A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 03 - Red Roses in Las Vegas

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A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 03 - Red Roses in Las Vegas Page 6

by A. R. Winters


  So, once we’d covered the rest of the office, Ian and I teamed up again to talk to Sharon.

  “I could get used to this,” I said, more to myself than Ian. “It’s not so bad having you help me out.”

  Ian beamed, and we knocked on Sharon’s door.

  “Come in,” called a voice, and we did.

  The office was tiny – barely enough room for a person to work in. There was a sliver of window behind the desk, a colorful print on one wall, and a desk with two cramped visitors’ chairs on one side, and Sharon’s swivel chair on the other.

  Sharon was a chubby brunette with short, curly hair and warm, chocolate eyes. Her freckled cheeks dimpled when she smiled and said, “You must be Tiffany and Ian. I saw you going around chatting with everyone. Except me, of course. Makes a girl feel a bit left out.”

  I smiled back and said, “We saved you till last.” Ian and I helped ourselves to the two visitors’ chairs. “We heard you were good friends with Adam.”

  She sighed, and the smile left her face. “Yes. I can’t believe what happened. Who would want to kill him? I can’t believe some little old lady went bonkers and shot him, but then again, it’s a crazy world.”

  “Adam didn’t have any enemies? Anyone with a reason to hurt him?”

  I saw tears well up in her eyes, and she blinked them back quickly. I was a little surprised – this was the first time I’d seen anyone show real emotion over the dead guy. So far, everyone had said Adam seemed pretty nice, but nobody had known him well enough to be truly saddened by his death. A thought struck me, and obviously struck Ian at the same time.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Ian said.

  “Ian!” I said sharply. “Be nice.” I turned to her again and smiled apologetically. “I’m so sorry about that.” It seemed like every time I took Ian to an interview with me, I wound up apologizing for him. I wondered how many people he’d offended on his own.

  Sharon sniffed and said, “No, it’s ok.”

  We were silent for a second, waiting for her to answer the question, and when she didn’t, Ian said, “No really, do you have a boyfriend?”

  We both looked at her seriously and she seemed to understand that we weren’t letting her off the hook.

  She sighed. “No, I don’t.” She looked at me and said, “Hard to find decent men in this town, isn’t it? You go somewhere, they’re all tourists, and even the locals’re having too much fun with all the strippers.”

  I smiled politely, and Ian said, “Yeah, even Adam was taken.”

  I would’ve given Ian a stern look, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off Sharon. She didn’t seem too surprised by the question; she must’ve guessed that we were steering the conversation that way.

  She smiled thinly. “And the irony of that is, his girlfriend doesn’t even live here, half the time.”

  “Sooo,” I said. “Adam must’ve gotten pretty lonely at times.”

  Sharon shook her head. “No. Look, I get that you’re trying to ask me if Adam and I–” she shrugged, twisted her lips, and waved her hands a little, “–if we ever got together. But believe me, we were just friends. The guy was loyal to his girlfriend, the annoying little twerp.”

  I smiled despite myself and said, “Why was she annoying? And a twerp?”

  “Please.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “The woman was full of herself. Sure, she was tall and skinny and blonde and had a perfect nose…” For the first time, I noticed that Sharon’s nose was little on the wide side. “And she looked like she’d had breast implants too–”

  “Hey,” I said, turning to Ian, “Sounds like your perfect woman.”

  We grinned at each other briefly and then I quickly turned to Sharon and apologized for the interruption.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. “Anyway, what I was saying was, the woman was just… she thought she was so perfect, you know? With her perfect good looks, and her job as some barely-paid junior stylist at some tiny interior design firm. She barely paid any attention to Adam and the man worshipped her.”

  “How d’you mean, barely paid any attention?”

  “Well, for one, she didn’t care about Adam’s work. She was happy to live off his money, but she never bothered to show up to work events. Never made an effort.”

  “And other spouses came?”

  “Sure. And you know what?” She was on a roll now. “She never even bothered to give Adam a lift into work if his car wasn’t working, and if hers wasn’t working, she borrowed Adam’s. I had to be the one giving him lifts. The poor guy, stuck with that woman.”

