by AR Winters
“I’ve got nothing to do with Max,” Jacinta said quickly. “And I can prove it. I’m never home these days. When was he killed?”
“March seventh, around ten in the morning.”
“I’ll check my phone,” said Jacinta. “There you go – March seventh. I was at Mandalay Bay all day, checked into a suite.”
Ian said, “You’ve got a boyfriend.”
I had a bad feeling. Jacinta was pretty, but too chubby to be a stripper in this superficial town. She was desperate, and she needed cash. A day spent at the Mandalay suites didn’t sound good.
Jacinta avoided our gaze and went to put her coffee mug away. “You’ll find me entering and leaving on the security cameras,” she said. She opened her fridge and found a box of takeaway pizza. “I should probably have lunch and go out again.”
“Do you – can we talk to the guy you were with?” I asked.
Jacinta looked at me and shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t. He flew in from New York. But I’ll be on the tapes.”
“I’ll check the feed,” I said. “In the meantime, you really need to quit selling the drugs. I can’t just not tell the cops.”
“Give me two days,” she said. “I promise, no more drugs after that.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I was inclined to believe everything Jacinta had told us; she looked so sincere and earnest.
“I told you she was nice,” Ian said on the way back home. “She’s too pretty to be a killer.”
“She’s not going to date you. Did you miss the part about her going to Mandalay with a tourist?”
Ian shrugged. “I could help her buy into the diner.”
I sighed. Ian was a hopeless romantic, always falling for the wrong, destructive women, and there was nothing I could do to help him. “We don’t really know about her until we see the Mandalay footage. Anyway, I’ve got a few hours before my shift, we can check out the video of Katrina and Max.”
We fired up my laptop and played the video George had given us. There were hundreds of hours of footage, so I set the video to play at high speed. People quick-stepped in and out of the lift like cartoon characters, until we got to a scene of Max standing in the lift, about to go up, and Katrina rushing in. I quickly set the speed back to normal, and we waited for Jacinta to enter, or for Max and Katrina to speak to each other, but nothing happened. The two just stood there silently, the way awkward strangers do in a lift, each giving the other as much space as they could. When the lift got to their floor, they glanced at each other, and then Katrina stepped out, and then Max.
“That was strange,” said Ian. “Jacinta said they knew each other.”
I was a little disappointed. I’d been so sure that Jacinta’d been telling the truth. “Maybe they got to know each other afterwards,” I said, putting the video on rapid-play again.
A few minutes later, we saw Max stepping into the elevator again. I put the video back on to regular speed, and this time, we saw Max turn to Katrina and say something. It was impossible to make out what he’d said, but she turned to face him, and seemed to reply. When the elevator got to their floor, Katrina stormed out, and Max stared after her before walking out.
“That’s it!” said Ian. “Katrina said she didn’t know Max, but she did! She must’ve killed him! And she probably left that message on your voice mail.”
“It does seem likely,” I admitted.
We put the video on rapid-play again, and after a few minutes, we saw Katrina stepping into the lift, and after a few seconds, Max and Jacinta entered. I paused the video, and set the speed back to regular. Just as Jacinta had said, Max turned to Katrina and said something, but she merely looked at him and said nothing. After Jacinta got off at her floor, Max and Katrina rode up in silence before getting off at their floor.
Ian and I were too stunned to say anything after that. I played the rest of the video rapidly, but there was nothing else there, no other interactions between Max and Katrina, or Max and anyone else.
“I knew it,” Ian said. “Jacinta’s not a killer. It must be Katrina. Someone who doesn’t care about a kitten could do anything.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was tempting to think that Jacinta had nothing to do with Max’s death. She seemed so nice, and I wanted to believe her story about paying for her mother’s treatment. But as I told Ian, we couldn’t clear her until we saw the Mandalay Bay footage.
“Then let’s get it now!” Ian said.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry – time for me to turn into a pumpkin. The Treasury calls.”
And I did turn into a pumpkin – or at least, a rather distracted dealer. In between rolling the roulette wheel and monitoring the craps table under the bright casino lights, I thought about Katrina. As holiday-makers laughed and gambled around me, I decided that I just couldn’t forgive her for abandoning Snowflake. It made me think the worst of her, and made me almost hope that she was somehow involved in Max’s death.
During my break, I saw that I’d received a text from Jack. “Just got into town. Breakfast?”
There was no putting it off any longer. “Jerry’s Diner? My shift ends at 6.” I texted back.
The rest of my shift went by in a haze; happy people gambling, occasionally not tipping me enough. Two angry tantrums by gamblers who lost all the money they’d earmarked for a weekend of gambling, despite it only being Thursday night.
I’d never be a gambler, I decided, as I changed out of my uniform and headed over to Jerry’s. In some ways, working as a dealer made me see things from Wes’s perspective: Vegas wasn’t necessarily the fun, party place that all the tourists thought it was. For most of the tourists, it was a place where they wasted a lot of money: money that could be put towards more important things, or nicer holidays.
