Ultimate Concealer, A Toni Diamond Mystery: A Toni Diamond Mystery (Toni Diamond Mysteries) (10 page)

She looked over at Toni once more. “You ever smoke?”

“No, thank goodness.”

“So, Dwayne has a daughter. How old is she?”

“Sixteen. Her name’s Tiffany.”

The woman smiled. “Tiffany Diamond. Nice. She could get a job here in Vegas without having to think up a new name.”

“How did you meet your husband?”

The woman took another long drag, as though she were kissing a long-lost lover. “Exactly the way you think I did. I was working — not here, on the strip. And Grant came in one night. He watched the show. He said he fell in love with me from the legs up.”

“How long were you married?”

“Almost four years.”

“How did you find out your husband was, you know. Dead.”

“The police came to the apartment around nine this morning. They told me.”

“Apartment?” Toni had pictured Mr. Bigshot and his third missus in mansion somewhere.

“We live upstairs. Grant never wanted to be away from this place. He was a workaholic.”

“Weren’t you already pretty worried? I mean, he didn’t come home all night.”

Loretta sent her a glance that spoke of long experience with a certain kind of man. “Toni, I was his third wife. Let’s just say if my husband didn’t come home once in a while, I wasn’t going to make a federal case out of it.”

“Did he make a habit of not coming home?”

“You mean was he seeing someone seriously?” She sipped her drink. “I don’t think so. He was busy with work and I kept him satisfied at home. Like I say, it was the odd night he didn’t come home. I didn’t get too worked up.”

She could dance around all day or she could cut to the chase. “The police have Dwayne in custody. Do you have any idea why Dwayne would kill your husband?”

“Toni. Do you really want to do this? Dwayne’s a big boy who made some big mistakes. Let the law handle it.”

“Oh, believe me, I’d love to. I want to tell my daughter something that makes sense.”

Loretta stubbed out the remains of her cigarette. “No. I can’t think of a reason why your ex-husband would kill my husband. Really.”

“Loretta, my daughter was with her dad when your husband deliberately crashed into his car and then had two of his, um, associates, rough him up a little.”

Her eyes widened, in what looked to Toni like genuine surprise. “I didn’t hear about that. He did that in front of your kid? Oh, my God. I’m sorry.” She pulled out the pack of cigarettes again. Contemplated and dropped it back into her bag. “Look. Everybody likes Dwayne. He’s easygoing and always has a joke or a compliment.”

“My daughter heard Grant say, ‘You have something that’s mine and I want it back.’ Something like that.” She watched the woman’s face. “Do you have any idea what he was referring to?”

Her second martini arrived and Loretta sipped it before answering. “No idea.”

“Any idea why your husband was meeting Dwayne last night?”

The other woman shrugged. “Dwayne may have wanted to make CDs? Advance his music career? I don’t know.”

Toni pulled one of her business cards out of her bag and passed it to her companion. “If you think of anything that might help us make sense of what’s going on, would you call me?”

“Yes, sure,” she said picking up the card. Then she laughed. “Oh, my gosh. You sell Lady Bianca?”

“I sure do.”

“I used to love that stuff. I lost my supplier when she moved out of state. Never bothered finding another one.”

Toni didn’t waste a nanosecond. “I’d be happy to offer you a makeover and show you our new line. I think you’ll love the latest colors. There is a brand new selection of moisturizers full of botanical herbs and minerals from the Dead Sea that I swear by.”

The woman nodded slowly. “I think a woman who just found out she’s a widow deserves a makeover, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Neither of them mentioned that the person giving the makeover was the ex-wife of the accused murderer.

“If you give me your number, I’ll call you to set up a time for a makeover,” Toni said, pulling out her cell phone.

Once she had the number punched in, she rose. Loretta stood at the same time. Impulsively, Toni stepped forward and hugged the new widow. “I’m so sorry.”

After a stunned moment, Loretta hugged her back. “Thank you.”

