Dancing With Danger in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t force Ronan to tell me what was going on, and what choice did I have about when to meet him? “Sure,” I said.

  We decided on a time, and then Ronan hung up, sounding relieved to be done chatting with me.

  I turned to Ian, annoyed that I’d have to wait three days before talking to Ronan. I filled him in on the conversation and said, “Ronan’s hiding something.”

  Ian nodded, looking slightly disheartened. “I’d thought he was nice.”

  “So did I. I guess he’s not.”

  “But maybe he’s got a good alibi. He said he could prove where he was.”

  “That’s an odd thing to bluff about,” I admitted. “Maybe Ronan wasn’t the one who shot Ella, but why would he lie about his whereabouts in the first place? Something about him is off. He’s definitely got a secret.”

  Just then, my phone rang. It wasn’t a number I recognized, and when I answered it, a voice on the other end said, “This is Gavin.”

  I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “Oh. My mother must’ve given you my number.”

  “Yeah—she said you’d want to talk about Dance Party USA. I talked to one of the guys working on the show and—”

  “You’ll want to talk to Ian about that,” I said abruptly, cutting Gavin off and handing the phone over to Ian. I was relieved to have gotten out of a conversation with Grabby Gavin, and I hoped he wouldn’t call me again.

  Ian and Gavin chatted for a few minutes and then Ian hung up and turned to me, beaming. “This is awesome! The deadline for video auditions was a week ago, but Gavin managed to pull some strings and now Nanna and I can enter!”

  I looked at him skeptically. “What do you need to do?”

  “We have to make a video tomorrow. It’ll be Nanna and me dancing, showing off what we can do. I can’t wait.”

  “But Karma said it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Since when do you pay attention to Karma’s ‘vibes’?”

  “Since she made those predictions that came true. Her intuition’s not too bad.”

  Ian flipped one hand dismissively. “Ah, phooey. She got lucky once or twice. Besides, maybe the bad thing she’s worried about is that Nanna and I’ll be sad if the judges are mean. But we’ll be okay, we’re tough.”

  I looked at Ian warily. Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps Karma was wrong about this. Maybe it’d be good for Nanna to enter the competition and have some fun.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to be supportive. “Maybe you and Nanna’ll make a good dancing couple.”

  Even as I said the words, I had to bite back a chuckle. A man with two left feet and a seventy-five-year-old with arthritis entering a dance reality show—what could go wrong?

  8

  I caught some extra z’s since I’d already canceled my shift at the Treasury, and the next morning, I fought off the urge to have lemon-buttercream cupcakes for breakfast. Instead, Ian and I headed over to Neil’s Diner, a local hangout just off-Strip, for a slightly healthier breakfast. Ian had pancakes with berries and whipped cream (“Berries have antioxidants! This really is a healthy breakfast!”) and I had bacon, eggs and hash browns.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Ronan’s blatant deceit regarding his alibi, but it was time to head to Ella’s law firm and talk to people there.

  The law firm was housed in a massive glass-walled building just west of Freemont Street. The exterior was impressive, with palm trees interspersed with hedges flanking the front entrance, and the lobby inside was cool and pristine, with white marble and a trio of elevators against the far wall.

  Elman and Associates occupied the tenth and eleventh floors, and we headed straight to the eleventh floor, where the senior partners’ offices were. The office smelled of money, with its hushed vibe, crisp air freshener and muted sense of stress and frantic work. The floors were a dark wood, the walls decorated with expensive-looking art, and the employees we passed by wore well-fitting dark suits.

  Our first appointment was with Sam Gooding, and when we approached the receptionist, a sleek brunette wearing thick-rimmed glasses, she pointed us in the direction of his office.

  Ian and I walked past a large open-space area teeming with young suited people busily typing away and rifling through files, over to the other end of the floor. There were glass-walled offices on this side, each with a nameplate on its door. The offices all had blinds that could be drawn for privacy, but all the blinds were open. I guessed the head honchos prided themselves on “values” like openness and transparency; or perhaps they just liked to show off their nice offices.