  “Instead of you,” said Ian.

  This time, I really did give him a stern look.

  Sharon said, “What are you, good cop, bad cop?”

  More like good PI, stupid PI.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “But it does sound like you’re a little jealous.”

  Sharon shrugged. “Adam was a nice guy. But he never saw me as more than a friend. Besides, his type’s like your friend’s.” She jerked her head at Ian. “He liked them skinny and hot.”

  I felt bad for her and didn’t know what to say. But even if I did, Ian would’ve beaten me to it.

  “So you killed him,” Ian said. “You got jealous and shot him.”

  Sharon rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and shook her head. “I don’t know where you get your ideas,” she told Ian.

  I did: TV shows and movies. Possibly comics, too.

  “So you didn’t kill Adam,” I said, “What–”

  “Hang on,” said Ian. “Where you that night?”

  “I don’t know.” Sharon looked at me. “Just after midnight? I was probably at home, sleeping.”

  “So nobody saw you,” Ian said. “You’ve got no alibi.”

  She frowned and I said, “Ian. Let it go. She didn’t kill him.” I turned to Sharon and added, “Ignore him. Tell me more about Adam’s girlfriend. How long had they been dating? What was her name?”

  “Cynthia Pruttley. They’ve been together for a bit over a year, I think? Before that, he was dating some other blonde bimbo. Don’t get me wrong, Adam’s a great guy, and I’m not judging him. He’s welcome to date whoever he wants. Was.” She looked somber again, but began talking before she could mist up again. “Anyway, Cynthia works for Petite Bijou Designs. The place is as pretentious as she.” Sharon paused for a second, pondering the perfection of their pairing, and then she pulled out her phone. “I assume you’ll want to talk to her. What’s your number? I’ll text it over.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her my number and said, “How was their relationship? Other than Cynthia seeming to treat Adam badly. Any fights? Or problems?”

  My phone beeped with Cynthia’s details, and Sharon shook her head. “No, they seemed ok. Adam was a pushover when it came to pretty women.”

  I thought Sharon was pretty cute, and that Adam was an idiot for not seeing what was right there under his nose, but I kept that thought to myself. Thankfully, Ian didn’t say anything, either.

  “I guess I’ll have to give her a call,” I said. “You know what they say – ‘It’s usually the wife.’ Or girlfriend, in this case.”

  “To be honest though,” Sharon said. “I doubt Cynthia would even bother to shoot someone. She might break a nail. And besides, Adam told me she wasn’t in Vegas.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  “Down to LA for work. She went, sometimes. And I figure, she cares so much about Adam that she’s not even back in Vegas yet.”

  “I guess I’ll find out when I call her.”

  “Sure,” Sharon said. “You never know.”

  “What about work?” I asked, changing the topic. I’d asked this question a gazillion times already, but it never hurt to ask again. “Did he have any troubles at work? Anyone here hate him?”

  Sharon shook her head. “Nope. Everyone at this place gets along pretty well, mainly because we’ve got a flat structure and Clark’s a pretty good boss. He definitely didn’t have any enemies here.”


  “Hmm.”

  “What exactly do you do here?” Ian asked. “Why do you have fancy alarms on all your desks?”

  Sharon shrugged. “The alarms’re because Clark’s a bit of a security freak. We do – you know, financial advisory stuff. But I guess you meant me in particular? I do all the accounts work.”

  “But Matt DiMucci is your boss.”

  “Yep. He just oversees what I do, really. And a couple of extra accounts, but that’s it.”

  “Sounds like Mob work to me,” Ian said, and Sharon and I shared a look.

  “Listen,” she told Ian, “I don’t know where you get your ideas, but we’re just a regular business, here. If I showed you my accounts, it’d bore you to tears.”

  “But you don’t see all the accounts,” Ian said. “Don’t you find it weird that your boss does a bit of extra work and that’s it?”

