Ultimate Concealer, A Toni Diamond Mystery: A Toni Diamond Mystery (Toni Diamond Mysteries) (9 page)

Right now that nose was tingling. It did that sometimes when she was thinking deeply, having a big idea, trying to sniff out a new recruit or, in this case, a clue as to what had really happened to Grant Forstman.

“Mom,” her daughter called, ending her reverie. “Come and look at this.”

Toni walked back into the kitchen. The smell of frying pancakes filled the air with a comforting aroma. Brent was at the stove, an apron covering him from neck to thigh. Linda was frying bacon in a second pan, her much more voluptuous form also clad in an apron.

Tiffany was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop. Toni had hauled it with her, reminding her that she needed to keep up with her homework.

“Look.”

Toni sat beside her daughter and read the latest news bulletin that was up on the screen. “The details of the murder are already on the Internet?” she asked, continuously surprised at how fast bad news traveled in the digital age. The site was called Vegas News Underground and the post mixed fact with speculation and editorial comment. She doubted Vegas News Underground complied with the highest journalistic standards, but it was all they had to go on.

Under a flashing slogan that said “Breaking News” was this:

Casino Boss Found Shot to Death

The Double Nugget’s owner, Grant Forstman, was found dead this morning at around seven in his office at the casino. Sources say an associate of Forstman found the body, which had been shot at least twice. Forstman, a frequent sight in his casino, was rarely seen without one of his two body guards.

Police removed security footage and have only said they have a person of interest in custody.

Our sources say Dwayne Diamond, a second-rate country and western singer who was appearing in the Double Nugget Show Lounge, is that person of interest.

Forstman leaves behind a widow, his third wife, Loretta Forstman.

Police have refused to comment on the case, but sources close to the slain man say Diamond and Forstman were seen arguing the night before the murder.

Keenly aware that Tiffany was watching her read the report, Toni tried to put a positive spin on things. “This is all circumstantial, honey. He was seen arguing with the man. That doesn’t mean he killed him.”

“Are they going to let him out?” Tiffany asked. “When can I see him?”

“I don’t know. Luke’s going to find out what he can, and once we have some real facts we can figure out what to do next.” She patted her daughter’s knee. “First let’s eat. These pancakes smell amazing.”

In spite of her soothing words to Tiffany about waiting, Toni had never been one to wait around for things to happen.

The scent of a murder investigation would grow cold fast. While she waited for Luke to fill her in on the official facts, she decided to take a leaf out of Las Vegas Underground News’s book and do a little unofficial digging of her own.

The problem was that her daughter, who usually went to incredible lengths not to be around Toni, was going to want to shadow her as she tried to help Dwayne. She needed to nip that in the bud.

So, while they ate pancakes that were, indeed, among the best she’d ever eaten, and everyone but her vegetarian daughter munched on bacon, she said to Tiffany, “I’ve got some work to catch up on back at the hotel. When I get back I want you to have completed your math assignment for next week.”

Her daughter regarded her with suspicion. “How do you know I have a math assignment?”

“Please. Your generation did not invent email. We had it first.”

The look her teen sent her was dripping with disdain. “Email? Who uses email anymore?”

“Your math teacher. Luckily. I contacted all your teachers and said you’d be away for a few days and asked for your homework assignments.”

“Mo-o-ther,” her daughter moaned, putting her head in her hands. She was so busy being mortified that her mom had butted into her world that she didn’t even question where Toni was going.

“I hate calculus. I don’t even understand it.”

Brent forked a pancake onto his plate and said, “I’m a CPA. I aced math.” He shot Toni a look that was full of understanding. “I can help.”

“Thanks.”

Now all she had to do was fob her own mother off, but fortunately, Linda had a date with the three Chers. Not even a murder investigation was going to derail her from giving makeovers and hopefully selling some Lady Bianca products.

Chapter Eight

“Her capacity for family affection is extraordinary. When her third husband died, her hair turned quite gold from grief.”

— Oscar Wilde

Murder hadn’t affected business at the Double Nugget, Toni noted as she walked into the casino from one of the big glass doors on the street. The one-armed bandits were still holding out greedy hands for more money from gamblers who hoped luck would be on their side. She walked past a line of five-cent machines and tried to imagine wanting to spend hours plugging nickels into a machine.

She walked aimlessly, picking up the atmosphere, noting some sort of chemical smell coming off the carpets that she assumed was disinfectant. At mid-day on a Saturday there wasn’t much action at the craps tables. A small group filled out a couple of tables in the blackjack pits, while a dealer stood looking bored.

A group of guys who looked like they hadn’t been to bed in a couple of days hung around the roulette wheel. They had the red-eyed look of the sleep deprived as they placed bets more, she thought, to be part of the group than that they had much interest in the outcome.

She took particular note of the employees and while she caught sight of a few with their heads together clearly gossiping, she could not have said there was an air of grief among the workers.

Naturally, the road signs pointing to restaurants and bars and the show lounge didn’t offer a clue as to where Grant Forstman’s office might be located. She skirted the edge of the casino and found a set of stairs that looked as though they didn’t go anywhere interesting. On a hunch, she ran lightly up them. When she got to the top, a slight huffiness in her breath reminded her that she hadn’t been to the gym in a few days.

She knew she was in the right area for the administration offices not only because there was a sign directing her to Human Resources/Hiring, but also because there was a small flurry of activity down at the end of a corridor. A young cop in uniform stood outside the open door of what must be Forstman’s office.

Well, she’d come this far. Toni usually went through life pushing forward until someone stopped her. It worked well in sales. She tried not to let her own insecurities stop her and instead worked on the belief that every woman would be happier, better off and definitely better looking if she let Lady Bianca into her life. She waited to hear a definitive
No
before she gave up.

