Furniture Fatality in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  “And Emily would also be there,” I said.

  “Sometimes,” said Eric. “We haven’t been living in Vegas for too long and we don’t really have many friends.”

  “It can be tough living in Vegas,” said Ian. “I’m lucky Tiffany’s my friend.”

  “I guess you are,” said Eric, looking at Ian thoughtfully. “A lot depends on who your friends are.”

  Ian nodded, and I said, “You didn’t know anything else about Brett’s relationship with Janice?”

  Eric shook his head no.

  “And what were the dinners like? Did the two of them seem to be happy together?”

  “I guess so,” said Eric. “They’d never argue or anything. I suppose they were happy.”

  The customer who’d been talking to Brett had disappeared by now, so Ian and I said goodbye to Eric and headed over to Brett’s counter.

  “How can I help you guys?” he said with a bright smile.

  “Actually,” I said, “you can help us by telling us about your relationship with Janice.”

  Brett’s smile faltered, and he looked beyond us over at Eric.

  Eric must’ve made some kind of encouraging gesture, because when Brett looked back at us, his eyes were confident again. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Tiffany, this is Ian. We’re looking into Janice’s death.”

  “But you’re not with the police, are you? If you were cops, you’d have started off by flashing badges.”

  “No, we’re not with the police.”

  “Then I don’t have to talk to you,” said Brett smugly.

  “You don’t have to talk to us,” I said. “But it would be very helpful. We believe that Janice’s death wasn’t an accident, and if there’s anything you could tell us that might help out, we’d appreciate it.”

  “I don’t talk to private investigators,” said Brett. His words had an air of finality about them, but I wasn’t about to give up so easily. I’ve worked enough cases to have encountered people who don’t want to talk to me for various reasons, and I’ve learned to keep chomping at the bit.

  “But you were dating Janice,” I said. “I’m sure you must’ve cared about her. Don’t you want there to be a proper investigation into her death?”

  “I want closure,” said Brett. “And I got that when the police ruled her death an accident. I don’t want to talk about her and us, on and on. I just want to move on with my life.”

  “How long were you and Janice together?” I said.

  Brett shook his head. “I don’t have to talk about this with you.”

  “You don’t have to,” I agreed. “But we’re going to be talking to everyone else who knew Janice, and who knew you, and they’ll be telling us stuff about you and your relationship with Janice. Wouldn’t you rather that we heard it straight from you, instead of secondhand sources who might paint you in a worse light? If we learn anything too incriminating, we’ll have to hand it over to the cops again, and they probably wouldn’t hesitate to make your life miserable.”

  Brett rolled his eyes and sighed, as though we’d worn him down. Which I figured we had—the man didn’t seem too interested in having the police pry into his life. “What you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with you,” I said. “What brings you to Vegas?”

  “I used to visit Vegas once a year, when I lived up in Michigan. About a year ago, I decided to move down here and play poker professionally. I used to go three nights a week—Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, when all the tourists would come into town—and play limit hold’em.”

  I tried not to look at him with obvious pity. Nanna plays the occasional round of poker, and from what I know, she makes good money off the tourists. But living in Vegas, I’ve heard the story far too often—somebody gets good at playing poker, makes decent money playing part–time, and then decides to go into it full–time—only to get eaten up by the cards. Who knows why the cards turn on you when you go full–time, but that’s how it is. Working in the casino, and living in this town, I see people getting burnt up by poker and returning to their previous lives, disillusioned with their luck and their fate. “And how’d that go for you?”

  Brett made a facial grimace. “Obviously, it didn’t go too well. The first three months were great, then the next three months were average. And then I started losing big—it was like I’d hit a brick wall or something. I managed to stop playing before I lost my shirt, and I got a job here. I still play on Friday nights, sometimes. But I know that poker will never be my life again.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad you stopped before you lost everything.”

  Brett smiled wryly. “I guess I was lucky. You must’ve met people who didn’t stop in time.”

