A Match Made In Vegas

by Debra Salonen

  After a few moments of indecision, she opened the door and led them into the shabby but neat living room. The cats were now grouped together like a three-headed beast. "I have to go to work in half an hour. I'm a waitress. Don't make squat in tips, but I'm not quite ready to give Vegas another try. Bad things happen when I'm there."

  "What kind of bad things?" Zeke asked, taking a seat on the sofa. "Drugs?"

  "Uh-huh. Mom says I have codependent tendencies. Whatever that means. And I ran with the wrong crowd. In school and stuff."

  "Did you know Amy Harmon when you lived in Vegas?" Nick asked. "She had a brother. Quite a bit older. He used to be a lawyer in town."

  Her shoulders lifted and fell. "Name sorta rings a bell, but I don't really remember."

  Mark withdrew the photograph he'd brought with him. "How did you and Tracey get to know each other, Pigeon?"

  The woman laughed nervously and looked over her shoulder as if expecting someone to scold her. "Um, I don't go by that name anymore. That was my...um...street name, if you get my drift. Call me Patti. That was what Tracey called me. She said I wasn't anybody's bird."

  Mark waited for her to go on.

  "She was one of the cops that came to the house when me and my old man were fighting. That was the second time we met. The first was when she busted me for soliciting. But I wasn't really. I was just trying to score some glass—" Mark and Nick exchanged a look that said they recognized one of the many street names for meth. "And somebody said this guy in a Mercedes would trade the stuff for a blow job. Seemed like a good deal at the time," she said with a self-conscious laugh. "Tracey let me go. She said the buyer in the car was as much to blame as me." Her smile seemed reflective—and sad.

  “I was pretty bad off when your wife. ..um, I mean ex-wife, came to the house. I was bleeding all over everything from this cut above my eye." She pointed to a small silver scar that bisected her left brow. "She called the EMTs and followed me to the emergency room. When we talked I felt like she really understood what I was going through."

  She let out a weighty sigh. "Trace got me in a program. It helped for a while. I was doing good. She said I could live with her as long as I was clean. That's when we took this picture," she said, smiling at the memory. "But then the doctor who was running the program got caught bonking his nurse or something. The place closed down and I. . . I. . . "

  "You started using again?"

  She nodded. "I fell back in with my old crowd, but things weren't good. I sorta freaked out, and I went to Tracey for help, but she wasn't doing so good herself. This was after she got hurt at work. Her mother had moved in and... " She shuddered in a way that told Mark a lot. "The pain pills she was taking for her back made her kinda loopy and depressed. I think it really bummed her out when she lost her job"

  Patti looked at Zeke and frowned. "That wasn't right, you know. She was a good person, and she did good when she was a cop. You guys hung her out to dry just because she made one mistake and lost her temper."

  Zeke appeared to agree with her. "Unfortunately, she beat up a suspect, and somebody caught it on their phone, uploaded it to the Internet and it went viral. The department didn't have a lot of choice in the matter."

  "Well, she deserved better," Patti said, showing surprising spirit. "But Trace did have a temper. Her mom was the same way. And when those two started fighting, me and Braden would run and hide."

  She looked at Mark. "I heard you got custody of him. Tracey wouldn't have wanted Odessa to be raising him. Sometimes, I thought she hated her mother worse than she hated Tom-Tom."

  "Who?"

  She looked at her hands, which were clenched so tightly Mark could see her knuckles white against her skin. "My ex. Tracey and Odessa knew him, too."

  Mark's stomach clenched. "Odessa told me that Tracey and this Tom guy were an item before Trace and I got married. Is that true?"

  Patti shrugged. "Don't know. Tracey hated him. That was for sure. When she found out I was getting my stuff from him, she went ballistic. Grabbed her gun, sent Braden to the neighbor lady next door and drove me straight to his place."

  At the mention of the word gun, Mark looked at Zeke, who asked, "Do you know what kind of gun?"

  She shook her head. "I was pretty messed up at the time. All I remember is her yelling at me and saying something about putting an end to the poison. She drove my car 'cause hers was low on gas. When we got there, she made me wait in the car."

