The back of the bed was up, and I leaned back on it, closing my eyes. I wondered whether I could sneak over and see how Tim was doing.
I opened my eyes and sat up straighter. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. What could they do to me, except send me back here?
I had taken a couple of steps toward the curtain when the frosted doors slid open. I froze, worried it was DeBurra again.
But it wasn’t.
It was none other than Lester Fine, actor turned politician.
Chapter 25
A young woman in a conservative black suit and white blouse was with him, along with a camera crew. June was behind them. I could hear her saying firmly, “You are not allowed back here, especially with those cameras.”
Lester Fine turned his head and said something to her, flashing his trademark smile, but June was not daunted.
“You have to leave now or I’ll call the police.”
I didn’t think it would be prudent to mention that besides Tim, there were four other officers in here being monitored as well as that condo security guard. And Frank DeBurra was probably not the only one with Metro Homeland Security who was trying to have words with all of us.
Dr. Bixby appeared from the other side of the center station, where the nurses were whispering among themselves as they stared at Lester Fine. Granted, celebrities are a dime a dozen in Vegas. But we usually don’t see them defy all rules and bring a camera crew into an emergency room.
Bixby was pointing to the cameras, indicating that they needed to leave. Two big, burly security guards flanked the doctor and stepped forward to show that they meant business.
The cameramen shrugged at each other, admitting defeat, and seemed to apologize to Lester Fine just before disappearing back to the other side of those frosted sliders.
I was still peering around my curtain when Lester Fine looked over and straight at me. His eyes settled on my face, and I felt a shiver shimmy up my spine. And not in a good way.
I took a step back behind the curtain, out of sight, but peeked through the space between my curtain and the one next door. Bixby shook Fine’s hand and smiled and nodded. That sort of smile and nod you give people when they’ve told you something and you’re not really listening. I could see Lester Fine’s lips moving, but since I can’t read lips, I had no idea what he was saying. Bixby continued to smile and nod as he jotted something down on the papers on his metal clipboard.
Bixby indicated that Fine should follow him, and uh-oh, they were heading this way, tailed by that young woman, who was obviously some sort of flack of Fine’s. I ducked back behind the curtain and hopped up onto the bed.
They passed me, Bixby glancing briefly toward me and smiling; Lester Fine didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead.
I got back down off the bed, keenly aware that there was nothing underneath this johnny coat as a slight breeze from the air-conditioning shimmied up my bare legs and over my torso. Hugging the cotton jacket closer and hoping those snaps stayed put, I looked out at the bustling nurses and doctors at the center station. There was no sign of Bixby and Fine.
A face appeared next to mine, and I jumped. Tim laughed.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just checking things out,” I said.
“You’re spying on Dr. Handsome and Lester Fine, aren’t you?”
“Who?” I tried to act all innocent, but he didn’t buy it. He knew me too well.
“They went out a door over on the other side of my curtain. Frank DeBurra went with them.”
“Really? Why do you think Lester Fine is here?”
“He’s running for office.”
“No kidding. But what does that have to do with-”
“He heard about what happened over at the Windsor Palms. He wants to try to make some sort of statement, get on TV, the sort of crap all those politicians do.” Tim hesitated a second, then said, “But I think there might be something else. I did a little poking around into Wesley Lambert after you showed me that sketch.”
“He and Lester Fine knew each other,” I interrupted.
Tim looked surprised. “How did you know that?”
“I Googled that Queen of Hearts Ball-you know, the AIDS fund-raiser about a year ago? Well, there were drag queens there, and Wesley Lambert was Shanda Leer. There were pictures of him and Lester Fine.”
“Were there pictures of them together?”
I thought a second. “No, but there was a picture of Wesley Lambert with Charlotte.”
The instant I said it, I wanted to take it back. Tim got that cop look about him, the one that was all excited because there might be a break in the case. Although what that break could be, I wasn’t exactly sure.
“Do you think Charlotte was part of the ricin plot?” Tim asked.
“What ricin plot? Was there a plot?”
“Brett,” Tim said, his tone condescending, “ricin is a poison used by terrorists. And you don’t whip up a batch in your bedroom just for giggles. Wesley Lambert was going to use that for something. We should just be happy that he wasn’t Mr. Wizard, and it took him down first.”
My instincts were screaming that Lambert wasn’t the only victim.
“Tim, Lambert was poking around Chez Tango the other night; then Trevor gets really sick and dies. He gets stomach sick. You know, it seems really similar to the symptoms Dr. Bixby mentioned.” I paused a second. “DeBurra thinks so, too. Remember how he said this puts ‘that queen’s’ death into question? He must have come to the same conclusion.”
“You think somehow Lambert poisoned Trevor McKay at that club.”
“Yeah, I think so. He was looking for Trevor backstage. Eduardo saw him, but I don’t know how long he was there. Maybe he got into Trevor’s things-his makeup case, maybe-before Eduardo showed up.”
“You think he poisoned the makeup?”
I thought a second. “Trevor had his makeup on already when Lambert was backstage. So I don’t know.”
“Don’t those guys refresh their lipstick or something?” Tim wasn’t making a joke; he was totally on the same page with me on this.
