by AR Winters
Glenn, Wes and Karma were already there by the time I arrived.
“You’re late,” my mother said disapprovingly, as I sank down onto a comfy armchair and tucked my feet underneath me. “Jack couldn’t make it?”
“I didn’t invite him. Besides, he’s in San Francisco.”
“It’s ok,” my dad said. “We’ll meet him when we meet him. How’s the casino work?”
We were hanging out in the den. It was an over-furnished room towards the back of the house, where my dad kept his large-screen TV and watched his NFL games. The “proper” living room at the front of the house was for “nice guests.” It looked out onto the front lawn and was furnished with modern, Pottery Barn sofas. My mother was so focused on keeping the room looking presentable that we hardly ever used it. I’d once asked her who a “nice guest” would be, but she’d looked at me in exasperation. I assumed from her silence that the room was reserved for use by Oprah, George Clooney, and maybe, if he was very lucky, the president.
“The casino never changes,” I said. “There were a group of rich oil tycoons the other day. One of them was on the phone with his personal banker the entire time.”
“I’ve been to the casinos twice,” Wes said. He was sitting on the couch opposite me, with Nanna on one side of him, and Glenn on the other. “It’s so…over-the-top.”
“Of course,” Karma said. “It’s meant to suck you in.”
“Some people never escape,” my mother said, tight-lipped. “My friend Jeremy’s son Tyrone just declared bankruptcy.”
Nanna said, “Tyrone who used to manage Scruffy’s Diner? Wow, you’d think the locals would know better.”
“Karma and I hardly go,” Glenn said. “Most of us oldies only go for the two-for-one meals.”
“Those are good value,” said Wes. “But aren’t you tempted to stop by the slots or blackjack?”
Nanna and I exchanged a glance. It was clear that he didn’t know about Nanna’s poker wins. Nanna said, “I suppose some games aren’t too bad. Poker is all about math.”
“What about the pocket cards?” Wes said. “There’s always luck involved. And that can get addicting too, can’t it?”
“Speaking of poker,” I said. “I might take up a new case. Nanna, you know some of the regulars at the poker tables here – how about Max Langton? He moved here from New York.”
Nanna frowned. “I only know a couple of the retired folks who play poker. Is this Max over seventy?”
“No. Young guy, from New York.”
“Then I don’t know him.”
“Are you sure?” I said. “I thought you knew all the poker players here.”
“Just the locals – the ones who’ve been around for a while.”
“How do you know all these people?” Wes asked, smiling politely.
“Nanna’s really popular,” I told him. “She knows everyone here who’s retired, and she knows most of their kids and nephews and nieces. She’s real big on socializing.”
Nanna shook her head modestly, but Karma said, “No, it’s true. I’ve always gotten good vibes from Gwenda. You’ve picked a social butterfly, Wes.”
Wes turned to Nanna. “I’m glad you like it here. And I know Glenn was hoping I’d move out here for good, but I don’t think I can do it. There’s too much going on, and I miss my kids back in Iowa.”
“I knew it!” Karma said. “I could sense your unhappiness.”
Nanna looked at Wes uncertainly. “How long are you staying?”
Dad and I shared a glance. Nanna had gone through seven or eight boyfriends since she’d moved here a few years ago, but Wes was one of only three men who’d come to a family dinner.
“Another week, maybe.” Wes looked around at us. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner. I’d rather have a meal with family then go into a large casino.”
My mother smiled. “We’re happy to have you here. Why don’t we head into the dining room?”
As we all trooped out of the den, I glanced at Nanna. The lines on her face looked sharper, and she slipped her hand into Wes’s. One of the downsides of rushing into a relationship, I decided: the potential for quick heartbreak.
Chapter Fifteen
I barely had time to get home, pack an overnight duffel bag and find my passport, before Jack was at my door.
I flung my arms around his neck, and after a long, warm kiss, I pulled back and looked into his eyes. Green with flecks of gold; I’d never get tired of looking into them. He was one of the best looking men I’d ever seen, and I said, “You’re not going to leave Vegas, are you?”
Jack gave me a puzzled look. “Other than boarding a plane with you right now?”
“Long term, I meant.” I grabbed my duffel and passport. “Your family’s back in New York.”
“Just my sister,” he said, as we headed down to his car. “And my uncles and aunts and nephew.”
“You don’t miss them?”
“I can fly out whenever to see them, and Vegas gives me good tax breaks. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason.” At dinner, Nanna had been talking up the Vegas shows, how seniors could get discounts, and how the seafood buffet dinners were really worth it. Wes hadn’t seemed impressed, but maybe he’d change his mind.
Jack’s chauffeured car whisked us over to the terminal for private clients at McCarran, and a polite, well-groomed lady processed our documents before waving us through to the flight area. Before I knew it, Jack and I were boarding his jet, and once again, I was admiring the cream reclining chairs and wondering if I should just get used to this.
Jack poured us both some champagne for takeoff. “To Paris,” he said.
“Paris,” I echoed.
