Reality Check in Las Vegas: A Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Mysteries Book 5)

by AR Winters

  “Okay,” I said, “who’s been with you since New York?”

  Ian gave me a disapproving look and said, “Didn’t you learn anything from the videos we watched last night?”

  I shrugged. “Some. But I was busy with cupcakes.”

  “All the winners from the previous cities stay on tour,” Lana said. “We started the season in New York and then went through all the other cities. There were two winners in each city.”

  “So two winners per city—eight new people on the tour.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And were you particularly mean to any of these singers?”

  Lana tilted her head as she tried to think back. “Well, obviously being mean is my thing. But one duo, I let through. I thought they were great. Actually, two I thought were great. One, I hated both the singers, and me and my co-judge, Gordon, got into a huge fight about it. All staged, of course. Great TV. The other one, I loved one part of the duo but not the other.”

  “And do you remember their names?”

  “Sure. The three people I was mean to were Nicole, Michelle and Tony.”

  I wrote down the names. “And you think one of these people might be trying to—”

  Lana shook her head. “Oh, no, honey. They’ve got nothing to gain from me being dead. Once you’re on the show, the viewers in front of their TVs vote for you to stay or go. I might’ve been mean to them once, but I’ve got nothing to do with their winning or losing.”

  Ian gave me a contemptuous look. “Really, Tiff. You need to understand how these shows work if you’re going to help Lana at all.”

  Lana said, “I agree. You’re not going to learn by just sitting here. Why don’t you two sign up for the trials today and pretend to be contestants? You can meet the other people trying out, and maybe you’ll uncover something that they wouldn’t say to an official investigator.”

  “Will you make us win the round?” Ian said enthusiastically. “We can only chat with the other winners if we win this round. That’s important. And anyway, I’m really good at singing. You’ll be totally impressed.”

  I’d heard Ian sing once. It had taken me a moment to realize that the noise I was hearing was his singing, and not some weird, cacophonous car alarm going off.

  “Okay,” said Lana. “I’ll make sure you win this round, since it’s the only way you can meet the other winners. But you need to withdraw from the competition immediately, so that I can nominate a real winner.”

  Ian was bursting with enthusiasm. “C’mon, Tiff! Let’s go win this thing!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ian rushed off towards the studios, where the trials were happening, and I followed at a pace behind.

  The Singing Duos trials were being held at the MountView Studios on the other side of the Riverbelle. You had to walk through a long corridor, over to the “office” side. Along the way, you passed various MountView offices, where they did screen tests, audience perception tests, and all kinds of fun work. I knew they had offices upstairs too, where they did some technical production work. But the Singing Duos trials were being held at the end of the long passage, in the auditorium.

  When we were about a half-mile away from the auditorium entrance, we found the sign-up desk for the Singing Duos contest. Ian filled out the form for us and paid the three-hundred-dollar entry fee. I made a mental note to claim back the money from Lana.

  We could see the contestants’ line starting a few yards away from where we stood. Large plasma TVs had been mounted on the walls above us, relaying whatever was going on inside. I could see multiple TV crews working their way down the line, interviewing people and trying to capture “candid” moments.

  “What’s the plan here?” I asked Ian.

  We huddled together, trying to stay out of earshot of the candidates.

  “Talk to people, I guess.”

  I shook my head. “No, I mean, how do we win this round?”

  “That’s easy,” said Ian. “I know some really good songs.”

  “And what about me? I can’t sing.” In all fairness, I was worse than Ian. If Ian sounded like a car alarm, I sounded like a car alarm on the fritz.

  “You can just make motions behind me. Do a cappella stuff, like ‘bop bop bop’ and ‘mm mm mm’. They’ll think you’re singing. And we’ll distract everyone with our cool dance moves.”

  Ian made a few robot-like motions and I stared at him skeptically. I don’t drink much, but at that moment, I could’ve done with some liquid courage.

  “What song?” I asked, dreading the moment we’d have to go on stage.

  “How about Poker Face?” said Ian. “By Lady Gaga?”

