by Suzie Quint
“Then what is it? You think women can’t drive? Or are you afraid I’ll drive off and leave you?”
He paused with one foot inside the car. “Among other things.”
“I’d rather drive over you,” she muttered, almost low enough he couldn’t hear it, as she returned to the passenger side of the car. Picturing him as a fresh speed bump was nice, but it didn’t come close to her earlier vision of his naked body covered in honey and ants.
There’d been a news story a while back about a woman who’d driven ten blocks with her window rolled up on her boyfriend’s arm. Sort of a modern drag-hanging. She wondered if The Word had done a piece on that. It seemed like their kind of story. But was it a worthy penalty for Alec? The idea had certain advantages, such as having everything she needed to implement it—if she could wrestle the car keys away from him—but the likelihood of going to jail moved it down the list of possibilities.
As much as she loved her mother, Annaliese had a singular talent for making her nuts, and sharing a cell with her would drive Cleo certifiably bat-shit crazy.
“Are you going to give me the address?” Alec asked, his hand hovering over the GPS.
“Just drive,” she told him. He smirked as he pulled out of the parking spot and headed for the exit.
As they left the airport, he moved into the right lane, heading for the airport tunnel.
“No,” Cleo said. “Stay left. You want Swenson Avenue. It’s shorter and just as fast.”
“You sure?”
“Don’t be a tourist. The tunnel isn’t called the Long Haul route for nothing. That’s how cabbies stick it to you.”
He grunted but followed her directions. She looked out the window and smiled. She was willing to bet he’d been taken for that ride—literally and financially—and probably more than once.
“Don’t you think it’s time you clarified things?” he asked when she told him to turn right on Tropicana, away from the Strip.
“What things are you talking about?” she asked, knowing she was only delaying the inevitable.
“You don’t share worth shit―you know that, don’t you? How about we start with Annaliese? Tell me about her.”
Cleo sighed and gave in. Sort of. “She started out as a showgirl when she was eighteen, but she’s retired from that. She choreographs now.”
“Vegas shows?”
“Yes. The El Dorado just opened a new show. There used to be lots of revues, but showgirls are starting to look like an endangered species. It’s tough times for them.”
After several long moments, he glanced at her. “Don’t stop there.”
“There’s not much else to tell.”
He shook his head. “It’s like prying pearls out of oysters.”
“Turn left up here.” Cleo pointed at the upcoming corner.
“What about Jada? Where does she fit in?”
“Jada’s a showgirl.”
“Wait,” he said as he made the corner. “She’s old enough to be a showgirl? She sounded young on the phone.” He cleared his throat, his brow furrowing. “Really young.”
“I know.” Cleo took a deep breath. “Jada’s―” This was one of the multitude of reasons she didn’t invite questions about her family. “Jada’s a little . . .” Another deep breath and she borrowed Annaliese’s term. “She’s what people used to mean when they called someone simple.” She waited for Alec’s response and was irrationally annoyed when he didn’t make one. “And she’s Annaliese’s girlfriend.” Would that goad him into commenting? She felt a twinge of guilt for baiting him but shrugged it off. She pointed. “Turn right after the golf course.”
“Girlfriend,” Alec repeated. “Girlfriend . . . as in lover?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“I don’t have a problem with Linny and Marge, why would I have a problem with Jada and Annaliese?”
He had a point. She didn’t need to be defensive just because they were talking about her family. That didn’t mean she was going to let the chance at putting him on the defensive pass her by. “Frankly, you’ve been so keen on knowing about Analiese, it sounded like your interest might be . . .” She paused, loading the last word with extra meaning, “. . . personal.”
“Are you jealous, buttercup?” He flashed her a grin. “You know it’s been only you since that first moment our eyes met.”
She mimed sticking her finger down her throat. He laughed harder than she thought it deserved.
“How long have they been together?”
“Almost six years. Here.” She pointed again, this time at a turn into a condo complex.
