Til Death Do Us Party

by Vickie Fee

  Pedestrians burst into applause and the newly engaged couple blushed appreciatively.

  “This makes me think about your mama’s oddball idea to have a gondola ferry her and Earl to that little island in the lake at Earl’s farm for their wedding vows,” Di said.

  “I know. I was just thinking the same thing. It makes me sad their wedding’s been put on hold.”

  “Let’s see if we can’t do something to remedy that. I see a bunch of pretty girls in short skirts lined up on that bridge over the canal just ahead,” Di said.

  As we approached, we got a better look at the setup.

  The canal widened at the end where the boats turned around. Just above the turnaround was an upper level bordering a sunlit atrium, where Gordy was posing a group of beauties in front of two large, luminescent obelisks. Walkways to shops ran along each side, but large columns separating the shops from the upper atrium were cordoned off, with two beefy-looking security guys discouraging spectators from trying to slip through.

  After Gordy finished taking some still shots, a videographer stepped in. Gordy walked to the edge of the atrium and took the lens off his camera. An assistant took the lens and handed him another one. A bevy of girls was standing just inside the roped off area between us and Gordy, with a woman who seemed to be explaining something to them. I gathered they were waiting their turn for photos.

  “How are we going to get through to talk to Gordy?” Di asked.

  “I have an idea. Wait here.”

  I dug around in my purse and pulled out a business card. I grasped the card so my name and Liv 4 Fun Party Planning was clearly displayed, while obscuring the Dixie, Tennessee, address with my thumb.

  I put on my professional smile and walked over to the edge where the cordoned off area intersected with the railing above the canal below. I extended the hand holding the card across the rope as I edged past security, and cleared my throat to attract the attention of the woman directing the contestants.

  She took a step in my direction.

  “Hi, I’m Liv McKay. I’m a colleague of Jana Hively’s and I’m coordinating an event with her this week.”

  She took a look at my business card. But as she reached for it, it tumbled out of my hand into the canal below.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How clumsy of me. Anyway, I’ve been unable to reach Gordy, the photographer, on his mobile, and I desperately need to confirm timelines for our event. Would it be possible for me to have a quick word with him?”

  She gave me a half nod before hesitating, but before she could voice any opposition, I slipped under the rope.

  “Oh, thank you. I promise I’ll only be a minute.”

  I walked over to Gordy, who didn’t even question my presence. I’ve found if you act like you have a right to be somewhere, most people assume you do.

  “Hi, Gordy. If you have a moment before you start taking photos again, I thought of something we forgot to ask you when we spoke earlier.”

  “Shoot.”

  “First, did Steve get along with Ben Bartoli?”

  “Yeah, but then most people get along with their boss—if they want to keep their job.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice Taylor seemed to get along really well with Mr. Bartoli. Do you know just how close they are?”

  “I honestly don’t know what kind of arrangement Taylor and Bartoli have going. I have seen Taylor decorating his arm at events around town. But I’ve also seen him with plenty of other ladies, too. It could be Taylor is his date when he wants someone pretty, but respectable looking.”

  “He seemed pretty touchy-feely with Taylor when I saw them having lunch together.”

  “He’s a touchy-feely kind of guy. And he’s used to getting what he wants,” Gordy said.

  “Also, at the time of Steve’s death, I didn’t see anyone in the medium-sized chapel as I walked by. Do you know if there was another ceremony going on in the bigger chapel on the other side of the lobby? With another minister and photographer?”

  “Yeah, actually there was.”

  “Do you know if that particular Elvis impersonator or photographer had had run-ins with Steve?” I asked.

  “I don’t know of anything specific, but if they knew Steve for more than five minutes chances are they had some kind of beef with him. He was just that kind of guy. Arrogant, full of himself. Had a tendency to rub people the wrong way.”

  “I see. But he seemed to rub some people the right way. Certain women, for instance.”

  “Yeah, he could charm the ladies for a while—at least until they got to know him. And some women, slow learners, for even longer.”

  “Would any of the women who stuck with Steve longer, the slow learners, include anyone I know?”

  “Yes. It definitely would. My turn again,” Gordy said, before walking toward a new group of beauty contestants gathering by the obelisks.

  I mouthed “thank you” to the pageant coordinator as I slipped out.

  “That was impressive,” Di said, as we turned and started walking back to the parking garage. “I know you flashed your business card and dropped it in the water before she could look too closely. But what line did you give to the woman working with the contestants?”

  “She appeared to be a pageant coordinator of some kind, so I had a feeling she knew, or at least had heard of, my pal Jana. So, I dropped her name and steamrolled my way through.”

  “Did you learn anything new from Gordy?”

  “Maybe. He said there was another wedding happening in the chapel on the other side of the lobby when Steve died. That gives us at least two more people on the premises at the time of death—the minister and the photographer—who knew Steve and may have had reason to kill him. I’m sure the cops checked them out, so I’ll ask Dave about them. But Gordy also hinted that there was one woman who seemed to be charmed by Steve even after she became acquainted with his flaws.”

  “Who?”

  “Taylor.”