  I nodded. I’d heard that song. There were lots of bops and mm-hmms in the song.

  Ian said, “You can even pretend to play poker while we sing. And it goes well with the casino theme.”

  I felt a little better. Ian’s plan didn’t sound too bad. “Lalala poker face, lalala poker face,” I mumbled.

  “You can come in during the chorus,” said Ian enthusiastically.

  I nodded. We could do this. Sure, we’d make fools of ourselves on public TV, but we could do this. I just needed to stop thinking about singing and focus on the potential killers. It was time to join the line and scope out what was really going on.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ian and I seemed to be in line for hours. We’d arrived pre-lunch, and it was now definitely post-lunch. I was supposed to start my shift in a few hours, and at this rate, I’d need to bail on my casino shift. We’d been told that auditions would be starting soon—any moment now—any moment now—and we’d been hearing that same line for too long. The judges still weren’t ready, and the natives were getting restless.

  “I’ll bet it’s Lana who’s the holdup,” said the angry-looking girl behind us. She had jet-black hair streaked with purple, and her eyes were narrow and suspicious. “I’ve heard Lana’s a troublemaker.”

  “Really?” said the chubby blond guy standing in front of us. “I read an interview with one of the makeup artists who said that Lana’s really professional offscreen. She said Lana’s tantrums are just an act.”

  His partner, a curly-haired Hispanic guy, scoffed. “You need to stop believing everything you read.”

  A few people around us chimed in. Half of them thought Lana’s meanness was an act, the other half thought she really was a diva.

  “It’s that Carlos who’s actually a problem,” rumbled an obese, pot-bellied man standing behind us. His checked shirt was a size too small for him and had gaping holes between the buttons. “I hear he’s a drug addict.”

  “Exactly.” His partner, a pretty, petite brunette, nodded. “He looks like one, too.”

  Everyone agreed with them, and from what I’d seen on the shows, I tended to believe that rumor.

  “This one paparazzi took a shot of Carlos buying drugs at a bus stop,” chimed someone in front of us.

  “Yeah,” said another voice, whose owner I could barely make out behind us—a tall, lanky man. “I can’t believe he’s still on the show.”

  “Well, at least Gordon makes up for both of them,” said the angry dark-haired girl behind us. Her eyes softened at the mention of his name. “He’s dreamy.”

  A few of the guys scoffed, or murmured noncommittally, and I heard a voice mutter, “Stupid gym rat. He’s an airhead, is all.”

  A debate broke out among the ladies about whether or not he was more attractive than Ryan Seacrest.

  “Speaking of announcers,” said someone, “Jessica is a heck of an announcer. Soo pretty.”

  I knew Jessica: I’d seen her last night, introducing contestants, and then interviewing them after they’d won or lost a round.

  “Too bad she’s leaving the show after this season,” said someone else.

  “At least we get to meet her.”

  “Why’s she leaving?” I interjected, feeling clueless.

  “It just came out in this week’s issue of E!” said the angry-
looking girl behind me. “She’s gotten an offer to be a judge on Dancing Duos, which starts next year.”

  “Dancing Duos is gonna be awesome!” said the obese man behind her. “I can’t wait.”

  “Yeah, and Lana’s not going to rain on anyone’s parade,” joked someone in front.

  “Do you think everyone hates Lana?” Ian asked. “Maybe someone wants to kill her.”

  “Maybe lots of people want to kill her,” joked someone in front of us. “But if she lets me win this round I’ll love her forever.”

  Everyone laughed and agreed with his feelings. The entrants all seemed like a friendly bunch, like they were doing this show mostly for the laughs, and I couldn’t imagine them really hating anyone. Even their annoyance towards Lana was mitigated by a kind of grudging respect and hope.

  If all the entrants felt that way about the judges, I didn’t need to worry about them trying to kill her. I needed to worry about someone else.

  More immediately, I needed to worry about my work at the casino.

  I called the Treasury a half-hour later, coughing and feigning a cold. I asked for the HR manager, Toby. “I’m totally sick,” I said. “You don’t want me infecting anyone.”

