Slowly the noise died down and people turned to face her. "Welcome, everyone, to the Dancing Hippo's holiday party. I see some new faces this year, so let me introduce my staff." She called out the name of each of her aides. "Believe me, these dedicated ladies are the heart and soul of this enterprise, and your children are lucky to have them in their lives."
After a round of applause, she motioned for her sisters and her mother to step forward. "The Dancing Hippo has always been my personal dream, but it wouldn’t have materialized without the support of my family. My mother, Yetta. My sisters, Liz, Kate and... " She scanned the audience.
As if on cue, the door opened and a woman in a faux fur coat rushed in. "Grace," Alexa exclaimed. "Straight from Detroit."
"Sorry I'm late," Grace said, squeezing through the crowd to reach Alexa. 'The plane. The ice. Oh, you don't want to know."
The crowd laughed.
Alexa was so happy to see her baby sister, she felt a little overwhelmed, but she managed to stifle her emotions. She cleared her throat and announced, "To start off our program, we're going to give you 'Jingle Bells' rap. Any of you with hearing aids are welcome to turn them down."
Liz helped pass out bells and arrange the students in order of height. The taller boys, William, Braden and Luca, would have been grouped together in the back, but William was missing. Alexa frowned. Roberta was so good about letting Alexa know if the family was scheduled to go out of town. She hoped everything was okay.
"Wait," she said softly when one eager bell ringer started shaking too soon. "All together now. Nice and loud. And don't forget to sing."
"Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rap," they sang. Of course, the last word was a shout, but delivered enthusiastically by the three- and four-year-olds. Under the cacophony of chimes, Alexa swore she could hear Braden's voice. Clear and unbroken. Tears clouded her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Not in time to avoid getting caught by Grace. Her sister was staring at her as if Alexa had a flashing sign over her head: Alert. Alert. Possibly Pregnant. Definitely in love.
And, of course, once the performance was completed, Grace worked her way through the crowd to say, "Alexandra, we need to talk."
"You sounded just like Mom there." Alexa pushed a platter of cookies—each decorated by her students, which meant in some cases there was more frosting than cookie— into her sister's hands. "Go. Mingle. I'm busy."
"But—"
"Later, Grace. You and Nick are here till the third of January, right? We'll have plenty of time to talk."
"But—"
"Not now, Grace."
Her words seemed to carry above the hum of the crowd and everyone turned to look at her. Alexa was certain her face was as red as the plush Santa hat on her head. "Be sure to take each of the paintings that your child did home with you," she called, making a sweeping gesture with her hand. “These are real treasures that you'll want to keep to show your children's children. Just ask my mom. Our four handprints are the first decorations she hangs up every year. Isn't that right, Mom?"
Yetta was standing close enough for Alexa to reach for her hand and draw her onto the stage for a hug. A smattering of applause made her mother beam. "You've outdone yourself today, dear. It's a lovely party."
“I need a bigger house."
"My mother used to say, 'It's not the size of the house, it's the size of the heart."'
Alexa made a little "oh" sound. "I never heard that one, but I like it. And thanks for your help, Mom. I really couldn't have done this without you."
They hugged again—and were soon joined by Grace. "Me, too. I need my Rom fix."
"Your husband-to-be is half Romani," Alexa reminded her.
"Doesn't count. He's not a girl."
"I would hope not," Yetta said primly. "He's far too handsome to be a woman."
"Speaking of handsome,” Grace said, looking over Alexa's shoulder. "Is that major hunk who I think it is? Oh, my. No wonder you two are an item again. Way to go, Alexa."
Alexa groaned and spun on one heel. Her equilibrium spun, too, but her sister was there to steady her. Grace's perfectly plucked left eyebrow lifted the way a movie detective's might. Another clue. Damn.
Before Grace could say anything, though, the handsome hunk in question walked up to them. "Hi. Sorry I'm late. Zeke and I were...on a hunt."
Pigeon.
To Grace, he said, "Hello, Grace. Long time no see. I hear congratulations are in order."
