by Amber Crewes
Meghan raised an eyebrow. “You have such a way with people,” she told him. “My group of friends has really taken to you, and the receptionist here nearly swooned when you walked in.”
He laughed. “I’ve always been a people person,” he said. “That’s why I got into hospitality in the first place.”
Todd led Meghan into the first row of seats. She stared around the massive theater, in awe of its enormity. “This place is huge,” she commented. “I can’t believe Earl gets to play here as the new Elvis.”
“He’s a lucky guy,” Todd replied. “Playing Elvis in Las Vegas is a lucrative situation. Earl is going to make more money than he knows what to do with.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely,” he nodded. “From what his uncle used to say when he’d hung around the hotel bar, he took home a five-figure salary each month. That isn’t too bad for a guy who plays a few songs and wiggles his hips for middle-aged female tourists.”
Meghan giggled as she imagined Mrs. Sheridan throwing herself at Jeremiah. “The Elvis gig does seem to get a lot of attention,” she agreed. “You said Jeremiah would hang around the bar? Did you know him well?”
Todd shook his head. “He came around the bar a lot, but I wouldn’t say we were friends. It’s sad he passed away, though; he was well known around the city, and I feel bad for his wife.”
“What do you think about the new Elvis?” she asked as she pointed to Earl. “He’s a nice guy. He’s Jeremiah’s nephew; did you know that?”
“His nephew?” Todd asked. “I didn’t realize that. Lucky guy, though. Getting a role like that as a young guy is a big deal... it took Jeremiah years to earn a spot playing here as Elvis. That nephew of his is lucky, lucky, lucky!”
Meghan nodded. “I wouldn't mind making that kind of money, and I’m gonna need it if I’m dragged into court with this civil suit. Let’s start looking around here; I want to tear this place apart and see if I can find any clues.”
They spent the next hour poking around the theater. “I don’t see anything,” Todd called out to her from across the room. “Everything looks normal.”
She sighed. Todd was right; nothing was amiss in the theater, and she still had no idea how Jeremiah had died. “Let’s just call it a day.”
Earl was still practicing his set as they left the theater, and Meghan could hear his voice as they walked into a long hallway. “Do you want to see something cool?” Todd asked.
“Sure,” she nodded as he led her into a dark room.
He flipped on the lights. “Ta-da!”
She gasped. The room was filled with mannequins wearing different versions of Elvis costumes. The outfits represented his early career, mannequins dressed in jumpsuits, and an entire shelf filled with accessories and wigs. “What is this?”
“This is the costume room,” he explained as he took a wig from the shelf and placed it on Meghan’s head. “Isn’t it neat?”
She nodded. “This is one of the coolest things I’ve seen in Vegas,” she admitted as she spotted a white jumpsuit with red and blue sequins. “That costume is incredible!”
“Try it on,” Todd urged. “I’ll snap a photo of you in it. You can send it to your man!”
She smiled and took the costume off of its hanger. “There is some cushion in the backside and stomach area,” he warned as she tried to snap herself into it. “Those were from Elvis’ fat days. For some reason, the outfits from his fatter years are the most popular.”
She buttoned the top buttons and looked into the floor-length mirror in the corner. “With this wig on, I could pass for the King,” she joked as she turned to look at her backside. “This is a lot of cushion!”
The door opened, and a uniformed theater attendant came inside. “Play it cool,” Todd whispered to her. “We really shouldn’t be in here…”
“Earl?” the man asked as he locked eyes with Meghan. “Your show begins soon.”
Meghan shook her head. “Ummm... okay, thank you,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound gruff.
“Do you want your water on the stage or in your dressing room?” he asked.
“Both,” she answered. “Please.”
He peered at her. “That’s different from your usual,” he said. “But ok…”
Todd smiled. “Earl will be out in a few minutes,” he said as he put a hand on the attendant’s shoulder and led him to the door. “Thanks.”
