“Nobody’s told you, huh?” Detective Perelli asks. “Frank Richter’s got a lump on his noggin the size of which you wouldn’t believe.”
It comes out, then—how the paramedics who found me in the cryogenic chamber also found Frank, face down in the corridor outside the men’s locker room, lights out.
I find this astonishing news. “So it
wasn’t
Frank who locked me in the chamber?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
According to this scenario, it wasn’t because Frank wanted me to die that he didn’t respond to the panic button. It was because he was unconscious and didn’t hear it.
I sink back against my pillows. This is deflating. And unnerving. Sure, I felt bad for Sally Anne that her fiancé was a homicidal maniac, but at least we had the thing sewn up, which meant that I was out of danger. “Are you positive Frank didn’t injure himself so we’d all think it was somebody else who locked me in there?”
“No way that injury is self-inflicted. Now”—she chews a few times—“that’s not to say Frank Richter didn’t push you inside the cryogenic chamber only to have another party conk him upside the head, but I’d say that’s unlikely.”
I process all this.
“Brandon St. James does not have a good alibi for this morning,” Detective Perelli goes on. “He was at the body shop picking up his mother’s car but it was late enough so he could’ve been at the spa when everything went down.”
“What about the counterfeit-money guy? What’s his name again?”
“Bobby Erskine. He’s still in custody in Arizona.”
That’s right. Detective Perelli told me that the prior afternoon before I went to the Ziana show. That reminds me of my conversation backstage with Travis Blakely. “You know what? I told Travis Blakely yesterday that I go to the spa at the Cosmos all the time because Frank lets me into the cryogenic chamber for free.”
“You don’t say?” Detective Perelli frowns. “I’ll check into his whereabouts.”
All of this is giving me the creeps something fierce.
“Since the spa is where Cassidy Flanagan was stabbed,” she goes on, “chances are that whoever shoved you in that chamber knew the layout. They managed to sneak into and out of the spa the other day without anybody taking notice.”
And did the same today, apparently. “What about surveillance cameras?”
“None in the spa. In the casino and wedding chapel, yeah. And in the main public areas. We got people going through that tape.” She glances at her watch, a really cute one with a white strap, mother-of-pearl dial, and crystal inlays on the band. I am surprised I take note of this even under these dire circumstances. “I put an armed guard on you. When you get outa here, he’s going with you. Do not attempt to shake him.”
“There’s no danger of that.”
“One last thing. It nearly got you snuffed but I want you to know how much I appreciate the help you’ve given me. You don’t have that crime-buster reputation from Oahu for no good reason.” She winks at me before she leaves.
Crime-buster. I like the sound of that.
Next to be ushered into my private lair are Trixie and Shanelle. Both of them are fully made up and dressed in adorable sundresses, reminding me that beauty queens maintain their appearance even in grievous situations like their titleholder BFF narrowly escaping death.
“It’s a good thing we look pulled together,” Trixie remarks after the requisite hugs and sniffles, “what with all the TV cameras outside.”
“Trained on
us
,” Shanelle clarifies. “They’d be trained on
you
if they could but we’re the next best thing.”
“It’s a huge story, Happy.” Trixie perches on my bed. “Not only are there two still unsolved murders at the Cosmos Hotel but now there’s been an attempt on you, the beauty queen sleuth.”
“She’s the only one calls you that,” Shanelle says.
“That may be the case for now,” Trixie says, “but it won’t be for long.”
No wonder Sebastian Cantwell wants an explanation. The phones at pageant headquarters must be ringing off the hook. “Jason tells me you spoke with Cantwell,” I say to Trixie. “Just how mad is he?”
“He’s not really that mad,” Trixie reports. “He wants to talk to you about the whole investigating thing but he says it’s good for business.”
“And you know how much he’d like that,” Shanelle puts in.
I’m delighted to hear this but I’m also confused. “How could my investigating be good for business?”
“Scads of women are entering the Ms. America feeder contests,” Shanelle says. “You haven’t heard about that? Last month was a record in a whole bunch of states. And it’s all because of the publicity you got by solving Tiffany Amber’s murder.”
“I’m amazed you didn’t know that!” Trixie exclaims. “Even
I
know that.”
“It means the entry fees are way up,” Shanelle says.
“I get it now.” I am profoundly gratified. “That would be good for business.”
“I’m really glad you have that armed bodyguard now,” Trixie says. “Jason told us he’s been assigned to accompany you back to the hotel and guard your room there, too.”
“They’re already talking about letting me out of the hospital? Maybe that means I can perform tonight!”
“Jason says no way
he’ll
let you perform even if the docs give the all clear,” Shanelle says. “And girl, if I were you I wouldn’t go against him on this.”
“I agree,” Trixie says. “He’s hiding it but I can tell he’s upset that you almost got killed today on account of your investigating.”
Jason will have a fit if I declare I want to perform tonight, especially if Detective Perelli hasn’t nabbed the killer by then. He’ll be worried somebody may try to pick me off in the kick line. And for all I know, somebody may.
The nurse returns to ask Trixie and Shanelle to leave so I can get some sleep.
“We’ll come back later with an outfit for you,” Shanelle says. “With all those cameras out there, you must not exit this facility unprepared.”
“I’ll give you a full makeup.” Trixie gives me an assessing look. “Good thing I have a foundation that kills redness.” She scrunches her nose. “Sorry. Bad choice of verb.”
I manage both to call Pop and squeeze in a little shuteye before Elaine Shreve visits bearing a Get Well balloon from the Sparklettes. She’s still on the premises when Mario appears behind an enormous bouquet of my favorite—yellow roses.
“You’ve given me those before,” I say. They look stunning on the side table. He doesn’t look bad, either, and I can tell from Elaine’s expression that she thinks so, too.
“I gave you yellow roses when you won the title,” Mario says.
The three of us engage in casual conversation, at least as casual as I can be with Mario Suave in the vicinity. The nurse reappears with another Happy Needs To Sleep reminder. Mario leans down to kiss my forehead. He pulls back and we stare at one another for a moment. “I was really upset when I heard what happened,” he murmurs.
“I’ll be fine,” I manage to say. More staring ensues until Elaine clears her throat. I forgot she was in the room.
“All of us Sparklettes are so relieved you’re all right, Happy.” She grasps my hand and Mario is forced to retreat. “And I agree with your husband that you shouldn’t perform tonight. Better you rest and stay safe.”
I agree to call her before I leave Vegas. Mario and I exchange another glance before he departs with Elaine. I’m wondering how long it’ll be before I can purge that man from my system when I fall asleep again.
I am awakened by the sound of another arrival. I open my eyes to see Frank Richter beside my bed.
