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

by A. R. Winters

  Again, the eyebrow raise. Was it just my imagination, or was she starting to look a little less sure of herself? She said, “Why what?”

  “Why were you paying him that much money? Every month?”

  She looked at me for a beat, the confident smile never leaving her lips. “It was a charity thing. Adam was giving money to…” She looked to her left, thinking hard for a minute. “Right. Rwandan street children. Giving them a better life.”

  “Was it Rwandan street children?” I asked. “Or Rwandan school children?”

  She shrugged. “Some children thing.”

  “And you’re sure it was in Rwanda? Not Ethiopia?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t know what difference it makes. I don’t really remember. It was a while back. And if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go back t–”

  “Where were you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Where were you, Friday night at midnight?”

  “What is this, some kind of interrogation?”

  “I’m an investigator. Looking into Adam Bitzer’s death.”

  “Really. Do you have your badge on you?”

  “I’m a private investigator,” I said stiffly.

  “Great, then. I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  She had half-turned around and was about to walk away, when I said, “Wait. You don’t have to answer me, but this is still an open investigation. You want to behave suspiciously, I’m happy to tell the cops all about it.”

  “Sweetheart, the cops never bother people like me.”

  She looked at me, her brown eyes wide and honest, and she smiled. I felt my heart sinking, lower and lower, and I tried not to let it show on my face.

  “I know you had nothing to do with Adam’s death,” I said. “Why not just tell me where you were? It’ll save the cops some time.”

  She turned back to face me again, and shifted her weight to one foot. “Who hired you?”

  “What?”

  “Who cares how Adam died? Who’s paying you?”

  I took a deep breath. “Nobody’s paying me. My nanna’s the chief suspect.”

  She laughed shortly and then stopped when she saw my face. “Oh my god, you’re serious.” She considered me for a second and said, “Well, it’s still kinda funny. Tough luck for your nanna, though.” She glanced back at Jack and said, “I wonder if Jack wants to date someone with a criminal’s genes in them.”

  “Nanna didn’t do it,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  I sighed. “Did you know anyone who hated Adam? Anyone who might’ve wanted to kill him?”

  She smiled, but her eyes looked cold and cynical. “I can’t help you.”

  “I think you can. Where were you on Friday night?” She snorted and was about to walk away, and I said, “At least tell me that, then I can stop bothering you. Otherwise, you can bet that I’ll be sticking to you all night. Your friends’ll wonder what’s happening.”

  We stared at each other, neither backing down, and Michelle realized I was serious. I had nothing to lose; to me, this was just a stupid party.

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I was out, having cocktails with my girlfriends at Clav Bar. We might’ve gone to Marquee at The Cosmopolitan afterwards.”

  “Thanks.” Was that so hard? “Who’re your friends?”

  “Just show my picture to the guys there. They’ll tell you I was there. Don’t bother me again.”

  She walked away, and once more, I had nothing to show for all my interrogative skills other than a sinking feeling and the stench of failure.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I headed to the swanky ladies room, with its dim lighting and marble-and-gold fixtures, to give myself some time to think. This party had been a bust, but I was sure that all four women knew something. I’d half-expected that if any of them had something to do with Adam’s death, they wouldn’t have come to the party – which meant that Alexia Boyle was the one I needed to talk to, even though, according to Michelle, she hadn’t come to the party because she was no longer a part of the group.

  Where was Alexia? Ian said that the internet search hadn’t turned up anything, and I doubted that anyone in the room knew where she was.

  When I re-entered the Amazonian ballroom, I headed straight for Rachelle Nge. A look of resignation crossed her face when she saw me heading toward her, and she excused herself before I could get to her group.

  “What?” she hissed, when she reached my side. “I don’t want you bothering me.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I was hoping you could tell me about Alexia Boyle?”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “Not much to tell. The woman got divorced a few months ago. She wasn’t really… she wasn’t a big part of this scene to begin with. Kept mostly to herself.”

