Assignment Vegas: The Case of the Athlete's Assassin: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery Two (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Lucey Phillips

  “McKenna’s fine, Poppy,” Mariah said. “We’ll be keeping Mike in our prayers.” There was an edge of impatience in Mariah’s voice.

  “Oh, right. Me too,” Poppy said. She stood awkwardly for a moment, then glanced from Colin to me. “Ok, well …”

  Mariah held the door open for Poppy to leave. “Thanks for stopping by,” she said briskly.

  Poppy looked over her shoulder at Colin and I one last time before the door fell shut.

  “Be nice, Mom,” McKenna said. “She can’t help it that she’s annoying.”

  “It’s not that,” Mariah said. “I just get a feeling about her. It’s strange, you know? You don’t see any of the other understudies hovering around the regular cast the way she does.”

  “I don’t know, Mom,” McKenna said with a huff of irritation. Then she turned toward me. “Poppy’s my understudy. Sometimes she wears out her welcome.”

  Mariah snorted a laugh as she muttered “Sometimes.” Then she returned her focus to her daughter.

  “Does this mean you didn’t get your water therapy for your shoulder?” Mariah asked.

  McKenna shook her head.

  Mariah responded with a heavy sigh while she rested her hands on her hips and looked down at her daughter. Then Mariah did the only thing most mothers know to do when their children are hurting—she pushed food on her daughter, even though she obviously wasn’t hungry.

  Mariah handed McKenna a black styrofoam take-out container. McKenna wore an obvious pout as she opened the container and poked at her chef’s salad with a plastic fork.

  Mariah kept her gaze on McKenna as she took a sip from her water bottle.

  I stayed quiet in my seat, conflicted. I had an urge to slink away—to leave these two to their dysfunctional relationship and carb-free food. But I also couldn’t seem to look away. I needed to know what was happening next.

  McKenna tried to explain to her mom what we’d seen beside the therapy pool, but her statements were disjointed.

  Mariah looked at me.

  “Do they know what happened?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s weird because the one guy, James, said he thought something had been tampered with. He even wanted to call the police. But then some big-wig guy basically told him the resort maintenance people would handle it.”

  Mariah shook her head. “I don’t know what’s going on around here. Are you sure you want to keep doing this, Kinney? We knew going up on the ropes was dangerous, but now the backstage isn’t even safe.”

  “I’m sure, Mom,” McKenna replied, her voice just above whisper volume, her gaze affixed to the food in front of her—the food she wasn’t eating.

  “You still need therapy, I think,” Mariah said.

  “I’m okay,” McKenna mumbled. “I want to find out how Mike’s doing. Can we visit him in the hospital?”

  “You want to go to the hospital?” Mariah asked. Then she shook her head. “No. What if you pick up germs? Pneumonia or something?”

  McKenna picked a cucumber slice from her salad bowl and nibbled a tiny bite from the edge. She didn’t respond to her mother.

  “I know!” Mariah said, her tone suddenly bright. “Let’s go to the spa tonight! You can get a massage—it doesn’t replace hydrotherapy, but maybe it’ll help.”

  McKenna gave a reluctant smile and a tiny nod. She looked at me, then back to her mother. “Can Jae come too?” she asked.

  For a fraction of a second, Maria’s eyebrows pushed together. Then she smiled. “Of course. Can you join us, Jae? We usually go to the health club at The Grand. Their seaweed wrap is incredible.”

  Before I could figure out whether she was talking about some sort of spa treatment or a sandwich, I nodded my agreement. There was some shuffling from Colin’s direction.

  It didn’t take long for simultaneous horror and joy regarding my evening plans to sink in. On one hand, joining McKenna and her mom for a spa visit would be the perfect opportunity to get great quotes. There would be no photographers around. It’s a relaxed, intimate setting—basically an interviewers dream.

  On the other hand: Would I have to get naked?

  I shuddered. It wouldn’t be the first time reporting has put me in an uncomfortable spot. However, disrobing for a story would definitely be a first.

