by AR Winters
I headed back down to Calvin’s office. The receptionist waved me through, saying he was expecting me, but when I walked into the room, I was a bit surprised to see that he was no longer alone. There was a well-preserved lady sitting in the chair opposite him, her eyes wide with indignation. “This is ridiculous, honey,” she was saying. Her words had a hint of a Southern accent, and she flailed her arms about like she was trying to swim through the cold air.
Calvin was watching her politely, but I could sense his impatience. I took a closer look at the lady before saying anything to him. There were large diamond studs in her ears, so large that they looked fake. Her hair was fluffed up high and was dyed a dark brown, streaked with lighter shades of auburn. Her makeup was flawless; her lips and forehead were clearly Botoxed, and her chest seemed artificially inflated.
She wore an expensive-looking sky-blue dress that highlighted her perfect figure. I’d initially thought she might be in her forties, but now that I’d noticed all the work she’d had done, I guessed she might be anywhere between fifty to seventy years old.
“You’ll have to excuse me for a minute,” Calvin said to the lady, and turned to me with a smile. I thought I saw a hint of relief in his eyes. This lady must be an extremely wealthy gambler, I decided, or some kind of influential casino board member, to be able to just walk into his office and annoy him. “Did you find anything?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. And I’ve thought of something else. The two men”—I glanced warily at the Botoxed lady—“our friends. Maybe they made up the whole thing about flying off. Maybe they’re still in Vegas.”
Calvin shook his head. “No, I called my contact at McCarran. They definitely flew off a few hours ago. Flight heading to Florida, like they said.”
“They might return.”
“Of course. That possibility’s always there.”
The Botoxed lady had been following our conversation silently till now, and she said, “What’s all this about?”
Calvin sighed, as though she had been trying his patience for quite some while. “Tiffany here is a private investigator—”
“Excellent!” the lady said, not waiting to hear the rest. “That’s absolutely what I need!”
Calvin and I shared a wary glance, and then his lips twisted in a facial shrug. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? Lana, why don’t you take Tiffany downstairs to the studios and have a chat with her. She can help. Tiffany’s one of the best PIs in this town.”
I really wasn’t one of the best PIs in town, far from it. I’d done a few cases, and most of my ex-clients were very happy with my work, but that’s about it. I smiled gratefully at Calvin. In reality, he probably wasn’t trying to be kind to me. He was probably just trying to get rid of Lana.
Lana grabbed my arm, her fingers strong and decisive, decorated with shiny rings. “We’re heading right along,” she drawled, her Southern accent getting accidentally stronger. “I love you, Calvin. You’re as delicious as pecan pie, but right now I need someone to save my life, and you’ve been pretty worthless at that.”
She blew the bemused-looking Cal a kiss and dragged me out with her, not giving me a chance to respond.
Before I had the opportunity to give Calvin back the key pass, Lana had dragged me halfway to the elevator, her fingers a vise grip around my upper arm.
Chapter Nine
“You’ve got to help me!” Lana declared loudly as she continued to drag me out of the Riverbelle corporate offices. A few of the staff looked at us, amused, and we made it to the elevator. “It’s a matter of life and death! I knew I’d meet someone today who could help me. Even though the worthless cops are absolutely that—just so useless. What they’re doing with my tax money, I’d like to know! Probably just spending it all on donuts and bad coffee.”
“Well, Vegas cops are pretty short-staffed—” I began, faltering slightly. Most of the LVMPD people I know are pretty good, even though there are a few rotten, corrupt tomatoes among them.
Lana released my arm finally, now that we were in the elevator and there was nowhere else for me to run. Up close, she was short and strong, seemingly made entirely of muscle and energy. And expensive perfume, of course, that wafted over and drowned out all other scents in the elevator.
“Not just the Vegas cops,” Lana said, waving her arms energetically, her eyes fiery with emotion. “My life’s at stake! And nobody cares! Although…” Her eyes softened slightly, and she looked bemused for a second. “Vegas does have the best-looking cops I’ve met.”
