by Nancy Warren
She began scanning the walls looking for irregularities, anything sticking out. She found it in a fake knot. So cleverly disguised she’d have missed it had she not been certain it was there. When she pushed that button there was no sound, but in ten seconds the door opened.
She stepped inside the elevator and pressed 2. Nothing happened. So you must need some kind of code. She imagined that Grant Forstman had been very careful when he had this elevator designed. He didn’t want his women running into each other. And a man who didn’t have the most savory of associates would always want a back door. A place to disappear from if he needed to escape.
She heard voices outside the door. She was reaching for the panel when the office door opened and Myrna stood there with her eyes bugging out. Before she could say a word, Toni flashed the earring along with her biggest smile. “Found it.” At the same moment, Myrna turned her head and yelled, “Milo!”
When she pushed the button for lobby, the elevator doors closed and she slid down without a hitch.
As she headed out of the elevator door she remembered what her mother had said about the abundance of security cameras and glanced around her.
“Bingo.”
And then she figured she’d better move fast because she had a feeling that Milo was going to be looking for her.
Chapter Sixteen
“There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them.”
— Sylvia Plath
Toni sped out of the casino as fast as, oh, say a gorilla who hurt people for a living was after her.
She was breathless when she hit the street. Of course, this being the Double Nugget and not the Wentworth, there were no cabs or plush limos lining the entrance courtyard. There was no lovely Vernon dressed like a Janeite’s wet dream to leap into action and call up a carriage.
What she spotted, after a minute of scanning the streets, was an actual carriage. A horse-drawn buggy that no doubt hauled brides and grooms back and forth to the many chapels. However, it was the only transport and the horse was plodding so slowly, its head down and hay on its mind, that she sprinted across the street and leapt into the passenger seat before the driver even saw her coming.
“Hey,” he said in surprise, turning. “Whatcha doin’?”
He sounded like Brooklyn and like he might pull over and dump her off unceremoniously at the curb. “I was waving,” she panted, “but you didn’t see me.” While she was wheezing, she dug out her wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. She pushed it at the guy. “Please, it’s always been my dream to ride in a horse-drawn carriage.”
“Lyin’ down?”
He turned to regard her. She had assumed the fetal position, hoping Milo might not notice her if she made herself very small.
But that wasn’t going to work if the driver turned to stare at her and dropped the reins.
“Please,” she said, figuring some version of the truth was her best bet at getting the guy’s cooperation. “I need to get out of here.”
He glanced up and down the street, then turned back and said something to the horse. Whatever it was, the horse picked up the pace. Her driver didn’t turn again, but said, as though he were talking to his horse, but loud enough that she could hear, “Would the guy looking for you be Eastern European? About two hundred fifty pounds, wearing a dark suit and sweating?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Keep your head down. I haven’t lost a passenger yet.” And with those fateful words, he clicked his tongue and the horse broke into a trot. Her ride was far from comfortable but a hell of a lot better, she suspected, than whatever Milo would have done to her.
About ten minutes later he said, “You can sit up now. Guy’s long gone.”
“Thanks,” she said, sitting up. She tried to right the mess of her hair, but in a jolting carriage she suspected she was making things worse.
“Where do I let you off?”
She’d been wondering that herself. They passed a bridal chapel and a wedding dress store and a stationery store that promised invitations, keepsakes, albums and more. “Could you pull over here?”
“Sure thing.” He pulled over to the side of the road and she jumped out.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Stay out of trouble.” And with a wave, he was gone with a faint clip clop of hooves.
She smoothed down her skirt, buttoned the top of her blouse and slipped her jacket back on. Then she walked into the Hearts Aflame Stationery Store.
“Hi,” she said to the thin, older man wearing a button-up sweater and a Hitler mustache. “Do you do business cards?”
“Could do. Mostly we print wedding stuff. But you can have anything you want.”
She purchased the smallest quantity of business cards the guy would sell her. One hundred. She designed the business cards right on a computer in the store. Not wanting anyone to clue in that she shared a name with the guy currently charged with Forstman’s murder, she typed Toni Plotnik, Private Investigator, and she added her cell phone number. She toyed with adding a cute logo, like a deerstalker cap and a little magnifying glass, but she decided a simple card would look more professional and also be easier to forget about than something eye catching.
She called a cab from the stationery store and headed back to the hotel, deciding to leave her car where it was at the Double Nugget. She’d retrieve it later.
She returned to the hotel, found her mother and daughter sprawled happily in front of the TV watching a movie.
“How’d you make out?” Linda asked her.
For a second she wondered how on earth her mother had divined that she’d been snooping then she realized she was referring to the makeover. How long ago that seemed now. And damn, her makeup case was still in the dressing room. She’d have to remember to retrieve it.
“The makeover was fabulous. She bought everything I put on her face. Everything!”
“Hah!” Her mother was so delighted she jumped up and high-fived her daughter.
Tiffany said, “If my husband just got killed, I wouldn’t rush out and buy a bunch of makeup. That is so cold.”
