-out remains of some kind of audio device. He figures it was picking up a signal from the house.”

  “And you think it was in here?”

  “Yep.”

  “And Norman was listening to all our interviews?”

  “Exactly. His story about Maeve sneaking out at night and shooting the bed and burning the cabin is a little farfetched, don’t you think?”

  “She doesn’t really seem the sort to sneak around setting things on fire at night,” Ian agreed. “Or shooting big guns into little cabins. What do we think? That Norman burned the cabin down deliberately?”

  “Yes,” I said again. I began pulling open the drawers of Beryl’s desk and feeling inside. “He’s trying to frame Maeve.”

  Stone returned to join us, carrying his big backpack with him. “The backhoe is at the avalanche site. They expect to have it cleared by lunch. The police are waiting for the road to be open. Beryl ain’t going anywhere, so they’re in no rush.”

  “Okay, that’s good.” I began to run my hands over the underside of the desk.

  “Any luck?”

  “Just a—a-ha!” My arm was stretched as far as it would go under the table, and my fingers had just scraped against some tape, stuck to the bottom. I shifted off the chair and crawled under the table. It was hard to see, and I needed to turn on my cell phone flashlight.

  “Am I right?” Stone asked.

  I ran the light under the bottom of the desk. There. Stuck to the bottom was a small electronic device, and connected with a wire, a large battery pack also taped to it.

  “Yep. There’s something stuck to the bottom of the desk. And there’s a wire that goes right to the edge.”

  “That’s an antenna. There must be a booster behind some books, or attached outside the window so the signal could reach the cabin. Your little friend upstairs was listening to everything you said in here.”

  “Isn’t that just charming?” I said with a bemused shake of my head. “If I�
�m not mistaken, I can hear the sound of Maeve’s food trolley.”

  Ian perked up. “You’re right! Come on, Stone, it’s eggs and bacon time!”

  “I could do that,” he said with a little nod to himself. Another almost-smile appeared on his lips.

  “Come on, Black. It’s feeding time.”

  * * *

  At the dining table, Stone was receiving a lot of curious looks. As was I.

  “Any progress?” Uncle Joe said to me across the table. “On Beryl?”

  I made the mistake of glancing toward Ian. Everyone else at the table saw it. They knew something was up.

  “Have you found something?” Roman asked.

  “Do you know who did it?” Jini asked.

  Green-eyed Midori raised her eyebrows at me. “Well?”

  I could not get used to her ‘new’ tough demeanor.

  “We have discovered a little more information,” I said as vaguely as I dared.

  “When are you going to share it with us?” Roman asked.

  “After breakfast,” Ian said loudly.

  Well, that was that decision made.

  They looked at me to confirm. “We’ll meet in the drawing room again.”

  “As long as you don’t start accusing me and Yu—Midori again.”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” Midori said with a flash of her eyes my way. “Would you?”

  I shook my head.

  She was right. I wouldn’t.

  But only because I was now certain it wasn’t them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maeve wheeled her trolley with a big pot of coffee and fresh cups into the drawing room. When she was inside the room, Stone closed the door behind her and then stood in front of it.

  Maeve left the trolley in the center of the room and made to leave. She came to a halt in front of Stone. “Excuse me, I need to get to the kitchen.”

  “Maeve?” I called. “We’d like it if you could join us. We want everyone here.”

  “I need to wash the dishes.”

  “Never mind that. We’ll all pitch in later.”