I shuddered involuntarily, and my lips twisted in horror. “Really?” Thinking of Vegas cops brought up the image of Detective Elwood: the chubby, balding, perpetually scowling man I kept running into during my investigations. “‘Good-looking’? I’d use a different term.”
“Delicious? Smoking?” She was clearly thinking of someone else. “That Detective Dimitriou is one fine piece. He said he’d do what he could—which I know is putz-all.” Her eyes grew angry again, and we stepped out of the elevator. “Where to?” She looked at me, questioning.
“Calvin had said something about studios?”
Lana shook her head. “No, no. Too many folks in there, and maybe my killer’s one of them.”
“Your killer?” Lana looked fairly alive to me.
Lana half-sighed, half-groaned. A tourist couple, wearing loud shirts and khaki shorts, stared at us as they went by. “And not here, either,” said Lana. “Somewhere private.”
“How about the Café de la Rue?” I suggested. It was a hidden café toward the end of the casino, darkly lit and well stocked with all kinds of chocolatey pastries.
“Lead the way, darling.”
I did, and she followed me till we were in the café, seated at one of the small tables in the back.
“This is perfect,” said Lana.
I noticed a couple of people at the other tables turning around to look at us. Lana was certainly striking, in her blue dress and big hair, but I didn’t think we warranted that much attention—at least, not in a town where every other person seemed to be dressed in Superman outfits with a python slung around their neck.
“I’ll have a sparkling water, darling,” Lana told the waitress who’d materialized as soon as we’d sat down.
“Of course,” said the blonde serving us. “I’m a huge fan of yours!”
Lana just nodded, and I frowned. Fan of what? I decided to ignore the comment for now and asked for a red velvet cupcake and a cappuccino.
When the waitress left, I was about to ask for an explanation regarding the “fan” comment, but Lana began talking before I could.
“It’s been so horrible, darling.” She flipped her hair back and struck a dramatic pose. “It’s terrible, living in fear for your life, never knowing when he might strike again.”
“Who?”
“My killer, of course.”
I nodded, as though that made sense. Now that we were away from Cal and I no longer needed to give him back the key card, I wondered if listening to Lana was anything more than a waste of time. I could see why Cal had looked so frustrated around her.
On the other hand, Lana’s expensive dress, hairdo, Botoxing and bling all indicated that she would be the kind of client who paid well. Very well.
I took a deep breath and said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning? Who’s this killer?”
“I don’t know,” Lana wailed loudly. A couple of people at the other tables turned to look at her, and someone took a discreet snap on their cell phone. “This is my life, right? It’s such a mess! I can’t handle it anymore. And I just fired my assistant, so now I’m completely lost! It’s been five days, and she hasn’t come groveling back, so I reckon I’ve lost her. Which sucks.”
“Uh-huh.” I looked at her warily, unsure again if she was the kind of person I wanted to be working for. But then my red velvet cupcake and my cappuccino arrived, and the world looked a bit brighter again. I took a small bite of the cupcake, savoring the smoot
h, happy taste. “Why did you fire your assistant?”
“I was in a bad mood, okay? I always need a coffee waiting for me first thing in the morning, black, no sugar, of course. And she didn’t have one! I told her she could even get me a cup of instant which I could drink while she dashed over to the Starbucks, but she said something about not getting paid enough. And then I asked her if she wanted a raise, and she told me she’s met some guy here and she doesn’t have to work for me anymore.” Lana sank her head into her hands.
I actually felt sorry for her. She clearly didn’t have enough cupcakes in her life.
I reached out and patted her arm gently. “There, there. It sounds like you’re better off without her, anyway. Why don’t you have a cupcake? You can have a bit of mine, if you’d like.”
I pushed my plate forward, half-dreading the disappearance of my treat.
Lana raised her head, stared at my cake, and shook her head miserably. “I’ve got a weight contract. No point risking that.”
