by AR Winters
“How did you get my address?” I sat down on a chair opposite her, placing my bag within easy grabbing distance.
“Sophia. But it took a lot of convincing to make her tell me.”
I glanced pointedly at the clock. “I need to leave soon, so we’ll have to talk fast. What’s going on?”
“As I’ve said, I’d like to hire you as a PI. I’m sure you get a lot of cases here in Vegas. Husbands spying on wives and such.”
The last few months had actually been very busy with that kind of surveillance work, but I tried to be vague. “There’s all kinds of work.”
“And you do murder cases as well.”
I was getting a bad feeling about this lady. She looked poised and collected, but there was obviously something wrong under the surface. Her grey eyes glimmered with a sort of wary hopefulness. “I do. But I don’t like to. I try to focus more on domestic cases.”
“Why don’t you like to?”
“Sometimes you just can’t solve a case, even after a lot of work; clients don’t like to hear that. It’s dangerous, and it’s normally too expensive for most clients to pay all the incidentals.”
“Money is not an issue.” Margo opened the flap of her handbag, and I instinctively reached for my own gun-storage bag. Margo pulled out a checkbook and a silver pen. “I’m in a difficult position and you’re recommended by both Sophia, whose husband used to be friends with my husband, and that incompetent Detective Elwood.”
I felt an unexpected flash of loyalty. “I wouldn’t call Elwood incompetent. There’s a limit to what cops can do.”
Margo looked at me coolly, and then, after a moment, she said, “I know there are things money can’t buy, but I have to try. My son was killed almost five months ago, and I want you to look into it.”
“You already think Elwood is incompetent. And you think I’ll find out something new?”
“Maybe. Ideally, you’ll find who killed him.”
I shook my head. “That’s difficult. A cold case means witnesses forget things, and evidence gets buried. If it’s been almost half a year… ”
Margo wrote something on the check and handed it over to me. “That’s the deposit, I’m happy to pay double that once you’ve finished.”
I looked at the number she’d written and practiced my poker face. With that amount of money, I could pay off a big chunk of my mortgage and maybe quit my job at the casino. On the other hand, Margo was clearly used to getting what she wanted, and I didn’t like the thought of disappointing her and having her turn up at my door again. Maybe next time she wouldn’t be so calm.
I tried to stall for time. “You don’t live here?”
“I live in New York. I flew in to meet Detective Elwood, and then you, and I’m flying out tomorrow night.”
“I might not find anything.”
“I trust you. I judge people based on instinct, and I have a good feeling about you. I know you’ll try your best.”
“Well – thanks.”
“So you’ll take the case?”
“I don’t even know what the case is.”
“My son was killed four months ago. Max Langton. If I believed in omens, I’d say that you’re destined to find something new. After all, you found the body.”
An image flashed before my eyes – the man draped over the tub, t-shirt dark with blood – and I felt a little sick. “That was your son.”
“Yes. They officially closed the case two days ago. I want you to look into it.”
Margo’s behavior made sense now: she wasn’t mentally deranged, she was just a distraught and desperate mother trying her best. “I hate to keep repeating this,” I said, “but the chances of finding anything new are low.”
“I’ll accept it if you tell me you haven’t found anything. I just need you to try.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’m leaving Vegas soon. I was hoping you’d accept the case and start tomorrow.”
I respected her grief, but I resented her insistence. “I have plans for the next few days, and I’ll need to think about this case. I can’t take on everything.”
“If it’s about the money, I can pa—”
“It’s not about the money,” I said quickly. More money was always nice, but I didn’t want Margo to think that paying me more would make me her slave. “And I really have to get going now.”
Margo stood up. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow, before I leave, in case you want to chat.”
Chapter Eleven
“What’re you doing here?” I said, sliding into the red booth opposite Stone.
We were at Jerry’s Diner, where I was supposed to meet Jack.
Jerry’s Diner was a few minutes’ walk away from the Strip, and catered almost exclusively to locals who worked at or near the casinos. Until a few months ago, it had been known as The Blueberry Breakfast Café, but the new name suited it; at some point perhaps it had served only breakfasts, but these days it stayed open 24/7.
Jerry’s Spanish-style exterior was low, flat and pink, with a blue-tiled roof; inside, the place was large, white-tiled and full of diner-style booths and plastic laminate tables. Over the years it had become an establishment among the locals – the food here was good, cheap and filling. An obligatory neon sign hung out front but there were no tourists inside; according to the travel guides, Jerry’s lacked “the quintessential Vegas vibe.”
“Just about to leave.” Stone leaned back and looked at me. His skin was tan against the whiteness of his shirt, and his eyes were dark and thoughtful. “But it’s good I ran into you.”
I smiled. “How come?”
“I’d like you to do another surveillance job for me.” I was about to protest – I didn’t want to make a habit of working for friends, and I knew that Jack wouldn’t be too thrilled about my working for Stone – when he went on. “I need someone I can trust, and of all the folks I know, I trust you the most.”
I was stunned into silence. After a few seconds, I managed to say, “I’m flattered, but—”
“It’ll be a huge favor.”