  “She didn’t have any friends here?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Even if she did, you don’t really–”

  “Keep in touch after someone gets divorced?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not like that. You don’t want to offend anyone, and her husband’s a big part of this group. Besides, Alexia wasn’t ever really a part of this crowd.”

  “Since she’d been a waitress?”

  “Yeah, there’s that. Plus, she didn’t really try. There’s people here you don’t offend. She didn’t bother sucking up.”

  I thought I caught a tinge of admiration in her voice. “So there’s nobody here who even knows where Alexia is? Or has her phone number?”

  “I’ve got her number,” said Rachel. “But I’m pretty sure she’s changed it.” I raised my eyebrows and gave her a questioning look, and she went on, “After we heard she was getting divorced, one of my friends tried to call her. Went straight to voicemail. I tried, too. She’s either screening calls or… Either way, you won’t get through.”

  I took the number anyway. It was the same number Adam’s brother, Mike, had given me, and I knew that Rachel was right. I wouldn’t have much luck getting hold of Alexia on the phone.

  “Any idea where she’s living?” I asked.

  The same look of mild sympathy that had crossed Michelle’s face when talking about Alexia’s new life now crossed Rachel’s. “I heard she moved into an apartment somewhere,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “I’m not sure, but Gracie told me she saw Alexia walking into one of those big apartment buildings on the Strip one day.”

  “Which one?”

  She gave me a blank look and shrugged.

  “One Las Vegas?” I asked. “The Ogden? Veer Towers? Sky Las Vegas? Panorama Towers?”

  She just shook her head. “I’m sorry, Gracie didn’t tell me.”

  “Who’s Gracie? Where is she?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Gracie used to be my hairdresser. She moved to LA a few months ago.”

  I held my wrist tightly with one hand, and tried to stay calm. “Do you have her phone number? Any contact address?”

  “No.” Rachel looked at me like that was a stupid question. “It’s not like I’ll be going to LA to have my hair done.”

  I tilted my head back and took a deep breath.

  “Besides,” Rachel said, “Just because Gracie saw Alexia walk in, doesn’t mean she lives there. She might’ve been visiting a friend or something.”

  “Yeah.” I stared at Rachel again. She was probably right, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to track down Alexia.

  “Anyone else see her around since the divorce?”

  “No. And like I said, it’s not like we’re still in touch with her.”

  “Right.” This conversation was going nowhere, so I said, “What can you tell me about Michelle Ackermann?”

  I was half-hoping that Rachel would want to use this opportunity to gossip a little. But she didn’t. She just shrugged, and said, “We’re not that close. Why? I saw you talking with her earlier. And Nicole Weiss.”

  She looked at me curiously, and I said, “Adam’s girlfriend said they mig
ht be friends.”

  For some reason I wanted to play my cards close to my chest.

  Rachel and I glanced back at Michelle, and I saw the two women exchange a strange look. I knew that something was going on, so I said, “Why do you think I was talking to her?”

  Rachel regarded me quietly, and in the end she decided not to bite. “I don’t know,” she said. “I was just curious.”

  “Why are you protecting her?”

  Rachel looked at me, surprised. “What would I be protecting her from? You?”

  She laughed, and I crossed my arms. These women were being no help, and I didn’t see any reason to stay here any longer. Waiters were lighting candles and placing fresh baskets of bread on the tables, and any moment now, somebody would announce that it was time to take our seats. I didn’t want to waste all night in this place.

  ***

  “I’m sure it wasn’t so bad,” Jack said, as his town car inched towards my place. His hand covered mine; it was large and warm and made me feel a lot better about having suffered through the useless party. The Strip was packed with limos and cars, and for a moment I wondered if cancelling my shift tonight had been a bad idea.

  “Do you know Alexia Boyle?” I asked.

  Jack shook his head. “Not really, but I know her husband. I could give him a call, if you’d like.”

  “Are you sure it won’t be too awkward for you?”