She was glad she hadn’t mentioned Eric, the Viking god. She smiled at her daughter. “We all grieve in different ways, honey. Sitting around crying all day won’t bring her husband back.”
In fact, Toni had tried that with Dwayne, who wasn’t even dead, and it certainly hadn’t brought him back.
“But I understand what you’re saying.” She stretched her arms over her head. “I’m going to have a bath and then how about we go out for dinner? I missed lunch and I’m starving.” After they’d both agreed, she said, “Oh, and I booked a couple of tickets to Cirque du Soleil. As good as the Double Nugget’s show is, it would be nice for you two to see some of the other Vegas offerings.”
“Two of us? Aren’t you coming?” her daughter wanted to know.
“I have to work tonight. But I’ll meet you after the show and maybe you and me can get pizza or something while we let grandma hit the slot machines. What do you think?”
Linda shuddered. “I am never going near a casino again.”
“You gotta get back on the horse that threw you, Mom.”
Linda was pretty easy to convince. “But this time I’ll use my own money.”
Toni used one of the French mud relaxation masks, grabbed a large glass of water and retreated to the tub. She’d always found that a hot bath was not only relaxing but also a good place to think.
While the facial mask rejuvenated her complexion, and the water rehydrated her, she lay back in the tub and let the facts she knew, the impressions she’d gained, roll around like the little balls on the roulette tables.
She felt as though her results were as random.
One thing she was certain of, though. That elevator was the missing piece of the puzzle.
She got out of the bath with renewed determination. She redid her makeup, going with a light evening look. Then she did her hair in a co
mpletely different style using some of her mother’s clip-in hair extensions. She wore black slacks, a black stretchy top, with just a little glitter woven through the fabric, and heels. She looked as different from the woman who had entered Forstman’s office as it was possible for her to look.
The Cirque du Soleil show was in one of the big hotels near theirs, so she was able to walk her mom and daughter over without anyone noticing she didn’t have her car. They found an Italian restaurant and pigged out on pasta and bread and salad. Then she walked the other two women to the entrance to the Cirque Theater and left them in the store browsing everything from CDs to Christmas ornaments. They promised to meet up after the show, and she was happy to see that her daughter was looking brighter and happier. Also, without any discussion, they seemed to assume Tiffany would be spending the night with them in the hotel.
Tiffany was learning the hard way that her father was a charmer, but not someone you could count on.
Before grabbing a cab back to the Double Nugget, she found a relatively quiet spot in a marble alcove near a bar that hadn’t opened yet and called Luke.
“Marciano.” It wasn’t even a bark, more a half-assed growl, so she knew Luke was tired. It was early evening on a weekday when she wasn’t in town, so she suspected he’d hit the gym on his way home, probably picked up something easy for dinner.
She didn’t waste time. “How do I get to see footage from the security cameras at the Double Nugget?”
“The police already have the footage, Toni. That’s how they caught your ex-husband coming out of Grant Forstman’s office around the time of the murder.”
“Well, guess what? There’s a secret elevator to his office.”
She heard the sound of a beer can opening. “A secret elevator?” He did not sound convinced.
“Yep. I don’t think the police here even know about it. They arrested Dwayne faster ‘n spit dries in the desert. Nobody ever did a proper investigation.”
“Your Texas country accent is getting stronger. You must be pissed.”
“I am.” She tried to modulate her voice. Shorten the vowel sounds. “I do not love Dwayne Diamond even a little bit, but I don’t want to see an innocent man punished. No, that’s not right. I don’t want to see a cheat, a liar and a thief punished for murder. He should be punished for those other things, though.” Fair was fair. “Luke, they have the death penalty in Nevada. He was supposed to get a defense investigator but the guy’s tied up for a month.”
“Okay, let’s back up a sec here. Are you absolutely positive that there is a second entrance to that office?” In spite of himself he was sounding interested. And who could blame him? It was pretty damn fine investigating on her part.
“I rode the elevator myself. I got into it in Grant Forstman’s office and I rode it down to the lobby. It’s tucked out of sight of the main bank of elevators but it’s there all right. It’s the same elevator that goes to his apartment upstairs. There are only two stops. And there’s a security camera outside the elevator. I want to see that footage.”
There was a metallic thud on the other end of the line that sounded like a metal beer can being banged down on a surface. She held the phone away from her ear.
“What the hell were you doing in Grant Forstman’s office?” he exploded. “That is a crime scene and you could end up being arrested as an accessory to murder faster ‘n spit dries in the desert.”
“I had to do something,” she argued, but that sounded kind of lame. In truth, she’d been so caught up in proving the existence of that secret ride that she hadn’t thought through the possible consequences.
Not that that would have stopped her, obviously, but she might have been more circumspect about telling Luke how she knew about the elevator.
“You are pushy and put your nose where it has no business,” he ranted.
“Well, somebody has to find the real killer.”
“There’s a process to police work, Toni. There’s logic and steps—”
“Can’t you even give me a little credit for figuring this out? I’m a private investigator. I’m investigating privately.”
