Green Eyes in Las Vegas (4 page)

“In my day,” she’d continued, “
a woman like you would stay home and look pretty. A woman needs a man she can rely on, a man she can lean on. Of course, you’ll never find a man like that if you keep working all through the night.”

And then she’d given me a stern, disapproving look and walked away.

I glanced at the clock and snapped back to reality. I had more urgent problems than this stupid letter – if I didn’t rush, I’d be late for work and be docked an hour’s pay. So I pushed the letter to the back of my mind, slid into my stupid red and black dealer’s outfit and raced out the door.

I speed-walked the couple of blocks up to
The Treasury Casino, ignoring the bustle of tourists and the noise of their excitement. I was focusing on not being late for work, and whenever I remembered the letter, I reminded myself that it had actually been meant for Mrs. Weebly. Before I knew it, I was standing in the casino pit, taking up my position behind a blackjack table, and allowing myself to sink into the world of twenty-four hour gambling.

I’ve worked as a dealer for many years now, and the sights and sounds of the pit feel like my personal security blanket: the jingle of the slot machines, the loud chatter and laughter. The bright lights and gaudy carpets, the wild-eyed gamblers and the exhausted cocktail waitresses.

The job isn’t as glamorous as many non-locals think, but it’s not as bad as many other jobs out there. Sure, this job’s taught me to deal with belligerent drunks, overly-handsy young men and gamblers who’ve lost their rent money and want to take it out on the dealer – but it pays my bills, and I’m thankful for that.

At least until I have my PI gig sorted out and I can waltz out of this overly bright gambling-addict’s paradise.

As I smiled my fake, happy smile, dealt cards and chatted with the gamblers, only a tiny part of my brain was focusing on work. Another tiny part – the part that I couldn’t control with my near non-existent willpower – was scanning the crowd in the hopes of seeing Green Eyes. If he were a tourist, he’d visit some casino floors, and though I wasn’t sure how I’d recognize him without his ski-mask, I couldn’t help but indulge in a bit of wishful thinking.

The rest of my brain was busy remembering the contents of Crystal Macombe’s police report – was there anything in it I was overlooking?

I mentally replayed the conversation I’d had with Max. There was no big arrow pointing toward anyone in particular, but I worried about Crystal’s secret life as a stripper. That was something the police hadn’t known about or looked into, and I wondered if Crystal had seen or heard something at the strip club which might have led to someone wanting to get rid of her. And then there were the photos, and her “stalker friend.”

Something about t
he stalker’s photos was bothering me, and I was determined to find out what it was.

My fantasies didn’t become reality during my shift – no matter how often I looked around, I didn’t spot Green Eyes on the casino floor. I took the same route home, but he didn’t fall from the sky again. I hit the sack disappointed, sure that he’d left Vegas and that I’d never see him again.

I woke up the next morning to sound of my cell phone buzzing, once again. The number wasn’t one I knew, so I let it ring out. But then it rang again, and I groaned. The noise was bugging me, and I answered grumpily, expecting it to be someone enquiring about my long-distance calling plan.

Instead, it was a woman claiming her name was Stacey Rosenberg and that she worked for All American Insurance.

Immediately, I said, “I’m not interested.”

There was silence for a second and then she said in a chilly voice, “I’m the Assistant Claims Investigation Manager.”

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “Are they making managers cold call? Or do they just call everyone a manager
, now?”

I heard a deep sigh, and then she spoke slowly, like she was talking to a toddler who only understood very basic words. “We are investigating the theft of the Van Gogh.”

I had no idea what she meant, so I said, “That’s nice.” It was far too early in the morning for me to have a conversation of this length. I needed coffee and breakfast, maybe a slice of cake, before I could talk.

“I spoke to Detective Elwood and he said you may have seen something.”

I heard the words “Detective Elwood” and tried to focus. This might not be a telemarketer. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”

I heard another deep sigh. “Somehow, I’d thought you’d be smarter.”

My narrowed my eyes. “I am smart! But you just woke me up after four hours of sleep and I haven’t had my coffee yet. So you’ll excuse me if I’m more interested in figuring out what’s for breakfast than your silly Van Gogh.”

The woman sighed again. She was really big on sighing. “I’ll call again in a few hours,” she said, and hung up.

I looked at my phone in annoyance. Twice in a row I’d been woken by a phone call; I was too grumpy and sleepy to care much about whatever she’d been saying, but after I got a large mug of instant coffee and a chocolate-chip muffin inside me, realization dawned.

Before I could hurt myself by hitting my head against the wooden dining table, I pulled out my phone and gave Stacey Whatshername a call.