“Can’t Zac—”
“No. I’d like you to do it.”
“Just surveillance?” It didn’t seem like a big deal, but Stone was watching me carefully.
“I don’t know how long he’ll be in town, but I’ll be on the job with you. It’ll be trickier than the other one, and this guy might expect someone to tail him, but he won’t expect a woman.”
I frowned. “Why would he expect someone to tail him?”
“He’s a suspicious guy. I think he’ll be in town next month.”
I shrugged. “Ok, I guess. I can call in sick for a week if I need to.”
“Or you could quit.”
He held my glance for a few seconds, and then I looked away. “I’ve been thinking about it, but…”
“You need to take a leap of faith at some point.”
“True, and I do have a new, rich client.”
Stone’s eyes drifted past my shoulder. “Speaking of rich—”
I turned around. “Jack!” I stood up and flung my arms around him.
As Jack and I smiled at each other, I heard Stone say, “See you around.”
Jack settled into the shiny red booth Stone had just left. “I hear all kinds of nasty stuff about that guy.”
“Just because people don’t know him—”
“They know some stuff about him. They say he gets things done, and he doesn’t care how. And you can’t prove that he was really in the CIA.”
“There are people who’ve met his CIA handler.”
Jack sighed. “Let’s not argue about him. How’ve you been?”
This was our first date in what felt like forever, and Jack was right – there was no point arguing about Stone.
Jack was also right about the fact that there were rumors about Stone. Rumors about things like Stone’s past and the methods he employed at the security agency he owned – but none of that changed the fact that S
tone had helped me get started as a PI and that he’d once saved my life. I owed Stone, I trusted him, and I didn’t care what other people said about him.
Chapter Twelve
Seeing Jack almost made me forget about Margo. Almost.
Our date was limited to a quick dinner, since I had a shift at the casino afterwards and Jack was flying to San Francisco for a business meeting. But as I shuffled decks and handed out Blackjack cards later that night, I thought back to Margo’s insistence.
I could understand where she was coming from but she was likely to be the kind of person who’d throw a fit if I didn’t find out anything. Since it had been four months after Max’s death, there was a high chance that the case would turn up nothing new. And if I did turn up anything, Max’s killer would probably not be happy with me.
On the other hand, my shift at the casino made me think that maybe it would be easier to deal with a cold-blooded killer than one more inebriated college sophomore. I could always run away from a murderous maniac, but I couldn’t just flee from the giggling blondes who were drunkenly mocking everyone they deemed “uncool.”
My desire to escape the annoyances of casino life was making me seriously consider Margo’s job offer, so the next day, I woke up from my six hours of sleep at around midday, a woman on a mission. I needed to stop by the precinct to check out what had happened to Max Langton, and then I’d decide what to do.
But first, I found the cupcake decorations I’d bought for my friend Glenn and stopped by his apartment downstairs.
“These are perfect!” Glenn said when he saw the decorative sugar roses. His blue eyes twinkled warmly, and I wondered once again why I hadn’t set him up with Nanna when I’d had half a chance. Glen was about her age, but much better looking than her, and a retired pastry chef who never tired of baking cupcakes. If we were related, even by marriage, I wouldn’t need to ever worry about where my next cupcake would come from. “Have you had lunch yet?”
I winked. “I have, but I haven’t had dessert.”
As Glen went to make a cup of tea and find some suitable dessert for me, I grabbed a seat on his sofa. His apartment’s layout was similar to mine, but it had an extra bedroom and was much better furnished. “Have you seen Snowflake recently?” he asked.
“She’s growing up so fast! Isn’t she adorable?”
“You need to be careful about Snowflake. Mrs. Weebly had a chat with me the other day; she swears she can hear a cat somewhere. You know she’ll evict Ian if she f—”
There was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and then the door opened.
“Tiffany, darling!”
“Karma!” I exclaimed, standing up to give her a hug. “And Nanna – what’re you doing here? And, uh…”
Karma was Glenn’s girlfriend – a fifty-something-year-old hippie who believed in psychic visions and a sugar-free diet. To be fair, she was more vocal about her anti-sugar stance than she was about her psychic visions. The visions had always been right so far, but I was sure she was wrong about hating on sugar. As I gave Karma a hug and a peck on the cheek, I tried not to stare at the man who had walked in behind Nanna.
Glenn said, “Tiffany, this is my brother, Wes. He’s visiting from Indiana for a week.”
Wes looked just a little bit younger than Glenn. He was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and the same twinkling blue eyes as his brother. “Karma and Gwenda were showing me around town,” he said. “Looks like a fun place to retire.”
“I’m trying to convince him to move here,” Glenn said.
Wes slipped his arm around Nanna’s waist and said, “I’m a little more convinced now that I’ve met Gwenda.”
I tried not to look too surprised, and Karma shot me an amused look. “Love at first sight. What can you do?”
Wes leaned down to give Nanna a kiss, and I rolled my eyes. The seniors in Las Vegas tended to do well in terms of romance, and Nanna was no exception – her love life over the past five years had been much more exciting than mine.
“He’s coming over to dinner tonight,” Nanna said. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”
My eyebrows shot up involuntarily. Bringing him over to meet my parents – that was moving pretty fast, even by Nanna’s standards.
