“Nice,” Maggie said, straight-faced. “Do you take requests?”
Serena started laughing again and was afraid the Coke would wind up coming out her nose. Maggie lost it, too, and the two of them spent five minutes cracking up before they ran out of breath. Serena wound up hot and sweaty. She wiped her brow and used a napkin to blow her nose.
“You are too much,” she told Maggie.
“Thank you,” Maggie said, in her best Elvis voice. “Thank you very much.”
“Oh, God, don’t get me started again.” Serena pushed her hair out of her face. She closed her eyes and propped her chair against the wall, like Maggie’s.
“Tell me something,” Maggie said.
Serena was mellow now, her defenses down. “Sure.”
“Was that real smoke I saw coming off you and Stride in the airport?”
Serena flopped her chair back on the floor with a bang and opened her eyes. Maggie had a broad grin spread across her golden face. “What?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent with me, girl. You know he wants you. Stride couldn’t hide it if he tried. And it seems to me you want him, too.”
“Maggie, he’s married. And we just met.”
Maggie took another piece of pizza. “Call it marriage if you want, but it’s long gone and dead. The Big D is around the corner. Thank God. And don’t get hung up on time, kiddo. I mean, is there a right time? A week? A month? It only took me about a day to fall in love with Stride.”
“You?”
Maggie nodded. “Oh, yeah. I had it bad for years.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened. He was in a real love match back then. When she died, I took my chance. But we were made to be friends, not lovers. Fortunately, I met Eric eventually, and he managed to break through all my cynical wisecracks, the little shit. And I think it made Stride kind of jealous, which was a nice bonus.”
Serena gave her a small smile. “I admit, I’m very attracted to him.”
“So go for it.”
“Yeah, right. Not so simple. They don’t call me Barbed Wire back home for nothing. I’ve got skeletons in the closet. Big, ugly ones.”
“You won’t scare him off,” Maggie said.
“Watch me.”
“Do you want to sleep with him?”
“Sure I do, but I’m not going to.”
“I thought everyone in Vegas had a great sex life,” Maggie said.
“I’ve got a terrific sex life, but I’m usually alone.”
Maggie laughed again, long and hard. “Hey, whatever works. But I can attest that with the right guy, there’s no substitute.”
Serena scrunched up her face. She wasn’t convinced. “I just met him,” she repeated.
“Fight it all you want, girl,” Maggie said, sighing. “But it pisses me off, you know, that I tried to turn him on for years, and all you had to do was walk off the fucking plane. Your breasts ain’t that great.”
“Like hell they’re not,” Serena replied.
When he returned to city hall, Stride didn’t know how to read the chemistry in the conference room, except to realize that Maggie and Serena had become fast friends during the course of the afternoon. He draped his wet coat over the back of a chair. With a tired groan, he sat down and put his feet up on the scratched wood of the tabletop.
“FBI,” he announced. “Full of Bullshit Ideas.”
“It’s enough to bask in the reflected glow of their presence,” Maggie told him.
Stride nodded. “I’m glad you feel that way. I told K-2 that you could babysit the Feebs next time.”
“Thanks a lot,” Maggie said.
“What happened with Dan Erickson?” Serena asked.
Stride groaned again and gave them a run-down of Dan’s threats.
“I told you he was an asshole,” Maggie said.
“And you were right,” Stride admitted. He explained to Serena. “Maggie and Dan had a brief fling a few years ago. It ended badly. Something about her burning down Dan’s house.”
“That’s a gross exaggeration,” Maggie said. “It was an accidental cigarette burn on a Burberry coat.”
“Yes, but you don’t smoke,” Stride reminded her.
Serena chuckled. “I love you two.”
“Did you come up with anything while I was gone?” Stride asked.
“We made some breakthroughs, but on a different case,” Maggie said, winking at Serena. Stride noticed that Serena gave Maggie a withering stare, then turned beet red and grabbed a manila folder from the desk and began reading. He noted that the folder was upside down.
“What case?” Stride asked.
