by Dobbs, L. A.
“What’s on your agenda for today?”
“I’ve got another fluff piece due for J.J. by the end of the week. The incredible hundred-and-five-year-old woman. Plus, I’ve got a couple more leads to follow up on.”
“Leads? For what?” Liv’s green eyes narrowed. “Oh. You’re going to keep working this case, aren’t you?”
“I need to discover the truth, and Lord knows Davis won’t do it.” She stood and slung her messenger bag across her body. “Besides, if there is more to it, there’s a chance I can still break an even bigger story and save my byline.”
“Huh. Well, just be careful, okay?”
“I will.” Laura gave Liv a quick kiss on the cheek then headed toward the door. “Call you later.”
“You better,” Liv called back, waving.
Laura headed out to her Impala, climbed into the car and tossed her bag onto the passenger seat before starting the engine. Her day hadn’t started well, but if her upcoming appointment proved fruitful, she just might get her huge scoop yet.
* * *
Two hours later, Laura parked at the curb in front of a modest-looking, ranch-style home in Henderson, Nevada. She double-checked the address with the one she’d found online then shoved her phone back into her messenger bag and got out.
Showing up at the home of a murder victim unannounced wasn’t her usual MO—especially when there were minors involved. But she needed to get the truth about the widow who’d been killed at the El Cortez, for her sake as well as for the sake of the woman’s kids. The half-assed article Davis published hadn’t even come close.
She walked up the narrow, short sidewalk to the front door and rang the bell, smoothing her hands down the legs of her jeans then running her fingers through her hair. A slight, hot breeze stirred, and she was sure her loose curls were probably a mess by now, but it was too late to do anything about them.
A boy answered. Okay, not really a boy. More like a young man. He looked about eighteen, with spiky dark-blond hair and sad eyes. Laura’s heart pinched at the loss of his only living parent. Her family was so close, she couldn’t imagine life without her parents around at this point, and she was thirty. Losing both her mom and dad while she was still a teenager was unthinkable.
She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat and flashed what she hoped was a comforting smile. “Hi. My name’s Laura Rockford, and I’m a friend of Mike McQuade’s. I was hoping I might be able to speak with you and your sister, if she’s available.”
The kid looked her up and down, wary. His Marvin the Martian T-shirt clung to his slim torso. “Mike didn’t tell me anyone was stopping by.”
So Mike had contact with the widow and her family? Seems her gamble had paid off. She faked a wince. “Oh, shoot. He was supposed to call you guys and let you know I’d be coming over, but he was in the middle of a new game design and—”
“Never mind.” He opened the door a smidge wider. “That happens a lot.”
“What? Him forgetting to call you guys?” Her radar blipped again. She hesitated. “So, it’s okay if I come in then?”
“Yeah, I guess.” The boy shrugged and stepped aside to open the door all the way. “The place is kind of a mess though, with everything that’s happened.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” She stepped into a tiled foyer and glanced around at the tidy Southwestern-style décor. Other than a few stray papers and empty dishes lying around, it looked fine. Better than her own place, which looked like a nuclear warhead had recently detonated nearby. The kid shuffled from bare foot to bare foot, his toes sticking out from beneath the frayed hem of his jeans, and Laura rushed to cover the awkward silence. “I was, uh, sorry to hear about your mom. Are you and your sister doing okay?”
“It’s been hard, with Dad gone too.”
Laura’s heart squeezed a bit tighter at the sorrow in his voice, and she reached into her messenger bag for the gift she’d purchased in preparation for this meeting. She’d always had a sweet tooth, even more so when she was younger and chocolate was her go-to treat. The bag of assorted caramels had looked particularly good. “I picked these up in town. Thought you guys might like a snack.”
“Thanks.” He took it from her, his gaze lowered. “Wanna sit down?”
