Reunions and Revelations in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery

by A. R. Winters

“I can imagine. Yumi, when did you and Roman know something had happened, last night?”

  “We were sleeping. But then, there was a scream. We thought maybe we’d imagined it—you know, like it was just the wind or something. But then we heard everyone coming out of their rooms, so we came out too.”

  “And you were both in the room together?” Ian asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “Fast asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yumi, have you seen this before?”

  Yumi’s eyes went even wider when Ian showed her the closeup photograph.

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Uncle Joe thinks he saw something similar in a museum in Japan.”

  Yumi shrugged. “Possibly. I haven’t.”

  Ian put his pen down. “You’ve never seen a Japanese knife before? In Japan?”

  Yumi looked at him quizzically. Then recognition crossed her face. “Oh! You think this is Japanese?”

  “Isn’t it?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No. Look at the design—that’s Chinese.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Yumi shrugged. “They’re just different. You could probably tell the difference between an American car and a French car just by looking at it, right?”

  “Err…” Ian was frowning and trying to work out whether he actually could do such a thing.

  “I get your point,” I said. “There’s writing on it. Can you tell us what it says?”

  Yumi squinted at the picture, then took the phone from Ian’s hands and zoomed the image in.

  “The characters are slightly different than what we would use. But it’s a name, a Chinese name. And it has symbols for luck and prosperity.”

  “And nothing to link it to Beryl?”

  “Only the location.”

  “The location?” Ian asked her, brow furrowed.

  Yumi nodded. “You know. In her heart.”

  “Oh. Oh. Right. Yes.”

  “Did you like Beryl, Yumi?”

  “She was old,” she answered somewhat cryptically.

  “Do you like old people?” Ian asked her.

  “I respected her.”

  “Why? She wasn’t very nice.”

  “This was her home, she was old, and I’m a guest here.”

  She was evading our questions now instead of giving it to us straight.

  “What did Roman think of her?”

  “He respected her, too. She was his employer.”

  Yeah, right.

  “Yumi, did Beryl do anything to upset you?”

  “No.” She stared at the table in front of her. Her voice had lowered to such a level that it was now competing with the fire for audio dominance. “She didn’t.”

  “At dinner the other day she basically told you to break up with Roman and travel the world alone.”

  She still didn’t meet our gaze. “She was only trying to give me advice. But she didn’t know me well. She didn’t know that wasn’t the kind of advice I would take.”

  “So you bore no ill will to her? Despite her trying to wreck your relationship?”

  She shook her head. “She wanted to help me.”

  Beryl? Help? That was a very charitable interpretation of her actions.

  “Are you sad, Yumi?” Ian asked her.

  “Sad?”

  “Because of what happened to Beryl.”

  “All deaths are sad. But I’m—” Yumi looked up at us again. “I’m afraid.”

  “Because someone killed Beryl?”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded at us.

  “Whoever it was, they probably had a reason for it. We’ve no reason to think it was a random killing. The rest of us should be safe,” I told her.

  “Do you think so?”

  “I know so. I’ve seen situations like this before. Just stay close to Roman and everyone else.”

  “Okay.”

  “I know we’ve all only had a short time together, but do you think anyone else here had a reason to dislike Beryl? Did you hear them complaining about her, or threatening her?”

  Yumi shook her head instantly. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I don’t know why anyone would do something like…” Yumi shuddered and didn’t finish the sentence.

  Ian and I looked at each other.

  “Okay, Yumi,” I said, “I think that’s enough questions from us for now. Try and take it easy today. Most of us are going to be in mild shock after what happened.”

  She shook her head at me. “Not mild,” she said with a small smile as she stood up. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks, Yumi.”

  When she was gone, Ian and I compared notes.

  “Did you notice her eyes?” I said to Ian.

  He nodded. “They’re a beautiful brown, aren’t they?”

  “What? No, that’s not what I meant. She was staring at the table almost the entire time. She didn’t want to meet our gaze.”

  “Oh. She was probably just scared of you, Tiff. You know, you’re pretty big and mean.”

  “Big?”

  Ian wisely began to backtrack. “Compared to her! We both are!”

  “Watch it, mister.”

  “You can’t threaten me now that we’re cousins.”

  “Oh, yes I can.” I half-stood and turned my chair to face Ian. “What about Roman? What do we think?”

  “I think he didn’t like our questions very much.”

  “No, he didn’t, did he. And his mother’s history with her…”

  “He could be a millionaire,” Ian said. “Like me,” he finished brightly.

  “Thank goodness you didn’t say that to him. I don’t think it would have gone down very well.”

  “Exactly. I know when to keep my mouth shut. I can’t believe you keep accusing me of being tactless.”

  There was no need to answer that.

  “Right. Who’s next?”

  “Surely you mean what’s next? It’s got to be lunchtime, doesn’t it?”

  I tapped a finger on his phone screen. “Look at the time.”

  He took a look, which turned into a stare of disbelief. “It says ten-thirty. It can’t be ten-thirty.”

  “We had an early start, remember? A very early start.”

  Ian held out his hand. “Look, I’m shaking. We need sustenance, Tiff. All this sleuthing’s been burning all the glucose in my brain.”

