by Norma Lehr
As she walked, out of the corner of her eye she noticed a limo cruising the blacktop like a shark in dark waters. Abby froze, afraid to breathe. Was this the limo that had followed her from the condo down Stateline—the one that had picked up Gail? Her throat constricted. If she had to scream, she wouldn’t be able to. Besides, who would hear her? The area was deserted. She started running and never looked back.
When she reached the relative safety of her deck, Blade had left. Good news or bad? At this point she couldn’t decide. She caught her breath. Cold. Her teeth chattered, more from nerves than the weather. She burst inside and locked the door. Nothing had changed. No one had turned the lights off, and Renee’s black purse and keys were still on the table. Damn.
She went back up to the circle bar and sat at a small table. The barstools were filled, but the tables were mostly empty except for two couples seated across the room. Renee surely couldn’t be foolish enough to take off and meet Tom again. On the remote chance she had, where were they now? Renee certainly wasn’t rational or even consistent when it came to Tom. After that incident at the campground—where she’d wrestled him down on the sand—would Tom even have asked Renee to meet him? His attitude toward her backstage during the show had been overtly hostile, to say the least. She had slammed that door hard on his foot.
She shrugged helplessly. They could have made up and hobbled off somewhere together. Who knew? Still, she and Renee had been friends for too many years for the woman not to leave her some kind of message. Especially if she’d planned to spend the night somewhere else.
She placed her phone on the table and stared at it. Time to call Fromer. She reached a recorded message at the sheriff’s office. After lengthy instructions on how to reach a specific officer if the call was not an emergency, she jotted down Fromer’s pager number. She dialed his pager, punched in her number, hung up, and waited. What if he didn’t return calls at this time of night? The man had to sleep sometime. This wasn’t the city, and she felt Fromer probably wouldn’t consider Renee to be missing. Guests in Tahoe sometimes stayed out all night.
She couldn’t sit still, and sleep certainly wasn’t an option. Forgetting about the predatory limo, she grabbed her sweater and headed back to the casino. She made another run through the noisy room, passing slot players and gamblers placing bets on the tables. Who were these late nighters, sitting alone in the wee hours, counting on Lady Luck to do them right?
On the phone Blythe had said that Gail left the party. She could be here, sitting among them, tapping machine buttons or spinning the wheels, fantasizing about how she could hit her own progressive jackpot before daylight. Abby sighed and wandered the aisles. No sign of Gail. She rang her room. No answer. Could she be with Renee?
She eyed the comfy oversized chairs in the Indian Room. Weary, but too revved up to sleep, she went in and stretched out. From here she could see through the glass doors if anyone passed into the casino or the Circle Bar. Ten minutes with her feet propped would do it. Perhaps Blade or Fromer would call or, better yet, show up. Her phone chirped, and Abby jumped out of a fitful sleep. For a moment she didn’t recognize her surroundings until she looked up on the wall at a snarling, mounted boar’s head.
“Renee?” she cried into the phone.
“Nope. Sorry, Abby. Why did you race away earlier?”
“Blade, I don’t have time to talk.” She looked around the room. “I’m waiting for Fromer to call.” She stood and wiggled the circulation back into her feet.
“Why Fromer? Renee still gone?”
She checked the time. “Good lord, I’ve been asleep for two hours!”
“Where are you?”
“The Indian Room. Hanging out with the stuffed animals. Are you at the Biltmore?”
“Nope. I’m at Harveys in South Shore. Tailing Tom Moran.”
So that’s who he’d been hired to tail. “How long have you known?”
“Pretty much since I got here the other evening. Dana had her suspicions. She hadn’t seen Moran for years, but she wanted this Barry guy checked out. Apparently Melanie set him up for this gig and wouldn’t tell Dana what she knew about him. Anyway, he’s not here. Checked his room a couple of times and asked around. No one’s seen him.” He paused. “Personally, I don’t like the guy. That’s another story.” He paused. “Any chance Renee’s with him?”