She heard him swallow some of his beer. Then after a moment, he said, “First, in Nevada a private investigator needs a license. If you’re caught acting like a PI without one you could get slapped with a misdemeanor, probation, even jail time.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Shoot. She was going to have to be a lot more careful.
“Second, you are the chief suspect’s ex-wife.” She could hear his frustration. “I wish you were here right now. I’d know you were safe. I could keep an eye on your crazy ass. We’d eat Thai and I’d take you in the bedroom and give you something better to occupy your time than getting involved in a police investigation where you could get yourself into serious trouble.”
Okay, he was no sweet talker, but she knew he was telling her he worried about her. “So that’s what you’re having. Thai. And you went to the gym after work, right?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. Knew his hair would be damp and he’d be freshly shaved. He always used the steam room and shaved after his gym workout. Well, maybe he didn’t bother shaving if he wasn’t going to be seeing her. How would she know? “I wish I was there, too.”
“I can pass on your finding to the cops down there.”
She knew a little bit about how the policing system worked. Enough to say, “And you can bet your sweet ass they won’t let me see the footage.” Which seemed completely unfair since she’d discovered the elevator.
“Probably not.”
She didn’t tell Luke about the hundred business cards in her purse. She should have put something else on the cards. Background Researcher, maybe. Something that wouldn’t get her slapped in jail along with her ex-husband. Well, she didn’t have time to worry about that now. Her plan was to try to sweet talk somebody in security into letting her view the tapes, but after Luke’s last outburst she decided to keep that part of her plan to herself.
She felt in her bones that this was the breakthrough they needed. “The existence of that elevator fits in with Dwayne saying he heard Grant pick up his phone and say, ‘Hey, honey.’ He was letting some woman up in the elevator.”
“Some woman who planned to shoot him?”
“Okay, it’s not a perfect theory. I’m still working on it.”
Based on her conversation with Luke she wasn’t going to get to that surveillance footage through official channels. It was great that Luke was going to suggest to the LVPD that they check out the cameras near that private elevator, but she was the one who’d made the breakthrough. She should be the one to see the footage.
Besides, she was pretty damned curious about who had killed Grant Forstman. The mistress? The wife? Some as yet unidentified person he called babe?
She hoped she’d know very soon.
The cab dropped her off and she headed into the Double Nugget.
Having experienced the Wentworth Casino security, the Double Nugget’s setup fell a little short of her expectations.
She was hoping that both Myrna and Milo would have gone home for the day. She wasn’t so sure about Milo but then he had never seen her. Of course, she’d been so busy checking for surveillance cameras when she left that elevator that she’d stared right into the cameras. Had he viewed that footage? Hopefully, she’d changed her appearance enough that he wouldn’t recognize her even if he had seen her on camera. And she’d definitely be trying to stay out of his way.
The security department was not as high tech as the Wentworth. Also, with the owner dead, she sensed that things in general were a little lax. She knew from Brent that there was a general manager as well as plenty of middle managers, but somehow without Grand Forstman’s looming presence she felt that maybe things were a little looser. She hoped so.
She walked through the casino and picked out the security people. She deliberately chose a young guy who was so hopelessly in love with a blackjack dealer that he was pr
actically leaving drool marks on her white blouse.
“Excuse me,” she said to him.
“Yeah?” He was so not interested in helping her. Perfect.
“I need to find the surveillance room.”
“The what?”
Damn. She had no idea what it was called. “The place where they store the footage from the security cameras.”
He might be obsessed with a girl but he wasn’t completely stupid. He narrowed his eyes, looked her up and down. “What do you want security footage for?”
She drew out one of her new cards and showed it to him. “I’m here on behalf of a client.”
As she’d hoped, he stared at the card but didn’t take it. Phew.
She sweet talked her way into a room where banks of TVs showed various hallways and portions of the lobbies.
The man in charge of this wealth of footage seemed delighted to have company. He barely glanced at her business card and once more, she slipped it back into her bag. “Sure. Come in. Make yourself at home.” He was a chubby man in his early forties. Balding and bored. “I’m Buddy Olafson.”
“Toni Plotnik.” She shook his hand. Like him, it was chubby, a little soft.
She explained what she was looking for. “The footage from the evening of May tenth from the cameras outside Mr. Forstman’s private elevator.”
“You came to the right place. As you can see, I don’t do the casino surveillance; that’s a whole nother division. I keep an eye on the hotel and the lobbies.” He sounded almost defensive that he got the boring part of the job.
“I’m sure a lot goes on,” she said, trying to cheer him up.
He chuckled. “You got that right.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen people have fights, break up, get engaged, puke, and the number of people who have sex in public places, well—” He shook his head.
“I can’t imagine.” Having sex in the lobby of the Double Nugget? She seriously couldn’t imagine that even Eric the gorgeous Viking could tempt her. Okay, for Eric the gorgeous, she might make an exception.
Buddy cracked his knuckles. “May the tenth? That’s the night Mr. Forstman died.”