“Sure.” She followed him into the living room and took a seat on the end of a large leather sectional sofa. Toss pillows and throws were scattered about haphazardly. A somewhat bedraggled bouquet of roses sat on a side table. The place looked lived in and loved. A few family photos were placed around the room—Barbara Newton and her kids, a few older ones with her husband in there as well. Everyone in the pictures was laughing and joyous, with no idea of the tragedy that would befall them in the years ahead. “Is your sister here too?”
“Maggie, there’s somebody here to see us,” he called before slumping into a matching armchair across from Laura. He had the lanky, lean lines of a guy who hadn’t quite grown into his body yet, his hands and feet too large for his slim frame. She glanced at the textbook and papers on the coffee table and spotted his name. Geoff. His voice still held a note of suspicion, his dark eyes narrow. “You Mike’s new girlfriend?”
Images of their kiss bombarded her brain once more before she clamped a lid on them. Laura tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and looked away. “Just friends.”
A petite girl with shoulder-length light-brown hair—straight and held back with a pink headband—walked in, her cautious stare lingering on Laura before darting to her brother. She looked about a foot shorter than Geoff and was dressed in trendy fuchsia sweats. “Who’s she?”
“Her name’s Laura. She’s a friend of Mike’s.”
“Oh.” Maggie propped a hip on the arm of the chair next to her brother and looked Laura up and down. Her single-syllable response sounded both surprised and cynical. Quite a feat for someone who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. The girl kind of reminded Laura of herself at that age. “Did Mike send you?”
“He asked me to check in on you guys and make sure you’re doing okay.” She glanced around again and spotted an open kitchen near the back of the space—newer stainless steel appliances, oak cabinets, granite countertops. “You guys have food? Do you need anything?”
“We’re not idiots.” Geoff gave her an exasperated glare. “And our aunt is staying here with us too. She handles all the cooking and shopping and stuff.”
“Oh, okay. That’s good.” Laura took off her messenger bag and set it on the sofa next to her, collecting her thoughts. “Have the police found out anything else about what happened to your mom?”
“Not yet.” Maggie said. “We told them she’d been acting weird lately though.”
“Weird how?”
“It’s probably just because the anniversary’s coming up.”
“Anniversary?”
“Of when Dad died. Five years ago,” Geoff said.
“Oh.” Laura frowned, her chest constricting. The casual response belied the shadow of pain crossing his boyish features. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you both.”
“We’re dealing,” he said with a shrug. The kid was cute in the current boy-band style that seemed to drive all Laura’s young preteen cousins crazy. Geoff glanced up at his sister. “Right, Maggie?”
She lifted one shoulder, a small frown creasing the area between her dark brows. “What about that creeper? You tell her about that?”
“Creeper?” Laura’s ears perked. She reached into her bag and pulled out her small pad and a pen as discreetly as possible. “Someone’s been lurking around here? Did you tell the cops?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but yeah, I told them. Mags and I saw some guy outside a couple times while we were waiting for the bus last week. Mom said she would handle it. Then…”
Then she died.
The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken.
Laura jotted a few notes on her pad, hating to cause the kids more pain but knowing she had to get to the truth. For them a
nd for herself. “Did she talk to this guy?”
“Not sure. All I know is she made us go over to our aunt’s house while she was gone.” He shifted in his seat. “When she came back to get us, she seemed calmer though. So maybe."
“Do you know where she went? While you guys were at your aunt’s?”
“No.” Maggie said, her cheeks coloring. “Sometimes she went to see Mike. I think they were—”
“Shut up, Mags.” Geoff gave his sister a warning stare.
Laura blinked hard and stared at her hands in her lap. Had Mike been sleeping with the murdered widow? Her heart sank. She didn’t want to believe it, but the kids made it sound like there was more than friendship between their mom and Mike. “So, you think Mike and your mom might’ve been dating?”
“Maybe.” Geoff toyed with the hem of his shirt. “She went to see him every month since Dad died. He gives her money.”
