by Karen Olson
Jeff took a right down Desert Inn Road toward the new Trump hotel, just before Fashion Show Mall. The Windsor Palms was adjacent to it, sort of kitty-corner.
Jeff eased around the entranceway marked by a gigantic palm tree and veered around into the parking garage. He turned to me with raised eyebrows, asking an unspoken question.
Second level, I said, surprised I could even remember that.
He guided the Pontiac up the ramp and turned the corner to see my Mustang Bullitt where Id left it. Jeff stopped the car right behind it.
He looked over at me and nodded. Here we are.
For an awkward second I felt like I should lean over and give him a peck on the cheek. Seemed the least I could do, since hed been so gracious and all. But then I remembered whom I was with and nodded back.
Thanks, I said, opening the door.
But before I could get out, I felt a hand on my arm.
Be careful, Kavanaugh.
I threw his hand off and laughed. Hey, what more can happen?
You never know.
I thought about Rusty Abbott coming out of Trevors apartment. He was right. Id have to watch my back.
Thanks, Jeff, I said again, this time really getting out and slamming the car door shut.
I stepped back just as he took off like Mario Andretti in the Indy 500. A curl of smoke came out of the tailpipe as he turned the corner.
I settled into my Mustang, happy to finally be driving my own car again. The seat was contoured just right, my Springsteen CD was still in the player, and the mirror didnt need adjusting. In honor of this trip, I put the top down, relishing the warm desert breeze, and cranked up the volume on Jungleland.
I tried not to think about Colin Bixby.
I drove down the Strip, and instead of being annoyed at the lights, I looked up at the palm trees in the median, felt the sun beating down on the back of my neckoops, forgot the sunscreenand mellowed out for the first time in days.
I reached the Venetian too soon.
The towers of the fake Doges Palace beckoned me, and I noticed some activity of the media kind at the entrance to Madame Tussauds wax museum, which was adjacent to the Venetian. Three TV vans were parked along the side of the road.
Curious, I turned into the entrance for valet parking. So Id splurgeat least until I could move my car in a couple of hours. I wanted to see what was going on.
The laptop slammed against my hip as I slung the messenger bag over my shoulder and handed the valet my key. I cocked my head toward the wax museum.
Whats going on over there?
Some sort of celebrity thing, he said, taking the key.
I sauntered over toward the museum and saw that it might be easier said than done to get up the escalator to the museum entrance, because a crowd had formed. I pushed my way onto the moving incline, sandwiched between a young couple with a baby in one of those pouches and an elderly couple wearing far too much spandex.
It was a long ride.
We finally reached the top, but security guards were herding people off to the walkways and away from the museum. I was tall enough, though, to see what was going on.
Reporters hovered, their microphones held out in front of them, vying for the best position to interview the man posing next to his mirror image.
Lester Fine and his wax twin. Great. I couldnt get away from the guy for some reason, and now there were two of him.
In a cynical moment, I had the thought that if he were running for public office, this might not be the perfect time to unveil his doppelganger.
But wasnt it ideal to have this photo op outside, so everyone could see it, rather than just the people who paid big bucks to see all those other wax figures inside?
I mentally slapped myself, glancing down for a second so I wouldnt bump into the spandex-clad woman in front of me. When I looked up and over at Lester Fine again, I caught my breath.
He was staring at me.
I blinked a couple of times just to make sure I wasnt imagining it. But he was. He was staring at me. And then beckoning me to come over.
There she is, he said loudly to the reporters. That is the young woman who was involved with the incident at the Windsor Palms yesterday.
I froze as the crowd stepped aside in unison to let me pass.
Yes, yes, you, dear, Lester Fine said, walking toward me and taking my arm, pulling me toward the wax figure.
I yanked my arm away, but Lester Fine would not be dissuaded. He smiled at me, although there was something behind his smile that totally was not sincere.
The wax figure had been forgotten. I was his new photo op.
I was not a happy camper.
The reporters were shouting at me all at once. I couldnt make out their questions, until I concentrated on the woman standing closest to me. She was blond, familiar.
Leigh Holmes, Channel 6. Wed crossed paths before, and shed mistakenly thought my brother would give her classified information if she slept with him. Shed had no idea that he just wanted the sex and had no intentions of sharing any sort of information. He was a guy.
Can you tell us what happened yesterday? she asked, the microphone bobbing so close to my nose that I stepped back slightly so as not to get hit with it, but I was now invading Lester Fines personal space. He didnt seem to mind.
What can you tell us? Leigh Holmes insisted.
I shook my head. Im sorry, no comment.
I could feel Lester Fines hot breath on the side of my neck. And when he asked, Where is it? his voice was so low I knew no one could hear him but me.
Excuse me? I asked.
Where is it? he hissed.
What?
You know.
No, I dont.
He blew air through his nostrils. Miss Kavanaugh
The moment he said my name, it reminded me of something. How his personal assistant, Rusty Abbott, had also said my name. Without my ever telling him what it was.