“A head case, actually. The twisted mind of Jonathan Stride.”
Stride smiled. “Do you charge by the hour?”
“You can’t afford us.”
“Lucky me. In between, did you get any actual police work done while I was arranging lattes for the FBI?”
Serena put the folder down, composed again. “Nothing that gets us any answers. But at least I know the case now.”
“All right, let’s get back to Rachel’s original disappearance,” Stride said. “I’m betting if we knew what really happened then, we’d know why she was killed.”
“Except we were all wrong three years ago,” Maggie said.
“Yes, but we know something now that you didn’t know then,” Serena pointed out.
“Such as?” Stride asked.
“We know Rachel was really alive.”
Stride nodded. He stood up and poured a cup of lukewarm coffee. An air-conditioning vent hummed loudly, blowing cold air on his head. “That’s true. All right, what else do we know?”
“We know Rachel was at the barn that night,” Maggie said.
“Do we?” Serena asked. “Could the evidence have been planted?”
“What, you think a mysterious stranger came by with an eye dropper and left her blood?” Maggie shook her head. “Rachel was there—and she was in the back of Graeme’s van, too. The fibers from her shirt matched.”
“It wasn’t just Rachel,” Stride reminded her. “We’ve got Graeme’s footprints at the barn, too—don’t forget that. Remember the shoes he bought and then couldn’t produce? To me, that says they were both there. Whatever happened between them, it was enough to spook Rachel and make her run.”
“But we know Graeme didn’t kill her,” Serena said.
Stride proceeded to explain to Serena his alternate theory about what might have happened between Rachel and Graeme that night at the barn, and how Rachel might have turned to a friend to help her escape.
Serena stared at the ceiling, nodding thoughtfully. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and drank from a can of Diet Coke. “That’s not bad. But it leaves us with no obvious motive for anyone from Duluth to kill her three years later.”
“Except for Dan,” Maggie said, smirking.
“If Rachel ran, who helped her?” Serena asked. “Dayton Tenby? I’m still suspicious of him hunting up and down the Strip for little lost Rachel.”
Stride shook his head. “Dayton and Emily were in Minneapolis that Friday night, having an affair.”
“Unless Rachel called her mother,” Serena said.
“I think Emily is the last person Rachel would have called,” Stride said.
Maggie pursed her lips. “This all comes back to Sally. We know she saw Rachel the night she left town. She lied about it from the start. And she would have been very unhappy if Rachel came back to Duluth after all these years to say hi to Kevin.”
Stride pulled out his cell phone. “Sally and Kevin are shacking up in an apartment near the university. I tried to call them earlier, but there was no answer.”
He dialed again. After five rings, he was ready to hang up, but then he heard a female voice on the line.
“Hello? Sally?” Stride frowned and listened. “Do you know where she is? I’m a friend, and I need to reach her right away.”
He waited for the reply and then hung
up with a brief good-bye.
“It seems Kevin and Sally are due back later tonight. That was the neighbor who’s taking care of their cat. They’ve been on a cross-country driving trip for the last two weeks. To the Grand Canyon.”
“Well, well,” Maggie said.
“I-40,” Serena added. “Five hours to Vegas.”
42
Cordy enjoyed the envious stares as he and Lavender promenaded through the lobby of the Bellagio, underneath the giant, multicolored glass flowers that decorated the ceiling. As a couple, they were cool and attractive, a perfect fit for the upscale surroundings. Cordy wore a black collarless silk shirt, a gold chain, and a crisply pressed tan linen suit. His shoes were polished to a reflective glow, and a waft of fragrance oozed from his slicked hair. Lavender wore a formfitting red bodysuit, with ovals strategically cut away to reveal generous patches of ebony skin and to confirm for everyone who stared that she wore neither a bra nor panties. She couldn’t have attracted more attention if she were naked.
As they entered the Bellagio’s elegant Japanese restaurant, he saw the eyes of a dozen Asian businessmen lock onto Lavender through a cloud of cigarette smoke. She flirted with them as she sat down, confidently staring back.