“Who knows? At this point, I’d just be relieved to know she’s okay, regardless of who she’s with.”
After a long pause, Blade spoke again. “There’s someone else Dana wanted me to do a background check on. She gave me a name and said we’d discuss it with you that next morning on the beach.”
“Who is it?” Abby held her breath.
His answer did not surprise Abby. This was exactly what Dana had suspected, what she had hinted at but didn’t spell out in the note sent to Abby via Renee, the night before her murder.
Abby gasped. “If what Dana suspected is true, that could be a reason for all the chaos we’ve been going through these last few days. Foolish deception for sure, but certainly not a motive for murder.”
“Possible. I’m still digging,” said Blade. “Got my laptop with me, and I’m checking DMV for another name Dana mentioned. Sent out e-mails to a couple of contacts. Soon as I find out anything important, I’ll get back to you. Go to bed, Abby. I’ll wake you. No more poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Listening to the concern in Blade’s voice softened her. He sounded so sincere. How could she have suspected that he was one of the bad guys in all this mayhem? An ex-L.A. cop. A private eye with a shingle. Working long past the time he’d been hired and paid by Dana. Come on.
He gave her his cell number again. “If you don’t find Renee, don’t bother to call. I’ll stay here at Harveys and wait for Moran. He has to show some time.” He clicked off.
Abby sat down trying to make sense of the bombshell Blade had just dropped.
Looking back, some of the signs were there. A few unanswered questions. But why? It seemed so bizarre. This evening at the party had already been one of ferreting out lies and secrets. This charade Blade had uncovered made no sense whatsoever.
2:25 a.m. There’d be no more sleep for her now.
Her phone beeped. Fromer was wide-awake on the other end.
Quickly she passed on Blade’s findings and added breathlessly that she still couldn’t find Renee. Anywhere.
“We’re looking. Please, leave it to us.” He abruptly clicked off.
She assumed Detective Fromer was a good cop, but this time she truly couldn’t take his advice. Her friend was missing. She had to find her.
Abby headed for the showroom, eyeing the door to the ski room, entrance to the old tunnel. Before she left here, she wanted to see that old tunnel that had been dug out in the thirties. Now she knew exactly who to ask for a tour. Vince.
She hustled down the corridor, intent on her mission, passing the celebrity black and white glossies without even a glance. The door pushed open, and she wandered into the dim area of tiered tables and booths, crossed to the steps leading to the stage, and went on to the east wing toward the dressing room door. Jan said Renee came back for her workout bag. She may have left Abby a note on the table. Unlikely, she knew, but worth a try.
She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain and saw a light shining underneath Frank’s office door. Two voices, a man’s and a woman’s, were arguing. Their heated conversation carried out through the partially open door. She stepped into the shadows, leaned against the wall, and listened.
“I left the party for you. I do everything you ask, but it’s never enough. You’re going to cause me to lose my job here.” A chair scraped against the floor. “Don’t you ever give up? What are you trying to prove?”
It had to be Vince, but who was he with?
“You’re asking me ‘who’?” Jan’s strong voice came on. “You’ve let everyone know I’m your sister. How does that make me look? I needed to do this show on my own terms, w
ithout help from you or anyone else. Now you’re using my name to step into the spotlight and shag dancers. You knew what this job entailed when you agreed to help. Now stop whining and get on with it.”
“Go to hell!” The door flew open and Vince blindly rushed out. Abby held her breath, praying he wouldn’t turn right. Her prayer was answered, for he turned left and took the stairs, two at a time. Abby waited. When she felt enough time had elapsed so that Jan wouldn’t know she had overheard, she quietly passed Frank’s office.
“Abby?” Jan peered out through the open door. “Is that you?” She pushed her chair back and stood in the open door, dressed in the same grungy sweatshirt over baggy pants. “What are you doing back here?”