  We stepped out of the main entrance of the Venetian and asked the doorman to hail a cab for us. But just as he motioned to a driver, a police cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of the taxi line. The cop who had talked to us at the wedding chapel after Steve’s death suddenly stepped around in front of us and flashed his badge.

  “I’m Detective Bains, LVMPD, I need to ask you ladies some questions down at the station concerning an official murder investigation.”

  He opened the back door of the patrol car and motioned for us to get in.

  “We’d be glad to sit down and talk to you in the coffee shop. Is it really necessary to drag us down to the police station?” Di asked.

  “No point in arguing with the man,” I interjected before Bains had a chance to speak.

  I climbed into the cruiser and Di slid in beside me and gave me a puzzled look. Bains got into the front passenger seat and a uniformed officer drove. We traveled in silence to the Convention Center Area Command. I know that’s what it was called because it said so in big letters on the side of the building.

  I knew from experience that a cop wasn’t going to change his mind and have a casual chat with us in the coffee shop after he’d already accosted us and told us he was taking us to the police station. And while I also knew from our little interrogations with Dave that it was highly unlikely the detective would slip up and divulge any information about the investigation, I clung to the faint hope that he might.

  He made it obvious this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat when he placed Di and me into separate interview rooms. Bains invited me to take a seat at the table, and then left the room for about thirty minutes. Every space I’d been inside in Las Vegas had been super chilled by air conditioning. Except this one. The interview room was on the uncomfortable side of warm.

  When Bains returned he sat down across the table from me and stared.

  “Am I a suspect?” I said, breaking the silence.

  “It appears you think you’re an investigator, Mrs. McKay, since everywhere I go yo
u and your friend have been questioning witnesses.”

  He cast a stare at me again, but this time I didn’t take the bait.

  After a long, uncomfortable silence he said, “I could arrest you for interfering in an official murder investigation.”

  Maybe he could, but we both knew he wasn’t going to.

  “Taylor Kane told me you’d been pumping her for information.”

  “I stopped by the chapel to ask Taylor about possibly rescheduling my mother’s wedding—the one that was interrupted by Steve’s death.”

  “You didn’t ask her about matters pertaining to the deceased or possible suspects?”

  “We chatted a bit. I don’t recall exactly what was said, but naturally recent events would be on our minds.”

  “Okay, so you stopped by the chapel to inquire about scheduling a wedding. What purpose did you have in stalking that photographer to a photo shoot at the Venetian?”

  “Taylor has been less than helpful. And the Burning Love Wedding Chapel holds some unpleasant memories for my mother. So we may hold the wedding elsewhere. If we do, we may want to engage Gordy as the photographer.”

  I was careful not to say we had asked Gordy about shooting the wedding, only that we “may.”

  As the detective narrowed his eyes, his trademark stare turned into a glare.

  “Since I understand seeing a man die right in front of you at your mother’s wedding must have been very stressful for you, I’m going to let you go, Mrs. McKay. But if I find you sticking your nose into this investigation, make no mistake, I will lock you up.”

  Di was waiting for me at the entrance to the police station.

  “When the desk sergeant said you’d be out soon, I went ahead and called for a cab to pick us up. Seeing as they gave us a ride here but didn’t offer to take us back to our hotel, it seemed like a good idea,” Di said as I stepped up beside her. She was obviously piqued.

  “Did you learn anything from your little chat with Detective Bains?” I asked.

  “Just that the more I’m around lawmen lately, the less I like them,” she said. “Oh, and that Taylor complained about us to the cops—no big surprise there.”

  Our taxi arrived.

  “So what do we think of Gordy as a suspect now?” Di asked as we settled into the backseat.

  “Taking pictures of pageant contestants seems like a prime opportunity to meet some pretty girls. It occurs to me that maybe Steve wasn’t the only one with an eye for the ladies. And Gordy’s not bad looking. Maybe he and Steve had set their sights on the same woman and there was bad blood between them.”

  “I know. Gordy puts on like he and Steve got along, but he never has a nice word to say about him. And Gordy seems to have a ready answer for everything. I don’t trust him,” Di said.

  When the cab dropped us back at the hotel, my stomach was growling.

  “What sounds good for lunch?” I asked.

  We were still trying to come up with something when my phone dinged, alerting me I had a text message.

  Miss Betty had texted, Meet me in the lobby by the elevators now.Thank you.

  I showed the phone screen to Di.

  “What’s that about?”

  “I don’t know. But since she never sends me texts like that—or sends me texts, period, I’m going to get down there and find out.”

  “Should I come with you, or do you think it’s a personal, family kind of thing?”

  “If it was a personal, family kind of thing I think she’d want to meet privately—not in the lobby. Let’s go.”

  We walked to the elevators and I looked around for my mother-in-law. I spotted her giving me a coy wave from behind a potted plant. My first thought was that she had lost her mind.

  “Sweetie, are you feeling okay?” I said as I put my hand on her shoulder and half whispered in her ear.

  “I feel fine,” she said with a quizzical expression. She waved for Di to join us. Di had been lingering on the other side of the bank of elevators. I assumed she didn’t want to intrude on my mother-in-law’s hideout.

