Green Eyes in Las Vegas (5 page)

Stacey looked relieved. “Thanks. Hang on a second, and I’ll get a copy of the subcontractor contract.”

I spent a few minutes filling out the paperwork and then Stacey handed me a file to go through. It had a couple of photos of Jeremy – one of them was his official passport photo, and the rest looked like they’d been snapped through a telephoto lens
. I read the brief story of his life that accompanied the photos – Vegas businessman, pretty successful, married with two kids, yadayada – and then we said our goodbyes. As I walked toward the exit, I noticed Sarah racing through the office making a high-pitched screeching noise. She ran up to me, sputtered to a stop, and said, “I’m going to stop over in London, now.”

“That’s nice,” I told her, and watched her start up slowly before she ran away again.

As I headed back toward my car, I smiled to myself and thought about what I’d say to Jeremy at the party tomorrow. I was hoping it would go well and that he’d tell me something interesting about the theft. Of course, there was something I needed to check up on first.

I stepped into my car and made a phone call. After I was transferred through, the phone rang five times before Elwood answered with a grunt.

“This is Tiffany Black,” I said, trying to sound friendly and professional. Instead, I came off sounding like a cheery airhead.

“What is it?”

I’m all for honesty, but a fake-friendly act on Elwood’s part might’ve been nice. “Have you, um, heard anything else about the theft?”

“Police business. Can’t talk about it.”

“Well, um, did you hear anything about an insomniac who was up and watching all night?”

I could feel Elwood frowning. “Have you been talking to the woman at AAI? Sharon?”

“Stacey. And yes, I have. Did she tell you…?”

“We’ve cased the area for witnesses.”

“And found…?”

Elwood snorted derisively. Of course. He wasn’t about to tell me what he’d learnt, but it had been worth a try. And his annoyance made me think that he’d found nothing. Even though what I was sensing might have been just his regular, everyday, having-to-talk-to-people kind of annoyance.

I tried a different tack. “Did you talk to Jenny, the investigator from AAI?”

Elwood made another guttural sound to indicate more annoyance. “Damn PIs. Don’t know why they bother.”

“Umm, so… did you talk to her?”

“Did you?”

Ha! I assumed Elwood’s question meant that he hadn’t. “She’s not answering her phone and she’s not in Vegas.”

“Hmm.”

That summed up how I felt about Jenny, too. A mysterious witness who claimed nothing happened, and then a mysterious “family emergency” that had Jenny taking off for a few months.

Elwood said, “How do you know about Jenny?”

“Stacey. The manager at AAI.”

“Have you talked to Jenny?”

“No.”

“And you stand by your story?”

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “I don’t know why I wouldn’t.”

“Ok, then. Anything else you want to tell me?”

I sighed. I didn’t know anything else about
the theft. “No.”

“Bye.”

He hung up and I stared down at my phone for a moment. I wondered if Elwood even had any friends – he was always such a strange kind of grumpy.

I pulled out of the AAI parking lot and stopped by
Albertson’s for groceries. I strolled through the shiny, florescent-lit aisles, looking for the sprinkles Glenn had mentioned, and remembered that I needed more instant coffee, and maybe some snacks and chocolate bars. And maybe something to eat for lunch.

It was
late afternoon by the time I got back to my condo, and when I walked out the elevator and got to my door, I stood still for a second, remembering the envelope I’d found yesterday. I glanced both ways down the dimly-lit corridor, wondering if someone was watching me. But it was quiet, and empty of lurkers.

I turned my key in the lock, and pushed the door open
to find another white envelope lying in the middle of the floor.

I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pounding in my ears. It was just an envelope.

I dropped my bag of groceries near the front door, stepped inside and looked around carefully. I couldn’t see anybody else in the living area, kitchen or dining room. I took a deep breath, and checked through my bedroom, closet and bathroom. Nobody.

I exhaled, locked my front door and went and sat on my couch.

The envelope stared up at me from the floor.