  “Nah, I’ll just tell him to expect a call from you.” He smiled at me. “It’ll be ok. You’ll find her.”

  “But what if she’s got nothing to tell me?”

  “Well, then you’ll find something else.”

  “How come Alexia’s ex didn’t come to tonight’s party?”

  “I think he’s in Japan or something. Hang, on, I’ll try to call him.”

  I watched as Jack pulled up the number and dialed, keeping the speakerphone on. There were a couple of rings, and then a woman answered.

  “Robert Fallon’s phone. This is Milly.”

  “Hi, Milly, it’s Jack Weber. Is Robert around?”

  “No, he went to a health retreat yesterday.”

  “Oh. Do you have the number for the place?”

  “I do, but I’m not meant to give it out. Sorry. I’m supposed to call him only if it’s a family emergency.”

  I closed my eyes shut and leaned back against my seat.

  “I see,” Jack was saying. “When will he back?”

  “Next week. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll call back.”

  I took a deep breath and tried not panic. There had to be some other way I could find Alexia Boyle. Maybe I was wasting my time again; maybe she had nothing to do with Adam’s death and she was as clueless as everyone else. But I didn’t think so. Something told me that this woman knew an important piece of the puzzle, and I was determined to find out what it was.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I wasn’t in the best of moods when I stepped into my condo, and I didn’t feel any better when I saw Nanna and Nathan huddled around a laptop.

  “What’re you doing here?” I asked Nathan, trying not to scowl.

  My place looked neater somehow; the cushions were arranged nicely on the sofa and the countertops were spotless and sparkling. I blamed it on Nanna.

  “We’re practicing before we set out for tonight’s poker,” Nanna said, smiling. “How was the party? I thought you’d stay there longer.”

  I looked at Nathan through narrowed eyes, but he was studying the screen intently. “Party was terrible,” I said. “D’you know if Ian’s at home?”

  Nanna shook her head. “He stopped by ten minutes after you left and said he was going out for dinner with his parents.”

  “Really? His parents are in town?”

  “Yeah, they just stopped by all of a sudden. Why?”

  “No, no reason.” Other than the fact that, for once, it would’ve been nice to enjoy Ian’s enthusiasm; and maybe he’d actually have a good suggestion or two.

  Nathan kept his eyes focused on the laptop and said, “Why was the party terrible?”

  I sighed and pulled out my phone. “I want to talk to this woman,” I said, showing them the photos of Alexia Boyle. “But she wasn’t there.”

  “Hang on,” said Nathan, squinting at one of the photos. “I think I’ve seen her before.” Nanna and I stared at him as he squinted his eyes and looked off into the distance. “Right! I’ve got it. I saw her at one of those conferences… RubyConf!”

  “You’re kidding me,” I said, staring at him incredulously. “She was there?”

  I’d just watched footage from the RubyConf event only recently, when I was investigating a different case. Vegas really was a tiny town.

  “Yeah,” Nathan said. “I remember her because she was chatting to one of those developers and she actually seemed to know coding!”

  “Was she a part of the conference?”

  “No, no.” He shook his head. “She was one of those conference girls, you know?”

  I did know. They were the ones in the massive, gaudy headdresses and tiny, tiny bikini tops.

  “Are you sure it was her?”

  “Pretty sure. I was so surprised one of those girls knew coding.”

  “It is surprising,” Nanna said. “But I guess you make more money as a conference girl than as a coder.”

  “Did she say anything interesting?” I asked. “Did she mention a phone number or where she lived?”

  “I think she did,” Nathan said, thoughtfully. “The guy asked for her number… I think she programmed it into his phone.” I groaned and he went on, “But I think she mentioned living on the Strip. In one of those new tower apartments?”

  “Which one?”

  He looked at me apologetically. “I can’t remember.”

  I took a deep breath. “It’s ok. I’ll figure it out.”

  I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.

  “Where’re you going?” Nanna asked. “Nathan and I were just about to leave. You can get an early night, if you like.”