The plane rose up into the air smoothly, and I glanced out the small window at the lights of Vegas strewn out below us, twinkling happily. A girl could get used to this life. Maybe the horrible woman who’d lost Snowflake was right; maybe I should move faster with Jack. A life with Jack would be champagne flights and private dinners in Paris. And he was nice; he wasn’t like the typical rich men who dumped their wives as soon as they turned forty. And he had nice green eyes, and he was nice, wasn’t he?
The champagne and long shifts caught up with me, and before I knew it, Jack was shaking me awake. “Tiff, we’re about to land.”
“Wha – where?”
I looked down. There was a warm blanket covering me, and the cabin overhead lights had been switched on – and then it came back to me. Paris. I smiled at Jack. “I could get used to this.”
“You should.” His green eyes twinkled back at me, and I sat upright and buckled myself in. “Paris is so gorgeous, we could come here every week.”
I groaned. “Don’t tempt me. What time is it?”
“About four in the morning. We can get some sleep, and then, um, I kind of need to meet some people in the business district. You don’t mind, do you?”
The smile slid off my face. Our first proper date in months, and Jack wanted to go off to work? “Of course not,” I forced myself to say, trying to turn the corners of my lips up again. I wondered if he was meeting someone else in Paris, maybe a Parisienne mistress? I forced that thought from my mind. “Will you be long?”
“I should be done by lunch. You could take in the spa at the hotel, maybe a museum?”
The plane taxied down the runway, and I smiled and nodded. “Of course, that would be nice. Then we’ll meet for lunch.”
I don’t know why I’d expected any different. Last time, it had been my work that was more important, this time it was Jack’s. But at least we were in Paris, and I could stock up on pastries and macarons.
***
I woke up to darkness and switched on the bedside lamp. Heavy drapes covered a large window, blocking out the light, and there was some kind of ink painting on the wall opposite. I reached one arm over to Jack’s side of the bed. Cool to the touch. He must’ve left hours ago.
According to my cellphone, it was almost nine in the morning, and
I had a missed call from Margo. She hadn’t left a message, and I refused to think about her. I was in Paris. I wasn’t going to sit around feeling sorry for myself; if Jack didn’t work as hard as he did, we probably couldn’t afford to fly over here on a private jet. Plus, I’d see him in a few hours.
I walked over to the window and flung the curtains open, and then I gaped, open mouthed. Beyond the rooftops and narrow streets, the Eiffel tower rose high into the air, glimmering in the early sunshine. First thing, I promised myself, I’d hop into a cab and take the lift to the top.
I’d barely ordered room service, when my phone rang.
“Hello, Margo.” Might as well get this over with.
“Tiffany, I was wondering if you’d had any thoughts on—”
“I have, in fact. I was hoping you could tell me about the case.”
“I can come over now, I’m still in Vegas.”
“I’m not. In fact, I’m overseas and this call is racking up my roaming charges.”
There was a moment’s silence as she digested that. “Why are you overseas?”
I shook my head, aware that she couldn’t see me. “It’s not important. We’ll have to talk on the phone mostly, so let’s do this now. Tell me about the case.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“You’ve read the case files.”
“Yes. Why didn’t you tell me about the drugs?”
“He’s not a drug dealer.” There was a hint of anger in Margo’s voice. “He’s a nice boy, and he would never do anything like that.”
“Then how did he pay for his gambling?”
“He’d written a textbook on architecture and got some royalties from that. Did you go through the bank statements?”
“I did.”
“Then you know he wasn’t making any cash deposits. Don’t drug dealers deposit cash into their accounts?”
“No, some of them just pay everything in cash.”
There was an awkward silence. “He wasn’t dealing drugs,” Margo repeated.
I took a deep breath in. “Margo. We don’t know anything for sure. If you’re absolutely sure about something, there’s no point in me looking into it.”
“I – I didn’t mean that.”
“Well, you have to be open to whatever I find. Whether it’s good, or bad, or nothing.”
There was another long silence. I imagined Margo was considering hiring another PI, someone who’d promise her the world and would never find out anything less than complimentary about Max. But then she said, “You’re right. I don’t know what you’ll find, and I trust you. You did a good job for Sophia, and you did find – you walked into Max’s apartment. Maybe that’s a sign.”
I didn’t believe in signs, but I did believe in clients who paid well and had reasonable expectations. “You’re absolutely sure you want me to go ahead?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I find out he’s a drug dealer, or involved in some kind of underhand business?”
“Not knowing what happened is worse.”
It was my turn to be silent. Finally, I said, “I can email you a copy of my contract and my bank details, and then you can transfer the deposit over.”
“Thank you!” Margo sounded like she’d just won a car on a radio giveaway. “That’s great. Thank you so much!”
I smiled, despite myself. “Don’t thank me yet. I might not find out anything.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jack’s meeting ran late. By the time we met up, I’d taken a tourist shuttle bus around the city and gotten off at the Orsay. Jack and I met up for a late afternoon coffee in the gorgeous museum café, where he was overly apologetic.
“My business partner got really nervous about a deal at the last minute,” Jack said. “He insisted on seeing me and then doing this long conference call – it was ridiculous. I’m so sorry, I thought we’d be spending the whole day sightseeing together.”