I wanted to curl up into a little ball and pretend that none of this existed. “It’s probably meant for Mrs. Weebly,” I told myself. “They got the wrong door again.”

But I wasn’t convinced. The envelope looked thicker this time, somehow more ominous.

I’d never know if I didn’t look. I took a deep breath, picked the envelope off the floor and peeked under the flap. Inside were a bunch of
glossy photographs.

My mind went numb
; my hands took control and pulled out the photos. There were about thirty, all taken today, all of me.

There
I was, parking at the AAI office, and there I was, walking up to the building. Me coming out of the building. Another of me getting into my car, sitting in the car and talking on my phone. Me getting out at the store parking lot; me again, walking into Albertsons.

I felt dizzy and weak. I shoved them back into the envelope, and leaned against the sofa.
What was going on?

I closed my eyes and images of the photos drifted before me. I saw the half-empty parking lots, lined with palm trees and devoid of any other people. I felt sick, as though I’d run a marathon and was ready to throw up.

I opened my eyes again and stared at the benign white envelope, puffy with its pregnant contents. I remembered Crystal, and the photos she’d received of herself. How could she have laughed them off as a joke?

My tiny condo felt big and empty. I couldn’t deal with this alone. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d walked over to my bag, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number
.

Stone picked up after one ring. “Hey.”

“Are you busy? Can you come over for a minute?”

There was a split-second pause and then he said, “Are you ok?”

“Of course I’m ok!” I hadn’t quite processed the photos, but my fear exploded into a mass of irritation and bravado. “Why wouldn’t I be? I can take care of myself.”

“Hmm,” he said. I thought I heard a smile in his voice, and I felt a bit better. Even though I wasn’t sure what was going on, I knew I’d done the right thing by calling Stone.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Stone said and hung up.

I put away my groceries, doing my best to stay calm and to think about
anything other than the photos.

Five minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and I opened it quickly, my heart singing with relief. “Stone!”

I smiled and almost hugged him. I stopped myself just in time – Stone isn’t the hugging type. He’s a quiet, serious, ex-Special Forces guy with angular, chiseled jawbones and deep, dark eyes. Today, like every time I’ve seen him, he was wearing dark blue jeans, a white shirt and formal black shoes. The shirt hinted at some serious muscle underneath, and the shoes sparkled like they belonged to someone with an unhealthy need for cleanliness and order. Which he had, considering some of the comments he’d made in the past about the state of my apartment.

He stepped in
side and looked around my condo. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?” I smiled, trying to act normal, and headed over to the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee? Chocolate?”

I handed him one of the chocolate bars I’d picked up at Albertson’s, and Stone studied the packaging. “Filled with delicious strawberry cream,” he read out drily. He glanced up at the jar of instant coffee I’d placed on the counter top, and then he looked at me. I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. “Why the sudden generosity?”

I shrugged. “No reason.”

Stone put the chocolate back on the countertop and said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I’d figured as much. Stone didn’t seem to have an ounce of fat on him, and he probably looked that way by never eating cream-filled chocolates.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “You sounded kind of freaked on the phone.”

“Oh
, yeah.” My heart sank. I didn’t want to face the facts again, but I had to, so I nodded at the envelope lying on my coffee table. “I got some mail.”

Stone raised one eyebrow at me, and picked up the envelope. He opened it without asking
permission, pulled out the photos and flipped through them. When he looked at me again, the angles of his face seemed to have hardened. “What’s going on?”

I shook my head, and sat down at the edge of the sofa. “No idea.”

Stone looked at a particular photo again. “Taken today?”

“Yep.”

“Any other photos?”

“No, but…” I took a deep breath and went to find my junk mail pile. Yesterday’s envelope was there, and I handed it over to Stone, who pulled out the one-line letter, read it, and put it back.

He looked at me questioningly, and I shrugged. “I thought it might’ve been meant for Mrs. Weebly.”

