by AR Winters
Reality Check in Las Vegas
By
A. R. Winters
Reality Check in Las Vegas
Copyright 2016 by A. R. Winters
www.arwinters.com
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Reality Check in Las Vegas: A Tiffany Black Mystery
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When Tiffany’s friend Stone decides that he needs to disappear, Tiffany tries to track him down.
In her attempt to find Stone, Tiffany runs into self-proclaimed diva Lana Fierst, who also happens to be a judge on a popular reality TV show. Lana claims her life is in danger – and when Tiffany and her friend Ian agree to help her out, they soon find their lives endangered, too.
Meanwhile, Karma’s grandchildren drop by for a visit, and Tiffany decides to throw caution to the wind and learn to bake her own cupcakes.
Will Tiffany find Stone, and whoever is trying to kill Lana, before it’s too late?
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Table of Contents
Reality Check in Las Vegas
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter One
I watched the shadowy outline of Stone’s car speed off into the darkness. I wanted to run after him, tell him to wait—but my feet were superglued to the spot.
Once he was gone, I became aware of the darkness, of the uneasiness that fills a space devoid of people, and devoid of working streetlights. This alley behind the Cosmo Hotel was a brisk walk away from the Strip, but the bright lights and excitement of the casinos seemed worlds away.
This dark alley used to hold fond memories for me: this was where I’d first met Jack Weber. But Jack and I had recently broken up. And a few days ago, a cold-blooded murderer had tried to kill me, a few feet away from where I stood.
I hunched my shoulders, wrapped the folds of my waterfall cardigan around me, and speed-walked back to my warm, familiar apartment. I kept my ears pricked for footsteps behind me, and I peered into every dark corner and doorway, wondering if I was being watched. Thankfully, no eyes peered back at me, nor did I see the two “CIA” agents I’d spoken to earlier, anywhere on my trek back home.
I called Jack as soon as I was home. If he was behind all this, I wanted to know. My frantic phone call went straight to his voice mail.
“Jack,” I said, annoyed that he hadn’t answered my call. “Two men turned up at my door and said they were from the CIA. What’s happening? They said you told them something about Stone, and now they’re looking for him. Call me.”
I hung up the phone and opened the fridge door absentmindedly. Emptiness stared back at me, but I could see the apparitions of Cupcakes Past lining the shelves.
I could really do with a chocolate cupcake. Maybe a nice red velvet one. Or even a carrot-walnut. It was too bad my friend and expert cupcake baker Glenn was asleep. Nor did I have the energy to dash over to Jerry’s Diner and order myself some dessert from their menu. I found myself a bar of chocolate and satisfied my craving with that instead.
When I finally drifted off to sleep, I had strange visions of Stone and myself running after a giant vanilla cupcake that crumbled as soon as we reached it.
Chapter Two
Jerry’s Diner is an institution among Vegas locals. It’s a few minutes’ walk away from the Strip, and its faded single-story pink exterior is a striking contrast to the glitzy high-rise casinos. Tourists only ever wander into this diner by mistake, and if they do, they quickly walk out again, in search of a better, more Vegas-y experience. Which is yet another reason why the locals, mostly employees who work along the Strip, love hanging out at this place.
Jerry’s serves some of the best waffles in town. Recently, it’s changed hands, and I’d met one of the new owners when I was investigating a murder a few weeks ago.
Jerry’s also serves cakes and mousse and puddings, and today, I was in the mood for a great big slice of Black Forest cake—the rich dark chocolate and the cherry filling were exactly what I needed.
It was early afternoon, and Jack had agreed to meet me here to talk about Stone. I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing him; we hadn’t met since we’d broken up almost a week ago.
That is, I wasn’t sure how I felt until I saw him step out of the black town car.
I stood on the edge of Jerry’s parking lot and froze. It was a midsized lot, but Jack hadn’t noticed me. Though he was quite a few yards away, I could sense Jack’s magnetic charm from where I stood. He looked as tall, broad-shouldered and handsome as ever, and I could almost smell a whiff of his oceanic cologne. An unexpected sucker punch of longing hit me in the gut: I missed him.
And then, bare, long legs emerged from Jack’s town car, followed by a slim, pretty brunette. Jack turned to face her and smiled. My eyes narrowed, my face flushed with anger. I refused to think that I might be jealous; I just couldn’t believe Jack had moved on so quickly.
The brunette wrapped her arms around him in an annoyingly clingy way and said something that was probably ditzy yet appealing. I know her! I thought, and flashed back to a two-year-old episode of Housemates in LA that my neighbor Ian had made me watch a few nights ago, during one of his all-night reality TV binges. The brunette had been one of the contestants on that show, and she’d probably gone on to have a minor career in the entertainment biz. I couldn’t really be surprised that Jack had gone back to dating his usual starlets.