“Sorry about earlier,” I said. “I’ve had my coffee now and the world’s making sense again. What were you saying about a stolen Van Gogh?”

I heard yet another sigh from the other end of the line, and what sounded like a young girl’s voice saying, “Brrrrrrr-eeee!”

I quickly added, “This isn’t a bad time, is it?”

“Not worse than any other. As I tried to say earlier, I’m investigating the theft of a Van Gogh from Ascend Towers, and Detective Elwood says you may have witnessed it. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure. Would you like me to come in to your office to talk to you?” It wasn’t just guilt or helpfulness that prompted my question – I was hoping Stacey would tell me something about what had happened. I was still trying to convince myself that Green Eyes couldn’t be a burglar, and maybe Stacey knew something about it. Maybe she even knew who he was, and where he was staying.

“Actually, that’d be great,” she said. “When’s good for you?”

“The sooner the better. I can be there in about forty-five minutes.”

Stacey gave me the address for AAI, and I hung up, hoping I’d be able to learn something interesting about Green Eyes.

***

I stopped by Glen’s apartment on my way out. He’s a friend I made recently – he lives downstairs in my building, and is a retired baker who constantly makes far too many cupcakes and pastries. Which is wonderful, because I get to take the extras home. He’s also handsome and intelligent, and I’ve always thought that he’d be the perfect boyfriend for Nanna.

He was having coffee, and invited me in for a cup, but I shook my head. “I’m just stepping out to meet someone. Thought I’d say hi.”

“Well, stop by again later. I might have something for you to take home.”

He gave me a big wink, and I smiled. “Can I pick up anything for you on my way home? Do you need baking stuff? Flour? Sugar?” I frowned and tried to think of other supplies, but I was clueless.

“You could get me some heart-shaped sprinkles,” Glen said. “They should keep them in the baking section.”

I nodded. “Sure thing. And you haven’t seen anyone suspicious hanging out nearby, have you?”

Glen shook his head. Our building doesn’t have any security – other than an empty lobby and a couple of fake security cameras. “Why?” he said. “Should I be concerned?”

“Oh, no. I found a note under my door the other day, but it must’ve been meant for Mrs. Weebly.”

Glen smiled. “A lot of people probably want to send her notes.”

I nodded and was about to leave when he said, “Maybe when you stop by again, my new girlfriend will be here.”

I started to frown and stopped myself just in time. “New girlfriend?”

“Yes.” Glenn peered at me nervously. “She’s a bit – you might not – not everyone thinks we should be together. But I hope you’ll like her.”

I smiled at him reassuringly. It sounded like he was dating someone much younger than himself, and while I hadn’t expected him to turn around and date someone in her twenties, I wasn’t going to judge him if he
was. As long as he broke up soon, and started dating someone more suitable. Like Nanna.

“I’m sure I’ll like her,” I told him, and I promised myself that even if I didn’t, I’d be polite to her
, for Glenn’s sake. 

***

The AAI office was in a tall, mirrored building near the Vegas Convention Centre. There was a parking lot opposite, and a low, two-storey office building with a sign advertising skydiving lessons. A large board in front of the mirrored building informed me that office space was available for lease, but I ignored it and made my way up to the AAI floor, where a receptionist directed me to Stacey’s office.

I crossed an open-space area, full of
unhappy-looking employees typing away on their PCs, and knocked on Stacey’s open door. I was sure the cubicled workers envied Stacey her tiny office, but to me, it all seemed pretty bland for a workspace, especially compared to the crazy place I called work.

The carpets in the AAI office were light grey instead of brightly pattered, the lights seemed dimmer than the casino lights, and there were obviously no scantily-clad cocktail waitresses hovering around. The only noise in here was that of
the hard workers tippy-tappying away at their keyboards, and the occasional murmur of some official-sounding conversation. The walls were blank and beige, and Stacey’s desk was organized neatly, with stacked files on one side, and a couple of photo frames facing away from me.

Stacey was a slightly chubby woman in her mid-forties, with dark hair pulled back
severely, and a facial expression that said, “I’m just about to throw up my hands and give up.”

She
ushered me in politely, and spoke slowly and calmly, like a woman trying to bury her stress deep, deep down. We jumped straight into business, and she explained to me that AAI had insured the Van Gogh that had been stolen from Ascend Towers. They were working with Detective Elwood, but they also had their own private investigator looking into the case.

“Right,” I said. “Are you the investigator working the case?”

She shook her head, no, and was about to say something when the cause of her stress ran into the room, holding her arms apart like wings, her vocal cords making a noise that alternated between a hum and a screech. She came to an abrupt stop beside me, and stared at me curiously. “Who are you?”