  Mark couldn't see her face because her chin was practically buried in the throat of her waitress uniform. "What happened?"

  "She didn't come out for a long time. I got scared and I started to go after her in case Tom-Tom done something to her, you know?" She looked up. Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks at any moment. "I only made it a few steps when there was a big explosion. I didn't really see what happened because the force threw me backwards and I covered up my head to keep from getting hit with boards and glass and stuff."

  Mark could picture the image all too clearly, and, as always, he felt sick to his stomach thinking about Tracey inside the inferno that followed the explosion. Investigators had recovered two bodies burned beyond recognition. Dental charts had been needed to ID both of them. One was Tracey. The other, a man named Thomas Johns, with two dozen aliases. The guy's rap sheet started when he was twelve.

  "So, Tracey's decision to visit this meth lab was impromptu...er, spur of the moment?" Nick asked. "Nobody else knew you were going to be there that day?" She shook her head.

  "And Tracey wasn't a regular there? She wasn't buying from this Tom-Tom guy?" Zeke questioned.

  Her backbone stiffened. "Tracey was off that shit completely. She only went there to make that a-hole pusher stop cooking the crap. She said she was giving him a warning— to leave Vegas or she'd turn him in."

  Mark almost smiled. That sounded like his ex-wife. Willful, independent and cocky at the wrong moments. They'd butted heads more than once in the short time they'd been partners, and their inability to communicate had played hell on their marriage.

  'Thank you, Pi... Patti. I wish we'd talked to you sooner."

  She stood up when the men did. "You probably wouldn't have been able to. I was so shook up by what happened, I went underground. Came pretty damn close to dying. That's when I reached out to my mom for help. She'd just broken up with Ed, her second husband, and moved to this place. Mom said I could stay as long as none of my past followed me up here. You're not gonna make me go back, are you?"

  Mark looked at Zeke. He couldn't see any reason they couldn't close the case. The woman had no reason to lie, and her version of the story proved that Mark couldn't possibly have known when Tracey was going to be at the drug house. Mark was no longer a suspect in her death.

  "No, ma'am. You've helped us a great deal and we appreciate your cooperation. You and your mother have a happy Christmas."

  Mark lingered on the little porch a moment longer after she showed them out. Once Zeke and Nick were out of earshot, he said, "Patti, Odessa told me something a few days ago. I don't want to believe her, but maybe you know the truth. Is there any chance that dealer, Tom-Tom, is Braden's real dad?"

  Her expression looked torn. “I wish I could tell you no, but I honestly don't know. Tracey hated the guy but she never really said why. They might have had some kind of thing going in the past, but I don't know what. I'm sorry."

  Mark was, too. In a fairy tale, she'd have solved all his problems and he could return to Las Vegas to live happily ever after. But his life had never been that simple. "No problem. I just thought I'd ask since you two were close."

  He trudged down the steps, but stopped when she said, "What I do know is Braden used to cry at night and ask for his daddy. Poor little kid. Seemed pretty normal till his grandma moved in. Then he started having terrible nightmares, but I didn't blame him. Odessa was enough to scare anybody. I'm sure lucky my mom isn't like that. Tracey did pretty good for herself, considering...”

 
Her words stayed with him all the way back to Vegas.

  Alexa awoke to complete darkness. At least, she thought she was awake. She might have been dreaming. A fever dream. Her sheets were soaked from sweat, but she felt too weak to get up and change them. Instead, she rolled to the other side of her bed and pulled the pillow over her head. The pillowcase smelled like Mark.

  Another dream? She'd changed the bedding since their night together. Had she?

  "I'm losing it," she muttered, squeezing her eyes tight.

  "Not my princess."

  The words echoed in her mind. The voice was so dear to her she almost started to cry. Dad. She hadn't heard him speak that clearly and succinctly since his stroke.

  "Oh, Daddy, I miss you."

  "But I'm right here, honey. I never left. Not really."