Grace shook his hand. 'Thank you. The same to you.”
Mark looked at Alexa sharply.
Gulping, she hastily explained, "She means about Braden, don't you, Grace?"
Grace's lips formed a thoughtful moue as she looked from Mark to Alexa and back again. "Of course. What else? You don't have news about the arson case, yet, do you?"
"Yet?" Alexa asked.
"Zeke and Nikolai were on the phone the minute we landed. I swear they're closer friends than any of the guys Nick has introduced me to in Detroit. They speak the same language. Do you speak cop, too?"
Mark smiled. "Firefighter. Slightly different dialect. But if the cops speak slowly I can usually understand them."
Grace roared and gave Mark a quick hug. "I like you. There was a time I didn't, but now I do. See you later." She dashed off into the crowd.
Mark looked a little shell-shocked. "Wow. She’s...”
"A presence. I know. But we love her." Clearing her throat, which suddenly felt terribly parched and burning, Alexa said, "I'm glad you're here, what's the story with Pigeon?"
"We'll find her. Just a matter of time. I hate to ask, but could you keep Braden this afternoon? Zeke found out that Pigeon's mother and stepdad have a place in Indian Springs. We'd like to run up there and ask a few questions."
Alexa was exhausted, utterly drained, but she couldn't say no. She knew how important this was to him, to Braden. "Sure. Kate plans to hang out at Mom's to visit with Grace, so I'm sure Maya and Braden will have a great time together."
And with any luck, I can grab a nap.
Chapter 20
Mark left the Day Care with mixed emotions. Mostly, he felt guilty about asking Alexa to keep Braden. She'd looked so tired. Beautiful, of course. The jaunty tilt of the plush red hat with the white trim fur almost matched her rosy cheeks.
Parking was at a premium today, with all the families of both the morning and afternoon classes attending the festivities, so Mark had to search for Zeke's car. He'd taken a few minutes to follow Braden on a guided tour of his art projects. More examples than Mark had expected to find since Braden only attended the school a couple of hours a day.
Braden had also presented Mark with a decorated box— the kind Mark had folded and assembled when he'd been a volunteer helping at the school.
"M-my h-hand," Braden had said, proudly.
''That's great, son. We'll hang it on the wall when we get home. This is the best gift ever." And he'd meant it. Mark was finally starting to feel as if things were going to work out—for him and for Braden.
He had to jog halfway around the block to find the unmarked Ford. To his shock, a stranger was sitting in the passenger seat.
The window rolled down. Zeke leaned over and said to Mark, "Nick Lightner, meet Mark Gaylord. Nick's coming with us. Since this is just an informal social call and all," he added, reminding both men of Mark's unofficial status where this investigation was concerned.
“The more the merrier," Mark said, getting into the backseat. He knew the only reason he was here was because of Zeke's friendship and determination to clear Mark's name.
"Sorry to butt in," the well-built man with wavy blond hair said. He looked more like a movie star than a cop. He’s half Romani? Mark wasn't sure he believed it.
"No problem, but aren't you supposed to be at the party? I saw your fiancée there."
The man ran a hand through his hair in a nervous mannerism. "Yeah, but all those kids? No, thanks. Zeke offered me a chance to go hunting, and I jum
ped onboard. Grace will understand."
"You got something against kids?" Mark asked.
Nick turned so Mark could see his face. "Not really. But, they're short and loud and..." His gaze dropped. 'They scare the you-know-what out of me."
Mark would have laughed, but he could tell the man was serious. Big, strong cop unnerved by a group of preschoolers. He loved it.
"Well, that'll change when you have your own. I guarantee it. Grace strikes me as the equal-parent kind of woman. You'll be changing your share of diapers and doing your part when it's time for preschool."
Nick let out a long groan and slumped down in the seat. "Yep, I suspect you're right."
"Speaking of suspects...” Zeke said, yukking at his little joke. "Do we have an address for Pigeon's parents?"
"Mother," Mark clarified. "The dad is dead, according to her records. There was a stepdad, but I'm not sure he's living there now. The street number is on top of the folder. My notes are inside, if you want to take a look, Lightner."
