Green Eyes in Las Vegas (2 page)

Whooshing out the door soon after waking up is not my idea of how the day should start.

I grumbled to myself about cops who had nothing better to do than rush me out of my own home, and people who never let me finish my sentences. I tried to tame my frizzy brown hair and gave up quickly, pulling it into a low ponytail. Autumn had kicked in, and the temperature wasn’t meant to go beyond eighty today, so I found a clean pair of black slacks and a green top to wear. Stilettos seemed too fancy for a quick visit to the police station, so I settled for sensible black ballet flats, grabbed my all-purpose big tote, and headed out the door.

I steered my beat-up old Accord toward the police station, avoiding the stupid tourists on the road who didn’t know how to drive, and a niggling doubt bothered me – had Elwood criticized Emily on purpose, just to make sure I told him everything I knew?

Once I reached the station, I waited only a few minutes before I was ushered through the modern, sterile halls to the open area where Elwood’s desk was. The moment I saw him, I realized there was no way he was smart enough to have tricked me into revealing what I knew – he was a chubby, grumpy figure of a man, slumped over his desk with some paperwork.
Stubble covered most of his face, and the visible rest was contorted into what seemed like a permanent grimace. One hand gripped a large, white coffee mug, and when he noticed me and looked up, I saw that he was squinting with annoyance.

Elwood looked exceptionally displeased to see me. He nodded toward the chair in front of him, and as I sat down, he took another sip of his coffee. It looked weak and watery, and judging from the rolls of fat that hung off his neck, I guessed that his drink contained more cream and sugar than caffeine.

“Tiffany Black?”

“Yes.”

“So you decided to show up?”

He made a big show of looking at his watch and I stifled a grimace. “I’m only five minutes late. Traffic was crazy a–”

“Oh no, that’s fine.” His voice was laced with sarcasm. He spread his hands wide apart, and I noticed the gold wedding band on one of his pudgy fingers. “I’m happy you made it at all. I know how you women like to make a late entrance. My ex-wife was the same, always running late when we had to go somewhere.”

“Oh.” I shifted uncomfortably, wondering what to say.

“So, tell me what you saw.” He smiled at me, like he was indulging a toddler who claimed to have seen a unicorn. “Where were you? What time?”

“Three a.m.,” I said, and tried to describe the location as best I could.

“What were you doing there at three?”

“Walking home from work.”

“Oh?”

It was clear that despite my conservative outfit, he thought I was one of Vegas’ many prostitutes, so I quickly added, “I’m a dealer at
The Treasury Casino.”

“Huh.” He narrowed his eyes and looked at me carefully. “My ex is a dealer
, too. You know, you even look a bit like her. Same kind of hair, same cunning eyes.”

This conversation was getting a bit awkward. I’d never heard anyone describe my eyes as cunning before, and before I knew it, I was sayin
g, “When did you get divorced?” Elwood narrowed his eyes and I quickly said, “Right. Never mind. As I was saying…”
What was I saying?

“Two months,” Elwood said. “She’ll change her mind in a bit, she’s always changing her mind on stuff.
That’s why I still wear my ring. Women, huh?”

“Yeah, women,” I said. I nodded my head and tried to sound as though I, too, found all women exasperating and fickle. 

His eyes shone and he leaned forward. “You say something they don’t like, they pitch a fit. What’m I meant to do, stand there quietly like some whipped loser?”

“Uh-hunh,” I said, nodding slowly. “Exactly.”

Maybe my voice had a hint of sarcasm that I couldn’t disguise, or maybe some pity showed through eyes. Either way, Elwood leaned back and seemed to remember that he didn’t want to talk to me. He took a dejected sip of his sugary coffee, and tapped his pen awkwardly.

“So, this guy?”

I repeated the story of Green Eyes’ Earth landing once more, my words coming out in a rush. Now that I knew about the former Mrs. Elwood, all I could see sitting in front of me was a tiny, sad man covered in layers of cookie dough. It wasn’t pleasant – kind of like seeing a naked bogeyman.