“I’m Tiffany Black,” I said. “Who are you?”

She looked about eight, and had curly brown hair. “I’m a plane,” she replied, “I’m a delayed flight.”

She made a high-pitched screeching noise and ran out of the room.

Stacey sighed and blinked slowly. “That’s Sarah.”

“Your daughter?”

She nodded. “She had a fever this morning and I couldn’t find a sitter, so I brought her in with me. Like I need more reasons to make my life miserable.”

I knew people liked to hear nice things about their kids, so I racked my brains to come up with something. “She seems uh, very creative.”

Stacey rolled her eyes. “Too creative. What were we talking about?”

“Are you a PI?”

“No, I just manage our team. And now Jenny, the PI looking into this, has taken off.”

I
frowned and sat up straighter. “How do you mean?”

“She called in last night and said she’s taking off for a few months. Unpaid leave – it’s a family emergency. Said she’d mail in her leave application and she’s heading out of town.”

We stared at each other, both thinking the same thing. Who does that kind of thing in this economy?

Sarah ran into the room again before either of us could say anything.

“Have you been to Europe?” she asked me.

I shook my head
, no. “Have you?”

“Yep. I’m flying to Paris now, and then I’m flying to
Amsterdam and then I’m coming back to refuel. I’m a busy plane ’cause I’m so popular.”

I smiled politely. “That’s nice.”

Stacey said, “Sarah, don’t you think you should sit down now and do some quiet drawing?”

Sarah shook her head. “I can’t be late, takeoff is, 3, 2, 1…” and she ran away, flapping her arms and making a screeching noise.

Stacey sighed. “I wish I could get her to listen to me.”

I had nothing to say to that. I knew that kids were crazy, and their moms were even crazier for having them. So I said, “Did you want me to tell you what I saw that morning?”

“Yes, let’s get this done.”

I repeated the story of Green Eyes’ jump once again. She took a few notes, and asked me a few questions – what was he wearing, was there anyone else nearby, and what was his car like?

As I cast my mind back to the visual image of Green Eyes driving away, I remembered his number plate. The first three numbers jumped out at me, and I repeated them back to Stacey.

She nodded. “I’ll call my contact at the DMV and ask them to run a trace. Do you remember anything else?”

I shook my head. “No. But who’s going to work on your investigation now?”

Sarah ran into the room once more, making a buzzing noise, but she caught the expression on her mother’s face and ran out immediately.

“I’m not sure,” Stacey told me. “Our claim adjusters are busy with other cases for now, and Jenny was the only PI on our payroll. And now my boss is really angry at me because Jenny quit. Like that’s my fault.”

“I’m an accredited PI,” I said hopefully. “I can help out if you’d like.”

Stacey looked at me carefully. “Thanks. But I can’t really hire you to investigate this because you’re a witness.”

It was my turn to sigh. It had been worth a shot.

“Besides,” Stacey said, “You’re sure you saw all this, right?”

I frowned. “Of course.”

“It’s just that…”

“What?”

“Jenny said she talked to a witness in the building next door who has insomnia, and that guy saw nothing.”

I stared at Stacey. “When did Jenny tell you this?”

“Just before she said she was taking off for a few months.”

I tried to think logically. “Maybe the guy she talked to has bad eyesight. Or maybe he fell asleep without knowing it.”

We were silent for a few seconds, both lost in our own thoughts, and then Stacey said, “I think you can do something else for me.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a cocktail party tomorrow night honoring our former mayor. And all the local big-shots will be there, including Jeremy. The other investigators are busy and can’t make it, but you should go. You could talk to Jeremy, since he doesn’t know who you are. I’ve got an invite here. We’ll pay you, of course.”

I smiled at that last line. Money was always good. “Who’s Jeremy?”

“Oh right. You don’t know. He’s the guy whose painting was stolen.”

I tried not to look too thrilled. “So you want me to talk to him?”

“That’s the idea. Just ask him what’s going on, if he’s got any suspects in mind, that kind of stuff. It’s five hundred for the job, plus free drinks at the party.” Stacey pulled open a desk drawer and I watched her rummage around before she emerged with a square envelope in her hand. “Here,” she said, handing it over to me.

I pulled out the sleek, heavy invite.

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” it began, “You are cordially invited to…”

“I’m Mrs. Smith?” I said, and Stacey smiled.

“They won’t check your ID. You just need to show this invite to get in, and then you can go have fun. You could take a date, too.”

I nodded, making a mental note that I’d have to take tomorrow night off from work at the casino. “Ok. I’ll do my best with Jeremy.”