Granted, Colin Bixby could have told him yesterday. Frank DeBurra could have. But I wasnt a hundred percent sure about that. Even though I was having doubts about Bixby right now, those HIPAA laws would have protected me, as hed told Fine yesterday. And DeBurra, well, he wasnt exactly the cooperating type.
I gave Lester Fine the look Id given Cory Michaels when he told me he hadnt stolen my lunch money out of my desk.
How do you know my name?
The smile was smooth, practiced, and solely for the cameras, while his tone was threatening. If I dont get it back
I snorted. Which might not go over well on the TV. A camera was aimed right at me.
I have no idea what youre talking about, I said, stepping away.
Thats when I saw Rusty Abbott on the moving incline, coming toward me.
Chapter 43
Leigh Holmes wasnt about to let me get away, even though I took another step. She was in my face again with that microphone.
We understand an employee of yours was involved with the ricin poisoning at the Windsor Palms, she said.
That stopped me. I stared at her for a long second. How did she find out about Charlotte?
I still have no comment, I insisted.
But she was onto me. She knew that question had sparked something.
And the police are interrogating another one of your employees as we speak, she said, a hard edge in her voice.
When I didnt say anything, she added, So what sort of business are you running, Miss Kavanaugh?
Maybe you should sleep with my brother again to see if you can get answers to all these questions, I said loudly.
Under the five inches of caked-on makeup, I believe Leigh Holmes turned white. She waved her hand in front of the camera lens frantically, the microphone now drooping toward the ground by its cable.
While she was distracted, I glanced around and
saw that Rusty Abbott was almost to the top of the incline. He must have followed me here from Trevors apartment. I wasnt interested in an up-close-and-personal encounter, so I scrambled through the crowd and got on the incline going back down. I caught Abbotts eye.
He pointed to the bottom of the incline. Wait for me, he mouthed as he moved his shirt to the side and I saw that gun again.
What, was he kidding?
I swiveled my head to see him start to stride up the incline, and when he got to the top, he turned around to come right back down again. He was gaining on me.
I pushed my way down the incline and caught purchase on the pavement at the bottom. I ran around the fountain and toward the entrance to the lobby of the Venetian.
I usually didnt go in this way. There was no need, since I could get to the Venetian Grand Canal Shoppes through the parking garage around the back. After living in Vegas for two years, going on three, youd think that Id be used to the decadent, over-the-top opulence in the resort lobbies by now.
Everything dripped gold. I almost slipped on the shiny Italian tiles on the floor as I bounded through the palatial walkway. Flags advertising Phantom of the OperaId never seen the show; somehow watching a man sing with a plate on his face didnt appeal to mefluttered in the air-conditioning just below the arched ceiling sporting Renaissance-style paintings in gold frames. Marble columns topped with gold stood sentry, flanking the walkway that led to the globe fountain, to which golden statues clung.
It was gold overload.
I turned and started to run through the casino, but a security guard appeared out of nowhere, stopping me with a raised hand.
Whats your hurry? he asked.
I glanced behind me. Someones following me, I said, my breath coming out in spurts. I didnt realize how hard Id been running.
The guard looked behind me. No one running but you.
I peered past the fountain to the marble columns. I didnt see Rusty Abbott. Maybe hed lost interest. I could only hope. I looked back to the guard and nodded. Okay, fine. I just have to get to the Grand Canal Shoppes.
He pointed to my left, and the escalators were there, ready to take me to my shop. I thanked him and power walked toward them, sneaking looks behind me as I went.
Still no sign of Abbott.
At the top of the escalators, I was in the Great Hall. Talk about over the top. More ceiling paintings, more elaborate theme park-like illusions of actually being in Venice. Without the stench of the canal, of course. Id been in Venice once, in July, and I thought Id landed in the middle of a sewage plant. I got over it, or probably just got used to it, as I wandered the streets and bridges.
I was doing the same thing here, skipping past the restaurants and shops. It was like being in Oz, but instead of a yellow brick road, there was a minicanal with gondolas filled with tourists.
As I walked, I pondered what it was Lester Fine thought I had. Did he know Id been to Trevors apartment? Did he know about the money? Did he think I took it?
I shook the thoughts away. How would Lester Fine know about Trevors money? No, it had to be something else. The queen-of-hearts pin, maybe? Rusty Abbott had the makeup case, so he most likely knew now that the pin had been removed. Could he think Id taken it?
I was circling the runway but had nowhere to land.
The Painted Lady was at the opposite end of the canal, squeezed in between Barneys New York and Jacks Gallery. Across the waterway was a Godiva chocolate place. I needed a little chocolate right about now, so I crossed over one of the footbridges and found myself pointing out various truffles that the kind girl put into a box for me. Armed with sugar, I scooted around the end of the canal and the line of people waiting their turn for a gondola ride and pushed open the door to my shop.
I took a deep breath as the door slowly closed behind me. Bitsy was sitting at the front desk and looked up at me expectantly. I handed her the box of chocolates.
Her grin was immediate.
Godiva! she exclaimed.
Joels head poked out of his door. Did you bring Godiva? he asked.
I nodded.