“The middle of the night, I know,” Abby said offhand. “Haven’t located Renee yet. Couldn’t sleep. Thought she might have left me a note in the dressing room.” A long silence. “How come you’re up working so late? When you left the bar you were ready to go to bed.”
Jan sighed deeply. “Seems like I never get done. You dancers don’t realize how much backstage work goes into a production.” She rubbed her forehead. “We’re being televised live at the next performance.” She stared at Abby. “You knew that, didn’t you?”
Abby nodded. “I believe you mentioned it.”
“Well, don’t stand there, girl.” Her tone turned chummy. “Come on in and sit. We can’t sleep, so let’s talk.” If Jan appeared weary before, she looked absolutely spent now, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. Abby motioned to the next door. “I need to check the dressing room first. See if Renee left a message.”
“Whatever. Take your time.”
Abby did just that. She checked the room thoroughly. No note, but Renee’s unzipped workout bag lay where she’d left it under the table. Abby rummaged through and found Renee’s foot wrap—the wrap Jan said she’d come back to retrieve after the show. Strange. Abby shoved the wrap into the bag, gave the room another onceover, and went to join Jan. “Look. Renee didn’t take her tote or her foot wrap. I found them both under her makeup station.”
Jan’s legs were stretched out, her arms folded across her stomach, her head resting against the back of the chair. She stared at the ceiling. “Go figure. It’s too late to think about it.”
“You should probably try to get some sleep. After that accident on stage—”
“No accident,” she interrupted. “Someone’s out to get me.”
Abby perused the old office that had once belonged to the Boss. “Where exactly was that warning note pinned on the wall?” She looked at each wall in turn, checking for a spot or pinhole.
She turned and Jan stood behind her. “Come on; Fromer’s done that already. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m starved. Let’s raid the kitchen before the morning shift comes on.” With a renewed burst of energy, she led the way out and locked the office door behind them. As they stood in the dark hallway, Jan pulled a rubber flashlight from the pocket of her baggy workout pants and said, “Follow me.”
Chapter 20
Jan raided the stainless steel commercial refrigerator, gathering up a plate of sliced ham, a hunk of Monterey Jack cheese, mustard, mayonnaise, and a head of red leaf lettuce. Balancing the dishes on her arm like a professional server, she grabbed a loaf of sourdough bread, tucking it under her arm. She crossed over and placed everything in front of Abby, who was perched on a stool at the butcher-block table.
A fluorescent light flickered overhead as she reached for a sturdy knife to slice through the heavy loaf. She seemed intent on getting the slices even, measuring each one with a practiced eye. The task completed, she asked rather formally, “Do you prefer butter on your bread?”
Abby shook her head. “One plain slice of bread with a slice of cheese will be fine. I usually don’t eat at this time of night.”
Jan filled Abby’s order and built a tower-size sandwich for herself with everything plus a slice of tomato. She bit into it like a starving street person while Abby nibbled at the cheese
Abby broke the silence. “The Toppette Workshop didn’t send you here to put this show together, did they?”
Jan kept on chewing and took another large bite.
Jan took her time swallowing and looked up. “Did Vince tell you that? If he did, don’t believe him. He’s a troublemaker. Been a liar all his life.”
Time now for Abby to skirt the truth. “No. Vince didn’t tell me; Dana did.” She looked Jan in the eye and used the most recent information Blade had just shared with her during the call from Harveys. “When you weren’t available to come to San Diego to teach at Dana’s flailing academy, she called the Manhattan office, used you as a reference, and asked if one of the other young women coaching there would be interested in her offer.”
Jan plopped her sandwich down on the table and began tearing it apart, licking her fingers as she plucked at the tomato slice before tossing it aside.
“They have no record of you ever dancing with the Toppettes. The only information they had was a form you filled out for the Workshop last spring. When Dana asked to be connected to the main office, they knew nothing of a Toppette reunion being held at the Cal Neva.”
“I hate tomatoes.” Jan scrunched up her face. “Gets the bread all soggy.”