“Money?” She did her best to keep her tone even. “For what?”
“Don’t know.” Geoff’s expression said the exact opposite. He might not say it, but it was obvious he thought his mother and Mike were lovers. “All I know is she’d go over to see him every month, and afterward, we had new money in our bank accounts. But that’s the only reason I can afford to go away to college next year, so I’m not complaining.” He scrunched his nose and sniffed. “At least that was the plan, you know. Before…”
Before their lives went haywire.
Laura pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. This was harder than she’d anticipated. Interviews with the grieving were always tough, even more so when they involved minors. But these kids seemed so isolated and sad. No matter how much money Mike might’ve thrown their way, it would never be able to erase the loss of both their parents.
Sudden indignation flared hot in her chest. Why had Mike tossed cash their way? Guilt? Remorse over having an affair with their mother behind their dad’s back and then their dad dying unexpectedly? “Does Mike come around here a lot?”
“No. Not really. Not anymore,” Maggie said, her foot tapping against the side of the chair as if to expel some excess energy. “He’s been really good to us though. He even sent over a bunch of food and supplies as soon as we heard the news about Mom. And he paid for all of her expenses. You know, for the funeral and…stuff.”
Conflicted, Laura pushed to her feet and picked up her bag as the room seemed to press in around her. She needed to get out of this claustrophobic environment and get some fresh air. Part of her wanted to hug Mike for taking these newly minted orphans under his wing. The other part of her couldn’t help searching for other motives behind his generosity.
He’d never once mentioned he knew Barbara Newton or her family during their interview, and if he had been sleeping with her prior to her death, then that would certainly be a good excuse as to why he’d kept silent on the subject. After all, nothing screamed motive more than sleeping with the victim. That would also explain his donations to the kids’ college funds. Perhaps he was trying to pay his way to a clear conscience.
Definitely lots of new angles to consider.
“Uh, thanks for talking to me, kids.” She gave them both a brief smile then rushed for the front door. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Will your aunt be home soon?”
“She gets off work at five.” Geoff trailed after her into the foyer. “Thanks for the candy.”
“You’re welcome.” Laura hurried out into the late-afternoon heat. She didn’t breathe again until she was back in the Impala with the air conditioning blasting in to her face. Whatever she’d been expecting to discover in that house, it hadn’t been that Mike was romantically involved with the victim or that he was financially supporting her kids.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.
Seemed the deeper she dug in this case, the less she knew. Still, no matter what the hell was going on with this twisted tale, she was too far in now to ever back out. She had to see this through to the end. Even if that meant discovering Mike was the killer.
8
Early the next morning, Laura switched on the police scanner in the Impala during her drive in to the Chronicle offices just outside town. Maybe she’d catch a lead on another new story, something that didn’t involve gruesome murder scenes or vintage video games or a certain sexy-as-hell, enigmatic, infuriatingly reticent tech mogul.
At first there was nothing but static, broken by the occasional smack-talk banter between the officers and the dispatch operators. She’d made it as far as the iconic Welcome to Las Vegas sign near the side of the highway when a new call came in. Laura half listened as she pressed a bit harder on the accelerator, her pulse picking up speed as well—body found, dressed in 1940s-style clothing, near the Mob Museum.
Damn. She’d just been in that area, getting her morning coffee at Café 1020.
Close to breaking a new land speed record, she veered the Impala into a U-turn and headed back toward the reported destination. If she got there before the cops, she might be able to get closer to the victim this time, get better footage, discover more clues. It was too early to know if it was related to the earlier murder, but how many people could there be running around dressed like old-time gangsters?
Even in Vegas there were limits to the weirdness.
Once she reached the general vicinity, to be on the safe side she parked one street over and took the back way to the museum to avoid running into any of the guys from the station. The radio call had mentioned the body was discovered near the old mailboxes toward the back of the place. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a side entrance close to that spot. Perfect.