  Once Di joined us, she said, “Yesterday I thought I saw Crystal coming off one of the elevators that go up to the guest rooms, but I wasn’t sure it was her. Just a few minutes ago I saw her get on the elevator, and this time I’m absolutely sure it was her. I couldn’t think of any good reason she’d need to go up to the hotel guest rooms, so I decided to wait here until she comes down. But then I realized I didn’t know what to do next. I don’t have experience stalking people like you two do. Could her strange behavior have something to do with that man’s death or Little Junior’s troubles?”

  Di and I looked at each other.

  “Yes, it could, Miss Betty,” I said. “Do you know which floor she got off on?”

  “No. A bunch of people got on the elevator with her.”

  “So, how were things with Uncle Junior at the hospital this morning?” I asked.

  “They were running tests, but he didn’t seem to be in any pain.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it,” I said.

  About that time my father-in-law came lumbering toward us.

  “You better go keep Daddy Wayne from asking what we’re up to. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Oh, nuts. Just when it was getting fun,” she said, sounding like a kid whose balloon just got popped.

  “Good work, spotting Crystal. This may be just the break we’ve been waiting for,” Di said, giving my mother-in-law a pat on the back.

  “Oh, and thanks for offering to sit with Uncle Junior at the hospital this morning so Mama could get some rest,” I said.

  “I’m going to go back to the hospital later to keep your mama company.”

  “Good. I know she’ll appreciate it.”

  Miss Betty was beaming as she walked over and took my scowling father-in-law by the arm and led him in the direction of the food court.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  I thought that over while keeping one eye on the elevators.

  “If Crystal heads toward the door and leaves the building, we’ll grab a taxi and try to follow her. See if she’s going to meet someone.”

  “What if she goes toward the casino?” Di asked.

  “Then, I say we confront her. Threaten to tell Little Junior the secret that Randi told us unless she explains what she’s up to?”

  After a few minutes, Di said, “Do you really think this plant is giving us any cover? We didn’t have any trouble spotting your mother-in-law.”

  “Yeah, but we were looking for her. I think this shields us a bit. Tell you what—if we spot Crystal I’ll take a step back and let you figure out which direction she’s heading. She’s more likely to notice us if we’re shoulder to shoulder.”

  “Okay.”

  After what seemed like forever, but was probably more like twenty minutes, I spotted Crystal emerging from the elevators.

  “Di, there she—”

  “I see her.”

  I stepped behind Di and out of the sight line of the elevators.

  “Come on. She’s walking toward the center of the building, not the front exit,” Di said.

  We walked briskly trying to catch up to her. There was no reason to keep our distance since the plan now was to confront her, rather than clandestinely follow her.

  As we closed in, Di and I parted and accosted Crystal on either side.

  “We need to talk,” I said, putting my hand to her elbow.

  “I don’t have time to talk to you,” Crystal said, jerking her elbow away.

  “Make time,” Di said. “Or we’ll just have to tell Little Junior your dirty little secret.”

  “I don’t have any dirty little secrets,” Crystal said.

  “Is that so? We know that you don’t like Elvis music,” I said. “You wouldn’t want me to tell Little Junior, would you?”

  “He already knows,” she said defiantly, as she kept walking.

  “Okay, then. Come on, Di. Mama said we’d be able to visit w
ith Little Junior at two.”

  Crystal didn’t break stride and we started to walk away, hoping she’d call our bluff—since it was all we had.

  One, two, three ...

  “Oh, wait,” she said, stopping in her tracks.

  I breathed a sigh of relief that I hoped Crystal didn’t see.

  “Let’s go sit down in the food court area,” I said, and the three of us turned in that direction. Crystal took a long look over her shoulder before she started moving.

  After we were seated at a table without anyone nearby, Crystal said, “What is it you want to talk about?”

  “About what you’re up to. About why you keep slipping upstairs to the guest room area and who you’re meeting there.”

  “I’m not meeting anyone there.”

  She seemed a little smug when she realized we didn’t know much, so I pushed.

  “Look, you’re going to have to tell us exactly what’s going on with you, or I will tell Little Junior about you know what. And we’ll also tell our sheriff friend about what we’ve seen. And we’ll follow you around like a hungry hound after a biscuit. My cousin’s life is on the line here.”

  “He may be your cousin, but he’s the love of my life. Do you really think you two are the only ones entitled to do a little snooping? Despite what you may believe, I’m trying to find information that will help clear his name, too.”

  “So have you found out anything?” Di said.

  “I think so, but I’m not sure what it means.”

  “Well, talk it through with us. Maybe the three of us can figure it out,” I said.

  “Okay, I guess I have to trust someone. And I can’t think of any reason your family would have had to kill Steve—especially before he finished your mother’s wedding ceremony.

  “I haven’t been meeting anyone. I’ve been following Gordy. And you made me lose him as he made his way through the casino when you stopped me in the lobby.”

  “Wait. I didn’t see Gordy,” I said, not sure I was buying her story.

  “He got off the elevator just ahead of me, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses and casual clothes, not a suit like he wears when he shoots weddings. But it was him, all right.”