Meghan sighed as he left. “He really thought I was Earl,” she remarked.
“The costume is really convincing,” he laughed. “Let’s get you out of here.
Meghan removed the costume, and they returned to the hallway.
“Hey! Hey! Meghan Truman?” a girl’s voice cried, and they turned around.
“Please don’t be another attorney,” she prayed silently. She was relieved when she found it was a teenage girl.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Can I get an autograph and a photo?” the girl asked, her eyes dancing with excitement.
“With me?” Meghan asked. “What for?”
“You’re that girl!” the teenager cried. “The girl on the news! I want an autograph with the girl who was having an affair with Elvis! Pretty please? Maybe a photo too?!”
14
T odd shooed the girl away. “You’re being quite rude! Get out of here!”
Meghan wanted to tear her hair out in frustration. “I don’t understand,” she lamented as they walked out of The Venetian and into the bright afternoon sunshine. “I didn’t even know Jeremiah Wilson! Why does everyone think I had something to do with him dying? It’s terrible!”
Todd shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I wish I could do something to help.”
She frowned. “I need to get back to the hotel. Thanks for bringing me over here.”
He gave her a dramatic bow. “Of course, m’lady! Not a problem in the slightest. Let me know if there is ever anything else I can do.”
They said goodbye, and she booked a taxi on her Uber app which she took back to the hotel. Upon her arrival, she was pleased to find that the crowd of reporters had vanished. A police officer was stationed outside the hotel, and she had to flash her ID before entering. “New protocol,” he told her gruffly as she showed him her driver’s license. “The press was getting to be too much, so the manager insisted we post an officer outside to check guest IDs.”
“That’s a good idea,” Meghan told him, thankful she didn’t have to wade through an ocean of press.
When she entered the lobby, she saw it was empty, and felt relieved; she was tired, homesick, and frustrated, and the last thing she wanted to deal with was her group of friends. Meghan sat down on a lumpy maroon couch and checked her cell phone for any new messages.
“Excuse me?”
She groaned as a tall man in a suit approached her. “Yes?”
“Are you Meghan Truman?”
She nearly laughed. Could she not have just one second alone?
“Maybe,” she answered cautiously. “And who are you?”
“I’m Ryan Heeber,” he told her. “I’m an attorney for Louise Wilson.”
She moaned aloud, burying her face in her hands. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Why can’t Louise just leave me alone?”
Ryan chuckled. “That’s why I am here,” he informed her. “I have come over to propose a settlement. Mrs. Wilson wants nothing more to do with you, and she would like to end all of this trouble right now.”
Meghan’s ears perked up. “She’s done? Really? She wants to leave me alone?”
Ryan nodded. “Yes, she does. If you sign this paper, then it will all be over.”
He shoved an envelope in her face, along with a pen, and Meghan peered at the fine print. “This is a settlement document,” she said to herself. “Wait... she doesn’t want to end things. She wants me to settle with her for the death of her husband!”
Ryan nodded. He had a
weak chin and white blonde eyebrows, and Meghan could sense that she couldn’t trust him. “That’s what I meant,” he explained, a smile creeping onto his face. “She wants you to pay her out, and then all of this will go away. You can go home to Sandy Bay, you can leave Vegas, and you can have your life back. What do you say?”
Meghan stared at the paperwork. “She wants to settle for 3.5 million dollars!” she exclaimed. “I don’t have that kind of money; I run a small bakery. How does she expect me to pay that?”
The lawyer shrugged. “That’s not her concern,” he told her. “But... my client is aware of some family money you might have access to. When we looked into your background, we found that your father, Henry Truman, could help you out…”
Meghan gasped. “You looked into my family?”
“Of course,” he replied. “We needed to know the full story. It sounds like your daddy has had some legal problems of his own, so it’s not a surprise that his daughter is running wild in Vegas and causing the death of a sweet woman’s husband…”
Meghan crossed her arms over her chest, rising from her chair and staring Ryan Heeber in the eyes. “You need to leave,” she said coldly. “You have no business being here. I’m not paying your client a cent, and you can tell her that!”