  But the look on McKenna’s face when she pulled out her phone and sent me a “Hi” text—just to make sure she had my number saved correctly in her phone—convinced me I couldn’t back out.

  Apparently, she didn’t have many—or any—girlfriends. Apparently, she thought that’s what we were, already.

  Mariah said, “Great. We’ll see you tonight, then,” with a tone of finality that told Colin and I it was time for us to leave. So we said our thank yous, and our goodbyes, and left.

  When I turned a corner, I nearly ran into a waif-like woman, only slightly taller than me.

  “Oops, sorry,” I said.

  The woman narrowed her eyes at me and continued walking briskly. She muttered something and shook her head while she walked away. I couldn’t make out the words, but they weren’t in English. French, maybe?

  “Friendly gal,” Colin said quietly.

  I giggled.

  We continued walking back toward the public area. At the backstage entrance, Poppy was standing in front the security desk, showing the officer something on her phone.

  He looked up when we walked by. We nodded to the security guard, and left the “Staff Only” show area. Colin exhaled deeply and shook his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Those two. They’re exhausting.”

  “McKenna and Mariah?” I asked. “I don’t know. I actually think McKenna is nice—considering all she’s been through. It could be worse. She could be a diva.”

  Colin nodded. “True. But she’s so, I don’t know, anxious. Immature. Then Mariah is kind of dramatic.”

  “Yeah. I can’t make up my mind about Mariah. She’s definitely a high-drama stage mom. But I think she really cares about McKenna. She’s not just using her for money.”

  Colin gave a non-committal shrug that told me he didn’t necessarily agree.

  We followed the corridor into an underwater tunnel. Colin tipped his head back and watched a stingray swim above us, its wing-like fins gently propelling it along. I stopped and watched while Colin raised his camera and snapped a photo of the silky-gray creature.

  “Hungry?” he asked me.

  I nodded. The excitement earlier had actually inspired a wave of nausea. But that wore off quickly, and now my stomach was insistently reminding me that I’d skipped lunch.

  “I saw a sushi place over that way, I think,” he said.

  I wrinkled my nose. Normally, I like sushi, but now eating the sea life I’d just admired in the aquarium seemed somehow vulgar.

  “What about pizza?” I asked.

  Colin laughed. “Sure.”

  We found the resort’s Italian restaurant and ordered a brick oven veggie pizza. Colin got a beer and I had an iced tea. I held my drink up and reached across the table with it, clinking my glass against his.

  “To Vegas,” I said, smiling at him across the top of my glass as I took a sip of tea.

  He smiled at me, took a sip of his beer, and made a soft “Mmm” sound.

  “They make other beverages besides beer, ya know,” I said. “We don’t want your liver to fall out.”

  I laughed and hoped he understood that I was joking. He seemed to have a beer with every meal except breakfast, but I’d never seen Colin drunk, or even tipsy. He was nothing like my mom, who had recently checked in for yet another round of rehab.

  Colin smiled and patted his stomach. He was a handsome man—slender with dark hair, dark eyes, and a short, neat beard. He was taller than my 5’2”; but not tall compared to other men, probably about 5’6.”

  “I guess I should watch—don’t want to get a beer belly,” he said.

  Then he added, “I don’t even drink that often, normally. I don�
�t keep alcohol in my house unless there’s a special occasion or something.”

  “So I’ve driven you to drink?”

  “Of course not. I think I’ve just been in vacation mode,” Colin said with a chuckle. “I always drink more on vacation, and this trip has been, you know, fun.”

  He started to smile at me, but broke eye contact to reach for a napkin. I looked away, too, feeling my cheeks become warm.

  “You thought Denver was fun?” I asked.

  “Other than that last part, yeah, it was fun,” Colin said. “Way better than following politicians around.”

  I concentrated my gaze on the pizza while I fought to keep my expression neutral.

  When we started working together last week, for the Assignment Denver story, his quiet manner frustrated me. Maybe I was just insecure about working so closely with someone. Anyway, now that I knew him a little better, the quiet thing didn’t bother me. After doing interviews all day, it’s actually nice—comfortable—to simply sit quietly with someone I trust.