“Don’t worry, I had fun by myself.”
“You didn’t meet any of those charming French men I hear about, did you?”
I laughed. Paris was so far away from Vegas, far from the worries of murders and casino gamblers. “We should do this more often,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Immediately, I worried that Jack would think I was after more free holidays, but he just smiled happily. “I’m glad you think that! I was worried you didn’t want to spend time with me.”
“No, I do,” I said. “As long as your business partner doesn’t get nervous again.”
It was Jack’s turn to laugh. “I told him that next time he needs to fly out to Vegas. But no more work talk, let’s go have a look at this place.”
And we did. We took in the Impressionists quickly, trying to avoid the tourists who all seemed to want to see the same paintings we did, and then we slipped out for an evening cruise on the Seine. Jack had booked a private chef for us, and as we floated down the narrow river, admiring the old bridges and the buildings on either side, we nibbled on a degustation dinner and sipped the nicest red wine I’d ever tasted.
When our dinner was over, and we pulled up to the dock again, I sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to leave.”
“We can do it again,” Jack said. “When’s your next day off?”
I smiled. “When’s your next day off?”
The food and wine and cruising was making me see everything through a rosy glow, but despite the headiness of it all, I knew that getting the timing right again would probably take a month, maybe two months. Neither of us wanted to think about that, so instead, we bantered about Parisians and French food and everything but our next date. Pretty soon, we’d grabbed our bags and found ourselves on Jack’s jet again, heading back to Vegas.
Jack was going onwards to Chicago, where he had another meeting, and I would be heading straight to a shift at the casino.
Chapter Seventeen
I thought I’d feel exhausted, going straight from a day in Paris to the shift at the Treasury, but I felt great. I was on such a high from the time spent with Jack, and the excitement of actually being in Paris, that I powered through the shift happily. It was the most I’d ever enjoyed my work in the casino; I flicked off drunken advances deftly, and I barely flinched when a giggling lady spilt her margarita on me. “You’re on holiday,” I told her. “Enjoy Vegas.”
I was walking on air by the time my eight hours were over. When I changed out of my uniform and stepped outside, I was almost surprised to see the bright sunlight. Just minutes ago, I’d opened the curtains of my hotel room to see the Eiffel tower glinting in the distance.
Morning in Vegas was a striking contrast from morning in Paris. Where Paris had been bustling with commuters and tourists, the streets of Vegas were asleep. Most revelers had gone home, and there were only a few locals heading over to the cheap buffet breakfast bars to grab a meal before or after their shifts.
I meandered down my usual route, through the narrow alley behind The Cosmo Hotel, where I was surprised to see Mrs. Weebly heading in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” I asked with a smile, my warmth extending towards my crotchety neighbor for once.
“Meeting a friend for breakfast.” Mrs. Weebly eyed me suspiciously. “Why are you in such a good mood?”
I hadn’t realized she thought that I, too, was a crotchety neighbor. “Oh, just happy. Everything’s great, and we’re lucky to be here!”
“I suppose so,” she said warily. She stared at me like she was trying to judge whether or not I was on drugs, before walking off in the opposite direction.
A few paces later, my phone buzzed.
“You’re back in one piece,” Stone said.
“I am! And how are you?”
“Busy. I was at the Strip having a meeting, and I thought you might be interested in hitting the gun range.”
“Now?” Maybe I should get some sleep. But the travel had messed up my circadian rhythm, and I felt wide awake. I
hadn’t done any shooting practice in a while, and it was a good idea to stay on top of my game. “Sure, I can head back to the Strip and meet you there.”
“Turn around.”
I turned around, and there was Stone, standing at the other end of the alley. I waved and began walking towards him. Mrs. Weebly was between us, a meter or two away from Stone, and just then, someone brushed past me.
I turned around. It was a tall, lanky man with shoulder-length, ponytailed blond hair. Before I realized what was happening, he gave Mrs. Weebly a shove from behind, sending her tumbling to the ground. He grabbed her handbag and ran off.
He tried to cross the street but Stone was on him in a flash. The handbag fell to the ground, the contents tumbling out. The man stumbled to his feet, and I found myself at Mrs. Weebly’s side, helping her up. She seemed fine – she wasn’t bleeding anywhere, but she looked shaken. Stone peered up at her, and the blond man used this opportunity to run off. Stone glanced at the man. I knew what he was thinking – he could catch up with the man, but then what? It was more important to check that Mrs. Weebly was ok.
“I’m fine,” she said to me. Her voice was a little shaky, and I noticed that her palms were scratched from her fall.
Stone gathered up her bag and its contents and handed it back to her. “Are you sure? We can take you to a doctor, if you’d like.”
“Don’t be silly,” she scoffed. “If I went to the doctor after every little fall…”
I looked at Stone. “My car’s nearby,” he said. “I can drive you…”
“Nonsense! I’ve got my bag back, and I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t use this alley,” Stone said. “I keep telling Tiffany, too. It’s always dark, and even in the daytime there’s always something bad happening.”