Sleuthing, she’d discovered, was the same. You asked questions and pushed against barriers until you got answers or someone stopped you in your tracks. In her limited experience, both were equally valuable.

Stopping only to freshen her lip gloss and give her appearance a quick once over in her pocket mirror, she began walking purposefully down the hall. As she got closer to the crime scene she knew she had the full attention of the young doorkeeper cop. She kept her attention on how long it took her to walk to the end of the corridor and how many offices she had to pass to get there.

Four offices, as it turned out.

From the open door she could see that Forstman’s office was a large one. A big desk in some shiny dark wood faced the door. He would see anyone who came in right away then and he’d see them coming from a long way away if the door was open. “Help you, ma’am?” the young cop asked, sounding official and unfriendly.

“Why yes.” She smiled as though he were only one makeover away from hosting a Lady Bianca home party for all the cops in the precinct. “I write a blog on local crime. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened here.”

“No comment.”

She took a quick glance into the office. Crime scene techs were at work on fingerprinting. There was no sign of a fight and the way the body had fallen, based on the dark blood stain she could see on the rich navy carpet, she thought he must have stepped away from his desk. Heavy leather furniture included a leather couch large enough for a big man to nap on. The heaviness of the room was not helped by dark wooden paneling on the walls or the strong but stale smell of cigars.

“He was a cigar smoker, I see,” she said, trying to think of anything she could say that might get this guy to lighten up and answer a few questions.

“Cuban, and quite illegal, though you can’t arrest him now,” a rich, low female voice said from behind her.

As she turned, the cop said, “Mrs. Forstman. I’m not sure—um, your husband’s body’s already gone.”

Mrs. Forstman looked as though she’d been a showgirl who caught the eye of the boss. She was about Toni’s own age and wore a figure-hugging top that revealed a fortune’s worth of suntanned cleavage. Toni strongly suspected she bore no tan lines anywhere. Her trousers clung to round hips and long, long legs that ended in stilettos.

Grant Forstman’s widow wore the opposite to funereal black. She was clad entirely in white from the short fur jacket to the shoes. She also sported diamonds, big, shiny real diamonds that hung from her ears and glittered between her breasts and sparkled on her fingers. Her hair was a rich brown with caramel and cranberry highlights.

“Yes, I know,” she answered the police officer. “It was just that . . . I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“Mrs. Forstman,” Toni said, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

Extremely conscious that she’d told the cop a lie and didn’t want to repeat it for Grant Forstman’s widow, she said, “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

The woman gave her a quick once over and whatever she saw caused her to nod. “Of course.” She stepped forward, farther than Toni’d been allowed to, and scanned the room. To the officer she said, “I have my cell phone with me, of course, if there are any other questions.”

She turned and strode down the hall, her hips swaying and that mane of hair dancing to the same beat as Toni followed.

She led them to an elevator. “God, I need a drink. Will you join me?”

“Of course.”

“There’s something about finding out my husband was murdered that makes me crave a martini.” She spread her hands as though she was about to share a secret. “So much more fun than a Valium.”

When the elevator doors opened, she led the way once more. “We’ll go to the bar we keep for the whales.” At Toni’s raised eyebrows, she said, “The high rollers. Not that there will be many at this time of the day. We should have the place to ourselves.”

They walked through a hushed area where a small group of men and women played cards and sat at blackjack tables. She felt an air of seriousness all around her. A large security guy nodded at Mrs. Forstman. She nodded back and led the way past the high rollers. At the back of the room was a bar discreetly tucked away in an alcove.

The walls glowed a deep green, glass panes lit somehow from behind. One entire wall was an aquarium full of exotic fish that emphasized the impression of being underwater.

Loretta sat them at a small table in the corner, and the single bartender who’d been lounging behind the bar when they walked in sprang to attention. He sped over to the corner table. “Mrs. Forstman. Please accept my condolences. How can I help you?”

“Thank you. I would like a Stoli on the rocks with a twist.” She raised her eyebrows at Toni.

Knowing she couldn’t attain intimacy with this woman if she drank soda, Toni asked for a vodka tonic. It was barely noon. She only hoped the pancakes would sop up some of the alcohol.

When their drinks arrived, Loretta Forstman took a grateful gulp then placed her glass on the table with a tap. “You said you wanted to speak to me? How can I help you?”

“My name is Toni Diamond.”

At the sound of her name, Loretta’s dark brown eyes widened and her head jerked slightly. “Diamond? As in Dwayne Diamond?”

“He’s my ex-husband. Long time ago ex. Do you know him?”

The woman took another sip of her drink. Motioned the bartender for another. “Of course I know him. He works—worked for my husband. He is one of the acts in the show lounge.”

A beat passed. Toni sipped her own drink. “He’s also accused of your husband’s murder.”

“Look. I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what you want with me.”

“Neither do I,” Toni answered honestly. “It’s not me, it’s my daughter. She’s Dwayne’s daughter too. She wants to find out what she can about the murder. See if there’s anything we can do.”

Loretta Forstman fished a pack of cigarettes out of her white leather designer handbag. She ripped the cellophane off the package. “I haven’t smoked a cigarette in five years.” She shook her head. Opened the package and pulled out a single cigarette with long, French-manicured fingers. There was a single package of matches in an ashtray in the middle of the table. The matchbox was rectangular. Like a coffin, Toni thought idly. The woman struck a match and lit her cigarette then dropped the package into her purse. She took a long, luxurious drag of her cigarette, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. “You never lose the longing. Never.”