  Alexa's eyes flew open and she lifted her head. Her blinds were closed, but tiny horizontal beams of light cast a strange, striped pattern on the wall opposite the windows. And there, in a zebra-like silhouette, was the image of her father as she remembered him best. Not so tall, but big. Larger than life was how his obituary had described him.

  Hands in his pockets. Top three buttons of his neatly pressed shirt open, with a white undershirt showing at the throat.

  She sat up. "Dad?"

  The cool air made gooseflesh stand up on her arms and she drew the down comforter to her chest.

  The apparition never wavered, although his hands did make a jiggling motion in his pockets, and Alexa swore she could hear the dull tinkle of silver dollars. Music to the ears of the four little girls who had clambered for his attention. "Me, Daddy. Me, Daddy. I wanna buy some candy." Or dolls. Or tapes. Or clothes. Or lipstick.

  The last, she knew, had really made him sad. His little Gypsy princesses were growing up, and he was bound to lose each one to some man. A man who offered more than silver coins. Even the Gypsy King couldn't compete with love, companionship, children and family.

  Alexa had been certain that Mark was her guy. Her soul mate. Even her mother had backed Alexa's choice— much to her husband's horror. Alexa had overheard them arguing one night.

  "Mark is a good person. His soul is strong and honest and filled with light. Why are you so against him?" Yetta had asked.

  "Because he can't keep up with her. He lets her call the shots, and that's going to backfire some day. He'll disappoint her. I know he will," her father had replied.

  "How did you know, Dad? How did you know that Mark would eventually let me down?"

  The jingling stopped. "Because he reminded me of myself."

  The cryptic answer baffled her. "But you're...you were.. .the best man I ever knew. You would never cheat on Mom."

  "There's more than one way to hurt the ones you love."

  The bribe he took with Charles. Alexa had heard the whole sad tale months earlier.

  "Dad, what happened then was business. You were just trying to take care of us—the way you always took care of everybody and kept this family together."

  His soft laugh was one she knew well. “That's your mother you're describing. When Yetta and I first met, I didn't have two of these to rub together." He held up a pair of silver dollars to the light. "She put down roots and grew a family. She let me take credit for everything, but think about it, Alexandra. Your sisters knew who to turn to for help. You are the only one who trusted me to solve her problems."

  He had a point. Although Alexa felt close to her mother, she'd generally sought out Kingston's help on the myriad dilemmas of life: boys, dating, cars, career choices. Kingston had seemed to understand her better.

  "Because you and I are more alike, Dad."

  “Bossy?”

  She'd been called that. "Am I?"

  "You're a teacher, Alexa. But sometimes even the best student fails the test."

  "What do you mean?"

  She looked at the shadows for an answer, but the specter was gone. The lines of light were just lines of light. The jingling sound was just the breeze dancing through the wind chime on her patio.

  Her tears returned and she plopped down, hugging her pillow to her chest. "Dad...” she sobbed. “Come back. I need you. I need to know what to do. I trusted Mark once, and he let me down. Just like you said he would. Now what do I do?" The last came out as a hysterical wail that seemed to echo off the walls of her bedroom.

  A moment later, a new form—large and very real— came charging into the room. "Alexa? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

  She let out a gasp and scrambled backward against the headboard, certain she'd lost her mind. First, a ghost, then Mark. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

  "Braden and I are sleeping in your guest room." He stepped closer to her bed. “Because your mother said you were sick—real sick— and the last time that happened you wound up in the ER. She wanted someone over here, and I volunteered."

  Her adrenaline rush left her and she sank down on the mattress, pulling the covers over her head. "I'm contagious. Go away. I'm gonna live. Unfortunately."

  His chuckle sounded closer. "Well, as long as you're awake, drink some of this stuff your sister sent over. Something to help your stomach and balance your electrolytes. She said it would be good for your condition."

  Suddenly furious—certain her siblings had been talking about her behind her back, she sat up. "I hate my sisters."

  "Well, they love you. They called all the parents who were here today to warn them about the flu that’s making its rounds."

  "They did?"

