All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1)

by Linsey Lanier

  “Hell of a place to build a town.”

  Chuckling he gave her a tender look. “Artesian wells that supported green areas were discovered here in the early eighteen-hundreds. Las Vegas means ‘the meadows’ after all.”

  Misnamed, in her opinion. “Except for the golf course, I haven’t seen many of those.” And that had to be watered with an underground irrigation system.

  “True. Then came the Mormons, the railroad, and the pioneers.”

  “And then good old Bugsy Siegel.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the gamblers and the shows and the famous.”

  Parker nodded.

  “Which, speeding things along, brings us up to today and the murder of our celebrity singer.”

  “Exactly.”

  She thought of their missing-in-action police sergeant. “Was O’Toole this bad when he was at the Agency?”

  “He was one of our first trainees. The program was only a year old. We mostly did one-on-one then.”

  Like the training she’d had from Parker.

  “We had three new employees that year. I took two of them and put Judd in charge of O’Toole. It wasn’t long before Judd was complaining to me about the young man’s performance.”

  “Such as?”

  “Slacking off, not listening to instructions, acting as if the training were a joke.”

  Miranda shifted in her seat. She’d had a similar attitude when she’d started at the Agency. But that was before she discovered investigating was what she was meant to do.

  “Judd thought it was lack of confidence, so we attempted to build some in him.”

  “How did that work out?”

  Parker shrugged. “Fairly well up to a point. But after a year, Sid got the offer with Las Vegas Metro and left.” He let out a slow breath. “He was my first disappointment. I always thought he had more potential.”

  And now they were stuck with him, bringing up not-so-nice memories for Parker. Well, at least she could show him her training wasn’t a waste.

  She swallowed her last bite and took a final sip of her drink. “Okay, how are we supposed to proceed here, Parker? We’re not the police. Can we bring Suzie Chan in for questioning?”

  She watched his face turn to calculating as he slipped back into work mode. “Chan might not be at her sister’s any longer.”

  Good point. Miranda’s heart sank. “She might never have gone there if she planned to kill her employer and run. Hell, she could be in Mexico for all we know.”

  “True. We’ll have to contact Sid.” He dialed his cell phone, waited. After a minute, he hung up with a growl. “He’s not answering.”

  Shaking her head with disgust she balled up her hamburger wrapper and tossed it in the paper bag Parker had set between the seats. “He’s working normal hours when he’s got a case like this?”

  “He handed it off to us.”

  “We don’t have police authority.”

  Parker wiped his mouth and put his napkin in the bag. “Or jurisdiction. Neither does he in California.”

  That was all they needed. They couldn’t get stalled now. They were onto something. “Wait. There’s another detective who was involved. Forest gave me her card.” She pulled it out of her pocket. “Kim Ralston. Let’s go talk to her.”

  “Excellent idea.” Parker started the car, tossed their trash into the receptacle and turned right, heading for Sierra Vista.

  ###

  They found Detective Kim Ralston in her office, at her desk, her back straight, her gaze focused on her computer. “What can I do for you?” she asked without looking up.

  Parker took a casual step toward the desk. “We’re from the Parker Investigative Agency. We’ve been working with Sergeant O’Toole on the Ambrosia Dawn case.”

  Ralston stopped typing and looked up at Parker. Miranda watched her eyes go wide when she saw how good-looking he was—a reaction she’d seen many times in women.

  Then Ralston gave Miranda a glance and sat back in her chair with a smirk. “So you’re the two hot shots from the east O’Toole hired?”

  “Something like that.” Miranda took in the woman.

  Plain dark blond hair pulled back with a simple band. A tan, short-sleeved cotton shirt, and almost matching tan slacks divided by a simple brown belt. No jewelry, no makeup. She liked her instantly.

  “Have a seat.” Ralston pointed to a couple of chairs—she had two in her office. “The whole department’s talking about you.”

  Parker waited for Miranda to sit then settled himself. “Are they?”