  “Yeah, there’s something about this town. And maybe something about the game itself that gives you hope, and then lets you down.”

  Brett nodded. “Well, I’ve been working at this bank for the last seven months. It’s not exciting or fun, but it pays the bills, and I don’t need to stress about losing streaks.”

  “And where does Janice come into all this?”

  “Janice and I were just friends, no matter what you’ve heard. I met her working here, and we’d hang out sometimes.”

  “Really? Because everyone else says you were together.”

  “We weren’t really together,” said Brett slowly. “It’s just—we were good friends. And it gets tiresome correcting people all the time.”

  “But you’d have dinners together. You’d even go over to her place.”

  “I never stayed the night.”

  I nodded. That’s what Janice’s neighbor had told me, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d spent a few hours at her place every now and then. “So what were you doing at her apartment?”

  Brett smiled thinly. “We were working on a project together.”

  “That’s a euphemism.”

  Brett shook his head, looking exasperated. “See? I’m tired of this conversation already. Fine, let’s just assume Janice and I were together. So?”

  “So… why didn’t you tell the cops about it?”

  “I’ve watched enough crime shows. The boyfriend’s always the main suspect. And I wasn’t her boyfriend, but enough people thought I was…”

  He trailed off, his eyes shifting over to Eric again. I followed his glance, but Eric was staring out the door, waiting for any new customers to enter.

  I glanced back at Brett, but his expression didn’t reveal anything. “Eric told me you and Janice were together. I thought you two were friends.”

  “Look, it was complicated, okay? But we—there wasn’t anything much between us, and I don’t know anything about her death. Can we move on now?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Where were you on Sunday night?”

  “I was at the Paris Cat Jazz Restaurant,” Brett said. “By myself, enjoying some music and food. And I’m sick of this conversation—I think it’s time you two left.”

  Ian and I looked at each other. Brett had obviously reached the end of his patience, and his willingness to tell us anything. I didn’t really understand the truth about his relationship with Janice. Perhaps he was one of those emotionally immature men who didn’t like to admit when they were in a committed relationship.

  Something about the conversation felt off to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Chapter Twenty–Three

  “What now?” said Ian as we headed back to my car.

  “We need to check everyone’s alibis. We’ve been too busy running other checks to look into Bob and Jonas’s stories, and I’d like to make sure that Brett really was at the Paris Cat.”

  Our first stop was at the Watermark Casino, where Jonas claimed to have spent the night gambling away. Because of my PI work and Stone’s past jobs, I have contacts in most of the casinos in Vegas by now, and within a few minutes, Ian and I were seated in the main security room as my friend Keith ran a photo of Jonas through their facial recognition system.

  “H
ere he is,” said Keith. “Walked in at around nine and stayed till three in the morning. You can see that he spent most of his time at the video poker machines, took a break to have some drinks, and then headed over to the roulette table via slots and blackjack. Just before he left, he spent a bit of time at the craps table, and he seems to have left in a good mood.”

  “That’s all we needed,” I said. “There’s no way he could have snuck off that night.”

  Ian and I thanked Keith for his help, and then we headed out to the Paris Cat Jazz Bar.

  “That was the easiest alibi check we’ve ever done,” said Ian. “I hope the rest of the day goes just as smoothly.”

  We walked into the Paris Cat Jazz Bar in the middle of the lunch rush. The place was packed, and a young woman in a black dress was singing Nina Simone songs on stage.

  I nodded at the bartender, who was manning the bar at the far end of the wall, and then I spotted the owner of the place, Henri, sitting at one of the tables in the back. He waved when he noticed me and Ian, and the two of us made our way over.

  “Tiffany, Ian,” Henri said. “What a surprise! I never see you guys around these parts anymore.”

  I smiled wryly. “We’ve been busy—work, all that stuff.”