  I turned back to look at them. “No, that’s ok. You guys have fun. I might be late.”

  ***

  I sat in my car, the engine idling, while I tried to figure out a plan of action. I drove up as I tried to think, and in the end I wound up parking at the Neonopolis Parking Garage on East Ogden Avenue.

  There were six or seven places where Alexia might be living, and I decided to start at the north and work my way down. Living right on the Strip was expensive, and there was a chance she might be staying with someone else. But if Nathan was telling the truth, and Alexia was still single, then she was living within a few minutes’ walk from where I’d parked.

  I walked the few yards over to the Strip, and started at the Ogden. It was a place popular with Downtown partiers, and the lobby had a bright, youthful vibe.

  “Hi,” I said, shining my brightest smile onto the friendly-looking concierge. He had jet-black hair combed neatly around a large bald spot, and a small, almost Hitler-esque black mustache. “I’m here to meet Alexia Boyle.”

  “Do you know her apartment number?” I shook my head, and he scanned a list of the tenants. “We don’t have any Alexia Boyle living here. Are you sure you’ve got the right place?”

  “Maybe she’s listed as Alex Boyle? Or Alexia Fallon? Alex Fallon? Robert Fallon? Rob Fallon?”

  Each name got a head shake and a polite, regretful smile. Urgh.

  I smiled my fake, bright smile. “I guess I should call her and check the address again!”

  The man smiled politely and nodded, not really caring about my predicament.

  My next stop was the One Las Vegas block of apartments. Once again, I strode up to the lobby purposefully, and fibbed about meeting Alexia Boyle and any of her other names I could think of.

  The obese brunette manning the concierge desk refused to be charmed by my dazzling smile, and told me in no uncertain terms that there was no such p
erson staying there and that I’d better get my facts straight. And leave, was the unspoken phrase, and she glared at me until I shrugged apologetically and headed out the door. I could feel her dark eyes watching my back as I walked out the lobby and headed away.

  Veer Towers was my third stop, and the most glamorous building so far. The two inclined skyscrapers were designed to awe passers-by, but the glamorous lobby made it clear that the buildings were definitely designed for luxury.

  “I’m here to see Alexia Boyle,” I told the concierge, once again.

  This time, there was a man named Joey, if his name-tag could be believed. He had thinning brown hair, and pale, watery eyes set like a pair of dead fish in his pasty, flat face.

  “Is she expecting you?” he asked, looking up from his computer screen and staring at me without the slightest hint of interest.

  My heart soared and I grinned broadly. “Yes!” I said. “I mean, no!” I tried to calm down and think. Joey glanced at me and raised one disinterested eyebrow. “I mean, I called and said I’d be coming by but I’m not sure if she got my message. Tell her it’s Tiffany Black, and I’m here to talk about Adam Bitzer.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Joey seemed to be on the intercom for hours, speaking in a hushed, funereal tone and glancing at me once in a while. I was bubbling over with excitement, and when he finally hung up and looked at me, I just about squealed.

  “She’s not at home,” he said in a sleepy monotone.

  My shoulders slumped. “What do you mean, not at home?” He shrugged, and I felt my disappointment transforming into rage. “Who were you talking to, then?”

  He looked at me blankly. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “How about I wait here for her?” I looked at him desperately, and he shook his head. “I’ll be really quiet, I promise. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Joey glanced over at the big, African-American guard who was sitting near the concierge desk reading USA Today. The man looked up and glanced at me.

  “Fine,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’m leaving.”

  I shouldn’t have expected it to be so easy.

  I headed straight out the building and sat on the edge of the circular, carousel-sized fountain in front of it. Veer Towers was part of a seven-building “complex,” which meant that you had to access it using a side-street. I couldn’t just loiter on the Strip and wait for Alexia to come out, and I couldn’t even stand around near the building entrance. That would be just asking for Joey to call some security guards and have me thrown out.