  "Uh-huh." He turned on the bedside lamp. It wasn't terribly bright but it still took Alexa a few seconds to see clearly. When she did, she had to swallow twice to regain her composure. Mark without a shirt. Calendar material. "You must be cold." His nipples were puckered.

  He chafed his arms. "Yeah, I gotta do laundry. No undershirts. But I'm fine. Let me see you drink that whole glassful. I set it there when I checked on you. You were dead to the world, I might add."

  Was that before or after I had a conversation with my father?

  She took the glass, which appeared to be cloudy apple juice, and took a drink. The taste was not apple juice. "Yuck. What is this?"

  "Liz told me the name, but I can't remember. She's going to start selling it."

  Alexa stuck out her tongue. “To whom? People without taste buds?"

  His low chuckle seemed filled with humor. Something was different about him. But instead of asking, she downed the rest of her vinegar-flavored drink, then handed Mark the glass. "She's not a doctor, you know."

  "But she is pushy."

  "Yeah, a family trait."

  He turned to leave. "You'd better go back to sleep."

  "Wait. I want to ask you something. Would we have made it—as a couple—if what happened between you and Tracey hadn't happened?"

  Mark turned around with a thoughtful frown on his face. He sat down on the end of the bed and looked at the glass in his hand. "I don't know, Alexa. We were moving forward so fast—we met, moved in together, got engaged—all in under a year. You started talking about having babies right away...." He looked up. "I'm not saying that was a bad thing, but I remember feeling a little nervous. Like I'd stepped into a river and the current was taking me downstream faster than I could swim. Do you know what I mean?"

  She did.

  "My father told me you had more growing up to do, but I wouldn't listen."

  "I know he never liked me, but I never really understood why."

  "I think you two were too much alike."

  "Really? I wish that were true. He was a good man."

  So are you. "When we were together, did I ever treat you like one of my students?"

  His brows wriggled luridly. "Maybe in my fantasies."

  She laughed. "You seem different tonight. Did something happen?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. Something good. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow." He stood up then walked over to her and placed a tender kiss on her brow. "Go to sleep, princess. Life will look brighter in the morning."r />
  A shiver passed through her. That was exactly what her father used to say when she had a bad dream.

  Chapter 22

  By Christmas eve, three days later, Alexa was starting to feel human again. Both Saturday and Sunday had been marathon sleep sessions sprinkled with tender, well-intentioned nursing from her very worried family. Fortunately, there weren't any more visits from nocturnal ghosts.

  Nor had Mark returned. She was afraid to ask why. Either he or Braden had contracted her bug or he'd decided she was too high maintenance to bother with and had decided to stay as far away from her as possible.

  And there was no reason why he shouldn't forget all about her. Her period had started a few hours after he and Braden had left on Saturday morning. They'd popped into her room long enough for Braden to say, "I-I' m s-orry you g-got s-ick," then they'd left. Mark had promised to call. And he probably had, but she'd been so miserable and—she had to admit--disappointed that she hadn't left her bed long enough to plug in her cell phone.

  Her sisters had practically force-fed her chicken soup and that astringent-tasting concoction of Liz's.

  "It's called kombucha," Liz had told her when she'd visited a few hours after Mark and Braden had left. "It's made from fermented mushrooms and—"

  "Don't," Alexa had said, handing back the empty glass. “I think it might have helped settle my stomach, and I can almost tolerate the taste, but I don't want to know where it comes from."

  Liz had saluted and left. She'd returned daily with a fresh glass of her tart brew. Now, she was back again.

  "Good morning. The nurse of Christmas present here," she called from the doorway. "Are you alive?"

  Alexa was sitting up, her feet touching the floor. She'd arisen early and taken a long hot bath, but the effort had drained her, and she'd returned to bed in fresh pj's. She hadn't taken time to blow dry her hair and cringed to think how bad she looked.

  "Barely," she called. The word came out as a froggy croak. Liz stared at Alexa a minute then grinned and motioned for someone to join her. "She's fine. Just about her usual feisty self."