The attorney rolled his eyes. “She worried you might have a strong reaction,” he told her. “I’ll leave, but don’t forget, we’re watching you.”
She glared at him. “If you don’t leave now, I am going to fetch that police officer! You don’t belong here.”
He winked. “Or do I? Here. Take my card. You’re going to need it.”
He handed Meghan a thick silver business card and left the hotel. She collapsed into a chair, tears pouring down her face. How had things gone awry in such a hideous fashion? She knew she couldn’t afford to pay out Mrs. Wilson, and she knew she was innocent. She was going to have to get to the bottom of Jeremiah’s death whether she liked it or not.
She sat alone downstairs for awhile, enjoying the solitude. Her heart sank as she spotted Jackie coming down the stairs, and she tried to hide her face under her thick hair.
“I can see you are trying to hide from me,” Jackie called her out. “We have a problem.”
Meghan narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Another problem? Shocker.”
Jackie put her hands on her hips. “Don’t give me attitude right now, Meghan! We have a serious problem, and we need your help.”
“You always need my help,” Meghan complained. “In Sandy Bay, here in Vegas... where does it end?”
Jackie shook her head. “I am going to ignore your snarky comments,” she said evenly. “Because we have bigger fish to fry.”
“What do you mean?”
The rest of the ladies rushed into the room. “Meghan!” Karen cried. “We need to talk to you!”
Before Meghan could say anything, a woman ran to the group. “Excuse me,” the woman began. “Meghan Truman? Is that you?”
“It is,” Jackie confirmed. “She’s THE Meghan Truman! Would you like to buy a t-shirt with her face on it? I will cut you a deal, too. I’ll give you the t-shirt and a photo with Meghan for two-hundred bucks.”
Meghan gasped. “Jackie! Seriously? Cut it out.”
“I’ll take it!” the woman agreed. “A photo and t-shirt of the woman who killed Elvis? My friends from my book club won’t believe it. We all love mystery books and television shows, and now, I’m here with a real-life villain!”
Trudy glowered at the woman. “Get out of here,” she ordered. “You are invading our privacy.”
“But she said…” the woman argued as she pointed to Jackie. “She said I could have…”
“I don’t care what she said,” Trudy countered. “Get out of here or I will call the police!”
The woman frowned, but she scurried away.
“What is going on?” Meghan asked. “Seriously. What do you all need?”
Before anyone else could answer, Jackie took a deep breath. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Mrs. Sheridan has disappeared.”
15
“W hat?” Meghan gasped. “Disappeared?”
“No one has seen her in hours,” Jackie confirmed. “Myrtle and Trudy took her to her room earlier, and now, no one can find her.”
“Has anyone at the hotel seen her?”
“No one,” Jackie answered. “We need to search for her; I’m worried that she went looking for Elvis, and who knows where she could end up!”
They assembled the women in the lobby. “We need to split up and search for her,” Meghan told the group. “We don’t know where she could be, or who she could be with, so we can’t leave a single stone unturned!”
“I’ll go with you,” Myrtle told her. “Everyone else spread out and search the Strip; we need to find her quickly!”
The women left the hotel. They stopped to buy hot dogs from a vendor, and continued on their search. As they walked along the busy strip, Meghan was deep in her thoughts. She could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest; what if something terrible had happened to Mrs. Sheridan? How could she return to Sandy Bay without her friend?
“It is really cool here,” Myrtle commented as they passed the Hard Rock Cafe. “The lights are so bright, and it is so busy.”
“Mama would hate it here,” Meghan laughed as they passed a group of scantily clad dancers performing on the street corner. “She would think it is so tacky.”
Myrtle giggled. “She would turn up her fancy nose in a heartbeat.”
“Not only at this city, but at us right now,” Meghan giggled. “Hot dogs? You know Mama would not approve.”