  »·×·»

  When I walked into my room, I heard paper crinkle beneath my foot. I looked down to see the hotel had slipped my mail under my door. Usually, the only mail I get is from work—those people are the only ones who keep track of where I am. I don’t really need mail, anyway; I handle my banking and bills online.

  There was an envelope from Alt News America that contained my pay stub. Because I’d already seen it online, I tore it up and put it in the trash. There was also an envelope from Briar Valley, where Mom was staying for rehab. I tossed it on the desk without opening it.

  The other envelope had no postmark or address. It was white with the “Currents Resort” logo in metallic blue contemporary lettering. Inside was a business card that had the Las Vegas Police Department shield on the front. Below that, it said “Det. Jacob White.”

  I turned the card over. Hasty handwriting, in black felt tip pen, said, “Please call at your earliest convenience.”

  Immediately I thought about my last story in Denver, and how I’d had enough close interactions with police there to last me a lifetime.

  What did this Detective Jacob White want from me? Did the Denver police want to ask me more questions, so they’d contacted Vegas PD to find me?

  I continued to gaze at the card. No, that didn’t make any sense. If the detectives in Denver needed me, they could just call me. They had my number. Or, they could find me through work.

  I kicked my shoes off and lay back in my bed, still holding the card up so I could see it. Maybe this was about the supposed accident at the therapy pool today. Had that manager guy, who insisted resort maintenance workers—not the police—handle the problem, changed his mind? And who had given the detective my name, anyway?

  I didn’t want to call that detective. I tossed his business card onto my desk next to the letter from Briar Valley.

  My pizza lunch seemed to be coaxing me into some sort of carb-induced brain fog. Maybe I would just close my eyes for a few minutes—get recharged for my evening with McKenna and her mom.

  But as soon as I closed my eyes, a slamming door from across the hall startled me. I tried to get comfortable, but I couldn’t peel my thoughts away from the two problems nagging me from the hotel room desk. Procrastinating on one issue was okay. But ignoring both issues was making me antsy.

  I sat up, ran my fingers through my short, platinum blonde hair, and took a deep breath.

  The letter from rehab was probably just an update from my mom. Or maybe it was an invitation to one of those family sessions. I’d been to at least a half-dozen meetings like that. The only thing they ever accomplished was tying my stomach in knots.

  | Three

  There was something casual, even playful, in Detective Jacob White’s voice when he answered his phone. The absence of police-like authority threw me off for a second.

  “Uh, hello. This is Jae Lovejoy. You left your card for me at Currents.”

  “Yeah, thanks for getting back to me,” Jacob said in a tone that made me feel like we were old friends. “Are you available to meet up with me? I wanted to ask you a couple things about this investigation I’m working on—well, might be working on. It’s very preliminary right now.”

  “Can we do it over the phone?” I asked him, determined to put my travel story first, this time, and avoid any distractions.

  “I was really hoping to do it in person,” he said. “It won’t take long.”

  I looked at the clock. I had several hours free until I was supposed to meet McKenna and her mom at the spa. So I said yes, agreeing to meet him at a diner on Fremont Street.

  I considered asking Colin to come with me, but he’d said something at lunch about needing to call home today, so I decided not to bother him. I ran my fingers through my hair, slipped into my shoes, grabbed my bag, and headed out the door.

  I took a taxi to Fremont Street—old Las Vegas—where the polish and glamour of the Strip was replaced with an element of rowdy grit. It reminded me of the forlorn tone of old movies I’d seen about Vegas.

  As I climbed out of the taxi and walked toward Checker’s Diner, I made sure to navigate my path away from a couple, intertwined and kissing, leaning against a lamp post.

  From behind me, I recognized Jacob’s voice.

  “Jae? You look just like your picture online.”

  I turned around to see a sandy-haired man, about my age, wearing a suit and tie. He had an easy smile as he reached to shake my hand. I smiled back.

  We found seats at the diner’s belly-up bar. Jacob ordered a Coke, and I asked for a coffee.