She pulled away. “If there’s anything I can do.”

“I’ll let you know.”

As Toni walked away she held the scent of Loretta Forstman’s perfume. It was strong and spicy. And she’d smelled it before.

When her ex-husband had been leaning in trying to kiss her, she’d smelled that scent on him. In her experience with Dwayne there was usually only one reason why he smelled of another woman’s perfume.

Chapter Nine

“If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say the house shelters daydreaming.”

—Gaston Bachelard

When Toni arrived back at Brent’s house, she walked in to find
The King and I
playing on the big-screen TV. Deborah Kerr was singing “Getting to Know You,” and Linda was humming along.

“Hi, y’all,” Toni called out. Four heads turned her way. Linda and all three of the Chers had thick face masks on. And Japanese kimonos. “You look like a group of Kibuki actors,” she said.

“Come join us, honey. I’ve got one more sample pack. It’s the chamomile and French mud relaxation and exfoliating mask.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Toni said. Her skin cried out for calmness and exfoliation after the dry air of the casino, the alcohol, the cigarette smoke. “But I can’t right now.”

“Maybe later,” Linda said. And all four heads turned back to the television.

In the kitchen, she found her daughter and Brent practicing some horrendously complicated looking equations on foolscap. “Are you designing a space shuttle?” she asked, looking at the squiggles.

“No. Nothing so exciting. It’s calculus.”

“Oh.” Toni’d never finished high school when she was supposed to, mainly because she met Dwayne and got pregnant with Tiffany. If those choices meant she’d never in her life learn calculus, she thought she could bear it.

“Have you heard anything from Dwayne?”

“No,” Tiffany said.

“Does anyone have a problem if I go into Dwayne’s room?”

“No,” Brent said.

“Why?” asked Tiffany.

“I hope to find some kind of clue as to what’s going on,” she said.

“Do you want some help?”

“That’s okay, honey. Wouldn’t want to tear you away from the joys of calculus.”

It felt strange entering Dwayne’s bedroom. It certainly wasn’t something she’d ever imagined doing again in her lifetime. It was even stranger knowing he was currently being held by police.

Dwayne had never been a particularly tidy man, and she saw that the last decade and a half hadn’t changed him. It was easy to spot the clothes he’d worn last night as they were heaped on the floor. The jeans and the shirt that he’d worn to perform in were there. No doubt he’d put on another of his many pairs of jeans this morning for his ride to jail.

She picked up the shirt first. A whiff of Stetson hit her along with the meatier notes of cigar and the scent of Loretta’s perfume clinging like gossip to a reputation. Her nose was pretty good but not good enough to distinguish whether the cigar she was inhaling now was the same as the one in Grant Forstman’s office, but she felt it safe to assume it was.

Dwayne had never been a smoker. He refused to ingest anything that he thought might tamper with his golden voice. But he’d been around cigar smoke since this shirt had last been washed, possibly even smoked one in order to fit in. She picked up the jeans, went through the pockets. In one was a pack of the very same matches she’d seen Loretta Forstman use earlier to light her cigarette. They were the same oblong shape, embossed with the casino name. In the same pocket she found the gold label thingy from the cigar. Seemed he had smoked one, then, more worried about offending Grant Forstman she wagered than he was worried about damaging his vocal cords.

If she was right, and he’d smoked this cigar in Grant Forstman’s office, she had to ask herself why. Why would he smoke a cigar with the man he was planning to kill? And why would Forstman offer a smoke to a man whose car he had deliberately damaged the day before?

She checked the rest of his room and didn’t find anything of note. His laptop was old and as far as she could tell he only used it for email and for writing songs. His email was password protected. She knew enough about him that she could probably figure out his password if she had enough time. She doubted she had much time. If the cops arrested Dwayne they’d be right behind her, seizing his laptop and the clothes he’d worn.

