Liar, Liar, Tabloid Writer

by Suzie Quint

  ~***~

  Alec fell into step beside Cleo as she turned toward their original destination. “So how do you know Willa?”

  Her jaw tensed as though she didn’t want to answer, but she had to know he’d ask. He was a reporter. It was his job to be nosey.

  “She used to be a showgirl. Now she’s a dresser. She also helps take care of the costumes.”

  “That would explain the feathers and the glitter,” he said.

  She put on a burst of speed, and he lengthened his pace to keep up.

  “And Liz would be Elizabeth Morrow, who was about to be the fifth ex-Mrs. Koblect?”

  “Yes.” Cleo turned into a cafeteria-style restaurant off the main room. She stopped just inside the door, looking, Alec presumed, for Annaliese. He stopped beside her and swept his gaze over the room, challenging himself to pick the outrageous woman he’d talked to on the phone out of the crowd.

  Several women sat at tables, mostly in pairs or with a man. The only woman sitting alone was a tall, skinny blonde. If that was Annaliese, he was going to be severely disappointed.

  Then he spotted a tall woman with shoulder-length dark hair standing with a forearm braced across the top of the cash register, one hip cocked, talking to a younger man behind the counter.

  She wore tight jeans over a black scoop-neck dancer’s leotard that molded to the perfect body he’d imagined after hearing the sexual undertones of Annaliese’s voice—oh, who was he kidding? There hadn’t been anything remotely subtle about her sexuality even on the phone.

  Her pose oozed the kind of sex appeal possessed by women who couldn’t help it. He was sure Helen of Troy had stood that way at every opportunity.

  The cashier said something, and the woman threw her head back and laughed. This was no silvery tinkle, but a full-throated, bass-dulcimer laugh. If she wasn’t Annaliese, she should be.

  Beside him, Cleo sighed heavily.

  The woman was too far away to have heard, but she looked up as though she had. And then she smiled that same broad smile as Cleo’s, confirming their genetic bond.

  She gave the cashier a finger wave and cut through the tables, heading straight for them.

  “Hey, baby,” Annaliese said as she closed in on them.

  Cleo waved half-heartedly. Her back was ramrod straight when Annaliese embraced her.

  “You didn’t need to come all this way,” Annaliese said.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Cleo returned Annaliese’s hug.

  Then Annaliese turned toward him. Even in flat shoes, she was close enough to six feet tall, he wouldn’t want to split hairs over the difference. “And I’m going to take a chance that you’re Alec.”

  “And you, of course, are Annaliese.” He couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling at her even if he’d wanted to.

  “The one and only.” She flashed Cleo’s grin at him again. The one that took over the bottom half of her face. The one he was still waiting to see for real on Cleo.

  She brushed his proffered hand aside and hugged him, her full breasts flattening against his chest. Oh, yeah. Wars were fought over women like her.

  “You didn’t tell me he was Latino.” She spoke to Cleo over his shoulder. “Such a good choice.”

  “He’s not a choice. He’s a coworker.”

  Annaliese released him, stepped back, and gave him the once-over. “Work’s a great place to find romance.” She winked at him. “It’s important to know the guy has a steady job.”

  Cleo released another put-upon sigh. “So what’s the story? Was there bail?” Her voice lacked any warmth.

  “Sweetie, they only set bail when they arrest someone. I wasn’t arrested.”

  Cleo thawed marginally. “But . . . you were at the police station, right? Jada said you were arrested.”

  “No, they asked me to go in for questioning. As a party of interest.”

  “Why would you be a party of interest?”

  Alec shook his head in dismay. This aggressive tone couldn’t be Cleo’s normal style, or she never would have gotten the quotes that had made her almost-Pulitzer story so distinctive.

  “Because I was the last person to see Sebastian alive,” Annaliese said.

  That’s promising, Alec thought, perking up.

  “Come on.” Annaliese turned. “Let’s grab a table.”

  “Wait,” Cleo protested. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that and walk away.”

  Alec silently agreed.

  “Coffee first.” Annaliese led them to the coffee station and snagged a black cup large enough to double as a soup bowl with El Dorado emblazoned on it in gold from underneath the counter and poured coffee into it. One of the waitresses glanced at them. Annaliese waved a greeting and got a nod of acknowledgement in return.

  Cleo grabbed a standard white cup from a stack next to the coffee machine and poured herself a cup. Alec followed suit.

  Annaliese set her coffee down on an isolated table in the corner.

  Alec couldn’t help admiring the smooth lines of her body when she pressed her palms against her lower back and arched. A quick breath hissed in through bared teeth, then she sat down and sipped her coffee.