“Jada’s a lot older than I thought, then,” he muttered as she directed him past several buildings in the six-building complex to a two-story fourplex that backed up onto the golf course they’d passed. He pulled into a visitor’s slot, turned off the engine, and looked up at the building. “Nice. Something pays pretty well.”
In front of the cream colored, Spanish missionary style archway that sheltered the door, Annaliese—never the shrinking violet type—had planted bright red geraniums.
“Don’t get excited,” Cleo said. “Vegas real estate is pretty reasonable once you’re off the Strip. Even so, it took a lucky night at the craps table for Annaliese to come up with the down payment.”
Alec glanced her way. “If she’s seriously strapped for cash, couldn’t she . . . ?” He trailed off as Cleo shook her head.
“The win at craps notwithstanding, Annaliese has the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever seen.” She got out of the car and headed for the walkway that led to the front door. The car trilled behind her in response to Alec thumbing the key fob. “She had to have a windfall to get into this place, because she never has any money saved.” Cleo glanced at the building. It was nice. A lot nicer than the place they’d lived in when she was growing up—a small, dumpy house where something always needed fixing.
“You’ve heard how every cloud has a silver lining?” She glanced back at him as she rang the bell.
He nodded.
“In Annaliese’s world, it’s more like every silver lining has a cloud. A big, black, nasty, storm cloud. The market was high when she bought. It’s not now. She’s underwater on it.”
“But that’s not why she needs fifty grand.”
Cleo’s head snapped around. The chat they’d had while she was showering had certainly covered a lot of ground. She was afraid to ask what else Annaliese had said.
She faced the door again, willing Jada to come open it. Alec was silent behind her, but she could feel his eyes on her.
“Stop staring at my ass!” Cleo said without looking back. She heard his feet shift.
“What makes you think I was staring at your ass?”
She turned in one smooth move, ready to shake a finger in his face—damn him, he was grinning like a fool. He wasn’t even denying what he’d been doing.
This was going to be the worst trip home of her life.
Chapter 9
When no one answered, Cleo stuck her hand into the geranium planter next to the door and felt around the edge. No key. She rubbed the dirt from her slender fingers.
“No key?” Alec echoed her thoughts like he had a direct pipeline.
She scowled at him and got a smirk in return.
When she pulled her phone from her purse, he asked, “Calling Jada?”
“You should have been a detective. It’s a crime you waste those powers of deduction at a tabloid.”
“If I were a detective, would you answer my question?”
She released a put-upon sigh as she closed the connection and started dialing another number.
“Who’re you calling now?”
He was the nosiest man in the world. She made him wait a few seconds before she said, “Annaliese.”
“That’s a long shot. If she’s in jail―”
“Hi, honey,” her mom said.
Apparently, she wasn’t in jail.
Cleo turned away as tho
ugh she could exclude Alec from the conversation, even though she knew he heard every word she said. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he found a way to tap her phone so he could hear both sides of the conversation. “Where are you? No one’s at the condo.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Jada called and said―” but her mother was already talking to someone else—Jada presumably—so Cleo waited. Impatiently.
Arranging bail on a murder charge usually took time, if you could get it at all. Nor did cops let prisoners have phones. So Jada had gotten it wrong. Cleo should have known.
Annaliese came back on the line. “We’re at the casino. Jada’s working tonight. I’ll meet you in the cantina after the show starts.”
The cantina inside the casino was a staff favorite. “I’ll see you there.” Cleo stuffed the phone back into her purse. She’d give anything if Alec weren’t there, but she doubted there was a chance in hell she could get rid of him. “Come on, Dick Tracy.”
They got in the car and headed back to the Strip. He tried to find out what was going on, but she couldn’t tell him what she didn’t know.
Sebastian’s death hadn’t hurt business. El Dorado was swarming. A TV truck was parked outside when they drove past the entrance on their way to the parking garage, a cameraman focused on a woman holding a microphone with the casino in the background as they taped her report.
Inside the casino, it sounded like a zoo at feeding time.
“You can book a room while we’re here,” Cleo said as they walked onto the main floor.