“What’s it like?” Cordy asked.
He didn’t say what he meant, but Lavender understood. The attention. The stares. What’s it like to trail men’s eyes wherever you go?
“I love it,” Lavender said. She had a sly smile and a breathy voice, with a hint of the street lingering in her twang. “I’m the queen, baby. I’ve got the power.”
She licked her broad lips with her tongue, and Cordy felt her shoeless foot stroking his ankle under the table. The waiter came over, a wizened, expressionless Japanese man in a starched tuxedo, and Lavender began ordering things he didn’t recognize, like ika, maguro, and uni.
“What are we getting?” Cordy asked when the waiter left.
“Tuna. Yellowtail. Squid. Sea urchin. Things like that.”
“Sea urchin? I’m going to throw up.”
“Trust me,” Lavender said.
Cordy jerked his thumb at the Asian businessmen at the other tables. “No offense, Lav, but why work where you do? I mean, shouldn’t you be living on an island with one of those guys?”
“You got a problem with what I do? If so, tell me now, okay? Don’t waste my time.”
“No, no,” Cordy protested.
Lavender jabbed a finger at him. “The only people who humiliate themselves are the guys drooling in the audience every night. I’m in control. They worship me. There’s nothing wrong with that. You ask why I do it. Simple. For the m-o-n-e-y.”
“Sorry,” Cordy said.
“Don’t be. Everyone asks. But you have to get over it, baby, or we’ve got a short evening ahead.”
The waiter brought a black lacquer tray, elegantly arrayed with gold-flecked rolls and slivers of fish, each tied to a sticky mound of rice with a black belt of seaweed. It turned out that Cordy liked sushi a lot, particularly the way Lavender balanced each piece on the chopsticks and fed him bites. She herself ate in a big way, stuffing a roll into her mouth and grinning at him as she wolfed it down. He didn’t recall ever being so turned on simply by eating dinner.
When they were done, Lavender ordered sake, and Cordy was surprised to find the liquor both hot and intoxicating, given how little fit into each glass and how smoothly it slid down his throat. They went through two miniature carafes before Cordy called for the check and paid it with a slight grimace of pain.
They left the restaurant, and Cordy discovered to his delight that they were now holding hands. Her hips swished against his side as they strolled through the casino. Her fingers rubbed the inside of his palm, and he realized that even that small touch aroused him. The stares of other patrons continued to follow them.
“So how come you’re not dating your hottie partner?” Lavender asked.
“Who, Serena? She’s a friend, and that’s that. Not my type.”
Lavender poked him in the side. “Yeah, right. She may have a few years on you, but she’s still a looker. You never made a play for her?”
Cordy shrugged. “She set me straight from day one. No hanky-panky. And everybody already knows her reputation. Guys ask her out, she cuts off their balls. She’s got barbed wire around her.”
“Why is that?” Lavender asked.
Cordy shook his head. “She hasn’t told me.” He let his hand slide down her back and come to rest on the curve of her buttocks. He rubbed her skin through one of the oval slits in her dress. “So you want to play for a while?”
“You mean gambling or fucking?”
“Isn’t it the same thing? I get screwed either way.”
Lavender threw her head back and laughed. “I like you, baby. Yeah, I like you.”
“I like you, too. Listen, I got a five-hundred-dollar bill in my wallet. Let me play until I lose it or double it, and then we’ll go to your place.”
Lavender tugged on his chin and planted her luscious lips on his mouth, pressing her tongue inside. “Just make it quick.”
Cordy steered her to the high-limit slots area. He normally played five-dollar blackjack at the tables at Sam’s Town, but he didn’t feel like sitting at a table and getting into the rhythm of the game. Besides, it felt like penny ante tonight. His luck was high, and he wanted to ride Lavender like a good luck charm. He chose a five-dollar Triple Play video poker machine that took up to five coins per hand, which meant the maximum bet on each pull was seventy-five dollars. Win or lose, it would be quick, and then they could get to the real business of the evening.