  “Nobody wants to touch this case. Too hot. Too much publicity. The Lieutenant, the Commander, all the casino owners, even the mayor is watching our every move. Plus there’s the national news coverage.”

  Miranda cocked her head at the woman. “We’re not afraid of publicity. Parker’s pretty used to it.” And she’d had to deal with some in the past year herself.

  “Well, we tend to avoid it around here. But you can’t on this case. Ambrosia Dawn’s publicist is calling every hour for developments. What a pain in the ass.”

  “Does O’Toole have you dealing with that?”

  “No, he’s just avoiding her phone calls.”

  Miranda couldn’t help shaking her head. Ralston caught the gesture and gave her a cautious half-smile.

  Parker leaned forward with his most businesslike demeanor. “Detective Ralston, we’ve discovered some information on the case and we need some assistance.”

  “I’ll do what I can but my authority is limited.”

  “We understand. However, I believe we’ve uncovered a person of interest.”

  Miranda knew that understated Parker tone so well. And that it was best not to be overconfident with the police or they’d just pooh-pooh your findings.

  Ralston’s thin brows rose in a mixture of surprise and skepticism. “Already?”

  “We think so,” Miranda said, continuing the cautious tone. “We just came from Ambrosia Dawn’s residence. I spoke to her husband.”

  “The Elvis impersonator?” She suppressed an eye roll. “Not that that’s unusual out here.”

  “He’s retired anyway.” Miranda went over what Forest had told her about the rehearsal party Tuesday night, their personal chef and the melon balls, and that he said the chef had left before the party. She explained Parker had learned from the house staff that Ambrosia had an obsession with melon balls and they fought all the time. She also told her about the tea and the missing building plastic.

  “You have found a person of interest.” Ralston tapped her fingernails on her desk. “Cameron Forest mentioned the personal chef when I saw him last night to tell him about his wife and asked if anyone in the house might have access to a melon baller.”

  Miranda tensed. Forest knew about the melon baller? “Did you tell him why?”

  Ralston straightened her already straight back. “Yes, but I didn’t think he even heard me. He was so broken up.”

  “He was that way when I saw him, too,” Miranda said. “Understandable.” But he had heard her.

  “I wrote that up in the report I sent to Sergeant O’Toole. I don’t know why he didn’t say anything to you.” That report wasn’t in the file.

  Miranda looked at Parker. He gave her a let’s-not-discuss-the-sluggard-here look.

  She nodded and turned back to Ralston. “Since Suzie Chan is supposed to be in California, we’re wondering how to bring her in for questioning.”

  Her brow creased as she thought a moment. “I’ll have to talk to Sergeant O’Toole on how he wants to proceed on that.” She blew out a breath. “One thing I can attempt is to get a search warrant for Suzie Chan’s place.”

  “You’re thinking we might find an eye there?”

  “If we’re lucky.”

  Miranda lifted her hands. “Well, this is the place for luck, isn’t it?”

  Ralston turned to her computer, did a quick check of Suzie Chan in the system and found no priors. Then she picked up t
he phone, ran through paperwork with someone on the other end, and hung up again. “If this goes smoothly—and it probably will for this case—we could have the search warrant in about an hour. I’ll pull a couple officers and CSIs then.” She got to her feet and stretched. “I need some coffee. Either of you want anything?”

  “No thanks,” Miranda said.

  “When the judge calls, you two want to come eye hunting with me?”

  It was tempting but it was better to keep interviewing people on their list. Just in case the Suzie Chan angle didn’t pan out.

  Miranda glanced at Parker. He nodded to her, indicating it was her decision. She shook her head. “I think it would be better if we talked to Ambrosia’s sister.” Which would mean heading straight back to the country club, according to the address in the case file.

  “All right. I’ll be in touch with our findings.”

  “Likewise.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The hot afternoon sun was casting eastward shadows on the neighborhood lawns when they arrived at Blythe Star’s coral colored stucco house. The sprawling place was a two-story palace, maybe only half the size of her sister’s down the street. Still huge.