  Just at that moment, the show began, and the announcer, Jessica appeared on the plasma TVs that lined the corridor. “We’re about to begin right now,” she said, “And here’s our first duo from Las Vegas.”

  Jessica was replaced by two overweight, acne-prone teenagers who began belting out an opera Aria.

  “What’s that in the background?” Toby asked, from the other end of the line. “You’re not at some kind of show, are you?”

  “No, no,” I said, coughing harder. “That’s my neighbor Ian. He’s listening to opera music and making me some chicken soup.” I coughed some more.

  “You’ve been late three days in a row, and you’ve already called in sick once this week. What’s going on?”

  I tried to buy myself some time by coughing some more. “It must be this cold,” I managed to say. “It’s just not going away.”

  “Okay.” Toby sounded unconvinced. “I’ll mark you down as sick.”

  He was probably also marking me down as flaky and unreliable, but I didn’t have much of a choice. If Lana really was in trouble, I needed to do my best to find out who was causing it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After another two hours of standing around in line, Ian and I were finally called to go perform.

  “This is Ian and Tiffany,” Jessica announced cheerfully for the cameras. “How are you two feeling?”

  She shoved a large microphone in our faces.

  Up close, Jessica was bright and shiny. I pegged her to be in her late thirties. Ian had informed me that she’d had a brief career as a pop star in the nineties, but had never really done much since then. Being an announcer for Singing Duos had been the highlight of her career so far, although being a judge on Dancing Duos would be even better.

  Jessica’s bright blond hair glittered under the lights, and I was pretty sure she got Botoxed on a regular basis. Some people in the line of entrants had muttered about her nose job and her eye job, and I had to agree that her entire face looked pretty plasticky. Still, I supposed. Hollywood.

  “I’m really stoked,” said Ian enthusiastically. “I think we’ll do great!”

  He flashed a thumbs-up sign for the camera, and I smiled weakly.

  The camera focused on Jessica again, and a man standing to one side waved to us to go onto the stage as Jessica began talking.

  The stage was hot, and the lights were blinding. It took me a few seconds to focus, and when my eyes adjusted, I could see Lana whispering furiously to Gordon. Carlos seemed to be half-asleep.

  Their consultation over, Lana turned to us. Her eyes were stony, and she said, “Okay, let’s hear this.”

  I looked at Ian and waited for him to start.

  He stood there, open-mouthed. After a few seconds, he shut his mouth. And then he opened it again. No sound came out, so he closed his mouth again, looking like a large, red-haired goldfish.

  “What’s wrong?” I hissed. We both held microphones in our hands, but only Ian claimed to be able to sing.

  Ian turned to me, his eyes panicked. Once again, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Do you have stage fright?” said a deep voice from the judges’ bench.

  I turned around. Carlos had woken up and was giving us a funny look.

  “Um, no,” I muttered.

  Lana made a “hurry up” hand gesture.

  She couldn’t make us win this round if neither of us sang. So I took a deep breath and said, “We’re going to sing Poker Face.”

  “Well, get going,” snapped Lana, keeping true to her TV persona.

  I took a deep breath. What were the lyrics again? How long would I have to sing for? I must’ve heard the song a million times, but my mind went blank. I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember how the song began.

  “P-p-p poker face, p-p-p poker face,” I sang. I was pretty sure that wasn’t how the song started, but it would have to do. “P-p-p poker face, p-p-p poker face. Lalala lalala laa lala.”

  The judges stared at us. Lana gulped, and Carlos went from half-asleep to completely googly-eyed. Ian stared at me, continuing his goldfish impression by opening and closing his mouth silently.

  “P-p-p poker face, p-p-p poker face.” I could feel the sweat pouring down the sides of my face. Ian had mentioned something about dancing, so in an effort to distract from the singing, I waved my hands above my head. “Do the robot,” I hissed to Ian. But he just stood there, shocked and frozen.

  “Lalala,” I said one last time. I’d run out of lyrics and finished with, “Mmm mm mm. Bop bop.”