  “Well, I hope you’ve come to have an early dinner. Xenia’s on a roll. I wonder if you’ve seen the latest reviews of her cooking? Order whatever you want—it’s on the house, of course.”

  Ian beamed, but before he could say anything, I said, “Thanks, but actually, we’ve already made dinner plans, and we’re here on work.”

  Henri raised one eyebrow at us. “Oh? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Given how good you are, I should’ve expected you to be busy.”

  I smiled politely. “We’re just looking into someone’s alibi. Perhaps one of the waitstaff saw him. I can show his picture around.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Henri. “After that horrible business with the waitress who got poisoned—thanks for figuring out what happened, by the way—I had security cameras installed everywhere. I’m not going to risk anything bad happening in this place ever again.”

  “How far back do you keep the tapes?” I said.

  “Everything’s uploaded to a server and stored for at least six months,” said Henri. “Will that work for you?”

  “It sounds good,” I said. “I’ve got my laptop in my car; if I bring it in, can you show me how to access the server?”

  “Of course,” said Henri. “And remember to order some snacks while you work.”

  I brought my laptop in, and Henri helped me log in to his private server and find the footage from Sunday night. Ian ordered the dumplings and spring rolls basket; once our food arrived, Henri excused himself to go off to meet a client, and Ian and I got to work.

  “This is delicious,” said Ian, gobbling down his food as we sat through sped–up footage of that night.

  “It is,” I said, savoring the amazing medley of Asian flavors. “Harry’s lucky to have found Xenia—she’s good at all types of cuisines. Too bad we can’t seem to find Brett on any of these tapes.”

  Ian and I stayed there for almost an hour, trying to come up with some footage of Brett, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “This is odd,” I said. “I guess he must’ve been making the whole thing up.”

  “The bank’s closed by now. I guess we’ll have to talk to Brett tomorrow.”

  “In the meantime, we can check out Bob’s story about being at the Quick Fox Tavern.”

  “Maybe he lied too,” said Ian.

  But Ian turned out to be wrong: when we showed Bob’s photo to the Quick Fox waitstaff, they told us that, yes, he had indeed spent a few hours there on Sunday night with his friends.

  “I guess this makes Brett seem especially suspicious,” said Ian as we drove home. “First he hid his relationship with Janice, then he lied about it, and then he lied about where he was on Sunday night.”

  “He does seem odd,” I admitted. “There must be more to his story.”

  Chapter Twenty–Four

  On the drive home, Ian put his long–haired wig back on, covered half his face with sunglasses, and smeared on some dark lipstick. It was just as well that he remembered to do all this, because we found Cecilia waiting for us in the hallway.

  Cecilia barely glanced at Ian before she turned to me and said, “Where’s Ian? I saw him in your car earlier today, so I know you’re hanging out with him.”

  I shook my head. “He asked me to pick him up from his friend’s place and drive him over to another friend’s.”

  “Then why don’t you just tell me where he is?”

  “Because he asked me not to tell anyone. Wouldn’t you be better off trying to meet someone else?”

  “It’s not so easy to meet wealthy men. And if you do meet them, they never seem interested in you.”

  “I’m sure you’ll meet someone else soon,” I said encouragingly. “But does he have to be wealthy?”

  Cecilia nodded. “I’ve seen enough people marry poor men and have miserable lives. If I’m going to be miserable with a man, it might as well be with someone rich.”

  I nodded, trying to muster up some sympathy for her. That didn’t work, so I said goodbye and disappeared into my apartment with Ian.

  “I can’t believe this,” said Ian once we were safely inside. “Maybe I really should find somewhere else to hide out. Do you think your parents will let me stay with them?”

  I looked at him and shook my head. “They’ve already got Nanna and Wes staying with them now. Why can’t you just sneak into your apartment?”

  “Because Cecilia’ll see me go in, and she’ll keep knocking on my door till I let her inside. And then she’ll never leave.”

  “Then what exactly do you plan to do?”