  And wasn’t it nice for family to be so close? Miranda thought as she headed up the winding gray slate walkway in the blinding heat to the elaborate arched door. This one was barricaded with an intricate filigree design over thick blue opaque glass. Owner must like her privacy.

  At her side, Parker took in the size of the place. “I’m sure Ms. Star has a bevy of servants, just as her sister did. Should we split the duties as before?”

  She shook her head. “This time I’d like you with me to observe. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  He gave her a tender look. “I don’t think you’ve missed anything so far.”

  That was a nice compliment from a man with Parker’s investigative experience, but she thought it was probably the encouraging husband talking. She didn’t feel unsure of herself. She just didn’t want to take anything for granted.

  She shifted her weight and studied Parker’s face, wondering if he was secretly second-guessing her. “I thought we’d see the sister for another angle on things.”

  “Exactly what I would have done.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Parker studied the intent crease between his wife’s deep blue eyes. The shape of her dark untamed hair, the sheen on her skin from the hot desert sun. He was proud of her. She was doing well and it was only their first official case on this new venture. Still, he knew she’d work herself to the bone if he didn’t look out for her, making sure she ate and slept and was satisfied in…other ways.

  And until they had solid proof Suzie Chan was the killer they were looking for, she’d worry about whether she was on the right track. But then, he’d do the same himself.

  He’d never dropped a case no matter how perplexing or frustrating it was. He was driven to bring killers to justice. Just as Miranda was. One of the reasons he loved her so much. He knew she would never drop this one. But he hoped they could wrap it up soon so she could feel a sense of accomplishment on their new venture.

  Miranda rang the bell—this one sounded more normal than Ambrosia’s—and tapped her foot on the rough stone of the porch as she waited for someone to answer.

  Soon she heard footsteps and the door opened. “May I help you?” said a woman who appeared to be maybe in her mid-forties.

  She was on the gaunt side of thin and her dark graying hair was pulled back tight from her head. Her clothes were dark and austere. She obviously took being a gatekeeper seriously. Miranda wondered if she had been a nun in a previous life.

  “We’re sorry to bother you at this time,” Miranda said, handing her a card. “But we’re here from the Parker Investigative Agency on behalf of the local police. We’d like to speak to Ms. Star.”

  The woman took the card and scowled down at it. “I’ve never heard of the Parker Investigative Agency.”

  “We’re from the east,” Parker said in that easy way of his. He could charm even this cold fish or at least that was what Miranda expected.

  Instead the woman handed the card back and gave Miranda a cold, narrow glare. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to verify your identities.”

  Parker opened his mouth in a second attempt to charm the shrew but before he could speak, a gentle, feminine voice floated in from a box on the wall. “Who is it, Hildie?”

  The gatekeeper gave a little huff then pressed a button on the wall. “People who say they’re with the police, ma’am. I think their autograph hounds.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. If they’re with the police, let them in. Show them to the terrace.”

  The woman stared at the box as if thinking, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” But she was the employee here and evidently she knew her place.

  “As you wish, ma’am,” she said stiffly.

  She opened the door and led Miranda and Parker through an elegant oversized foyer with a gurgling fountain to the back of the house and onto a wide circular area that was the terrace. It had a white marble floor and white columns and an open view of the lush rolling green golf course and the pale, gray-blue mountains yawning against the horizon in the distance. Soothing and serene.

  Blythe Star was stretched out on a white wicker sofa, looking like a Greek goddess surveying her domain. She was dressed in a layered brown and blue leather and denim with enough fringe to suggest a southwestern look. Stacked-heel sandals sat on the floor at the end of the sofa but she rested her bare feet on a cushion. Her toes were painted in a blue and pink design that matched her fingernails. Her thick blonde hair was styled and fell past her shoulders.