“He might have.”
“Where’s that makeup case now?”
“Charlotte brought it to Trevor’s house.” As the words came out, again I regretted them. But Charlotte was becoming the most common denominator in this whole mess.
“And she had access to that condo where Wesley Lambert had his little science experiment going on,” Tim said, running his hand through his hair and nodding. “You really don’t know where she is?”
“No one does. Not even Ace, and she was with him yesterday.” I didn’t tell him that Charlotte had spent a lot of time with Trevor before the show. But I did think of something else. “You know, if Charlotte wanted to do Trevor some harm, why not when he got his tattoo at our shop?”
“Who did the ink?”
“Ace.” I could see what he was thinking: Ace and Charlotte were close enough so she ran to him when she was in trouble. I quickly said, “But that’s not what happened, because we gave those guys their tattoos four weeks ago. Trevor would’ve been dead long before now.”
It was a strange sort of logic. No, Trevor’s demise was precipitated the other night at Chez Tango. It made more sense.
Tim was staring at me.
“What?” I asked curtly.
“What’s going on with you? What are you thinking?”
I told him about Rusty Abbott, Lester Fine’s assistant. How he had that queen-of-hearts playing-card ink like the guy who shot the cork at Trevor. “I have no idea how all these people are linked, except that they all were at that ball together.” I had another thought. “And then there’s Trevor’s pin. A jeweled one with the queen of hearts on it. He said he got it from Lester Fine. And he pawns it occasionally for cash, then buys it back, which is what happened just before Wesley Lambert came around looking for Trevor, saying there was a mistake or something with buying the brooch back. Then the pawnshop guy sa
ys the brooch is stolen. Maybe that was the mistake. But now Lambert and Trevor are both dead, so we might never know.” I paused for a second, another thought crashing into all the others.
“Do you think Lester Fine had something to do with all this?” I asked Tim. “I mean, he gave Trevor the pin, he knew Wesley Lambert, he’s Rusty Abbott’s boss, and now he shows up here for ‘publicity’ reasons.” I made little quotation marks with my fingers. “Maybe he’s here to find out what we know, find out whether anyone’s on to him.”
Tim chuckled. “On to him? You think he’s the master-mind of whatever’s going on, Brett?” But then his smile disappeared and he shrugged. “Then again, if all fingers point in one direction…” His voice trailed off.
This was becoming like that magic trick where you hide a ball under one of three cups. Mix them up and see if you can find the ball. But what it was we were supposed to find was eluding me.
My eye was way off the ball now, since Bixby was coming back toward us with Lester Fine and his flack in tow.
Chapter 26
They stopped right in front of us.
“Excuse me?” Lester Fine, I noticed now, was about as tall as I was, maybe a hair taller. He wasn’t as good-looking in person as he was in the movies or on TV; he had some acne scars on his jawline and neck that probably were disguised by makeup when he was acting. “Are you the victims of the incident this morning?”
I looked around. Victims? What victims?
Then I saw he was looking at me and Tim.
“Who, us?” I asked.
Bixby was trying to push Lester Fine along without actually touching him. It didn’t work. Fine opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, we heard the frosted sliders open and turned in unison to see Bitsy carrying a tote bag that was almost bigger than she was. June was hurrying after her.
“You can’t be in here,” June said loudly.
Bitsy saw me, waved, and turned to June. “I’m just dropping this off,” she said, indicating the tote bag, in a tone that clearly said, Don’t mess with me.
June looked up at Dr. Bixby and shrugged. Bixby nodded, as if to say it was all right. June turned and went back out the doors. Bitsy continued toward us.
Bitsy grinned, reveling in the fact that everyone was watching her.
“What’s up with the door Nazi?” Bitsy demanded. “Like this is some sort of prison.”
Being a little person, she had no problems being a little politically incorrect.
I, on the other hand, wanted to shrink into the floor and disappear. Although not as much as I did just a second later, when Bitsy pointedly looked up at Bixby and winked. “He’s cute,” she said, handing me the tote bag.
I felt my face grow hot.
The bag weighed a ton. I wanted to see exactly what Bitsy had brought. Maybe a saw, so Tim and I could break out of this joint.
Bitsy was the first to break the ice.
“You have to stay here all day?”
I was keenly aware that we’d already been here a couple hours, that it was now past noon, and that I was hungry. I was starting to hope Bitsy really did put a saw in that bag, or at least something that would give me an excuse to leave.
“Just to monitor them,” Dr. Bixby said.
“The TV crew is just outside. I don’t see why this is a problem.” Lester Fine obviously had moved beyond the current conversation. He was completely ignoring his lackey, who stood behind him, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. I tried to catch her eye, but she was staring at the floor, her head down like a good servant. I felt bad for her.
Bixby shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lester, but cameras are not allowed back here. HIPAA laws, you know.”
Ah, patient privacy rules. I liked the sound of that.
But Lester Fine was not one to give up easily. “We could take them outside and talk to them there, and then they can come back.”
Take who outside? He was staring at me and Tim. Oh, right, the “victims.” But before I could say anything, Bitsy jumped in.