Jack leaned down to kiss her, and instantly, I crouched down next to a car, trying to hide. I didn’t want him to think that I was spying on him, so I half-crawled around to the other side of the car. Given my embarrassing posture, it was kind of a relief that Jack was too busy to notice me. I was just about to relax, when I saw a pair of brown boots in front of me.
“What’re you doing?” said a male voice.
I could feel the heat on the back of my neck, and I trailed my eyes up slowly. The owner of the voice wore faded jeans, and a dark green t-shirt that covered a broad chest and strong-looking biceps. I was worried that I’d run into a thug or stoner, but when I looked up into his eyes, I was relieved. His eyes looked kind, and he didn’t seem drunk or stoned.
In fact, I thought absentmindedly, he looked rather attractive. Wavy, tousled brown hair, and piercing gray eyes that stood out against his tan,
olive skin. He was about five feet ten, and he was looking down at me, concerned.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine.”
“Then why’re you down there?”
“Umm.” I glanced towards Jack. He was still lip-locked with the brunette, and I seemed to be pretty well hidden. “I lost my locket.”
The man eyed me skeptically. “What’d it look like?”
I frowned, trying to think up something. “A tiny golden cupcake.”
“Okay. I’ll help you look for it.” He moved to the other side of the car.
“No!” I hissed. The man looked at me, surprised, and I snuck a peek in Jack’s direction. I was still undetected—the pair looked like they were saying goodbye. “Don’t go there.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” I tried to keep my voice low and wound up speaking in a stage whisper. It was a medium-sized parking lot, but Jack knew my voice. “It’s over here.”
“But you were standing over there,” the man said loudly.
“No, I wasn’t,” I stage-whispered.
“You just were!”
“Shh!” I stage-whispered. “Don’t yell!”
“I’m not yelling,” he said, just as loudly as ever. “Why’re you talking funny?”
“I’m not talking funny, you are.”
“Fine,” he stage-whispered back, finally lowering his voice. “I’ll whisper if you insist.”
“Great! Now come over to this side.” The man headed over, and I sighed with relief. I craned my neck so that I could see past him. The brunette was getting back into the car.
“Who’s that?” said the man. His voice was back to normal again.
I met his eyes, and looked away immediately. “Oh, here it is,” I said softly. “Found the locket.”
“What’s going on?” said a familiar voice.
My heart sank. How did Jack get over here so quickly?
“She lost a locket,” said the man helpfully.
“Yep, I did.” I forced a smile and stood up. “But I found it now.”
“Oh.” Jack looked bemused, and glanced from the man to me. Specks of gold glittered in his green eyes, and he looked like he didn’t quite believe me. “As long as you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“So we can go inside now?” Jack said, raising one eyebrow and glancing at his watch. “And have that talk you wanted?”
I nodded. Of course—he was always in a rush.
I glanced at the man who’d tried to help me. “Thanks for your help…”
“No problem at all.” The man stepped closer to me, and slipped his arm around my waist. “Sweetheart.”
I looked up at him in surprise. The palm of his hand felt warm against the thin fabric of my t-shirt, and suddenly, I wished I’d worn something a bit more attractive.
He leaned down, and his lips grazed my ear. “Ex-boyfriend?” he whispered.
I nodded, surprised.
“It was nice meeting you,” the man said to Jack. He turned to me again. “We’ll talk later.”
He leaned down once again and whispered into my ear, “You owe me.”
For a split second, I thought he’d complete the charade by moving his lips down to mine, but he didn’t. He let go of my waist, nodded at Jack, and walked off.
“Who was that?” Jack said.
I caught a hint of surprise in his eyes, and I gloated silently. Jack wasn’t the only one with a hot date. I, too, had a sexy new man. Well, technically, I didn’t have a sexy new man, but… I could. If I wanted to. Maybe.
“It’s not important,” I said, shaking my head and trying to forget about the helpful stranger. “We need to talk about Stone.”
Chapter Three
I was still in a bit of a daze as Jack and I crossed over to the booth at the back of Jerry’s Diner. Jerry’s was half-empty at this hour; it would get busier in the evening, when more shifts were starting up at the Strip casinos. Other than the lack of patrons, Jerry’s looked the same as it always did—spotless white-tiled floors, red booths, and shiny plastic tables.
I was still thinking about the man in the parking lot as Jack and I sat down. I wondered if I’d ever see him again; he didn’t seem to have wandered into Jerry’s by mistake, which must mean that he was a local.
“So you’re finally seeing the truth about Stone,” said Jack as a waitress came by to take our orders.