  I peered inside as I knocked on the door to Sam’s office. It seemed like one of the bigger rooms, furnished to impart a sense of luxury: Persian carpet on the floor; big wooden desk; comfy upholstered seats for the clients.

  Sam looked up at the knock, smiled, and waved us in. He seemed to be in his late fifties and was handsome in a way that implied a lot of grooming. Thick eyebrows, clear blue eyes, skin that hinted at subtle Botox, and a full head of dark blond hair.

  “You must be Tiffany and Ian,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I murmured something about how kind he was to make time for us, and Sam waved away my half-apology.

  “I’m happy to try to help,” he said. “Ella was very popular here, and we’re sorry to lose her.”

  He spoke as though Ella had decided to quit to take a tour of Europe, and I nodded politely. “Thank you. What can you tell us about her?”

  “She was wonderful,” he said, smiling at us. “Very efficient, very intelligent. Hard worker, charming with the clients, great personality. We had high hopes for her at the office. She could’ve been partner one day.” His smile faded as he thought back to the kind of person Ella had been. “A lot of young people are ambitious,” he said thoughtfully, “but Ella was diligent. Thorough with her work. Conscientious.”

  “Other associates must’ve been jealous of her,” I suggested, “if she was that good.”

  Sam shrugged. “We encourage a healthy sense of competition among the younger employees. It doesn’t hurt. But if you’re implying that someone…” He shook his head. “Employees are promoted based on merit, or recommendations from the senior employees they’ve worked with. Nobody here would hurt Ella.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said, “but I still have to ask. Did you know if anyone here disliked Ella?”

  Sam shook his head. His eyes were piercing and thoughtful, and I wondered if his high regard for Ella included an attraction that went beyond the professional. He wore a wedding ring, but my experience of rich old men has been that a wedding ring sometimes doesn’t mean all that much. He said, “I don’t get involved in employee politics. And the senior staff all liked her.”

  Ian said, “You have a really cool office. I like how one wall is all windows. Just like a casino. But quieter.”

  Sam smiled. “Yes, I do like the offices myself.”

  “Do you spend a lot of time at work?” said Ian. “I keep hearing about how busy lawyers are.”

  “Some,” said Sam. “Work needs to be finished, and I don’t go home till it’s all done.”

  “I guess that’s why you’re single,” said Ian. “I’ve been reading some dating advice books, and they all say that women don’t like men who are always working late.”

  Sam looked at Ian and held up his left hand. “I’m not single. I’m married.”

  “Oh,” said Ian, looking surprised. “I hadn’t noticed your wedding band. My bad.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It’s just that,” Ian continued, “you’ve got those really natural hair plugs.”

  “Uh…” Sam glanced at me, looking unsure of how to respond.

  “They are plugs, aren’t they?” said Ian.

  “Uh, yes, actually, they are. How could you tell?”

  Ian shrugged. “I looked into getting plugs myself.”

  Sam and I stared at Ian, bug-eyed. His hair was big, cur
ly, and threatened to overwhelm the rest of his face.

  “You don’t need plugs,” I said. “What you need is a proper haircut.”

  “No, no,” said Ian. “All the men in my family go bald at thirty-five. It’s like someone flips a switch, and they go from hair to no hair overnight. So, I’ve researched plugs ahead of time. As soon as my switch gets flipped, I’m gonna get plugs. It’s harder to get girls if you’re bald. I mean, I wouldn’t bother getting plugs if I was married, because I don’t suppose my wife would care much. I’ve never heard of married men getting plugs. It’s always the divorced and single men.”

  Ian looked at Sam inquisitively, and I wondered if his theory of men caring more about their looks if they were single was true. I was certainly aware of the stereotype of people letting themselves go when they were in a committed relationship.

  There was a certain forced politeness in Sam’s eyes now. He clearly didn’t like Ian’s picking up on his hair plugs, and he said, “I have to do it for the clients. They need a certain image.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a bald lawyer,” said Ian. “Would you, Tiff?”