  I took a deep breath and said, “Is there anything else you can tell me about Adam?”

  “Not really.”

  I cast my mind back to the conversation I’d overheard, right before Adam had been shot, and frowned. “Give it to me,” the other person had said. By the time we got to the room, there were papers on the floor, but the desk wasn’t ransacked and the room wasn’t particularly messy. Whoever it was must’ve taken what they came for.

  “Was anything missing from Ian’s room?” I asked Sharon.

  She shook her head. “The cops had already taken his computer and a bunch of stuff by the time we got to work, so even if anything was taken, we wouldn’t know.”

  I nodded. “And what about red roses? D’you know if that meant something to Adam?”

  Sharon gave me a puzzled look, and I said, “Those were his last words. ‘Stupid red roses.’”

  Her eyes misted up again. “Sorry,” she said, “Can’t help you there.”

  Ian and I exchanged a glance, and I gave Sharon my business card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

  “Will do.”

  Ian and I excused ourselves, and after briefly saying goodbye to Clark and thanking him for his help once again, we found ourselves on the road heading back home.

  “It’s Sharon,” Ian said as we drove along. “It’s definitely Sharon. She was sick of being passed over for the ‘bimbos,’ and she had a jealous fit and shot him in the stomach.”

  “And why would she ask him to meet her at the office?” I said. “Especially when they weren’t working late or meeting clients.”

  “I dunno. Maybe she faked a work emergency of some kind.”

  “Ri-ight. And what about ‘I’m not giving it to you’? What could she want so badly from Adam that she’d kill him to get it?”

  “Maybe ‘it’ is, you know. You know.” I glanced briefly at Ian just in time to see him waggle his eyebrows obscenely.

  “Eww. You look so gross. Anyway, it wasn’t said in the right tone.”

  “Maybe Adam was just playing hard to get.”

  “No way. It was more like, ‘I’ve got this report, and I’m not giving it to you.’”

  “Hmm. So it’s probably not Sharon.” Ian thought for a second. “Well then, maybe it was the Mafia.” He brightened. “Yep, that’s it. He knew something, got hold of something or other, and wanted to keep it.”

  “Uh.” I wasn’t so sure.

  “Oh, come on! You gotta admit that place seems seriously fishy. Alarms under each desk? A separate manager just for a couple of accounts? Who’s Italian?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s racist.”

  Ian shook his head. “Ask your nanna’s friend. I’m pretty sure the place has links. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “Well, don’t, because I don’t want a dead partner.”

  Ian grinned again. “Isn’t working together great? Aren’t you glad we teamed up?”

  It was pretty ok, I’d admit, but I didn’t say that out loud. Instead, I said, “It’s just for this one case. After that, I’m on my own again.”

  “Pfft. You’ll change your mind, you’ll see.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We stopped by Glenn’s place, picked Nanna up, and headed upstairs.

  “Bye, Ian,” I said, when we reached his door.

  His face drooped. “Really? We aren’t going anywhere else, today?” He glanced at Nanna. “Tick tock. We need to move faster, if you don’t want to end up on Death Row.”

  “We’re going to Leona’s at eleven-thirty,” Nanna reminded me.

  “Who’s Leona?” Ian asked.

  “Adam’s mother,” said Nanna. “And a friend of mine.”

  “Cool!” he said. “So I’ll join guys after a few minutes?”

  I shook my head. “She just lost her son, Ian. I don’t need you there saying insensitive things.”

  He looked at me, his mouth downturned, eyes large and disappointed. “We’re meant to be partners.”

  “Everything else,” I promised. “Just not this one. Besides, it’s better for Nanna to go with fewer people.”

  “How come?” Ian asked.

  “Yeah,” Nanna said. “How come?”

  I looked at Nanna disapprovingly. She really needed to start discouraging Ian more. But they were both staring at me now, so I thought fast.

  “She needs to play the helpless old victim,” I said. “And if Leona sees both us, she’ll know Nanna’s got backup.”

  “Hmm,” Ian said, tilting his head a little. “I suppose that makes sense.”