Bitsy had already opened the box and was popping a truffle in her mouth, mmming as she savored it. Joel came out of his room a few seconds later and bounced over to the desk, grabbing the box.
Do you have a client? I asked.
His mouth was already full of truffle. He nodded. Needed a break anyway, he said as chocolate smeared across his teeth.
I grabbed one because I knew they could be gone in seconds, and when the chocolate hit my tongue, I sighed again.
You should get poisoned more often, Joel said, taking three truffles back to his room with him.
Bitsy cocked her head toward his back. Hes off Weight Watchers. Said he gained five pounds and cant afford any more.
Too bad, I said.
Yeah.
We both knew hed join up again in about three or four months.
I had my back to the door, and when it opened, I jumped a little, but it wasnt Rusty Abbott. It was my client.
I was feeling almost normal again as I inked the pinup girl on Herbie Nelsons upper arm. She had unnaturally large breasts with the nipples peeking out of a low-cut shirt and legs that any showgirl would die for. Herbie wanted her to be a blonde, so she had a huge bouffant of yellow curls cascading over her shoulders. When Herbie flexed his biceps, the breasts got even larger. He loved it.
I wasnt so sure. This was old school, the kind of ink Jeff Coleman would do. I didnt do many like thisusually left it to Joel, who was better at it than me. But Herbie was a regular. Id already inked him five times, and hed fallen in love with the Japanese geisha that Id done just a few months back on his other arm. Granted, hed wanted a more scantily clad geisha, so the kimono was short and open in the front. Herbie liked sexy women on his person. I hated to say it, but it might be the closest he would ever get. Who was I to turn him away? Plus, he paid top dollar, and considering the economy, we needed as much money as we could get in the till at the end of the day.
The gloves were feeling a little clammy, and my hand started to cramp about an hour into Herbies ink. I lifted my foot off the pedal and the machine stopped. I looked at Herbies face, and he had tears running down his cheeks. Herbie always cried. I was used to it now.
A break? I asked, pulling off my gloves before he could answer.
Herbie nodded, and I handed him a box of tissues so he could clean himself up before round two.
I stepped out of the room. Bitsy was still at the front desk, going over the appointment book. She looked up when I came out. I walked over to her and noticed that the box of truffles was empty. I raised my eyebrows at her, and she chuckled.
Joel enjoyed them.
Where is he?
Hes got half an hour between clients. I think hes out getting something else to eat.
Figured. It was lunchtime. I hoped hed bring something back for me and Bitsy.
Oh, by the way, Bitsy added, giving me a sly smile I couldnt read. A few minutes ago someone came in and made an appointment. Hes going to be back in a couple hours to go over what he wants with you.
I nodded. Okay. I leaned over her shoulder and looked at the appointment book.
When I saw the name shed penciled in, I froze.
Colin Bixby.
Chapter 44
You look like youve seen a ghost, Bitsy said. I thought youd be happy about this, Dr. Sexy coming in for a tattoo. You might be able to see a part of his body that youve just thought about seeing. And he looks even sexier without that lab coat on. Hes got a nice tight butt in those designer jeans. Her eyebrows bounced up and down as she grinned.
I chuckled nervously. Its just, well, I found out hes already got a tattoo, but he told me in the hospital that he didnt have one, that he was afraid of needles.
B
itsy looked at me like I had three heads, but before I could explain, the door opened and Joel came in, carrying take-out bags from Johnny Rockets.
I prefer In-N-Out Burger, but Johnny Rockets would do in a pinch.
Lunch has arrived, Joel announced.
I glanced back at my room. I had to get back to Herbie, but my stomach was growling. I reached in one of the bags and grabbed a burger, peeled back the paper, and took a couple of bites. I indicated my room. Gotta get back, I said, talking with my mouth full. Sister Mary Eucharista would have made me write I will not talk with my mouth full on the blackboard fifty times for that.
I took another couple of bites, wadded up the paper, and put it in the trashcan under the desk. Thanks, I said to Joel before heading back to Herbie.
My head was distracted with thoughts of Colin Bixby as I finished the pinup girl, and he still hadnt arrived by the time Herbie and I emerged from the room. Herbie paid Bitsy, and we sent him on his way. I looked nervously out the glass doors at the canal and to the right and the left, but there was no sign of Bixby.
Youre acting like a girl on prom night, Joel commented as he came up behind me, startling me.
I slapped his arm playfully. Dont do that, I said. Its just that Im not exactly sure what this guy is up to. I told them about the queen-of-hearts tattoo Bixby had had done at Murder Ink a year ago, when he was dressed in drag with Wesley Lambert and Rusty Abbott. So he lied to me, and I dont think hell be all that into me, either, since hes obviously gay, like I thought initially.
Bitsys eyes skirted to Joel for a second, and I knew what she was thinking. We still didnt know which way Joel swungofficially, anyway. He had never come out to us, might never. We always tried to say in front of him that we didnt care who was gay or who wasnt, but it didnt do any good. Sometimes we thought he was just asexual, which was also a possibility.
I looked back out the door, but the scene was the same as it had been a second ago, the last time I checked.