“Don’t you mean, ‘we can book rooms’?”
“Yes, of course. That’s what I meant.” She’d even do it, if that was what it took to shake him. It might even be for the best. If she didn’t stay at her mother’s, she stood a better chance of keeping Annaliese and Alec apart.
They were almost past the gaming tables when someone called her name.
A ginger-haired man wore a welcoming grin over the white shirt, black pants, and black vest emblazoned with the casino’s logo. He was either setting up or shutting down because the blackjack table he stood behind was devoid of customers.
Robbie Jorgenson. Great. The curse of being from Vegas was you always ran into people you knew.
She gave a half-hearted wave, hoping she’d get away with that, but Robbie circled the end of the table and came toward them. “Hey, Cleo.” He topped his greeting with a hug, swaying side to side as though a simple embrace wasn’t enough. Her return hug was tepid.
“Hi, Robbie.”
He stepped back, still grinning. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah, it has been a long time. How are you doing?”
“Comme ci, comme ca. You know how it goes. Mary and I are expecting our third.”
Was she supposed to know who he’d married? She didn’t. “Congratulations.”
Behind her, Alec cleared his throat. “Oh, Robbie, this is Alec Ramirez. Alec, this is Robbie Jorgenson. Robbie and I went to school together.”
“Yup. Proud graduates of Bonanza High.” Robbie shook Alec’s hand.
“Congratulations.”
Was Alec congratulating Robbie for the coming child? Or was he being snarky and congratulating him for graduating? She wouldn’t put it past him to get in a subtle dig.
“Koblect’s death doesn’t seem to have hurt business any,” Alec said.
“Nope. If anything, it’s better than usual,” Robbie said. “Lots of looky loos coming in.” He turned back to Cleo. “You going to be around a while?”
“A day or two maybe. We’re on our way to meet Annaliese.”
Robbie colored. He always had blushed easily, and mentioning her mother was a guaranteed way to end the encounter.
“Well, then, I’ll let you go.” He shifted his attention to Alec. “Hope you have a good time while you’re here.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Cleo started off, walking at a brisk clip past banks of ringing slot machines, hoping it would keep Alec from commenting. They were almost to the showroom when she heard her name again. Damn, damn, damn. She turned, almost running into Alec.
He caught her by the shoulders to keep from being bowled over.
A tall, leggy blonde dressed in tight, black stretch pants and a gray off-one-shoulder top materialized to Cleo’s left, grabbed her from Alec’s hands, and crushed her in the kind of hug one got from long-lost friends. “It’s so good to see you.”
Before Cleo could hug back, the woman who had once been her mother’s best friend thrust her to arm’s length. “I heard you were in town a while back, but you know . . .”
If she had to run into someone else she knew, she was glad it was this woman. “Yeah, I do. How are you, Willa?”
“Oh, I’m the same as ever.”
An inch-long purple feather lay on her shoulder. A smaller one clung to the hair near her temple, as though she were molting, and glitter sparkled on the back of her hand.
“And you.” Willa poked Cleo as if Cleo might mistake who she was talking about. “With your big career. Writing for The Sun. Nominated for a big award.”
Alec stood behind her, waiting, she was sure, for her to tell Willa she’d changed jobs, but she couldn’t do it. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t nominated. The paper gets the nomination, not the repo―”
“But it was your story. Everyone kept saying, ‘Can you believe Annaliese’s little―’”
“Uh, yeah. I’m sure they were all stunned I made good.” She hadn’t meant to sound rude. Or bitter. But she’d had to cut Willa off and the words popped out. Time to steer the conversation away from “Annaliese’s little girl.”
She could practically feel Alec wondering what was wrong with her.
“What’s the scuttlebutt about Sebastian?” Cleo asked.
“Oh, lord. It’s awful, isn’t it?” Willa pressed her hand to her chest, fingers splayed. “No one’s talking about anything else. The rumors are crazy, you know?” Her voice dropped as though she were sharing secrets. “I heard someone say he overdosed on Viagra and it caused a heart attack.” She cocked her head and looked vaguely off into the distance. “Or was it an aneurism?”