“Just who do you think you are?” Bitsy’s voice bellowed louder than her small stature would imply. “Are you looking for some photo op that would make you look good to voters?”
Lester Fine looked at Bitsy then, a snarl creeping around his mouth. “And just who do you think you are?”
Uh-oh.
“I am one of those voters. You should speak to me with a little more respect. I am also this woman’s friend, and she’s been through a horrible ordeal today, and you can’t exploit that for your own personal gain. Maybe I should go out there and tell those reporters the kind of person you are.”
I wanted to applaud, but it might not go over well.
Lester Fine’s face had turned a bright shade of red. He took a deep breath and stood up a little straighter. He pulled down on his suit jacket, held his head high, and stormed off around the center station and out the frosted doors without a response. The woman shuffled off after him.
Bixby was smiling at Bitsy. “Thanks. He wouldn’t listen to me.”
“You have to know how to talk to some people in just the right way,” Bitsy said, turning her charm on.
“How many TV crews are there out there?” I asked, eager to interrupt.
“I counted three trucks,” Bitsy said.
“Detective DeBurra said he’d deal with them,” Bixby said. That must be where he was, then. Dealing with the media. Of course now Lester Fine had gone out to show off his pretty face, so even without the “victims” they’d still get a story.
Tim had taken the tote bag from me and was rifling through it on my bed. He took out a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, a pair of socks, shoes, and boxers. He started for his own curtained area, but Bixby put his hand up.
“You can’t change yet. We can’t release you for another couple of hours.”
Tim stared him down. “You said yourself that we’re probably okay.”
“Probably. Not definite.” Bixby took the pile of clothing. “We’ll keep this safe, and you can change later.”
“It’s cold in here,” I said.
Bixby took out the boxers and socks and handed them to Tim. He looked at me and said, “You can put something on, too, but you have to keep the johnny coat on.”
Great. But it was better than nothing.
Tim, clutching his clothing, went behind his curtain.
Bixby turned to Bitsy. “You can stay for five more minutes, but then you have to leave.”
She nodded and smiled. Bixby smiled back, as if he couldn’t help himself.
“He’s really cute,” she whispered, pulling my curtain closed.
“I know,” I whispered back. I took a pair of underwear out of the bag and slipped them on. The bra was a black lacy one, a Victoria’s Secret purchase from when I was dating Simon Chase the playboy. I raised my eyebrows at Bitsy as I held it up, and she chuckled.
“It’s for the doctor,” she said innocently.
I took off the johnny coat and put the bra on, wishing it covered up more than it did. It was one of those bras that make you look like you’re a lot more endowed than you are, because it squeezes everything together.
It was not comfortable.
I gazed longingly at the stretchy slim black T-shirt in the bag. I made an executive decision and slipped it over my head. Without debating with myself, I also put on the skinny dark jeans and the Tevas and wadded the johnny coat up and threw it in the corner.
Bitsy just stared. “You’re not supposed to change,” she admonished, but in a whisper.
“I’m getting out of here. We need to find Charlotte.”
“I don’t know where she is,” Bitsy said. “Joel and Ace and I have called all over.”
“She’s got to be somewhere, and I hope she’s not sick,” I said, peering out through the crack in the curtain. Bixby was nowhere to be seen; the nurses were busy tending to other patients.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked.
“You’re going to have to go out there and make some sort of diversion so I can slip out unnoticed.”
“Like maybe I should fall or something, make a racket, and tell them I’m going to sue?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Bitsy cocked her head in Tim’s direction. “What about him?”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Even as I said it, though, I felt a bit guilty. And a little nervous. He wouldn’t be happy once he knew I left without authorization. I tried to convince myself that I felt fine, and no one had committed me here. I was a free agent.
I could probably kiss any sort of date with Dr. Bixby good-bye.
Bitsy handed me a set of keys. “My car is in the parking garage, level three. It’s right near the elevator. You can’t miss it. I’ll meet you there.”
I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best, Bits.”
“You do know I expect a raise for all this?”
I couldn’t tell whether she was joking. I watched her go out around the center station and through the frosted doors. Within seconds, a loud thud shook the floor, and I heard a cry. I hoped she really hadn’t hurt herself.
Clutching the keys, I stepped out into the main area among the nurses who were heading for the waiting room to see what had happened. One stopped me.
“Where are you going?”
I indicated the bathroom. She nodded her approval and continued past me. I stopped in front of the bathroom door, glancing around for Dr. Bixby, but didn’t see him. I did see Tim, looking out from behind his curtain.
I gave him a little wave and a nervous smile, and just as he took a step toward me, I bounded out the frosted doors. Bitsy was on the floor, four nurses and June surrounding her. She gave me a wink as I caught her eye, and I kept walking.
The door to the parking garage was just to the left; I could see the media circus outside, Lester Fine preening and Frank DeBurra scowling.
I pushed open the door that led to the garage; the heat hit me squarely in the face. The elevator gods were with me, though, because when I pressed the button, the doors slid open immediately. I went inside, hit three, and watched the doors close in front of me.
Pretty In Ink Page 13