Wes smiled at me. “I can’t wait to meet your family.”
I mumbled politely, a little jealous of their fast-paced relationship. Maybe it was time I took a better look at my own love-life.
Chapter Thirteen
I didn’t think I’d ever seen Detective Elwood in a good mood.
When I met him at the precinct and asked how he was, he gave me his usual gloomy scowl and treated me to his latest tale of woe. He thought his wife was cheating on him – she got texts on her phone and went out of the room to reply. “Maybe I should hire you to spy on her,” he said morosely. “But what would that make me, a cop who hires a PI? Anyway, you’re after the files on Max Langton.”
“I am.”
We were sitting in one of the modern conference rooms in the precinct – an impersonal space decorated in cool shades of grey and lacking any humanizing touches like artwork or plants. “His mother told me you’ve closed the case.”
Elwood shrugged. “The precinct’s overburdened. The economy’s not doing well, so we’re not getting enough tourists, which means the city can’t pay us enough. It’s horrible. The world’s just going to hell in a handbasket.”
I nodded politely and put up an invisible shield to protect me from Elwood’s negativity. The world wasn’t great – I was aware of that – but there were good things in it, too. I needed to stay focused on those good things; a little hard to do when you think about crime and killers all the time, but that’s where Glenn’s cupcakes came in. Life could never be too bad if you had a cupcake to go home to.
“So you needed to close the case?”
“It’s been months. The guy’s an out-of-towner, and there’s no leads.”
“So it’s ok to tell me what you know, then.”
Elwood sighed heavily, implying his incredible pain at having to share sacred police knowledge with a layman. “He was an architect. Moved here to do some PhD project at the university, something on new forms in the digital age, but he never followed up and became a poker addict instead. Neighbors say he was quiet, never bothered them or made any noise. But then there’s that time of death thing.”
“What time of death thing?”
“Well.” Elwood knitted his brows together. “He was killed less than four hours before we found him. Which meant – well, we went through videos of everyone who’d come into the building. And no outsiders entered.”
“Which means…”
“He must’ve been killed by someone who lived in the building.”
“So it’s just a matter of going through all the residents.”
“Well, yes. But a place that close to the Strip – a lot of tenants were long-weekenders and tourists who’d found the place on AirBnb or the like.”
“So someone could’ve moved in temporarily, killed Max, and then moved out.”
“Exactly. And that’s even more likely because of the cash.”
“Cash?”
“We found some in his desk with a strange note; guy was probably running drugs to pay for his poker, but none of our informants could tell us about him.”
I frowned thoughtfully. “He was a drug runner?”
Elwood said, “Margo didn’t tell you?” I shook my head, no. “There was some cash and a note thanking him for a successful delivery. That’s another reason we closed the case – an out-of-town drug dealer wasting our time. I’ll go get the files, you can see for yourself.”
I was annoyed that Margo had hidden her son’s potential drug trade from me, and as I flipped through the case file, I wondered if there was anything else about Max that she’d hidden from me. The stack of cash – which only amounted to a thousand-odd dollars – had been found in one of the drawers in Max’s desk. The very desk I’d sat at. The note a
ttached was printed out in black ink – “JS says thanks for the delivery, again.”
There were a couple of photos of Max standing around with a group of friends. The cops’d probably gotten the photos off his mother, and in them, he looked like a normal, happy guy. White male, skinny with thinning brown hair, no tattoos – nothing that shouted, “drug dealer.”
I went through the details of the drug rings the police were monitoring. I knew that there were pushers and users in Vegas, just like any other city, but I had no idea the problem was so serious. A lot of the trade was to curious tourists, but a fair amount of sales were made to jaded locals. All of the police informants claimed they had never met Max and had no idea who he was. Yet the note must’ve meant something; I wondered if he could’ve been delivering something else.
The rest of the case notes elaborated on what Elwood had already told me. Max had been something of a loner; he’d moved to Vegas a year ago but he hadn’t made any close friends and didn’t have a girlfriend. Neighbors said he kept to himself, and some casino staff identified him as a regular at the poker tables. His bank statements showed a hefty balance a year ago – probably his payout after leaving his job in New York – and then regular withdrawals, since moving to Vegas, with no new deposits. There was no suggestion that he’d earned any money since moving here, unless he was paid, and dealt in, cash.
There was no indication that Max used drugs himself and nothing to suggest any enemies or anyone who might want to harm him. I needed to have a serious chat with Margo, and check if she was hiding anything else.
Chapter Fourteen
I’d see Jack later tonight – he’d be flying in from San Francisco again – but before that, I was having dinner with my parents.
My parents lived in North Las Vegas, in a middle-class suburb that could almost have been plucked out of anywhere in the Midwest. The folks there worked hard, sent their kids to school, and ignored all the debauchery and partying that went on just a half-hour drive away from their homes. My parents were as middle-class as all the rest and valued a stable, decent lifestyle. Which was why Nanna hid the fact that she was a regular at the poker tables down at the Strip, and that she’d been earning a steady income off the poker-novice tourists.