Driven to Ink (23 page)

“That chapel’s on its way out. No one wants to get married in a place where people are getting murdered.”

That was my in. “Murdered?”

Sanderson waved a hand in the air. “Oh, one of the Dinos was killed a couple of days ago. Another one got hit by a car and killed. One of them has disappeared. Fortunately one of them came over here and probably saved his life.”

“He switched sides?”

Sanderson gave me a look and then bellowed with laughter. “You’re a card.”

Right.

I wondered how I could talk to Alan, the guy who shed his Dino persona for Elvis. There wasn’t really a segue into that, it seemed. It would tip off Sanderson that I was here for something other than pricing weddings.

“Would you like to come in and see what we can offer?” Sanderson asked, indicating I should follow him into the building, which seemed to replicate That’s Amore.

I glanced across the street to see whether Tim had emerged. So far, no. The Impala sat by itself in the lot. I wondered what was taking so long, what he was finding out about Will Parker.

I followed Sanderson.

Rather than the bland concrete of That’s Amore, the decor of the Love Shack was much more elaborate, like a real church chapel dressed up for Halloween. The walls were draped with white satin; marble stands sported simple vases with sprays of flowers. As we passed them, I touched one and found that the flowers were fake. We walked along a long red-carpeted hallway down to an actual chapel, although Sister Mary Eucharista would no doubt beg to differ. The whole place was white, with more flowers attached to long white pews. An altar sat at the end of the runner, but there were no crosses or communion plates or baptismal fonts. Instead, large speakers dominated the corners, and the strains of “Blue Suede Shoes” were emanating softly from them.

This was Elvis’s chapel. Not God’s. Although I’m sure Elvis fans would think those were one and the same.

I much preferred the Rat Pack across the street.

“This,” Sanderson said, sweeping his arm across the room for effect, “is our alternative for those couples who might want a real church rather than the front seats of their cars.”

I did have to hand it to him. It made good business sense.

“Oh, I didn’t realize—”

The female voice from behind us startled me, and I turned to see a rather homely older woman in an unflattering brown tweed skirt and a wrinkled button-down blouse. She shifted slightly, tugging at the skirt as though it were tight. It wasn’t.

The whole Love Shack staff needed Stacy and Clinton’s fashion expertise.

“Miss Gardner, this is . . .” Sanderson turned to me, his eyebrows high, asking me without asking me what my name was.

“Bitsy,” I said without thinking. “Bitsy Hendricks.” She would kill me if she found out I was taking her name in vain, but I wasn’t willing to give my real name here.

Miss Gardner’s eyes traveled down the tattoo sleeves on my arms, and I could swear she was channeling Sister Mary Eucharista. Not good for me.

“Are you here with your beloved?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No. He’s working. I told him I’d come over and check it out.” I’m not a good liar, and I felt my face flush.

She was onto me. Her face hardened and her eyes narrowed for a second before she turned to Sanderson.

“You’ve got a phone call,” she said. “It’s urgent.” Her tone left no doubt that if he didn’t answer this call right now, something horrible would happen, like world peace would never be achieved.

Sanderson gave me a sheepish smile. “Excuse me a minute, Miss Hendricks,” he said, and went out of the chapel and out of sight.

Miss Gardner and I stood awkwardly facing each other. I shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure what to say.

She broke the ice first.

“You’re not here to get married, are you?”

I couldn’t get this one past her. “No,” I admitted.

“Why are you here?”

She reminded me too much of my childhood and how I’d been reminded every day I’d go to hell if I lied. So I came clean.

“It’s the Dean Martins at That’s Amore. They’re being killed, and I heard that the owner over there and Sanderson have some sort of feud.”

Her lips twitched, as if she wanted to smile, but she didn’t say anything. So I continued.

“I was wondering if I could talk to Alan, the guy who came over here from there.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s not here today.” She paused. “I’m not really sure what you’re looking for, Miss Hendricks. If that’s your real name.”