  We left him there and headed into my condo. Once inside, I proceeded to let Nanna know just what I thought of her encouraging Ian to come along.

  “Pshaw,” she said. “You need some company. A bit of socializing will do you good.”

  I stared at her in shock. “I’m not socializing. I’m trying to save your life.”

  “Please.” Nanna opened the fridge and grabbed herself a bottle of chilled water. “You’re dramatizing.”

  “I am not.”

  “Look, I spoke with my friend Steven Machhione – you know, the one I told you about? Used to work for the…” Two head jerks in quick succession. “He’s seen a lot of this kinda stuff. He said most murders don’t go on trial for a couple of weeks, at least. Most likely, you’ve got a coupla months to investigate.”

  I tried not to let me jaw hit the floor. “Don’t you know that a couple of days can make a big difference? A criminal just needs a little time to cover their tracks. Most murders are solved in a week or two, or not all.”

  Nanna looked at me thoughtfully, and then brightened up. “Well, I’m not stressed. I’ve got complete faith in you.”

  I wish I had. “Speaking of Steven,” I said, “You need to call him. Let him know I want to talk to him.”

  “Is it about this whole Adam thing?”

  “Yes, of course it’s about this whole Adam thing! Why else would I need to talk to him?”

  “I don’t know. Sounds to me like you want to take a hit out on Ian.”

  “Hunh. I wish. I need him around to pay my bills.”

  “You should be nicer to that sweet young man. He just wants to help.”

  Sure he did. Too bad he was more liable to just mess things up. I knew that saying something to defend myself would just make Nanna go on about how nice he was and other random stuff, like that I needed to get myself some more friends. I didn’t. I just needed to solve this murder.

  As we drove to Leona’s, I said, “So how was Glenn’s place?”

  “Fun,” said Nanna. “He seems pretty nice. And Karma’s a lot of fun. Me and Karma are going to that male revue tonight.”

  I groaned. “Please don’t tell me the details.”

  “Besides,” Nanna said. “Karma gets a discount there.”

  “What’d you think of Glenn?”

  “He’s nice.”

  “Boyfriend material nice?”

  “I already have a boyfriend, sweetie. Nathan.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Leona lived with her daughter, Natasha, in a tract home in Henders
on. The house looked like every other house on that street – beige, boring and affordable. Even before I stepped inside, I knew what I’d see: the standard wall-to-wall carpet, an oldish kitchen, and quite possibly, two bedrooms and two bathrooms.

  I asked Leona for a tour soon after we stepped inside, and I gave myself a pat on the back for the good guess. Leona’s daughter had tried to liven things up a bit, though, by painting one wall of her bedroom a deep red, and hanging black-framed sepia photographs of 60’s Las Vegas on them. Living with her mother in this boring house must’ve cramped her style, but Leona went on and on about what a good daughter Natasha was.

  “The boys moved out as soon as they could,” she said, “But Natasha’s still with me. I don’t want to move into a nursing home while I’m still so active.”

  Leona was a couple of inches taller than Nanna, but that was enough to create the impression of a much bigger person. She was skinny and wrinkled, but wider than Nanna, and her hands were as big as a man’s. She had large, grey eyes, and grey hair that she wore tied in a neat bun.

  “Tell Tiffany how you moved to Vegas,” Nanna prompted, as we headed back to the living room to sit down.

  The room was furnished with a dark grey sofa set surrounding a dark, wooden coffee table. There were black and white photographs on the beige walls – of people, this time. I assumed they were of Leona’s kids when they were younger, and her late husband.

  “It was fate,” Leona was saying. “George and I came down for our honeymoon, and then I won a grand jackpot on the slots! I knew this place was lucky for me and I had to move down here for good. So we did!”

  I looked at her in awe.

  “Isn’t that a great story?” Nanna said, and I nodded in open-mouthed surprise.

  “Yeah,” I said. “So you’ve been living here ever since?”

  “Last forty-two years,” said Leona. “Raised all my kids and then, when George passed away, I moved down here with Natasha.”

 

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