Nobody spoke for a few miles while the newcomer read. "Hell," Nick said twenty minutes later. "They suspended you for this? A plea bargain with a three-strike loser? The man was a flake. It says here they're not even sure he was in town at the time of the fire. How would he know anything?"
Mark shrugged. "Supposedly, I have a motive and the expertise."
Nikolai snorted skeptically. “Anyone with access to YouTube has the expertise.” He turned the page and read further until he startled visibly and looked at Zeke. “The dealer who died in the fire was known to have supplied Charles Harmon's sister with drugs?”
Zeke glanced at Mark. "Really? I don't remember reading that."
Mark sat forward. "I pulled it off some report. Didn't figure it meant anything since Harmon's in jail, but his name always raises a red flag with me, considering his ties to the Rom community." He looked at Nick. "You're the guy who nailed him, right?"
Nikolai turned so he could see both Mark and Zeke. "With a little help from Grace.” His tone turned serious. “Look at the dates. The first call I got from Yetta came in late January. Harmon was on the street for several months after that. I didn't even come to Vegas until the middle of February."
Mark shrugged. "What's your point? Harmon's sister has been dead for years. Why would he wait so long to do something to the guy who sold her drugs?"
"I don't know, but I remember him bragging that the people who supplied her with drugs would be afraid to make him mad. I didn't pursue it because I was undercover at the time, but I definitely got the impression he had something to do with drug traffic in this area."
"Not surprising," Zeke said. “The guy thought he could build his own little syndicate of corruption without law enforcement giving a damn." Glancing at Mark in the rearview mirror, he added, “I swear Harmon and your ex-mother-in-law would get along great. They both see the world only as it applies to them."
Mark agreed.
To Nick, Zeke said, "I think we could use some fresh eyes on this case. Want to do a little moonlighting while you're here?"
"My future wife would kill me."
"I might be able to make it worth your while—and toss in a little bonus that even Grace would like."
Mark heard an odd waver in Zeke's voice. He hunched closer, elbows on knees.
"Really?" Nikolai glanced from Zeke to Mark. "What would that be?"
"My job."
"I always feel like Gulliver when I sit at one of these tables," Grace said, yanking her short skirt down modestly.
Kate, who was partially hidden behind a tower of art papers topped by a gold foil-wrapped box and a chain of green and red construction-paper loops, plopped one elbow on the table and sighed. "What was the name of the place that he landed in?"
"l can't remember. But I bet Alexa knows."
"Lilliput. The citizens were Lilliputians. They buried their dead heads downward because they believed that when redemption came, the earth, which was flat, of course, was going to flip over and they'd be restored, feet flat on the ground.”
Alexa noticed her sisters staring at her, mouths agape. "I read Jonathan Swift. Don't look at me like that."
"Something's up with her," Grace said to Kate.
"Well, duh, you don't have to be a Gypsy psychic to know that," Kate returned, tossing a stray kernel of popcorn across the table. "Mom thinks she's in love."
"Mom thinks Alexa is in love?"
"Of course, who did you think I meant?"
"Mom."
"That's what I said, Mom thinks she's—"
Alexa let out a low gurgle and dropped her head to the table. "Stop it. You two are like a bad version of 'Who's on first.’”
"We're not talkin' baseball here," Grace said, but the twinkle in her eye told Alexa she was joking.
"Or Abbott and Costello," Kate put in. "Mom might be in love, too, but she's not our concern at the moment. You are."
The smooth, cool tabletop brought instant relief to Alexa's hot cheeks and forehead. “Why me?"
"Uh-oh. She's mumbling."
"I think she has a fever. Maya gets the same glassy look in her eyes when she's sick."
Sick? Like the flu?
A sudden thought hit her and she sat upright and looked around. "Did anyone check my phone messages this morning?"
"I did," another voice called. "Mom told me to." Liz finished boxing up the donated books that she'd volunteered to deliver to the shelter on her way home and walked across the room to join her sisters. "Because you were so busy greeting people."