  After I finished, there was long, stunned silence. The three judges stared at me in shock, their mouths round ‘o’s.

  Carlos was the first one to find his voice, and said, “That was horrible.” He sounded shocked, rather than disapproving.

  I tried to forget about what I’d done, but I knew this song and dance would come back to haunt me in my dreams.

  Everyone looked at Lana, but she was as speechless as Ian. “Uh,” she said. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, and I could see her trying to figure things out.

  “What do you think?” Gordon prompted her. They must’ve worked out a deal to get Ian and myself through, but I could see the consternation in the glance they shared.

  “It’s raw,” Lana said finally. “Very raw. But we like… rawness.”

  Gordon nodded suddenly and gripped Lana’s forearm. He’d clearly been struck by inspiration. “It’s a unique interpretation of a pop classic,” he said. “A huge risk. We love to see risk-takers.”

  “Absolutely,” said Lana leaning back. “We like the risk you took.” She looked like she almost couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “You two are in.”

  Carlos exploded suddenly. “Are you nuts? Those two are the worst thing I’ve seen in my entire life. And I’m speaking as someone who’s got a lifetime’s worth of amateur horror movies DVR’ed!”

  “It’s final,” Lana said, giving Carlos a chilly stare. “They’re in.”

  “I agree,” said Gordon.

  Carlos looked from Lana to Gordon. “Of course you agree with her,” he said snidely. “What else is new?”

  I saw Lana and Gordon exchange a glance. Gordon said gently, “C’mon, Carlos, we love to see new talent. New ways of doing things.”

  Carlos pouted visibly. “Sure, sure. Do it your way. I’m off to go whizz.”

  He stood up unceremoniously and walked off.

  The director made a “get off the stage” hand gesture, and we did just that. We could see a bespectacled man with a long, hipster beard heading towards Lana and Gordon.

  “I’m Steve,” the director told us. “Go give Jessica an interview. Remember, you’ve signed a confidentiality agreement, so if Lana and Gordon change their minds about you two get
ting through to the next round, you can’t complain.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Will they change their mind?”

  Steve glanced towards them, and we followed his gaze. The bespectacled man was deep in conversation with Lana and Gordon, waving his hands about.

  “I think so,” said Steve. “So enjoy it while it lasts. In fact, don’t bother with Jessica’s interview. Get straight to the other winners, and go chat it up.”

  The camera crew didn’t even bother to follow us as we headed towards the back of the small auditorium. It was clear that everyone assumed that Lana and Gordon had lost their minds temporarily.

  There were eight people sitting at the back of the auditorium—five women and three men, and they were all eyeing us with distrust.

  “That was awful,” said a brown-haired guy in a Crazy Wolf t-shirt.

  “Don’t mind him,” said the brunette sitting next to him. “I mean, it was awful, but, uh…”

  “Not everyone’s got the training.” The voice belonged to a tall, slim blonde sitting a few seats away. She checked her manicure, then looked at us again. “Did you guys make a bet or something?”

  I could feel my face getting red. Ian looked perfectly composed.

  “It was a joke,” he said. “We wanted to see what they’d do. I’m Ian, this is Tiffany.”

  I was thankful for his tiny fib. Someday I’d forgive him for turning into a goldfish on stage.

  I tried to push the memory of our—or rather my—performance out of my mind and focused on trying to remember everyone’s names, as they all introduced themselves.

  “So what do you guys think of Lana?” I said once introductions were done. “Ian and I were lucky she let us through.”

  “She’s not so bad,” said the brown-haired Crazy Wolf t-shirt guy.

  “You’re just saying that because she likes you,” sniped the slim blonde, whose name turned out to be Nicole. “She really ripped into my performance.”

  “Some of you must really hate her,” I joked. “Maybe someone’ll kill her.”

  “You are joking?” Nicole looked at me coldly. She was wearing a pink baby t-shirt, and her eyes were a perfect shade of blue. Contacts, I thought to myself. “If any of the judges die during taping, they invite new entrants and do a sudden-death round. All of us could get kicked out.”