  After he thanked me for my time—again—I asked Jacob why he wanted to meet here, off the strip, instead of at Currents.

  “Casinos can be kind of funny about cops and reporters hanging out together on their property. It’s not a big deal. I just figured you’d want to stay in their good graces.”

  I nodded. He sipped his Coke.

  I gave him an expectant look. Jacob had called this meeting and, so far, he wasn’t saying much.

  He responded with a nervous chuckle. “So, right. The reason I asked you to come here is that you seem to be the only non-casino employee who saw what happened today.”

  “How did you hear about it?” I asked, wondering if the hospital had called the police since the casino big wig seemed determined to handle the situation in-house.

  Jacob smiled. “Sources,” he said with a shrug.

  “I’m sorry to waste your time, but I didn’t witness it. I was in another room. I just saw the medics come and take the guy away,” I said.

  I was intrigued by his “sources” remark.

  “You have undercover officers in the casino?” I asked.

  Jacob shook his head. “Just informants. And sometimes we accidentally pick up some of their radio chatter.”

  “Shouldn’t, like, OSHA be investigating this? It was a work injury.”

  “Maybe,” Jacob said. “But that guy got hit with a lot of juice—a lot.”

  “Is he going to die?”

  “Don’t know,” Jacob said. “It’s just with today’s building codes—especially in a huge facility like a casino, that shouldn’t have happened. My source thinks maybe it was intentional.”

  Jacob shrugged. “But my source only heard bits and pieces on the radio. I wanted to look into it a little more before I make it an official investigation. I have to be sure before I stir up trouble with Currents.

  “They have friends in high places?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” Jacob said. “They probably own most of the politicians who fund my department.”

  “I didn’t hear anything. The guy—Mike—seemed to be really well liked.” I said. “Who would want to hurt a physical therapist?”

  “Never know. Vegas casinos attract all kinds,” Jacob said, as he shook the ice in his glass. “Sure you don’t want a burger or anything? I’m kind of hungry, and they have a really good bacon burger here. They grill the bun with garlic
butter.”

  That sounded gross. “No thanks, I just had some pizza at that brick oven place in Currents.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said as he looked to the man behind the counter. He tapped the menu and asked for a bacon cheddar burger with everything.

  “So you’re, like writing a book about McKenna Johnson?” Jacob asked me. He didn’t strike me as much of a reader.

  “Um, no, it’s just a travel story. I write for Alt News America.”

  Jacob nodded, but his expression was blank.

  “It’s an online news thing,” I said quietly, my voice starting to trail off.

  “I heard McKenna was pretty shook up about that today,” Jacob said. “Actually, I was surprised her mom didn’t call in yet. She called the police a couple weeks ago because McKenna slipped and fell on some leaked oil in the hallway.”

  “She called the police over that?” I asked, though I wasn’t exactly surprised. Both McKenna and her mom struck me as women who could be quick to overreact.

  Jacob shook his head. “Yeah. I guess she thought someone was trying to sabotage McKenna’s career or something. I guess it’s a stage mom thing.”

  “Did they investigate?” I asked.

  Jacob had tipped his glass and began crunching his ice cubes loudly. “No way,” he said around his mouthful of ice. “She wasn’t even hurt.”

  I nodded.

  “This is Vegas. We have way bigger things to worry about,” he said. “But that electrified spa pool—that’s pretty weird.”

  When Jacob’s burger arrived, I climbed off my stool and said goodbye. He offered me a ride back to Currents, but I declined. I wasn’t interested in being closed up in a car with someone who’d just eaten a garlicky cheddar bacon burger.

  He wiped his hands on a napkin, and shook my hand. Then, with a warm smile, Jacob said goodbye.

  When I was halfway to the door, I heard him call my name.

  I looked back.

  “Let me know if you see anything strange over there, ok?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  »·×·»

  From the waiting room, to the hallway, to the women’s locker room, every part of the Grand’s health spa seemed to have some sort of fountain or waterfall. At first, I thought the gentle tinkling sounds were relaxing. Eventually, though, they just reminded me of a toilet.