Over the next ten minutes, he shot ahead three hundred dollars, before sinking back after a quick series of losing hands. Then he hit a straight on two out of three hands and was well ahead again, although he hadn’t quite doubled his money. He felt the usual fever overtaking him, and the only thing that kept him from losing himself in the game was the sensation of Lavender’s fingers creeping closer to his crotch. Between the blips of the machine and the aching of his erection, his mind was flying.
He barely heard Lavender when she asked, “So did you and the hottie figure out what happened to Christi?”
“Damn!” He had a pair of aces, but he couldn’t pull a third ace on the draw. “What did you say?”
“Christi. The girl who got killed. Did you find out who did it?”
Cordy watched another seventy-five bucks come and go on the next series of hands. “Huh? Oh, not yet. Serena’s in Minnesota now.”
“Minnesota?”
Cordy nodded. “Yeah, the girl, Christi, came from some town up north in Minnesota. Looks like someone from home paid her a visit.”
Cordy bet the max again and held his breath. He pumped his fist when he saw four-fifths of a spade flush flip up on the original deal. “Come on, mama, give me a spade.”
Lavender wasn’t watching the screen. She let one finger slip between his legs, where she traced the swelling there. “Is that from me or the game?”
Cordy didn’t answer. He carefully held four cards, then punched the draw button and held his breath. “Fuck!”
Lavender sighed and removed her hand. She began studying her painted nails. “I see why I don’t gamble.”
“Huh?” Cordy said idly.
“Nothing. I’m surprised whoever killed Christi was from out of town. I would have thought it was that creepy boyfriend of hers.”
“Yes!” Cordy shrieked as the machine dealt him three kings. “Come on, four of a kind, four of a kind!”
He fluttered his fingers over the button, then pushed it with a silent prayer. The remaining cards popped up: three, ace, seven, nine, queen, king.
“Yes!” Cordy screamed, watching the fourth king fill out the third hand. “Yes!” He grabbed Lavender, wrapped her tightly in his arms, and planted a long, extended kiss on her lips, to which she responded with enthusiasm. When he disentangled himself and looked back, he saw he had doubled his money.
More than five hundred bucks!
Cordy cashed out, relishing the loud clanking of five-dollar coins banging into the tray. He filled two plastic buckets with the coins and stacked them on top of each other as he peered around for the nearest change booth. With the buckets under one arm and Lavender hanging on his other side, he strutted through the casino as if he were on top of the world. At the booth, he handed the buckets to the attendant and watched her pile them into the counting machine, then licked his lips as the numbers shot over a thousand dollars.
It was only then that his brain caught up with the whirl of thoughts in his head. Cordy felt his blood turn to ice, and he swung around on Lavender, his face tense and his fantasies of sex and money leeching away.
“Boyfriend?”
43
Stride and Serena sat in the dark in his truck, underneath a broken streetlight, parked opposite Kevin and Sally’s university apartment building. The truck windows were open, letting the cool evening air blow through with a few lingering raindrops. They had staked out the building for an hour. He knew they could have waited until morning to talk to them, but he wanted the element of surprise, before Kevin and Sally had time to rehearse their reactions.
It also gave him a reason not to go home, which was the last place he wanted to be. That was the ugly truth. He was intensely attracted to Serena, and he wanted to be with her. Not with Andrea. Not with his own wife.
She was a silhouette seated next to him, but he knew that she could feel him studying her. Broadcasting his feelings. Shouting them silently.
“Tell me about Phoenix,” he said. “About your past.”
She shook her head. “I don’t talk about that.”
“I know. But tell me anyway.”
“Why do you care about my past?” Serena asked. “You don’t know me.”
“That’s why. I want to know you.”
Serena was silent. He heard her breathing, which was fast and nervous.
“What is it you really want, Jonny?” she asked. “To sleep with me?”
Stride didn’t know what to say. “How do I answer that?” he said finally. “If I say no, you know I’m lying. If I say yes, then I’m another shallow cop looking for an affair.”
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