“It’s common fair food,” Myrtle said, imitating their mother. “Truman girls don’t eat fair food!”
They continued to walk along the strip, each looking left and right for Mrs. Sheridan.
“How are you doing?” Myrtle asked her as they crossed the street. “I know it hasn’t been the trip of your dreams, but have there been any good parts?”
Meghan pursed her lips. She knew Myrtle meant well, but she didn’t want to answer her sister’s question. “Meghan?” Myrtle pressed.
“I’m hanging in there,” she told her sister. “I’m glad you are here. You’ve been my saving grace.”
“Happy to help, sis.”
Meghan’s heart warmed as she thought of how much she loved her sister. “This is a little unceremonious,” she admitted. “But can I ask you a question? It’s important.”
“Sure,” Myrtle agreed. “What’s up?”
Meghan reached for her sister’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re my closest sister and one of my best friends,” she began. “Would you be my maid of honor? I would be so happy if you’d say yes.”
“YES!” Myrtle squealed. “Of course! I was hoping you would ask me!”
Meghan beamed. “That makes me so happy,” she told her sister. “Mama has really gone crazy with the wedding planning; she wants three string quartets, a petting zoo for the children in attendance, a choreographed Viennese waltz for our first dance, and a fountain built for the reception. I need someone level-headed to keep me grounded during my big day, and I couldn’t think of anyone better than my favorite sister.”
Myrtle jumped up and down with joy. “I thought you would never ask. Who else do you think will be in the bridal party?”
“Our sisters, of course,” Meghan answered. “Karen, Trudy, Pamela, and Jackie.”
“Jackie?” Myrtle asked. “Are you sure? The way this trip has gone, I wouldn’t be surprised if you never wanted to see her stupid face again.”
Meghan sighed. “She is my friend,” she explained. “And even though this weekend has gone awry, I don’t want to lose a friend.”
Myrtle rolled her eyes. “You’re too kind,” she told her. “I would kick her out of my life if she planned a trip like this for me.”
Meghan shook her head. “I don’t believe in being vindictive,” she said to her younger sister. “I h
ope this whole situation with Jackie is just a fluke and that I can still enjoy her company on my wedding day.”
They reached the next corner, and Meghan was nearly flattened as a group of Asian tourists walked in her direction. “Hey!” she shouted as a man almost hit her in the face with his giant camera. “I’m walking here.”
The group of tourists did not move, and Meghan got caught up in the middle of them. A young girl wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and a Minnie Mouse backpack pointed at Meghan. She yelled over her shoulder to the group, and Meghan could not understand what she was saying.
Myrtle edged her way into the group. “They swept you up,” she commented in amusement. “This tour group is huge.”
“Let’s try to get out of here,” Meghan said, feeling frazzled as the tourists bumped into her. The girl with the sunglasses pointed at her again.
“That’s Meghan Truman! She had an affair with Elvis!”
Meghan’s stomach sank as the tourists turned to her and began to take photos. “Meghan! Take a photo with me!” they asked as they shoved their cell phones and cameras in her face.
“Meghan! Take my hand!” Myrtle shouted as a child with a cell phone climbed on Meghan’s back and began to pose for photos.
Meghan reached out and took her sister’s hand, and Myrtle pushed through the crowd to break free of the tourists. “Meghan! There she goes!” they yelled, but Meghan and Myrtle were sprinting down the street.
“This is the worst weekend of my life!” Meghan screamed in frustration. “This mess is the last thing I expected on my special trip; why did all of this have to happen to me?”
Before Myrtle could answer, a man in a three-piece suit sauntered up to Meghan. “Excuse my interruption,” he said smoothly as he pushed his blonde hair back. “Did I hear correctly? Are you Meghan Truman?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “No,” she lied. “I’m not.”
He winked at her. “Don’t be silly; I recognize you from the news footage. I think this chance meeting is exactly what you need, Meghan. I’m Patrick Jackson, Attorney.”