  “I forgot you had one.”

  “One? One glucose? It’s an uncountable noun, Tiff. Some glucose.”

  “I meant a brain. And looks like I was right.” My stomach agreed with Ian though. It was time for some more fuel. “Come on, let’s get a snack before our next interview.”

  A successful detective has to keep their brain running at optimum efficiency and ultimate clarity, after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Master chef that I was, I prepared grilled cheese sandwiches for Ian and me to keep us going. Maeve was upstairs with Norman, so I took the liberty of using her kitchen. We were doing important detective business, and we needed important detective business food to keep our minds as sharp as razors.

  We ran into Angel and Amber in the hall.

  “I made it!” Angel said, the pride evident in her voice.

  “Angel made Angel’s snow angel, Angel?” Ian asked her.

  “Yes!”

  “She didn’t just make one, did you, Angel?”

  She shook her head.

  “A million!”

  “It felt like a million,” Amber said to me with a happy but weary grin.

  “Did they all have names too?”

  “I made Angel One. Then I made Angel Two. Then I made Angel Three. Then—”

  Ian held up his palms in front of her. “Whoa, I think I got it. A whole host of Angels!”

  “How’s the weather looking?” I asked Amber.

  She shook her head at me. “Getting worse again. That’s why we came back inside. I couldn’t see her if she wen
t more than two feet away from me. Which she did. Frequently.”

  Having looked after the little girl several times myself, I could imagine.

  “Right, let’s get back to it, Ian.”

  After eating our sandwiches, I went to go and get Marcus. He was reading in the drawing room in front of the fire. I wished that was what I was doing.

  He followed me back.

  “I hear you’ve got quite the inquisition going on in here.” His eyes danced with amusement.

  “Has someone been complaining?”

  “I don’t want to tell tales, but…”

  “It was Roman, wasn’t it?” Ian asked.

  “You wouldn’t be wrong if you thought that.”

  It took Ian a moment to process what Marcus meant. When he got it, he slapped the table with his palm. “Knew it!”

  “Right. Let’s begin. Ian, the picture?”

  Marcus told us he knew nothing about the knife, so we quickly moved on.

  “Are you a heavy sleeper, Marcus?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Not particularly. In fact, some nights I can barely sleep at all.”

  “You were the last person to arrive when we found her this morning.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t hear.”

  “But you just said you’re a light sleeper.” Ian was doodling on his notepad now, a confused frown on his lips.

  “Yeah. But, well, I didn’t hear.”

  “Earplugs? Pillow over your head?”

  “No. I… umm, I was in the drawing room.”

  “I thought you were sleeping?” I asked him.

  “I was. In the drawing room.”

  “Why?” Ian’s question was blunt, but it got to the heart of the matter. I figured he must have had a fight with Jini. “Did you get drunk and pass out there?”

  Huh. Ian’s mind had been on a different track entirely.

  “What? No!”

  Ian leaned forward. “Drugs?” he whispered. “We don’t have to report it, you know.”

  “No! Nothing of the sort. Me and Jini had a fight, that’s all.”

  “A fight?” Ian asked. “Why would you do that?”

  “It wasn’t exactly part of my plan for the evening,” Marcus said sarcastically. Some of the amused twinkle in his eyes had faded. He was beginning to look annoyed.

  “Ian?” I raised my eyebrows. It was a secret code. It meant, be quiet, dummy. I turned back to Marcus. “Sorry about that. You and Jini had a disagreement. I don’t suppose it was about Beryl by any chance?”

  “It was about Beryl, yes.”

  “How so?”

  “You remember dinner?”

  “How could we forget?”

  “I know, right?” Marcus gave an amused shake of his head at the memory. “Beryl told me to break up with Jini. Because she’s older than me.”

  “Yeah. And you told her you weren’t going to do that.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “So?”

  “Jini thought I wasn’t, you know, strident enough. She told me I should have told Beryl to shut up. That we should have marched right out of the dining room mid-meal. Jini said I let Beryl get away with insulting her.”

  I winced. “Tough luck.”

  “What do you think? I did tell Beryl that I didn’t care about Jini’s age, didn’t I?”

  Ian found his voice again. “You did. I heard you. Jini must be an idiot if she didn’t realize it.”

  Marcus shot a glare at Ian so sharp that he fell back in his seat.

  “Sorry about him,” I said, giving Ian a little jab under the table. “He’s an idiot and he keeps projecting.”

  “I have a very high IQ,” Ian said quietly.

  “Hmm?” I said to him with a glare. He closed his mouth again and fell into a sullen silence.

  “Do you and Jini argue a lot? Or was Beryl a special occasion?”

  “We argue a bit. Everyone does. But Beryl seemed to really get under Jini’s skin. I think it was more her that she was mad at than me, but it wasn’t Beryl in our room after dinner. So I got it.”

  “So you were sleeping in the drawing room. Did you see anyone on your way back upstairs?”

  “No. I think everyone was there already, weren’t they?”

  “They were.”