"Well, what were the messages?"
"There was just one. From Roberta. She said William was sick. He came down with the flu last night, and she'd try to pick up his artwork on Monday unless she caught it, too."
"The flu," Alexa croaked. "I have the flu."
Grace made a face. "That's the first time I've ever heard anyone sound happy about being sick."
Alexa looked around and realized all three of her sisters were staring at her. She swallowed. The burning pain in her throat made sense, now. It wasn't from throwing up. How could I have been so stupid?
"I thought I had morning sickness.”
Their collective gasp could have sucked the air out of a dozen balloons.
Before any of them recovered, she held up her hand. "I don't want to talk about it. When I'm feeling better, I will open my private life to your sisterly scrutiny because I know you'll drive me mad until you know everything. But not now. I'm too wiped out. Remember what happened the last time I had the flu?"
Kate and Grace looked at each other and nodded. ''You wound up in the hospital," Kate said.
"Because you always take care of yourself last," Grace added. "Go to bed, now."
"And drink lots of liquids," Liz added. She jumped to her feet and started toward the kitchen. "I'll brew you some tea."
"What about Braden?" Kate asked. "Can we take him to Mom's with us?"
Alexa leaned forward and braced her hands on the tiny table. "He could stay here and watch a movie, but I don't want to expose him to any more of my germs. I feel terrible that I was breathing on those poor people today. They'll probably all be sick on Christmas."
Grace stood up, too. "Cut yourself a little slack, Typhoid Alexa. It's winter, and you work in a germ factory. Where do you think you got the bug?"
"And remember what Mom always says, 'It's not the seed, it's the garden.' Or something like that," Kate put in before anyone could correct her. "You were probably more susceptible to the virus because this is such a hectic time for you, and you let yourself get run-down."
Alexa couldn't argue with that logic—even if she'd had the energy.
Grace bent down to pat Alexa's back. "Kate's right. I know how hard you push yourself to make the holidays special for your students. But look at you, Alexa. You're white as Santa's beard. Now, go to bed and get some rest. I'll put a note on your door so Mark won't disturb you when he shows up for his kid. Okay?"
Kate put her war
m hand over Alexa's icy one. "Braden will be fine. He seems to adore Maya, and she's very protective of him. She told me the other day that she's decided to 'fix' his speech problem because she doesn't like the way the other kids look at him when he stutters."
Alexa attempted a smile. If anyone could bring Braden out of his shell and help him with his speech impediment, it was Maya.
As she shuffled down the hall, one hand on the wall to keep her balance, she heard the low murmurings of her three sisters. They were talking about her, of course. And her revelation that she'd had sex with Mark. No doubt they'd come to the same conclusion: their eldest sister was out of her mind.
Chapter 21
The address Mark had scribbled in his notes belonged to a 1970s-era Fleetwood mobile home, faded green with a curved bay window on the end facing the street. Three cats watched from their vantage point behind the glass as Mark, Zeke and Nikolai approached.
A small, slightly lopsided porch had been attached to the front door. Several strands of tiny white Christmas lights zigzagged from post to post. The cheap artificial turf underfoot was frayed and sun-bleached, but a fresh pine wreath adorned with shiny red balls hung beside the door.
Mark knocked.
"Coming...,” a voice called.
A face appeared behind the glass storm door. A woman.
Shoulder-length dishwater-blond hair. Extremely thin. Mark recognized her from the photograph.
"You're Pigeon. I'm Mark Gaylord. You knew my ex-wife."
Her pretty blue eyes went wide and round. She was probably in her mid-thirties, but the years hadn't been kind to her.
“Can we come in and talk to you for a few minutes?"
"Am I in trouble? My mom said I couldn't stay here if I brought trouble with me."
Mark felt sorry for her, but he said, 'These gentlemen are police officers, but they're not here to arrest you. They're investigating Tracey's death, and they were hoping to get some sense of what Tracey's life was like at the end. We thought you might be able to help us."
A Match Made In Vegas Page 17