Jerry’s was busy when I got there, packed to the gills with locals who’d just finished one of the busiest shifts of the week. Jack was sitting in one of the booths toward the back, and I looked around for Jacinta. Michael, the manager, was busy giving directions to some tourists who’d accidentally stumbled into the place, and I noticed Jacinta rushing out of the kitchen with three plates of waffles in her arms.
“You look gorgeous,” Jack said, when I got to his booth. He stood up to give me a quick hug and a kiss, and instinctively, I found myself stiffening.
I looked into his eyes – green with beautiful flecks of gold. Five o’clock stubble covered his square jawline, and he smelled like the ocean. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled half-way up his arms, and his tie was loosened.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
I sighed and slid into the booth.
Jack had flown me out on romantic dates, he was insanely good-looking, and he’d taught me how to break into locked buildings. He’d been a good boyfriend, and here I was, throwing it all away. He’d done nothing wrong, and he didn’t deserve to be hurt. Anyone else would kill to have a boyfriend as wonderful as him…
“You look worried,” Jack said, breaking me out of my reverie.
I looked at him, as though I was seeing him for the first time. “You’re… I’m lucky to have met you,” I said slowly.
Jack smiled, and the flecks of gold danced in his eyes. “And I’m lucky to have met you.”
He reached out to hold my hand, and I looked at his palm and gulped. “I can’t do this,” I said, wondering if I could break up with him swiftly and efficiently, like removing a human bandage. “We need to end this.”
The expression on Jack’s face didn’t change, but I saw his neck stiffen, as though he needed to make an effort not to drop his head. “Why? What’s happened?”
I shrugged. “It’s not working. You know it isn’t. We hardly see each other, and when we do, you have to run off to work.”
“You could cut down on your shifts. You don’t even like working at the casino.”
My eyebrows shot up in exasperation. “But it’s my job! How can I just quit my job?”
“You talk a
bout quitting all the time, why don’t you just do it?”
“Because I need the money! Which isn’t something you’d ever understand!”
We stared at each other. A waitress I’d never seen at Jerry’s before materialized and asked if we’d like to order.
“Not now,” Jack said brusquely. It was the first time I’d ever heard him be even slightly rude to someone. Immediately, he turned to her with an apologetic smile. “We’ll need a few minutes.”
After she disappeared, Jack turned to me again. “What’s going on? If you’re worried we’re not spending enough time together, we can work it out. I can fly you over to wherever I am on your day off. But this isn’t about that, is it?”
I shook my head, no. “We’re just too different.”
“No, this is about Stone.”
I looked at him in surprise. “What’re you talking about?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know you two are always hanging out. I know he looks out for you.”
“So? We’re friends.”
“And there’s never been anything more between you?”
My rolled my eyes and looked away.
“I knew it,” Jack said softly. “You could’ve just told me.”
I turned to him again, angry fire burning in my eyes. “It’s not what you think. We’ve never dated or been together.”
“But you might be, once we break up.”
I pursed my lips in annoyance. I was just trying to do the right thing. I didn’t want to hurt Jack, and I wouldn’t be the girl who cheated on her boyfriend. But I didn’t like getting a hard time about Stone, and I couldn’t think of a way to explain exactly how I felt about it all.
We were silent for what felt like a long time, and then Jack said, “Fine, I get it. But I can’t just leave without saying something. Do you even know who Stone is? What he’s done in the past? Do you know the kind of reputation he has? They say he’ll kill someone for you, if you pay him enough.”
“I know that I trust him,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that Stone had warned Jameson off talking to me and had refused to tell me about his past. “I know that he’s a good person, and that’s all I need to know.” I felt as though I was justifying Stone’s secrecy to myself more than to Jack.
“So it is true,” Jack said. “Just be careful around him. He’s dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He stood up and looked at me as though he wanted to say something else. But then he decided against it and turned and walked away.
I watched him leave. His shoulders were squared, and he didn’t turn around to glance back at me.
I couldn’t believe this was how it ended. A movement to my left caught my eye, and I looked up as the waitress arrived at our booth again. She glanced uncertainly at the empty space Jack had left behind. “Are you going to order?”
My throat felt dry, and I stood up slowly. “No. I’m not hungry.”
Chapter Thirty
I walked home slowly, surprised by how empty I felt. I hadn’t expected it to be so hard to break up with Jack, and I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
I was almost at my apartment when Stone texted. “How was the shift?”
I smiled when I saw the message, feeling for the first time that I’d done the right thing by breaking up with Jack. “Not the worst, but better now that it’s over,” I replied.
The things Jack said about Stone did bother me, despite my protests. I’d heard those same things, that he was no better than a criminal for hire. Stone’s refusal to tell me about his past bothered me, and I knew there must be a way to find out if Stone really was who he said he was.
I unlocked my apartment door with a bit of trepidation, but there were no messages on my answering machine, no ominous letters shoved under the door. If Jacinta wasn’t the one who’d left me that message, it might be Katrina; she’d even been to my apartment a few months ago, when she’d picked up Snowflake. Of course, the person who’d left the message could be anyone I’d handed my card out to – even that crotchety old lady.