Elwood listened blankly, not asking any questions, until I was done talking.

“So, that’s it,” I finished lamely. “I guess I should get going.”

“Sure.”

We exchanged awkward goodbyes; Elwood seemed as relieved as I that our chat was over, and I headed out, wondering if what I’d seen would even contribute to the burglary investigation in any way. He hadn’t seemed to take what I’d said very seriously, and other than getting to hear some wisdom about women, I felt like my time had been wasted.

I was about to leave the parking lot when my phone buzzed.

“Tiffany Black?” I hadn’t recognized the number, and now I didn’t recognize the voice. It was female, deep and smooth: clearly the voice of someone who was used to being listened to. “My name’s Samantha Sanders. Sophia told me about you?”

I smiled involuntarily, my eyes seeing dollar bills
before me.

Sophia was my first – and so far last – client. An ex-stripper turned casino-owner’s wife, turned casino-owner’s widow, she’d been accused of killing her husband. After I managed to prove her innocence, she promised to refer me to people she knew. I’d been waiting for one of her wealthy buddies to give me a call, and hopefully hire me to do some easy, well-paying work.

And now here I was, speaking to Samantha. I mentally took back all the grumbling I’d done about Sophia forgetting me.

“Sophia spoke really well of you,” Samantha was saying, “
and I’d like to hire you for some work. It’s a bit urgent – can you come chat with me today?”

“Of course.” I had nothing planned for today, and I knew these high-powered types were always busy. “I can come over straight away.”

“Great.”

I was expecting Samantha to ask me to come over to her office, so I was a bit surprised when she gave me the name and address of a diner in a slightly sketchy part of town.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I can always come over and meet you at work.”

There was a brief pause as Samantha considered that option, and then she said, “No, work might be a bit awkward.”

I wondered if she wanted me to look into one of her employees. And then an unnerving thought struck me. I said, “How do you and Sophia know each other?”

“We used to work together.”

I stifled my groan. It was just my luck. They weren’t opera-buddies, or co-members of some charity board. “Oh.”

I must’ve sounded disappointed because Samantha immediately said, “You don’t have to do the work if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do. I mean, I don’t know yet, but I’ll come and talk to you.”

“Ok, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

I hung up and as I drove over, I remembered working for Sophia. It hadn’t been much fun. Early in my investigation, I’d been backroomed in The Riverbelle Casino by two goons who had more brawn than brains. Mr. Beard had been bald, with a French cut beard, and Beady Eyes had, well, tiny beady eyes. They seemed to want to hurt me for fun and, in the end, I’d only managed to escape by slipping off the stiletto I’d been wearing and driving the pointy end through the side of Mr. Beard’s neck. I hoped nothing like that would happen if I decided to accept Samantha’s case.

Neil’s Diner was a little bit west of the Strip and two doors down from
The Peacock Bar, where Samantha worked. While The Peacock Bar catered to well-heeled locals and curious tourists, Neil’s Diner seemed to cater exclusively to employees of the bar, and a few well-informed locals who went there to ogle at the girls for the price of a cheap, greasy meal. It was a badly-lit place that seemed to have been set up sometime in the fifties, with the same, decades-old dirty red booths lining one wall, and a few rickety plastic-and-chrome tables and chairs in the middle of the room.

Within seconds of walking in, Samantha waved me over to one of the booths with high-backed,
uncomfortable red seats. I’d told her to recognize me by my outfit, but I needn’t have bothered – I was the only woman there who didn’t have the face of a supermodel or the body of someone familiar with plastic surgery.

Samantha was a brown-eyed brunette with a friendly smile. She
wore a pink singlet and tiny denim shorts, a stark contrast to the dark business suit I’d been picturing her wearing for the first few minutes of our phone conversation. As I slid into the booth, she said, “Thanks for coming over.”