I sighed. “It’s not.”

“My advice to you, miss, is that you go home and forget about all of this.”

She was trying to be kind, but a warning laced her voice.

“Forget about what?” I asked.

Miss Gardner reached out and clutched my forearm tight as a vise. She leaned toward me, her breath brushing my cheek. “That Ray Lucci was trouble. The world is better off without him.”

A
s quickly as she grabbed me, she let me go, turning on her heel and walking swiftly down the aisle, like a bride who’d been jilted and wanted to get out as soon as possible before the questions started.

I stood alone at the altar, wondering exactly what she was talking about. How did she know Ray Lucci?

My cell phone interrupted my thoughts, Springsteen singing “Born to Run” in my bag. I dug it out and glanced at the caller ID. Uh-oh. Tim.

I flipped the phone open and said, “Hey there.”

“Forget that crap. Where are you?”

He was angry. Really angry, and I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised.

“I’m across the street.”

“Across—” He stopped as he figured out where I was.

I waited.

“I’ll be over there in a minute. Be outside.”

The call ended, and I stuffed the phone back in my bag, striding down the aisle. As I turned the corner, I bumped into Sanderson, who stepped back slightly and grinned.

“Whoa, where you headed, little lady?”

“My ride is here,” I said, trying to step around him.

He moved so I couldn’t.

“Who’s your ride? Your fiancé?”

“No, my brother,” I said firmly, attempting again to sidle past.

He got in my way again. “Your brother?”

It was time to play my hand.

“Yes, Mr. Sanderson. My brother. A Las Vegas police detective. He knows I’m here, so if I’m not out there in a few minutes, he’ll come in here and make sure I leave safely.”

Sanderson feigned surprise.

“Why wouldn’t you leave here safely?”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but something about this guy was giving me the willies. “I don’t know. I just know he’s here, and I have to meet him outside.” Again I tried to step around him.

This time he let me squeeze past, so close that I could feel the layers of his flesh against my breasts.

He grinned as he got his cheap thrill.

I scowled. “Thanks for the information,” I said.

“You’re welcome, Miss Kavanaugh.”

I stopped. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I know who you are. I know you’re here because you think I threatened DellaRocco. It’s not that way. Believe me. It’s the other way around.”

“What’s the other way around?” Tim would be even more furious with me if he had to wait too long, but I couldn’t help myself. “Are you saying he threatened you?”

“He sent his thug over here.”

“Thug?” What? Were we in a
Sopranos
episode?

“That ex-con.”

“Lucci?”

Sanderson nodded. “That’s the one. Says he can make life difficult for me. Well, I turned the tables on him, didn’t I?”

He didn’t seem to realize what he was saying, but its meaning was not lost on me.

“Did you have something to do with Ray Lucci’s murder?” I asked. Sometimes the direct question is the best one.

Or not.

He grabbed my shoulder and shoved me against the wall. I landed with a thud, the wind momentarily knocked out of me.

“Hey!”

We both looked up to see Tim bounding toward us. He pushed Sanderson away from me, and before Sanderson knew it, Tim had his arm twisted up behind him so hard I could see tears forming in Sanderson’s eyes.

Tim looked at me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, standing up straight, trying to catch my breath.

Tim turned to Sanderson. “I could take you in right now for assault.”

I rarely saw my brother at work. I was used to him lounging around the living room in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, a beer in one hand, his other hand in a bag of chips, while he watched whatever game was on the big-screen TV. Sometimes there was a woman, usually not the same one from week to week. After Shawna and their three-year relationship, he was playing the field. I didn’t blame him.

But now, his eyes were dark, his face tight, his voice deep with his threat. His muscles bulged in his arm as he strengthened his hold on Sanderson. He was all cop, and it scared me a little, like it was scaring Sanderson. Because, despite the hefty girth on the man and Tim’s definitely thinner frame, Sanderson looked as if he was about to pee his pants at any second. If Tim pulled his gun, it would be all over.