I was distracted with sorting out my emotions about Jack and Stone, and I checked through my apartment perfunctorily, making sure there were no psychopaths hiding in the crevices. Once I was sure the place was safe, I tried to get some sleep. But instead of blacking out peacefully, I tossed and turned and had strange dreams where Jack and Stone argued, and a strange masked man hired Stone to kill a group of casino visitors.
I woke up after a few hours, uneasy about the strange dreams and Stone’s constant secrecy. What was he hiding?
As I munched through my lunch (a beef pie that I defrosted from the freezer), I thought back to that surveillance job I’d done for Stone. There had seemed to be something off about the man I’d followed. I finished eating, rinsed my plate, and found the photo of the man that Stone had texted over. I emailed it to myself and pasted the image into Google Images.
Almost instantly, a few dozen hits came up. I clicked on the first link and found myself on a website for a modelling agency based in LA.
“James O’Hara,” said the name. There were no other details, but there were a few other photos of him.
Either James O’Hara had an identical twin, who was married to a suspicious woman and lived in New York, or Stone hadn’t been telling me the truth about the man I’d followed. Despite all my protestations about trusting Stone, I tended to believe that James O’Hara was the model from LA.
I called the McCarran Hilton next. “Would you be able to check who booked your conference room a few months ago?” I asked the lady who’d answered my call. I gave her the date and waited.
She was back on the line after a few moments. “It was an investment seminar run by City Living Properties.”
“You mean one of those seminars where you pay money to learn about renovating and things like that?”
“Yes. I think it cost a hundred dollars per person to attend.”
“And anyone who paid could attend?”
“Of course.”
I thanked her and hung up, my heart sinking. I didn’t know what was going on, but so far, it didn’t look good.
I texted Stone, asking him to meet me for dinner before my shift. He’d better come up with some answers.
***
I was moping when Ian stopped by.
“Who’s that?” he asked, looking at the photo of James O’Hara on my laptop.
“I don’t know.” I sighed, wishing I could waste the day watching bad TV shows like normal people did when they got into a funk.
“Well, since you’re on Google,” said Ian, “We should look up Jacinta and Katrina.”
I groaned, not in the mood for more internet snooping. But Ian was right; we needed to move forward with the case.
We started with Jacinta. Ian kept insisting that she definitely had nothing to do with Max’s death, now that she claimed to have an alibi. “When’re you getting that Mandalay Bay footage?” he asked.
“Soon.” Maybe I could ask Stone about it.
When we typed in “Jacinta Gondalez,” all we got were a couple of results showing people that weren’t her – a wannabe model, some random woman’s holiday photos, and photos from a different Jacinta Gondalez’s resume on LinkedIn.
“This is useless,” said Ian.
“Isn’t it suspicious that she’s not anywhere online? You can’t just not appear in search results unless you’re trying to be private.”
“Some people just like privacy. Even if they deal drugs and stuff. Maybe especially if they do that.”
He had a point. “Well, let’s do Katrina,” I said, typing in “Katrina Bronson.”
This brought up a Facebook page, an old Myspace account, and a couple of other social media sites where she had accounts. “See,” I said, “This is what a normal online presence looks like. Maybe Jacinta’s hiding something after all.”
There were also two articles where Katrina was mentioned – both were about some black-tie fundr
aisers, and her name was mentioned in a long list of “A-list donors.” Katrina was clearly serious about keeping up with the social scene.
“This is boring,” said Ian, after he finished reading the second article on Katrina. “Don’t we have any other leads yet? What about Professor Deaking?”
“I don’t think he’s relevant to Max’s death, but you can look him up if you’d like.”
Ian did so, and brought up Professor Deaking’s page on the university website. This led to a list of his publications and academic conferences he’d attended. “This is even more boring,” said Ian. “Don’t we have anything else to look up?”
I glanced at the clock – I needed to get going soon. “I’m afraid not. Hang on – we forgot about Wynona Beyers, the woman Max kept mistaking Katrina for.”
I typed the name into the search engine, and it brought up a list of hits. Most of women were brunettes, though, and looked nothing like Katrina. There was the obligatory starlet, who’d appeared as a side-character in a straight-to-DVD horror movie. And then there were a few Wynonas whose last names weren’t quite Beyers, but variations like Beers, Meyers and Eyers - there were a few random brunettes and their social media photos; there was the wife of a shipping magnate mentioned on a social gossip site; there was a dancer with numerous videos online. Finally, there were three blonde Wynonas, although none of their last names were Beyers – one of them had a mole similar to Katrina’s, but it turned out that she lived in Delaware.
“This is a dead end,” I said. “And now I really need to get going. I’ll try to get hold of the Mandalay footage.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“You picked a nice place,” Stone said when he saw me.
Someone who didn’t know him might’ve thought his face looked expressionless, but I knew him well enough to understand that the softness in his dark eyes meant he was happy to see me.