  “Maybe I could keep hanging out with you,” said Ian hopefully. “You’re just going to the casino from here, right? Maybe I should rent a cheap room in one of the casinos and stay there overnight.”

  I looked at him hesitantly, wondering if his plan would work. “You might be able to get a cheap last–minute deal.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  “I have a date with Ryan,” I said. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  I disappeared into my bedroom to get ready, and Ian settled down on the couch and began to watch a rerun of The Price is Right.

  When I emerged half an hour later, Ian was still slumped on the couch. I felt sorry for him, so I said, “Why don’t you join me and Ryan for dinner?”

  Ian brightened up immediately. “Really? That sounds like fun.”

  I looked at him warily and shrugged. I wasn’t actually keen on having Ian tag along, but I was also a little worried about leaving him by himself. Perhaps Cecilia would somehow manage to get her claws into him, and then he’d be stuck with her forever.

  When we headed out into the hallway, Cecilia was still camped out in front of Ian’s door.

  I nodded at her, not bothering to say anything, and Ian and I disappeared into the elevator.

  Ryan peered at us when I showed up at the restaurant, a feminized Ian in tow.

  “This is a surprise,” he said mildly.

  Ryan was wearing a dark green polo shirt, khakis, and a bemused smile. My heart did a little flip–flop as I took him in, and I leaned forward for a chaste peck on the cheek. His shirt filled out nicely, showing off his muscles, and the color set off his tan skin. His gray eyes glanced from me to Ian, and as he took in Ian’s blond wig and over–the–top makeup, I filled him in quickly on the Cecilia situation.

  Ryan had picked a nice steak restaurant a few minutes away from the Strip, and as Ian and I talked about Cecilia, a waiter came by and took our drink orders. Pretty soon, the three of us were sipping our wines, and Ryan said, “Why don’t you just report her to the police? You could easily get a restraining order.”

  “I feel kind of sorry for her,” said Ian.

  “Besides,” I said, “I�
��ve got a plan to get rid of her.”

  Ian and Ryan both looked at me inquisitively, and I shook my head. “I don’t want to say anything until it’s worked. I don’t want to jinx it.”

  Ian beamed at me happily. “You’re a genius! I’m sure your plan’s going to work.”

  I wasn’t so sure myself, and at first, I’d been a little worried about the ethics of it all. But the more I talked to Cecilia, the more I felt as though she deserved what was coming her way.

  “I haven’t seen you for a while,” said Ryan. “What with my work, and your work…”

  I looked at him and we exchanged a small smile. “Showing up with Ian wasn’t my first choice.”

  “Hey!” said Ian. “You’re making me feel all left out.”

  Ryan smiled at him. “I’m happy you’re here. It’s nice to get to know Tiffany’s friends.”

  Ian began to Ryan all about his unlucky love life, while Ryan interjected every now and then with a question, while I sipped my wine and watched them. Truth be told, I didn’t mind that Ryan was getting to know my friends, but I would’ve preferred to be alone with him. Our relationship was still new, and I wanted to get to know Ryan better.

  The idea of Janice and Brett going out on a date with Eric and Emily tagging along didn’t quite make sense to me. Brett had only been working at the bank for seven months, so he couldn’t have been particularly close friends with Eric and Emily. On the other hand, perhaps he was one of those men who formed friendships quickly, and Janice didn’t mind hanging out in a group.

  But that didn’t quite jibe with what I’d heard about Janice so far, that she was unfriendly and rude. It must’ve been quite an effort for her to be polite to her boyfriend’s friends. None of what I’d learned about Janice’s relationship made sense so far.

  On the other hand, perhaps I was getting distracted by the relationship. Perhaps Brett, Eric, and Emily were all quite lonely, and they liked hanging out together; perhaps Brett wasn’t sure of his relationship with Janice and didn’t want people to find out, the same way I didn’t want my parents to find out about Ryan.