“I didn’t mean anything,” Sanderson finally stammered.

Tim swung him around as if he weren’t any heavier than a bag of potatoes. He let go of Sanderson’s arm and put his hands on his hips, his feet planted on the ground like a cop in one of those TV reality shows.

“You did mean something, and if I ever find out that you did anything like that again, to my sister or to any woman, I’ll come after you. And believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”

Scared the crap out of me, and I wasn’t even on the receiving end.

Sanderson nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Yessir,” he said, even though he must have had at least twenty years on Tim. But cops have that effect on people.

Tim turned his stare to me. “Are you ready?”

I nodded and shifted my bag a little farther up my shoulder.

Tim put his hand at the small of my back and steered me toward the door and outside. The glare hit my eyes, and I squinted, rummaging in my bag for my sunglasses. I slipped them on.

Tim opened the car door for me, and I climbed inside, settling into the seat, pulling my seat belt around me, and clicking it in. He got into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

But then he turned to me. “You’re not off the hook, you know, just because that guy was tossing you around in there.”

I glared at him. “So you’re going to finish what he started?” I challenged.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“He said Lucci came over and threatened him.”

Tim’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Did he say that?”

“I heard that Sanderson was trying to steal the Dean Martins. He got one of them. Alan something or other. I thought maybe Sanderson had something to do with what was going on, but he says it was the other way around. That DellaRocco was threatening him. Using Lucci as muscle.”

Tim snorted. “Someone’s lying.”

It was the way he said it that made me take notice.

“What did DellaRocco say?”

Tim braked at the red light, and we sat idling. He stared straight at the light, as if willing it to change. I opened my mouth to ask my question again, but before I could, he spoke.

“DellaRocco said he found ten thousand dollars in a duffel bag in Lucci’s locker the day Lucci was killed.”

M
y mouth hung open, and I couldn’t find any words at first. Finally, I sputtered, “In cash?” My brain was working overtime, and it got hung up on something, but I needed to think about it a little first. See whether I was off base.

Tim nodded. The light turned green, and we continued down the Strip, Circus Circus to our left, the big top beckoning.

“He told the cops?” I asked.

Tim nodded again. “Flanigan.”

“But Flanigan didn’t tell you?”

“I’m not on the case, remember? The guy’s body was in your car. I’m not supposed to be doing anything.”

“So how did DellaRocco manage to mention this to you?” I asked.

“He thought I knew. He said something about the ten grand—had we figured out where it came from yet?—and I played along and, after a little more conversation, managed to put it together.”

“Do you think DellaRocco will tell Flanigan you were here?” I worried a little about his job, but only a little. Tim had a way about him, something that let him get away with stuff that normal people couldn’t. He could talk his way out of anything, like when he brought his girlfriend home way after curfew in high school and her father started to get on his case. He smooth talked his way out of it, and the father ended up taking him to a basketball game the next week.

“DellaRocco didn’t exactly like Flanigan,” Tim said. “They got off on the wrong foot.”

That was good.

“So DellaRocco didn’t know where the money came from?”

We stopped at another light. I could see the Eiffel Tower several blocks down, hovering over the Strip rather than the Seine.

“He assumes it has something to do with his death.”

“Duh.”

Tim chuckled. “You have a way with words. You know that, little sis?”

I punched him on the arm.

“So I don’t get it,” I said as the car started to move again after a minute. “Ray Lucci steals my car but leaves ten thousand bucks in his locker? Why didn’t he take the money with him?”

“I have no idea. None of this makes any sense.”

I had another thought. “Maybe he did bring the money, and then whoever knocked him off and stuffed him in the trunk took the bag back to the chapel and put it in his locker.”

“Major hole in that story, Brett. Why would someone put the money back in the guy’s locker? It was cash. It was a load of money. He’d just take it.”