Alec made a noise like a suppressed cough. Or like he’d choked on the urge to laugh.
“I don’t think Viagra can cause heart attacks,” Cleo said, “or aneurisms.”
“Really? I always figured there had to be some consequences since men never seem to have enough blood to run both their heads at once. Well, whatever.” Willa’s hand fluttered in the air. “Rumor also says he was with a couple of women. He always was one for the ladies, so that doesn’t surprise anyone. But you know that since Annaliese used to date him.”
Yeah. Dating. That wasn’t what Cleo called it. “How’s everyone taking his death?”
“Aside from having something to talk about, everybody’s wondering who’s going to take over. The girls are all nervous that whoever it is will decide showgirl revues are passé and they’ll be out on the street. It wouldn’t be good for me either.”
Cleo’s head bobbed in a sympathetic nod. “Change is scary.” She should know. The changes she’d just made in her own life only reinforced how much she hated it.
“So who’s this?” Willa asked, looking Alec up and down.
Cleo heaved a mental sigh. “This is Alec.”
Willa gave Cleo a meaningful look, complete with eyebrow cock. “New boyfriend?”
Now that was a scary thought. Cleo fought down a shudder. “No, Alec is a colleague.”
“Oh, at The Sun.” Willa extended her hand.
“No,” Alec said, “I―”
He was just a few words away from blowing Cleo’s pretense out of the water. He smirked at her as if he was going to enjoy this. She closed her eyes and waited for the ax to fall. It didn’t come. What was he waiting for? Then she heard him say, “I’m a stringer. Cleo’s being kind enough to show me the ropes.”
Her eyes flew open. His gaze was on her, with som
ething that looked suspiciously like sympathy on his face.
“A stringer?” Willa asked.
Alec pulled his gaze back to Willa. “Yeah. I work freelance. Like Cleo did before The Sun snatched her up.”
“So you’re here on a story?” Then Willa’s voice quieted, as though she’d just made the connection. “You’re covering Sebastian’s death.”
“Uh, yeah,” Cleo jumped in, hoping she didn’t look as confused as she felt. Why hadn’t he blown her cover? “We’re doing some preliminary legwork. You know. Seeing if there is a story.”
Willa winced. “You won’t use that crack about the Viagra, will you? That’s just . . . you know. Nothing. You know how this place is. Gossip Central.”
Cleo heard herself laugh. “No, I won’t use it.” But it was exactly the kind of headline she could envision on The Word’s banner.
Willa made a show of wiping her brow. “Whew. I gotta remember who I’m talking to before I shoot my mouth off.”
“Don’t worry, Willa,” Alec said. “You’re among friends. But you’re right. You need to be careful.” His gaze flicked toward Cleo before settling back on Willa. “I’ll bet there are folks here from those nasty tell-all tabloids. You can bet they’d run with the Viagra angle.”
Cleo yanked on his arm, and he fell back a step. He’d been kind moments before—not that she needed or wanted his kindness—but now he was back to tormenting her. “I’m so glad we ran into you, Willa, but we’re meeting Annaliese.” She stepped back, drawing Alec with her.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. I’ve got to hustle anyway.” Willa glanced at her watch. “If I’m not back with Liz’s favorite brand of sparkling water before the first number is up, she’ll have a tizzy fit, you know?”
Cleo stopped and Alec bumped against her, but she barely noticed. “Liz is working tonight?”
“Oh, yeah.” Willa’s nose wrinkled as if her tone wasn’t enough to tip Cleo off that she thought Liz lacked even a basic level of class. “And she’s playing the grieving widow for all it’s worth. I guess it slipped her mind their divorce is going to be final next week.” She stopped for a moment, a stunned look crossing her face before she corrected herself. “Was going to be final. I guess it really hasn’t sunk in yet, you know?” She looked at her watch again. “I gotta run. Don’t be a stranger.” She flung her hand up in a quick wave and headed for a concessionaire off the main room.