  Miranda noted she wore it just the way Ambrosia had. In fact Blythe looked a lot like her sister. Her nose was a little longer. Her cheekbones not as high. Her eyes set a little wider apart. Not quite as good-looking, but with much of the same charismatic beauty. She could probably pass for her in a pinch.

  A box of tissue sat on her lap and used ones were scattered all over the glass top coffee table and a few on the floor. She stared blankly into the distance.

  Hildie touched her on the shoulder, her voice turning gentle. “Ma’am? The detectives?”

  Blythe started and blinked up at her as if coming out of a trance. “Oh, yes. I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem at all,” Parker said, extending a hand as Hildie quietly left the space. “I’m Wade Parker, CEO of the Parker Investigative Agency in Atlanta. This is my associate, Miranda Steele.”

  The woman took Miranda’s hand and gave it a weak, fishlike shake. “And you’re helping the police?”

  “Sergeant Sid O’Toole asked us to consult,” Miranda said.

  “I see.” She waved the tissue she was holding in her hand. “Please sit down. Both of you. Would you like something to drink?” Her voice had the rich, sonorous tone of her sister’s when she sang, but with a sweeter edge, Miranda noticed.

  “No, thank you.” Miranda glanced at Parker. He shook his head.

  Miranda settled herself into a wicker chair near the woman’s head. Parker took the one on the opposite side. Both were angled outward for the view and she had to twist in it to face her.

  When she did, she caught her dabbing her cheeks. Miranda noticed her makeup hadn’t run. Maybe it was the waterproof kind.

  She took a breath and began. “Ms. Star, we’re very sorry for your loss.”

  The woman pressed the tissue to her nose and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She gazed off at the mountains. “I couldn’t believe it last night when Cameron called me with the news.”

  “That’s a normal reaction,” Parker said in a low, soothing tone.

  “I still can’t believe it. Not even after I saw her.”

  Miranda sat up. “You identified the body?”

  She nodded. “Early yesterday morning. I had to. I had to see for myself that it was her. Oh, the condition that killer left her in.�
� She put her hands over her face.

  Miranda gave Parker another glance. Cameron Forest had given her the impression no one from the family had identified the body yet. Maybe he didn’t know Blythe had been there. “Did you tell anyone when you went to the police station?”

  “Just Hildie. Why?” So Forest didn’t know.

  Miranda didn’t reply. She decided to ease into the questions. “You’re younger than your sister, correct?”

  She nodded. “By two years.”

  “What sort of relationship did you have with her?”

  She opened her mouth, shut it again, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “Right now? I help arrange her music, the background vocals. I do some of the choreography as well.”

  “You’re a performer?”

  “I used to sing professionally. Small shows. Small clubs.” She smiled modestly, almost as if she didn’t like to admit it. “I never had the success Ambrosia had.” Interesting point.

  Blythe leaned toward the coffee table and reached for a glass of something cold and pink and probably alcoholic. She took a dainty sip and turned to Miranda. “Are you sure I can’t get you something?”

  “No, thanks. Ms. Star, were you and Ambrosia close?”

  “In the last few years, yes. And of course we were when we were growing up together. We lived outside Minneapolis with our parents.”

  Miranda had read that in the case file and imagined a small, tight-knit family, struggling to keep it together. “Rags to riches?”

  Blythe laughed softly. “Our publicist says that, but it was really more like riches to more riches. Our father is a top criminal defense attorney. He ran for governor once. The result was close. I think it must have been the stress of that life that led to his heart attack. Mother didn’t last long after he passed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” The woman had suffered some serious losses. But she seemed to be telling the truth. A publicist’s spin sounded reasonable. Marketing with the underdog angle. But maybe there was more to dig up in the past. “What was it like growing up with Ambrosia Dawn?”

  Blythe’s rosy pink lips turned up in a sad smile. “Now you sound like an interviewer.” She must have been asked that a million times, but she didn’t give the canned reply. “In the first place she wasn’t Ambrosia Dawn back then. She was Abbey Johnson. I was Roberta. Abbey and Bobby everyone called us.”