Laura pressed her back against an adjacent building and peeked her head around the corner, scanning the area. Red and blue lights flashed from the other end of the short alleyway, and her hopes for arriving before the police faded. They were on the ball today. Yellow crime scene tape had already been strung around the side entrance where she was headed, but there didn’t appear to be anyone guarding the propped-open door. Bless their little blue-blood hearts. She smiled. Plus, it would save her from a breaking-and-entering charge if she got caught.
Sticking to the shadows, she crept over, slipped beneath the tape, and entered the building. As she tiptoed down the brick hallway, she peeked into several rooms to make sure no one was around. She’d been in here a couple of times since the place opened back in 2012. The bar still looked the same, with its curved velvet banquettes and pictures of deceased gangsters covering the walls. The next room held the Wall of Infamy, Al Capone’s grinning face sneering back at her from the wall as if he approved of her sneaky activities.
Finally, she reached the rows of small original mailboxes set into the walls that were left over from when the place used to be the old post office and courthouse. Several floodlights had been set up around the cordoned off space, casting a harsh glow on the macabre scene.
On the floor, slouched against the wall, was the victim. This time, the killer had used a gun, the blood from the bullet wound to the victim’s head smeared down the wall as he’d fallen. The unfortunate guy looked young—maybe mid-twenties, she guessed—clean shaven and unobtrusive looking. He’d been dressed in a white dress shirt and brown waistcoat with matching suit trousers. A newsboy cap sat at a jaunty angle on his head, and black-and-white oxford shoes covered his feet. Hell, from what Laura could see, he’d fit right in on the set of Newsies.
With one hand, she fumbled in the pocket of her messenger bag for her phone. She wanted to get video of this one too, for comparison. She’d had her doubts at first, but after seeing this guy, it was pretty obvious these murders were related. And if she remembered right, this was level four in Mike’s game. She’d kept playing that too, strictly for research purposes, of course. She’d gotten pretty good too, moving up from a lowly mob runner to a crime boss in less than a week. Not bad. Laura pulled out her device and tapped the screen to bring up her camera.
“You shouldn’
t be here.”
She jumped and turned fast. Troy.
Damn.
“This is for my story.” She gave him a coy smile. “I just need a bit of footage so I can connect the dots.”
“Dots, huh?” He stepped under the tape and moved in beside her. “Explain.”
“Seriously?” She gestured toward the body. “Look at him. The old-fashioned clothes, the pose from the game, the—”
“Game?” He scowled. “What game?”
“Oh.” She aimed her phone toward the body and pressed Record. Apparently Troy didn’t know about Vegas Noir yet. And if the police hadn’t made the connection, she wasn’t about to do their work for them. This was her best lead yet. “Did I say game? I meant lame. The lame pose.”
“Right.” He crossed his arms and raised a brow. “Because you always have a hard time saying exactly what you mean.” Troy shook his head slowly. “You know something, don’t you, Laura?”
“No.” She took a panoramic shot of the whole scene then clicked off her phone and slid it back into her bag. “Well, nothing for sure yet. It’s just a hunch.”
“A hunch, huh?” One corner of his full upper lip quirked up, Elvis style. “You realize not disclosing pertinent information to a law enforcement officer is tantamount to impeding a murder investigation. I could throw you in jail. Then again, maybe you’d like that. Might give you more time to think about your ‘hunch.’ I’ve already got you for trespassing on a crime scene.”
As if to reinforce his point, Troy removed his handcuffs from his waistband and dangled them in front of her face. He’d do it too, she was sure, if for no other reason than having her at his mercy.
“Fine.” She exhaled. Davis’s crappy article had pretty much ensured the game’s involvement wasn’t much of a secret anymore anyway. “Vegas Noir. A local tech guy designed the game and made a boatload of money off of it. This scene and the one the other day at the El Cortez are both staged to look like levels from that game. Right down to the victims’ clothing and the locations of the kills. They’ve got to be connected.”