My stomach flip-flopped, and I stared down at the cupcake. Given the Treasury Casino’s ridiculous new weight rules, I’d need to lose dozens of pounds. Fast. The reality was, I shouldn’t be eating cupcakes either.
On the other hand, if I didn’t have my sweet treats, I’d turn into someone as miserable and over the top as Lana. So I bit into the cupcake again.
Life was about choices. And I chose to eat my cupcakes.
“So tell me about this killer,” I said. “You’ll survive without your assistant, but you won’t survive a killer.”
“No,” said Lana sadly. “I won’t.”
“Who’s your killer?”
The phrase sounded wrong, but that’s how Lana thought of this person.
Lana shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is, someone’s trying to kill me.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I’m not stupid!” I nodded quickly, agreeing with her. “Anyway. It started when I was in New York. I was crossing the street, and this black town car jumped the curb to hit me.”
“Did you see who was driving?”
Lana shook her head no. “It was all black tinted windows. And a big shiny car, like it belonged to someone real important. But everyone rents cars out there. So it could be any random person.”
I nodded. “But it could also have been an accident. Did you get hit?”
“No, I pulled back just in time. And sure, that one time coulda been an accident. But there were more. After that we went to—let’s see… Texas. A chandelier fell off the ceiling where I was working and almost hit me. In Arizona, a snake got into my room and coulda killed me. In Florida, I found a gator in my hotel bedroom.”
I burst out laughing, and Lana looked at me in shock. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I can’t help imagining a fat gator sitting on your bed.”
“Hmmph. I suppose it coulda been funny.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I wonder if you can Botox a gator. Give it a youthful glow.”
“You could do teeth whitening too; don’t gators have bad teeth?”
“Big ones, at least,” said Lana. She smiled wryly. “And there was a note next to it: ‘Leave the show, whore.’”
I frowned. “Do you have the note with you?”
Lana shook her head. “I gave it to the Florida cops and never got it back. But here’s a photo.” She slid her smartphone over to me, and I stared at the photo. The note was typewritten, on letter-size paper. “They didn’t find any prints,” said Lana. “And they weren’t sure it was related to the gator.”
I looked at her carefully. “What does this mean, ‘Leave the show’? What show?”
Lana smiled enigmatically. “I knew when I met you. You’ve got no clue. That’s why I like you, you don’t prejudge.”
“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t sure that ‘not having a clue’ was a compliment. “But what do you do? Other than traveling a lot.”
“Travel’s part of the job, honey. You ever hear of Comedy Duos?”
“Maybe.” The name sounded vaguely familiar. Ian had been on a reality show kick lately, which was how I knew about Adrienne.
“Well, this is Singing Duos.”
“Original name.”
“And original concept,” Lana said proudly. “Oh, you were being sarcastic. Well, nobody’s done couples singing before. We might extend to groups someday. Anyway, it’s—hey, the public doesn’t like to think. You’ve got the name—couples singing together. Then you’ve got the contestants. And judges. That’s me.”
Lana beamed proudly, and I nodded. “That’s why everyone stares when you walk by.”
“Honey,” she drawled, “everyone stares because I’m so fabulous.” She pushed her hair back, pulled out a tiny mirror, and checked her lipstick. When she was satisfied that sipping her carbonated water hadn’t ruined her perfect pout, she said, “Where were we? Right, how fabulous I am. I’m the judge.”
“So you’re the only person who decides who’s a good singer?”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “Not the judge like that. The judge. You know, the one who makes the show. I’m the diva.”
I didn’t have to ask for an explanation for that. But Lana went on anyway.
“I throw the tantrums. I break down in tears because someone’s singing was so fabulous, and then the next day, I throw my empty water bottle at them because they sang like crap and broke my heart. You know.”
I nodded. Ian had been making me watch a reality TV show about cooking, which made me realize how much drama could be created by making people try to cook something.