I mumbled something polite, trying to forget that I’d initially thought she was a powerful executive or casino owner’s wife.

“I know you’re busy,” Samantha said. “Sophia said your name was in the papers after you solved Ethan Becker’s murder, and you must have lots of clients.”

I let the comment slide, not wanting to acknowledge how desperate I was for a new client. My work as a casino dealer pays the bills, but I’d love to get out of the fickle gambling industry and do more meaningful work.

“I’m so glad Sophia told me about you,” she went on. “I don’t know who else to go to, or who to trust.”

Samantha looked at me with large, pleading eyes, and I felt a prickle of worry. A simple case shouldn’t involve much skill or trust…“What’s this about?”

Samantha pulled up a photo on her phone and slid it over to me. It had obviously been taken recently, because she still had the same hairstyle. She was standing next to a gorgeous blonde, and they were both posing for the camera, hands on their hips, red carpet style.

I clutched at a straw of hope. “You want me to follow this blonde?”

“Not much of a psychic, are you? That’s Crystal. She died four days ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Was she…?”

I let my voice trail off and Samantha sighed. “The police said it was mugging gone bad. She was stabbed in a street in North Vegas, just past Aliente.”

Aliente was a newish, northern suburb, near where my parents live. “So the police looked into it. I’m sorry for your loss, but if they’ve already investigated, I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”

“No.” Samantha shook her head emphatically. “You’ve got to help out. I couldn’t tell the cops everything.”

I leaned forward
, and rested my chin on my hands. I wasn’t looking forward to diving into another murder investigation and I didn’t like the idea of keeping information from the cops.

I stared at Samantha
until she sighed again and went on. “Crystal was a stripper, just like me. Nobody knows that – not her sister, not her boyfriend.”

I looked at her sympathetically. 
“I understand, but right now - maybe it’s time to let the cat out of the bag.”

Samantha shook her head again. “She didn’t want anyone to know and I don’t want to betray her, especially now that… Anyway, I’m sure being a stripper had nothing to do with it.”

“Maybe not. But maybe it did.”

“I can’t take the risk – her family back home are conservative and I don’t want… I couldn’t do that to her, or their memory of her.
”

As messed up as it was, I could understand Samantha’s point. “Ok,” I said, “
tell me what happened.”

“As far as I know,
Crystal went out one night. I’m not sure what she was doing up in Aliente, but the next morning, her boyfriend Max called to see if she was with me. She wasn’t, and she wasn’t answering her phone – and then the cops called me and told me her body had been found.”

Samantha blinked back tears and I reached out instinctively and squeezed her arm. After a few seconds I said, “Why were the cops calling you?”

“I’m listed as her emergency contact here.” Samantha smiled wryly. “She was my flat-mate, which is the only reason I even know about it.”

I waited for her to blink away the tears that welled up again. A
petite, blonde waitress in a faded red-and-green uniform appeared with a drink Samantha must’ve ordered earlier, and asked me if I’d like anything to eat. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled, and I remembered I’d skipped lunch. I ordered a chicken burger, and Samantha said, “I wish I could eat carbs.”

I smiled. “Anyone can eat carbs. You just need to be ok with a bit of chubbiness.”

“Or a gym membership.”

Or dancing around
a pole all day. Or standing on your feet all night long, dealing out cards to annoying, drunk strangers. But I didn’t mention either of those options out loud.

Instead, I said,
“If Crystal’s friends and family don’t know she’s a stripper, what do they think she does?”

Samantha took a long sip of her drink. “Crystal doesn’t live here –
didn’t
live here. She lives up in LA, where she’s – she was – trying to be an actress. She flew down once a month to work at The Peacock, and told everyone she was doing modeling work at conventions.”

I nodded. “That’s why she flew down this weekend.”

“No. This time Crystal flew over for the Indie Movie Convention, and she stayed back because she thought she might get a role in Casino Kings. That’s a movie being shot here,” she added.

“Right. So she was staying with you?”

