The building was at least 15 stories tall, and its surface was all reflective glass and chrome. I glanced over at Colin. He was already taking pictures.
In the lobby, a doorman directed us to the elevator. The shiny white marble floors, the walls, and even the air inside the building seemed sleek, cool, and contemporary.
When we exited the elevator on the 12th floor, McKenna was standing in her doorway holding a small, fluffy, golden-colored dog with huge ears.
McKenna smiled and we all said our hellos. Colin stopped in the doorway to scratch the dog’s chin.
“Are you a dog or cat?” he asked the animal with a chuckle.
McKenna rolled her eyes. “This is Cecile. She’s my mom’s, but she’s grown on me, too.”
“Well, she’s the right size for an apartment,” Colin said, with a warmth in his voice that made me smile.
“I’m dog sitting for the morning. Mom’s at the dentist.” McKenna said, waving us inside. “Here, I’ll show you around.”
The apartment was bright and contemporary. It had two bedrooms, plus a small office. Everything was neutral in color and matched perfectly—so perfectly, in fact, that I had to assume McKenna had rented the apartment already furnished.
There were a few personal touches, though. A beautiful, purple and gold quilt was draped over a chair. There were notes and photographs held against the fridge with magnets. McKenna’s bed was covered in brightly-colored throw pillows, a teddy bear, and a plush cat.
When we got to the office, McKenna clasped her hands and looked at her feet.
“Everyone asks me about the medals,” she said. “I keep them in here.”
Without looking up, she gave a halfhearted shrug.
Bookshelves displayed an overwhelming array of trophies, medals and plaques. A gold medal, featuring the five Olympics rings, was framed against an American-flag background displayed above her desk.
Colin asked McKenna to tell us about the medals. He photographed her while she spoke. I wondered if the photographs would be any good because her demeanor was suddenly subdued. She didn’t smile at all.
I wrote down some of the things she was saying, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be using those quotes. My story was going to be about McKenna’s renaissance. I was not going to write yet another rehash of her days as an Olympian.
As McKenna was leading us out of the room, I noticed a show poster framed and hung on the wall near the door. The bottom third of the poster depicted a forest at dusk, while the rest of it depicted a brilliant starry night. Silver cursive letters across the top boldly announced “Vivant.”
Below that, was a framed photo of James, McKenna, and three other people sitting around a table at a restaurant.
I tried to look casual as I examined the faces in the photo. I didn’t know who the other people were, besides James and McKenna.
“What’s this?” I asked. “You didn’t work on any other shows, did you?”
I knew exactly what Vivant was. And I knew McKenna had never worked on that production—she’d probably never even seen it. But playing dumb was my only hope for getting answers without looking like I was prying.
“I guess I should take that down,” McKenna mumbled. “James gave it to me. That picture is from my birthday dinner with a lot of his friends from Europe. They all worked on Vivant together before they came here to help start Dream Myst.
“You know how it is when you go through a break-up. You lose friends, too.”
She took the photograph off the wall and gazed at it.
“They all work on Dream Myst now?” I asked.
“Yeah, offstage. I don’t know why, but I’ve always gotten along better with crew, than with cast folks. I guess it’s just my need for low drama.”
I wondered if any of these former friends could be the person trying to hurt McKenna.
“Who are they?” I asked, pointing to people on the photograph.
“This is Francesca, Harry, and that’s Marcos,” McKenna said, pointing to a man with thick, wavy hair wearing a striped polo shirt.
Marcos? That had to be Marcos Marilla. So McKenna did have a connection to the man who had been banned from pro cycling for handing out performance enhancing drugs.
I nodded casually, watched McKenna set the photo face down on a bookshelf, and followed her and Colin out of the room.
We went onto her balcony. It was on the west side of the building, so it was still shady and cool at this time of the morning.
“Jae, can you stand here? And McKenna over here?” Colin asked as he positioned us on the balcony. “Just keep talking about whatever. I’m trying to get the skyline behind you.”
“I’m not going to be in these pictures, right?” I asked.
“Easy, killer,” Colin said with a chuckle. “Trust me for once.”
McKenna looked from Colin to me. When she made eye contact with me, she raised a questioning eyebrow.
I looked down at my notebook. I’d have to tell her later, when we were alone, that there was nothing going in between Colin and I.
I was mostly sure of that.
McKenna rested her hands on the railing and looked out at the view. It seemed like she had an easier time than I did ignoring Colin—forgetting that she was being photographed.
“I’ve been thinking about that question you asked me yesterday. I never got a chance to answer you, but I want to. I want people to know I’m doing okay now, and I think part of that is owning up to what I’ve been through.”
I knew what she was talking about Right before our car accident, I’d asked her how her substance abuse problems started. I wasn’t happy about focusing on that part of her life, but for me to ignore it would be a cop-out as a journalist.
“So, well, I have two answers for you. There’s a ‘why’ and there’s a ‘how.’ The why is easy to see now, but I couldn’t see it at the time. I had terrible anxiety. I felt like the whole world was talking about me—about how I wasn’t good enough.