  “Uh…” I wasn’t sure what to say.

  The phone on Sam’s desk rang, and he stabbed a button and put it on speakerphone. “Yes?”

  The receptionist’s voice floated over. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Vanwilt is here a little early. She’s heading toward your office—did you want me to ask her to wait?”

  “No, I’ll see her now,” said Sam. “Wouldn’t be right to make her wait.”

  When he hung up and looked at me, the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. “She’s an important client. We’ll have to end our chat early.”

  I nodded, wondering if I should apologize for Ian. “We had a few more questions…”

  “You can ask Rob, I’m sure he knows everything I do.” Sam stood up, indicating that the interview was over.

  We shook hands politely, and I handed him my card with my usual spiel about calling me if he thought of anything. Sam smiled and nodded politely, but he clearly couldn’t get rid of us soon enough.

  As we headed out of his office, we walked past his client, a slightly chubby blonde woman in her late forties. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup immaculate, and she wore what was obviously a designer dress. Perhaps she really was a demanding high-paying client who Sam didn’t want to keep waiting.

  “That was kind of rude,” said Ian, “the way Sam basically kicked us out. He’s probably got something to hide.”

  “Yeah, like the details of his plastic surgery. Why’d you have to go and ask him about his hair plugs? That obviously annoyed him.”

  Ian shrugged. “I was going to ask him where he got them done. His hair looks pretty good.”

  “Maybe next time,” I said distractedly as I knocked on the door to Rob’s office. “Although Sam might not agree to see us another time. He’s probably scared you’ll ask about his Botox next.”

  Rob Cornelison’s office was a tad smaller than Sam’s but had the air of opulence and success. The furniture was dark and comfy-looking, a large painting hung on one wall, and another wall consisted entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the Expressway.

  If Sam was well-groomed and good looking, Rob was his opposite. Rob was half a head taller than me, about twice as wide as me, and had a shiny, hairless head. His skin hung in soft, pasty folds, there was a food stain on his white shirt, and his gray eyes were thoughtful and watery.

  After we exchanged greetings and sat down on opposite sides of his large mahogany desk, Ian said, “Wow, you’re really different from Sam!”

  I stifled my cluck of irritation, but before I could apologize for Ian, Rob smiled and said, “I get that a lot! It takes all kinds to make a team.”

  I was taken aback by Rob’s mellowness and said, “How are you different?”

  “Oh, we look different, of course, there’s that. If we’ve got a female client, she’d rather deal with Sam than me. I’m an ideas person, and Rob’s more into details. Claudia’s a bit of both, so it all works out.”

  I nodded. “Claudia is your other partner?”

  “Exactly! Didn’t Sam give you a list of all employees?”

  “Er—no. We had to cut the interview a little short.” I glanced at Ian, but he didn’t seem to think the abrupt goodbye Sam had given us was his fault.

  “I’ll print out a list for you,” said Rob. “We gave one to the police. Do you really think they missed something?”

  Rob’s question was guileless enough, but it’s my policy never to rule out someone as a suspect. So, I shrugged and said, “Maybe. Who knows—it’s happened before and it might’ve happened with Ella.”

  “I talked to Ella’s sister,” said Rob. “She seems to think Ronan Hastings had something to do with it all, but I doubt it. I wasn’t on the Ronan case, of course, but I know the man through a friend of a friend—he’s got it all together. He’d never do anything that could jeopardize his career. He seems like the crazy partying type, but he’s actually very cautious and pragmatic.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I said noncommittally. “What else do you know about Ronan?”

  “Oh, not much.” Rob handed us the employees’ list and leaned back in his chair. “I met him once or twice. And I heard about him through my friend, of course. But I’ve never dealt with him in court—that was all Sam and Ella. They were on the case together.”

  Ian said, “Did Sam and Ella work together a lot?”