“Jan. You’re not listening. Why did you come here on false pretenses and invite the others and me to participate? What were you thinking? Didn’t you stop to consider what would happen if you were found out? What the negative publicity could do to all of us? Now you say we’re going to be televised. None of your actions makes sense.”
Jan frowned and shook her head. “It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me. I’m a good listener.” Abby waited while Jan finished eating. “Right now, I’m wondering if there are legal ramifications connected with this farce. What if we’re all held accountable? Have you forgotten there have been two murders committed here? Now ...” she tried not to think the worst, “Renee’s missing.”
Jan cleared off the butcher block, neatly stacked everything, and took it all back to the refrigerator.
“There must be a simple explanation—some way to clear all this up,” Abby went on. “And you’re absolutely right. The performance tonight was great. The audience loved it. You’ve done a bang-up job here, but where did you get the money to put it all together—the publicity, the costumes, renting the room?”
Jan leaned against the stainless steel refrigerator and stared down at the black and white tile floor. “I’ll explain all the details later.” She closed her eyes. “My brain’s on overload. Meet me for coffee before rehearsal, and I’ll tell all. But you gotta promise not to tell the others yet. I’ll handle them later.”
She suddenly came alive, and her eyes shone. “Tonight’s show was a blow-out. A stunning success.” She did a little hip-hop across the floor. “Yesss! We nailed it! You know what?” She crossed herself. “We’ll do it again. After the final curtain, I’ll talk to the others; I promise. We’ll all meet in my room to celebrate.” She gave her firm thigh a sharp slap. “That’s when I’ll tell them. After I spell it out, they’ll understand. I know they will.”
Abby sighed. What else could she do? She’d offered to help, but Jan wouldn’t accept. Now what? Go on stage tonight knowing that Jan had something going on? The performance had been a success—a blast really. It was amazing that Jan had been able to put it all together alone, without professional help. It must have taken months of preparation, but the question remained: why?
Knowing how the others felt about Jan—especially Gail, who’d made it clear at Vince’s party that she didn’t care for Jan and her actions—things could turn extremely ugly when the truth came out. In addition, the Toppettes Agency might sue, and there could be major repercussions from the Cal Neva management.
Jan gazed thoughtfully around the kitchen. “This place is full of old stories. Did you know Sinatra and his celebrity friends, like Marilyn, Sammy, and the rest o
f the Rat Pack, made their exits from here after their shows? Convenient, huh? They’d leave through the east wing and skip downstairs to dodge autograph seekers waiting in the casino.”
Abby searched the room. “An exit? You mean the back door?”
“Well, yeah, sometimes. They kept their cars in the back lot, but there are steps that lead down to a storage area filled with old costumes and outdated props. Oh, yeah, and there’s a tunnel that took them directly to their chalets.” She shot Abby a quick nod. “Some of the tunnel’s still there, but the section that leads underground from the casino to the chalets has been boarded up.”
So that explained Sinatra’s faded ‘reserved’ sign out back on the building wall. It could also explain how that shadowy figure on stage yesterday afternoon exited without being seen by the kitchen staff. It hadn’t crossed her mind until now—where was her brain?—but that person in the hooded jacket could have been there to readjust the sound boom, preparing it to crash on Jan after the finale. At least she had mentioned the hooded person on stage to Fromer.
“Do you want to see downstairs?” Jan waited for Abby. “There’s a lot of history there.”
Abby’s choice would have been to stay right there and delve further into the “whys” of Jan’s actions; the reason they’d all landed here in the first place. On the other hand, if she stuck with her and went along on the tour, maybe Jan would reconsider, open up, and reveal all. She was young and had invested so much time and money into this production without asking for a penny from the Toppettes. Whatever her reason, it had to be a whopper.
For Abby, this evening on stage again with the others, holding their line and being able to do their high kicks for an appreciative audience, would always be a memorable experience to look back on over the years.
She shuddered … along with the monumental horror of the murders!