“I had panic attacks that kept getting worse and worse. And I just thought, ‘I’m supposed to be a tough athlete. This can’t be happening to me.’”
“And the how?” I asked.
“Family,” McKenna said, hanging her head just slightly.
That wasn’t the answer I’d expected. I guess I’d thought she would recite some sort of “falling in with the wrong crowd” spiel.
“I never really learned how to make friends, you know. My coaches and trainers were my only friends.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, my teammates were sort of friends, but things were so competitive, that never felt real, you know?”
“After I quit gymnastics, I was such a mess with the anxiety that I couldn’t go to school or get a job. I just hung around my dad’s house waiting for the next panic attack to hit. My step-sister and her boyfriend—maybe they meant well—but they got me started on some stuff that was supposed to help me relax a little.”
I nodded.
“At first, it was like I finally felt free. Then things just spiraled from there.” McKenna said softly.
She looked at me.
I swallowed hard, looked away for a second, then back at McKenna. I wanted to tell her how brave I thought she was, but I was afraid that might sound patronizing.
“You were just trying to escape the anxiety,” I said.
She looked relieved. “I was. But then the drugs just sort of took over. It’s like I became a different person.”
“I think the most interesting part of your story is how you found your way out of all of that.”
She shrugged. “How? I don’t know for sure. Seeing how much my mom was hurting. When I saw that she really, truly needed me to get better, then I figured out how to do it. At first, that was my only motivation.”
“What about doing it for you?”
She smiled. “I’m working on that.”
| Ten
When we got back to Currents, Colin went to his room to start editing the photos. I wanted t
o wander around the shopping mall. We planned on him picking me up at my room at seven.
“See you tonight,” Colin said, his voice light, before he walked toward the elevator.
Maybe Vegas was getting to me, because I was in the mood to buy something—to spend some money on a frivolous shiny object. I walked directly to the store I’d seen that morning—the one with the blue sparkly dress.
The lady who worked there helped me find the dress in my size. But when I got to the dressing room and put it on, I was having doubts. It was definitely more showy than anything I usually wore, but weddings are time to cut loose, right?
I looked in the three-way mirror. I wondered what Colin would think if he saw me like this. The dress was a good fit—it gave me an hourglass shape—but I just couldn’t go through with it. It wasn’t right.
When I came out of the dressing room carrying the dress on a hanger, the woman who had helped me was smiling with an expectant expression on her face.
“I guess it’s just not me,” I said.
Her mouth formed a pouting frown. “Are you sure? Maybe it just needs the right accessories.”
“I’m sure.”
I tried to muster a confident smile as I handed her the dress and thanked her for her help.
Even though I wouldn’t be going with the sparkly dress, I still wanted something new—at least something I hadn’t worn to a funeral—for the wedding tonight. I found another shop. This one featured work clothes that were conservative, neutral, and understated.
It only took me a few minutes to find a scoop-neck knit top and a new necklace that would look nice with a skirt I had in my suitcase.
It wasn’t high-drama fashion, maybe it was even boring, but I knew I would be comfortable in this. I would feel like me.
While the clerk was checking me out, I gazed around the store. This is the kind of place my mom wouldn’t like. Her fashion sense was youthful. It wasn’t tacky on her, though. She was always pretty. And, despite the way she abused her body with alcohol, she had a healthy-looking, slightly curvy figure.
My clothes were mostly simple and understated. I liked to put together outfits that were neutral except for one colorful piece—a scarf or jacket or necklace.
Mom would roll her eyes and ask me, “Why does everything always have to be black with you?”
I would try to joke with her, “Sometimes I wear gray.” But she rarely thought my jokes were funny.
When I rounded the store’s doorway, I nearly collided with a woman who was on her way in.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she said. She had long, wavy auburn hair, she looked familiar, but for a moment I couldn’t place her.
She was wearing khaki work pants, with a radio clipped to her hip, a light blue polo shirt, and a silver name tag that said “Poppy.”
“Oh, excuse me,” I said. I couldn’t help but look from her name tag to her face and back to her name tag again. I probably appeared befuddled.
“Hi, I think I sort of met you the other day, in McKenna’s dressing room?” she said.
“Okay, yeah,” I said. “You’re her understudy?”
She gave me a big, toothy smile. “Yes! You remember me! I already know who you are—you’re the reporter writing an article about McKenna. That’s kind of a big deal because she never talks to the media. Meanwhile the rest of us on the cast would do anything to be interviewed and have something written about us,” she said.
“I guess you’re wondering about this.” She gestured to her outfit. “Understudy isn’t a full-time gig. So I work some hours has a concierges’ assistant, running errands around the casino and stuff,” Poppy said with a shrug.
“Yeah? That sounds interesting,” I said.
I was being sincere. I still needed a sidebar for Assignment Vegas and this sounded like it could be a Vegas story that hasn’t already been done to death. The story of struggling understudy who also spends time catering to the needs of casino guests would be a nice counterbalance to the saga of McKenna’s relative stardom.
Poppy shrugged. “It’s all right. Gets monotonous sometimes. And I’m pretty low on the chain of command.”