A scatter of change sat atop his bureau. She went through his drawers methodically. Socks and underwear in the top drawer, a bowl of blue casino chips — she wondered if he got them as tips. A box of bolo ties and cufflinks. In the middle drawer were T-shirts, a pair of athletic shorts, sweaters. And in the bottom drawer the jeans. She counted seven pairs of jeans including a black pair and a white pair.

The pockets offered up receipts, crumpled notes with lines of songs scribbled on them, a few dollars, and some phone numbers. Always the phone numbers. Now, of course, they were cell phone numbers, and there was a scatter of email addresses in there as well. She couldn’t imagine whispering to some guy, “Hey, why don’t you email me sometime?” Maybe they were the married ones who didn’t want to be bothered by phone calls.

In his closet was a collection of shirts. Denim ones, western formal wear with rhinestones, and the big belts. He owned a collection of boots, a pair of athletic shoes and flip flops.

Nothing hidden under the mattress. Nothing in the room to explain what the hell her ex-husband had gotten himself into. A scatter of papers on his bureau included a checkbook with the edges curled. Statements and bills, some of which hadn’t been opened. She took a quick look through his checkbook and the papers and got the strong feeling that Dwayne Diamond was having some money troubles.

She came out of Dwayne’s bedroom with some thoughts, some scraps of paper with phone numbers, and some unwelcome memories. Some things never changed.

Tiffany looked heartily bored with math. She glanced up her mother through thick lashes and put on her most charming expression. For a moment Toni felt like she was looking at a young Dwayne. Just for a second. And in that moment she remembered why she’d fallen for him.

“Mom, I really need a shower. Can I take a break?”

She tried not to appear as relieved as she felt. She’d been trying to figure out how to get her daughter out of earshot for a few minutes so she could ask Brent some questions. However, to avoid suspicion, she didn’t give in right away. She turned to Brent. “What do you think? Has she learned anything?”

“I’d say we’ve made good progress. Tiffany’s a very quick learner.”

“Okay, then. You go shower up.”

“And then can we go and see Dad?”

“I’ll check with the police and ask when we can see your father.”

As Tiffany left the room, she said to Brent, “And that’s not a sentence you ever think you’ll end up saying to your teenaged daughter.”

“She’s a great girl. I am really sorry she had to witness this.”

He rose from the table and packed up his notes. Before he could leave the kitchen, she said, “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

Brent’s expression grew hunted. “Look, I really don’t know him that well.”

She smiled at him. “If it’s women, please. We’ve been divorced forever. Anyway, it’s not Dwayne’s women I want to talk to you about.”

He looked incredibly relieved. “Oh?”

“It’s Dwayne’s money.”

Brent settled himself back into the chair he’d only just vacated. “Dwayne’s money,” he said slowly, as though those two words didn’t belong next to each other.

“When’s the last time he paid you rent?”

He adjusted his glasses and gazed at her for a long moment. Finally he said, “He is a little behind on rent.”

“Why do you let him stay?”

“Dwayne was instrumental in getting us the gig at the Double Nugget. He introduced me to Grant Forstman and got us an audition.” He shrugged. “There isn’t such a call for female impersonators as there once was in Vegas. We’re grateful to have the work.”

“Who else does Dwayne owe money to?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t know. But he’s got a lot of friends and everyone knows he’ll pay up when he gets some money.”

Then, she thought, her ex-husband must have changed, but she didn’t say so.

She didn’t even know why she was asking. Dwayne’s lack of financial stability probably had nothing to do with the casino owner’s death.

“Dwayne wanted me to invest in some business proposition he was very excited about. Do you know what that was?”

“No.”

Brent was a CPA who owned his own home. She suspected she was not the only one Dwayne had tried to wrest money from. “Did he try to borrow money from you?”

“Yes. He did. But I wouldn’t even let him tell me what it was. Huge return, fast turnaround? I told him to put his money in the bank. It sounded like a scam to me.”