  “Sure. Ella was a smart kid, worked on a lot of our high-profile cases. Most of the time she was partnered with Sam, but Claudia worked with her on a couple of cases over the last few months.”

  “And you?”

  “No, I usually deal with divorce cases, and the associates I work with mostly are Keith and David. Ella worked on a lot of the litigation and financial assets cases.”

  “So, associates tend to get teamed up with the partners?”

  “Not all the time. First-years do mostly paperwork. After a while they team up with senior people, not just partners. We’ve got a lot of people here.”

  “Who did Ella work with during the last few months?”

  “Now that I think about it, mostly with Sam, and a couple of cases with Claudia. We try to rotate associates so they all get a chance to gain different kinds of experience, but Ella worked on some big projects recently. She was a great associate, very hardworking.”

  I nodded. “And she hadn’t shown any unusual behavior in the last few months?”

  “No, not that I’m aware of.”

  “And she wasn’t stressed out about work? Maybe worried about getting fired?”

  Rob looked surprised. “No. Ella was doing well. She was in line for a promotion, depending on which of the associates performed best. We could only promote one person, of course, but Ella was short-listed.”

  “And she knew that?”

  “It was pretty obvious,” said Rob. “Ella kept getting good projects.”

  “Who was her competition for the promotion?”

  “Anyone could get it if they did well enough. But we were looking at Keith Jols, Isaac Goldman and Terry Cooke.”

  I nodded. It was unlikely that anyone would commit murder over a promotion, but if there had been rumors about possible layoffs, perhaps someone had gotten jealous of the good projects Ella was getting. It seemed like a far-fetched theory, but I needed to pursue every possible motive.

  I was trying to think of what to ask next, when Sam knocked and opened the door. “Rob, I’m heading to that meeting now.”

  “I’ll join you as soon as I’m done here,” Rob said.

  Sam looked at me and then at Ian.

  “We won’t be much longer,” I said to Sam apologetically.

  Sam nodded, and was about to walk off, when Ian said to Sam, “Tiffany thinks you get Botox.”

  My jaw dropped and I felt my cheeks getting warmer.

  Rob burst out laughing, and Sam looked at me, annoyed, and said, “Is t
hat all you two are investigating? Whether I get Botox and hair plugs?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Ian just—”

  “Is observant,” finished Rob. “I told you, man, everyone can tell you’re getting stuff done to your face. Why bother?”

  Sam sent a withering glance toward Rob. “Not everyone likes looking like a slob.”

  Rob threw his hands up. “Hey, at least people don’t keep asking me where I got my plugs done.”

  Ian said, “Where did you get your plugs done? They look really good.”

  Sam shook his head in disgust. “Did you have any more questions about Ella? No? Then I’ll head over to my meeting instead of wasting my time here.”

  He stomped off, and Ian and I turned back to Rob.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Rob. “He’s under a lot of pressure these days. Lots of late nights and early mornings.”

  “Sounds tough,” said Ian.

  “It’s just a patch,” Rob said. “We’re trying to keep costs low by having a hiring freeze, but we’re a tiny bit understaffed.”

  I nodded, grateful that at least Rob wasn’t offended by Ian’s questions, and thanked him for his time.

  Rob shrugged. “I hope you find the answers you’re looking for. I know I couldn’t help you guys much, but maybe Claudia will know something. She was kind of a mentor to Ella, being the female partner and all that. Maybe they were close, and Claudia can tell you something.”

  I nodded hopefully. Perhaps he was right; maybe Claudia knew Ella well enough to tell us something new about her.

  9

  Claudia Chang’s office was next door to Rob’s, wedged in next to the conference room.

  It was about the same size as Rob’s, but unlike Sam and Rob’s offices, hers actually seemed to reflect a little bit of personal taste. While their offices had Persian rugs on the floors and abstract art that matched the décor, Claudia’s office had a soft white rug and a large painting of a stormy ocean. The chairs in her office were upholstered with a cheery yellow-and-black chevron pattern, and a small marble bust of Plato sat on her desk.