“Would you care if we meet up some time? Maybe tomorrow? I think your work as an understudy and as a concierge would be a good sidebar.”
Poppy’s eyes flashed excitement. “Absolutely! I’m doing a dress rehearsal tomorrow afternoon before my shift here.”
But while we were exchanging numbers, I had a wave of regret. I remembered that Currents didn’t want me to interview or write about anyone except McKenna.
Maybe I could get permission to include Poppy in my coverage. Or maybe what the casino didn’t know—yet—wouldn’t hurt them. It’s not like I would be the first journalist to test the boundaries of my welcome.
“Hey, I just need you to keep this between us, for now. Officially, I’m only supposed to talk to McKenna.”
Poppy’s eyes widened and she nodded furtively. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
I thanked her, but I wasn’t sure if I believed she could really keep quiet. Her enthusiasm was a little unsettling. Now I could understand why Mariah was quick to brush Poppy off when she’d come to McKenna’s dressing room the other day.
After we said goodbye, I walked back to my room. I was taking my new shirt out of the bag and putting it on a hanger when my phone rang. It was Quinn.
“Hey, I found some stuff for you, but I didn’t have much time. Lance has been on me to dig up some stuff about this crooked deal to get public school kids laptops,” Quinn said.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“The laptops are, like, five years outdated. Plus they’re heavy. And the state paid double what they’re worth.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. When schools give kids something to take home, it’s usually a tablet. Not a big clunky laptop.”
“Sounds like a good story.”
“Should be,” Quinn said. “How’s your story coming?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure someone wants McKenna either off the show or dead. Things are getting kind of weird.”
I told her about everything that had happened over the past couple days. I told her about the car accident and my—and Jacob’s—increasing suspicions that these things weren’t accidents.
“That is some messed-up stuff. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I was shook up at first, but I’m all right,” I said.
I’d been wanting to tell Quinn about the accident since it happened, but I hadn’t had a chance. Now that I’d said everything, out loud to my best friend, I felt like a weight was lifted from me.
“Jeez. Be careful out there.”
“I am. It’s okay.”
She sighed. “All right. I know you can handle yourself,” Quinn said. “So here’s what I got for ya …”
“Anne is pretty much a ghost,” Quinn said.
“What?”
“I hate coming to you empty-handed, but I don’t really have anything. She doesn’t seem to be on any social media, or if she is, she uses an alias. She’s never been in trouble, never been in the news, and didn’t even have formal training for the make-up artist gig, from what I can tell.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, sorry. I know you wanted a smoking gun on her, but other than her work visa and a mundane resume as a make-up artist, I don’t have much,” Quinn said.
“What about family or ex-husbands?”
“From what I can tell, she’s never been married. She was raised by a single mother who worked on television sets. She didn’t do makeup, though. Just generic assistant stuff, from what I can tell.”
“Did you find anything suspicious with Currents or Dream Myst? I thought maybe these attacks on McKenna are, like, crimes of passion because of this apparent love triangle with Anne and James and McKenna. But my other angle was something on the business side of the show—maybe someone trying to sabotage the show by taking out the star.”
“Yeah. Th
at’s all pretty murky, you know?”
“What? Like Vegas-style wiseguys?”
“No,” Quinn laughed. “But I like your imagination. It’s just that the owner is a huge international conglomerate. Then there’s subsidiaries, subcontractors, it’s a lot to sort out.
“There’s a board member who got in trouble once for insider trading, and there were some issues with a labor union during construction. But that looks like it was settled amicably out of court,” she said. “I’m going to send you the details, but nothing major is jumping out at me as far as a motive to go after McKenna.”
I sighed. “Maybe I’ll check in with Jacob, the detective, and see if he’s making any more progress than I am.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this—I know you like McKenna—but I really think we need to dig into her past,” Quinn said. “Maybe she did some informing or something back before she got straightened up.”
Quinn was right. I didn’t want to hear that. But I had to admit it made sense on some level.
“Colin said the same thing,” I said, feeling resigned.
Then I perked up. “Oh! Guess what I’m doing tonight!”
“What?” Quinn drew out the word in a sing-song tone.
“Colin’s taking me to his friend’s wedding.”
“No. Way.”
“Yep.”
“Oh my God. What are you wearing? Please tell me you’re going to show some skin,” Quinn was practically hyperventilating. “Oh my God, Jae. This is like an actual date. An actual, romantic date. I can’t believe it. Are you going to spend the night with him?”
“No!” I was practically shrieking. When did I morph into a 15-year-old?
“He has to be in to you if he’s taking you to his friend’s wedding,” Quinn said.
“No. Not necessarily. He’s really nice and polite. Maybe he just thought it would be rude to exclude me, you know? I’m sure it’s just a friends thing.”
“A: I disagree. And B: Friendship is just one tequila shot away from more than friends.”
I laughed.
“I mean, I know you don’t drink. That’s cool, but even without alcohol, the ambiance of a wedding—all that love in the air—it can make stuff happen.”
Assignment Vegas: The Case of the Athlete's Assassin: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery Two (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 8