“No. Her boyfriend came down with her, and they were staying in The Palazzo.”

My run as a psychic was going from bad to worse, so I said, “Her boyfriend doesn’t know she’s a stripper?”

“No way. He’s the jealous type.”

I couldn’t imagine keeping such a big secret in a relationship, but it seemed like no biggie to Samantha. “Were they serious?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he was serious about her. They’ve been together almost three years – I assumed she’d work it out with him at some point.”

I nodded like I understood, but I didn’t really. The waitress came by with my burger, and for a few long seconds the only sound was that of my chomping and chewing.

My phone rang when I was half-way through my burger. It was just my mother, so I ignored it and put it away. I looked at Samantha and asked, “Why talk to me? I mean, what makes you think this is anything beyond a mugging gone bad?”

Samantha toyed with a strand of her hair. “
Crystal was wearing a massive diamond ring that night. She was still wearing it when she was found.”

“Did they take anything from her at all?”

“Yeah… her purse was empty, so they took whatever cash she had, and her phone.”

“Maybe they panicked and forgot the ring.”

“That’s what the cops said. But I think…” She shook her head. “It’s just this feeling I’ve got, that there’s something more… Crystal was like a sister to me, and I need to do this for her. She’d have done the same for me. Please say you’ll look into it?”I swallowed my mouthful and was about to say something when she added, “I’ll pay whatever you want.”

I nodded thoughtfully and finished up my burger. A new client who’d pay well was nothing to sneeze at. And my gut agreed with Samantha – there did seem to be something fishy about the whole thing.

“I can’t guarantee anything,” I said.

“But you’ll look into it?”

I nodded, yes, and Samantha let out a deep breath and smiled. I pulled out a copy of my PI contract, which I always carried in my bag, and we went over the paperwork. Once everything was complete, Samantha began typing into her phone and said, “I’m emailing you those photos of Crystal.”

I nodded, and rummaged in my bag until I found a notebook and pen
for taking notes.

“I’ll need more info on Crystal,” I said.
“Let’s start with the basics – what can you tell me about her?”

Samantha thought for a moment, and then began reeling off facts about Crystal. Her real name was Crystal Macombe, her stripper name was also Crystal. She’d grown up in Nebraska
; both her parents had passed away but her sister, Carol, still lived there. Carol was married with three kids. Crystal had always wanted to be a movie star and Samantha thought she was gorgeous and talented.

“What about the boyfriend?” I asked.

“Max works in finance, I think he earns a fair bit. He’s pretty shook up about the whole thing, and as far as I know, he’s still in Vegas.”

“I guess I should talk to him.”

Samantha nodded. “Yeah, he might be helpful.”

“Have you told him you’re hiring a PI?”

“Yeah. He’s not thrilled about the idea, I think he just wants to move on. But I think he’ll help us – hang on.”

Samantha pulled out her phone and I watched as she called Max and began explaining that she’d hired a PI. As I listened, I thought about Max’s reticence to investigate and remembered the old police
cliché of “it’s usually the husband.”

“Ask if we can come over now to talk to him,” I prompted Samantha. I wasn’t sure how long Max would stay in Vegas, and I didn’t want to miss an opportunity for a face-to-face chat.

After a few minutes, Samantha hung up and turned to me. “He said he’ll help out as much as he can.”

I nodded, and took a few seconds to look over my notes. “What did the cops say?”

“Not much. They think she was mugged, and she was stabbed twice, most likely by one person.”

I had a few more questions, but I figured I should ask them while Max was also there. “Why don’t you come with me when I go to see Max?”

Samantha nodded, settled the bill, and walked with me to the parking lot. I got into my ’99 Accord, and she stepped into a brand-new red convertible.

After
I watched her drive away, I called my mother.

“Tiffany Black!” she said as soon as she picked up. “
What
are you doing in Neil’s Diner? You’re not – you’re not looking for work nearby, are you?”

I rolled my eyes. “What makes you think I’m in Neil’s?”