I ignored his question for a few minutes as I asked for a slice of blueberry cheesecake—I’d changed my mind about the Black Forest. “No, hang on,” I said to the waitress. “I’ve changed my mind again. Tiramisu.” All the desserts at Jerry’s were so delicious! “And a cappuccino, please.”
Jack ordered an Americano, and nothing to eat.
Once the waitress had left, I leaned back in my seat, looked at Jack coldly, and said, “Why’re you trying to get Stone into trouble?”
He shook his head. “It’s not like that. I can’t be bothered to get Stone into trouble.”
“Oh?” I thought back to those two men who’d turned up at my door, claiming Jack had told them about Stone. They’d shown me CIA badges, but their suits had looked cheap, and their eyes not particularly intelligent. “Then why did you set those two thugs onto him?”
“They weren’t thugs, they really were from the CIA. They told me you weren’t very helpful.”
I snorted. “So you did try to get Stone into trouble.”
Jack’s voice softened. “I was just trying to protect you.”
“How?”
He looked at me thoughtfully, and we fell silent as our orders arrived. I dug into my tiramisu ravenously. Sure, I was worried about Stone, but if I wanted to help him, I’d need my energy.
After the waitress left, Jack said, “I knew you were spending a lot of time with him, and he wanted you to work on something big. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting into anything shady.”
I glared at him. “Stone would never ask me to do something shady.”
“Of course you’d say that. You’re too trusting.”
“He saved my life. I’ve got reason to trust him.”
“That’s no reason to get into trouble for him.”
I didn’t agree. But this was a pointless argument, so I said, “What did you do? To make sure he wasn’t getting me into something shady?”
“I hired a photographer to take some photos so I could check up on him.” Jack’s green eyes clouded over with frostiness. “Some of the photos were taken when Stone went up to your apartment. Right after our date in Paris.”
“You hired someone to follow me?”
“No, not you. Stone. You just happened to be with him. And you didn’t feel like sharing that with me.”
My face flushed red. I knew that Jack had loved me, but that was no reason for him to suddenly get all illogical. “It’s not what you think. Stone came upstairs to chat. That’s all.” I shook my head angrily. “Why am I explaining myself? You’re the one who’s dating some bimbo days after we broke up.”
“I’m not dating anyone.”
“It sure looked like you were.”
I hated to sound so jealous. Perhaps I was the illogical one; clearly my feelings were preventing me from acting like the bigger person.
Jack said, “What do you mean, ‘looked like’? When?”
“Uh…”
Jack’s eyes widened with realization. “You saw us in the parking lot. When you were with—whatshisname. Your new guy.”
Our eyes locked. I didn’t want to admit that the sexy parking lot man was someone I’d just run into; it was bad enough that Jack knew I’d seen him kissing his latest starlet. A white lie was perfectly acceptable if you needed to convince your ex that you weren’t a complete loser.
I shrugged. “He wanted to walk me over. What about”—I suddenly recalled the name—“Adrienne? You’re back to cycling through the Hollywood Z-list,” I added unkindly.
Jack smile was t
hin, and his eyes impassive. “I’m not cycling through anything. I met Adrienne when I was drunk, at some bar, and now I can’t get rid of her.”
“You don’t seem to be trying very hard,” I said drily.
Jack laughed, and the specks of gold danced in his eyes. “I miss you,” he said softly.
I stiffened, unwilling to forgive him for getting Stone into trouble. “What did you do with the photos?”
Jack watched me carefully. “You’re not—you’re really sure you want to end what we had?”
My tiramisu was half-finished. I put down my fork, crossed my arms, and stared at him icily. “You get my friend into trouble, you make out with some starlet in front of me, and you think I might be interested in dating you again?”
Jack looked away. “I didn’t want to get Stone into trouble, Tiff. I took the photos up to D.C., where I met a guy I knew. He works in the Pentagon, and he took the photos and ran them through a database. It turns out there is no Jonathon Stone.”
I tried to ignore the chill that ran down my spine. “What do you mean, no Jonathon Stone?”
Jack shook his head. “He’s a ghost. Jonathon Stone was a four-year-old boy killed fifty years ago in a car accident.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Then how…who…maybe he didn’t die.” Stone was in his late thirties. How could he have been in an accident fifty years ago? I stared blankly at Jack.
Jack shook his head. “The boy did die. But his Social Security number didn’t.”
“What—why—”
“Stone—the man you called Stone—stole a dead boy’s Social Security number.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yes, it does. When my contact ran the name Jonathon Stone, all these details came up. The boy died, but his number’s still in use.”
“Why would…”
My voice trailed off. When I’d been preparing for my private investigator’s license, I’d read about Social Security fraud. Fraudsters find unused Social Security numbers—usually belonging to someone who died, but whose death wasn’t noted in the system—and use those numbers for whatever nefarious purpose.