Stone’s eyebrows moved together a fraction of an inch. “Mrs. Weebly?”

“You know, old Mrs. Weebly.”

Stone shook his head.

“We ran into her one day,” I said. “She told you that you should get married? That the Devil lives in bachelors? That unmarried young men like you are more likely to be criminals?”

“Oh,
that
Mrs. Weebly.”

The corners of Stone’s mouth
curved up slightly. Stone hardly every smiles, and I’ve never heard him laugh.

“In that case,” he said, “I can understand someone sending her this letter. But it’s not meant for her.”

“No.”

We looked at each other seriously.

“And you’re not even working on any new cases,” Stone said.

“Actually…”

His left eyebrow went up a notch. “Really? I just talked to you last week.”

“What can I say
?” I shrugged with mock-modesty. “It never rains, but it pours.”

“Sure.” He looked at me skeptically, so I filled him in on my work, not bothering to mention how charming Green Eyes had seemed.

“Hunh,” he said after listening to me. “So we’ve got some suspects now. This Green Eyes guy and whoever killed Crystal.”

“You think she was murdered?”

“Definitely.”

I looked at the envelope again and sighed. The intense fear I’d felt was now being replaced with something similar to resignation. “Now what?”

“You gotta be careful. Carla tells me you haven’t been going to KravMaga classes.”

“Hey, I wasn’t working on anything, and besides,
Carla’s scary.”

“She’s a KravMaga instructor. I’d be worried if she wasn’t scary.” Stone looked at me seriously. “At least you’ve been doing shooting practice with me.”

“Only because you’ve been dragging me out once a week.”

“And aren’t you thankful now?”

I rolled my eyes and looked at him. Our eyes stayed locked for a few seconds: his, amused and confident; mine, increasingly unsure. Stone and I are friends, but sometimes, when our eyes stay locked like that, I got a funny feeling deep down, and I wondered if maybe we’re more than friends. But he’s never said anything – and neither have I. We’re just friends. For now.

I was the first to look away, as usual. I had a brief, fleeting fear that my hair was a mess, and I reached up to smooth it down.

“We don’t know what this guy wants,” Stone said. “We don’t even know who the guy is. We’ll drop off the photos and the letter with the cops and have them dust for prints.”

“That’s a good idea.” I looked at Stone, surprised that I hadn’t thought of it myself. Some investigator I was. But then again, I’d been too scared to think properly.

I called Emily to see if she was at work, and we took Stone’s car down to the police station. Thankfully, we didn’t see Elwood this time – we spent a few minutes chatting with Emily, explaining what was going on, and then we left.

I was just stepping into his car when my stomach grumbled loudly.

Stone looked at me. “No lunch?” I shook my head, no, and he said, “On a diet?”

I frowned at him. “Why would I be on a diet?”

“No reason.” Stone began driving. “Want to get something to eat?”

I stopped frowning and breathed in deeply. Stone was staring straight ahead, watching the road with studied seriousness. “Yeah,” I said, “How about a burger?”

We saw golden arches ahead, and Stone turned into the parking lot. I went in and ordered a Big Mac with fries and a Coke. Stone ordered nothing.

When my order was ready, I grabbed my tray and we headed over to a booth in the corner. Stone watched me as I dug into my fries.

“Not hungry?” I asked.

“Not interest
ed in getting a heart attack.”

I ignored him and bit into my burger. Glorious meat
, cheese and mayo. Who in their right mind would want to give up all this?

My phone rang and I
gulped down an overly large mouthful of food.

“Hi
, Samantha.” I sounded cheerier than I felt.

“Hi
, Tiffany. How’s the investigation going?”

I stifled a groan and watched Stone
text someone. In between the AAI meeting with Stacey and the scary photos, I hadn’t gotten a chance to really look into Crystal’s murder.

“It’s ok,” I fibbed. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie – it was ok if I had some hope the investigation would get somewhere. “I’m heading off to my shift in a bit, so I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”