“So you’re the diva,” I repeated. “And that’s why many people hate you.”
“Yes, yes. Drama sells. Over the top sells. Fabulous sells.”
“But now it might get you killed.”
Lana peered at me closely, then leaned back, satisfied. “Excellent. You believe me, then.”
Her words made me doubt myself. “So it’s really a publicity stunt?”
Lana laughed bitterly. “That’s what my producer said, before shooting me down and saying that’s a stupid idea. And that’s what the cops said at first, that I was imagining things. But no, it’s not a stunt. It’s real. This is my life, right?” She began waving her arms again. “Everything else, all the other stuff—that’s a stunt. But not this. This is real.”
I nodded, suddenly worried by her energy. “It’s okay, Lana, I believe you.”
She calmed down almost immediately. I’d dealt with Hollywood types during one of my previous cases, and I’ve never quite understood that world. But I know this much: it doesn’t seem nice.
Lana said, “So you’ll work for me?” She looked at me hopefully. “You’ll find out who’s trying to kill me?”
I looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ll need some time. I can’t decide immediately.”
“Of course, of course.” Lana waved her fingers in the air, signaling for the check, which arrived within seconds. She threw some cash down on it and stood up, smoothing out her dress. “Come on, honey. I’ll walk you out.”
I started to protest. I knew the Riverbelle quite well, and I was a Vegas local.
But Lana winked suggestively. “We’ll take the scenic route.”
Bemused, I began to follow her. I supposed she’d found someplace where all the handsome men congregated. Maybe a bar offering free whiskey? But no, it turned out that she just wanted to walk past all the boutiques, meant to entice the high rollers to part with their money.
“Don’t you just love seeing all these pretty things?” Lana asked me as we gazed at a diamond-studded Cartier watch that cost more than three times what I earned in one year.
“Not really,” I said honestly. “Not when I can’t afford any of it.”
Lana sighed. “You need to think positive, honey.”
We walked on towards the next shop, which displayed the most gorgeous dresses. There was one in the window—blue and yellow watercolor streaks on a white background. Cinched waist, low-cut
neck.
“Now, that would look fabulous on you,” Lana said. “Why insist on wearing that boring t-shirt and shorts?”
I mumbled something about comfort, and besides, where would I wear that gorgeous dress to, even if I could afford it? I work as a dealer at the Treasury, and half the time I’m in uniform.
“Nonsense!” Lana said, “Let’s go try it on.”
“No, I can’t—I’ll be late to my sh—”
But it was too late. She’d dragged me inside, snapped her fingers, and had one of the assistants procure the outfit in my size. And then I found myself drawn to the dress like it was a magnet, and I was in the dressing room, trying it on.
“Fabulous!” Lana said, when I walked out wearing it. “It suits you.”
And I had to admit it did. It made me look sexy and sophisticated, all at once.
“You need to start dressing right,” Lana said. “You can’t just hide your body behind baggy rags all the time. Your boyfriend’s gonna love this.”
I made a face. “I don’t have one.”
“Well! That’ll change soon.” She winked at the shop assistant. “We’ll take it. In fact, she’ll walk out wearing it, just to break it in.”
I began to protest. I could never afford this. How had I even been conned into trying it out? This wasn’t me. I was the girl in baggy shorts and t-shirt, when I was off shift at least.
But before I knew it, Lana’s black Centurion card had been swiped, and she was air-kissing me goodbye.
“Gotta rush back, honey,” she said. “Meeting with the producer. I’ll see you soon.” I looked at her doubtfully as she handed me one of her business cards. “Call me when you decide. And if you don’t want to work for me—that’s fine, hon. You’ll remember me when you wear this dress.”
I started to thank her and protest and apologize all at once, but she was gone. In a puff of smoke, like a modern-day fairy godmother. Okay, maybe the puff of smoke was just my imagination, but she really was gone.
And once again, I was late to my shift.
Chapter Ten