  I watched Marcus for a moment. He did nothing but sit with an expectant look, so I asked, “What did you think of Beryl?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Not a lot. I’d barely even heard of her until Dad came up with the idea of holding a party at her house. I mean, I knew Dad was married before. But it was years and years before I was even born. He didn’t talk about her much, and I don’t think he even knew she was in the country until recently. She ran off abroad after she left him.”

  “Right. And I guess your sister—I mean your half-sister—didn’t talk about her much either?”

  “Who?”

  “Your dad and Beryl’s daughter. Taki, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh! Oh, her. I’ve never even met her. I think Dad made me speak to her on the phone a couple of times as a kid, but I don’t know her at all.”

  “Your dad said he went over to Japan to see her a few years back.”

  “That’s right. When I was in high school. I wasn’t with him. Mom and I went on a trip together to California instead. We couldn’t afford for all of us to fly to Japan.”

  “Uncle Joe’s got quite the extended family.”

  Marcus chuckled and leaned back in the leather chair, relaxing slightly. “He does, doesn’t he? But I haven’t met half of them. I was kind of looking forward to the big party he had planned.” Marcus looked between Ian and me, out the window behind us. “Even if it wasn’t for Beryl, with this weather…” Marcus shook his head.

  “Is Jini a dancer?” Ian asked.

  The question seemed to come out of nowhere and caught Marcus off guard. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A dancer.”

  “I— mean, she’s a lawyer. Her job, you mean?”

  Ian shrugged.

  “Ballet. She did ballet, right through high school. She was good, really good. You know, like top ninety-nine percent.”

  “But she didn’t go professional?” I asked.

  “No. That’s the thing. It wasn’t enough. You need to be like, top ninety-nine point nine, to really go pro, to be in the big leagues. She could have become a ballet teacher, of course, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She became a lawyer instead. Why do you ask?”

  “She just seems very lithe,” Ian said.

  “Umm, I guess?”

  ”Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to be reassuring. I had no doubt he found Ian’s line of questioning odd. But it did tie in with what Maeve had told us about the shadowy figure she had observed. “It’s just an angle we’re looking at.”

  “Wasn’t she killed with a knife rather than a ballet shoe?” Marcus immediately laughed, but his own joke fell as flat as the shoe he mentioned.

  “That’s right. Marcus, do you expect to be in Beryl’s will?”

  He snorted. “I doubt it. She’s not exactly the generous type, and she didn’t even know me. I’m not related to her in any way. No, I would not expect to be in it at all.”

  “So nothing to gain by her death.”

  “A couple of days without her upsetting my fiancée?”

  I tried to suppress a smile. A murder was no time for jokes. But it did turn the corners of my mouth up a little.

  “Do you have any reason to suspect anyone in the house wanted Beryl dead? Have you heard anything, or seen anything suspicious?”

  “I think she upset just about everyone during dinner. Except you. But that’s not enough to make a normal person kill someone, is it? Otherwise half the dinner parties in the country would result in a corpse.”

  He had a point.

  “So no one in particular?”

  “No. Can’t say I noticed anyone waving that knife around or saying they were going to kill her.”

  �
�But someone did,” Ian said.

  “Right.” Marcus shrugged. “But I really couldn’t tell you who. All I know is that I was downstairs. And It wasn’t Jini, of course.”

  “No?” Ian asked.

  “Of course not! She’s my fiancée. And she didn’t even know the woman.”

  “But she did upset Jini so much that you ended up sleeping on the couch,” Ian pointed out.

  “Yes, but that’s just arguing. Jini’s not a killer. Goodness. Who do you think we are?”

  Ian scribbled something into his notebook again. I glanced over. It read, Jini: no alibi.

  “I think that’s enough, Marcus. You’ve been very helpful. Our interviews help us to eliminate people as well as to directly find the culprit, so thanks for giving us your time.”

  “We’re eliminated, then?”

  “We better not get into the details of our investigation with you. The others might think we’re playing favorites.”

  Marcus stood up. “Of course. Thanks for doing this. It helps to know that something’s being done.”

  “It’s our job,” Ian said brightly.

  We escorted Marcus to the door and called Jini in.

  She sat down, and we began to ask her about what happened. We started with the knife, which she knew nothing about, other than recognizing that there were Chinese characters on the handle. We moved on quickly.

  “Where were you when it happened?”

  “I was sleeping. In our room.”

  “Alone?” Ian asked.

  Jini didn’t look pleased by the question. “Yes,” she answered after a considerable pause. “Marcus was downstairs.”

  “Because you had a fight.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because of Beryl.”

  Jini nodded at Ian.

  “You didn’t like her much, did you?”

  “Did anyone? I mean, in the entire world, did anyone like her?”

  “She claimed that she and Norman were friends,” I said with a shrug.

  Jini lifted her eyebrows and clenched her jaw.

  “What?” Ian asked.

  “He’s a conman. I mean, seriously, he persuaded Beryl to leave her entire estate to him? He should be disbarred. He will be if I have anything to do with it.”

  “You don’t believe they were friends?”

  “I don’t believe Beryl had friends. She was a nasty piece of work. Maybe she got what she deserved—”

  “Murder?” Ian interrupted.