  “Ah, that’s better. The coffee at the police station was god-awful.” She took another sip, then focused on Cleo. “So first things first. No one’s going to get arrested for murdering Sebastian because Sebastian wasn’t murdered.”

  “But they’re saying―” Cleo protested.

  “Of course they are. Murder sells papers. Sebastian drowned.”

  “In his bathtub,” Cleo said.

  “Yes, well . . .” Annaliese shrugged. “He was drunk.”

  “You told me he’d quit drinking.” Cleo’s tone held a hint of accusation.

  Annaliese frowned. “You know how he was. He’d dry out, then go on a week-long binge. He’s been doing that for ten years.”

  “But you said he was doing well.”

  “He was. Two years. I thought it was going to take this time. I blame Liz. She played head games with him, telling him her lawyer found a loophole in their prenup. She’s got a real man-eating shark for a lawyer, so that worried Sebastian for a while.” If her shrug was meant to imply indifference, she didn’t quite pull it off. “The abstinence must have played hell with his tolerance. He didn’t seem that bad when I got there, but he got sloppy drunk fast.”

  “But you weren’t there when he drowned, right?”

  “Of course not. When I realized how drunk he was, I tucked him in and left.”

  “What about Jada? Where―”

  Alec held up his hand to interrupt. “Wait. Let me get this straight.” He pointed at Annaliese. “He was drunk enough that you put him to bed, but sober enough to get back up and take a bath? That doesn’t sound right.”

  Annaliese shrugged. “I’ve seen Sebastian power nap before when he was drunk. He comes out of it still drunk but functional.”

  “That’s true,” Cleo said. “I’ve seen it too.”

  Alec eyed her. Her Vegas connections were far better than he’d imagined. “So he woke up, decided to take a bath, ran water into the tub, got in, and drowned?”

  “He’d run a bath before I got there. The water might still have been hot enough to entice him, and it’s a spa-sized tub.”

  Well, hell. Maybe Sebastian Koblect’s death wasn’t murder. Not that he couldn’t pull a story out of Koblect accidentally drowning in his own tub. It just wouldn’t be the story he was hoping for.

  “Why were you there?” Alec asked.

  “I stopped by to tell him I wouldn’t have the money for him until Monday.”

  There was a tidbit Cleo hadn’t shared. Annaliese needed the money to pay Sebastian.

  “You couldn’t have told him that on the phone?” Cleo asked.

  “Yes, I could have, but I didn’t want him to think I would just have another excuse on Monday. If I told him in person, he’d know I was on the up-and-up.”

  “But the police wouldn’t be intere
sted in you if you’d just called,” Cleo said.

  Annaliese picked up her cup, as though she needed something in her hands to keep her from reaching across the table and thumping Cleo. “It’s not as though I knew he was going to pick that particular evening to drown himself, now is it?”

  The sharp, hostile silence that followed needed to be broken before it set down roots. “What did you tell the police about why you were there?” Alec asked.

  The tension in Annaliese’s body eased. “I told them I’d stopped by to talk about the way the show’s being run, which did come up. Briefly.” She shot a pointed look at Cleo as though emphasizing her honesty. “Liz has been picking on Jada. Now if Liz were the one who’d turned up dead, they’d have more than ample cause to come knocking on my door.”

  “Liz Morrow?” Alec asked.

  Annaliese nodded.

  “What does she have to do with Jada?” Alec asked.

  “She’s Jada’s dance captain,” Annaliese said.

  “And that means . . .?”

  “It’s her responsibility to make sure all the dancers on her team know the routines and perform well.”

  “And you think Sebastian could make her stop bullying someone because he was married to her?” Alec made a disparaging noise. “Because husbands, especially about-to-be ex-husbands, have so much influence over their wives.”

  Annaliese smiled crookedly. “They do when their exes are hot to get back on the gravy train.”

  “But you said she’d found a loophole in the prenup,” Alec said.

  Annaliese laughed. “That’s what she said before the judge ruled, but she is wife number five. Sebastian’s lawyers have had a lot of practice writing ironclad prenups. Besides, at this late date, I’m not sure it would even matter.”

  “Ah.” Alec drew the syllable out. “Have the cops questioned her?”

  “I’m sure they have,” Annaliese said. “Don’t they always question the spouse?”

  Alec made a mental note to follow up on that. “How long will the coroner’s report take, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. How long do those things normally take?” She flapped a hand, dismissing the question. “Whatever. I expect it won’t take long. Sebastian is―” Annaliese’s lips compressed as she reconfigured her thoughts. “He was an important man in this town.”

  “How’s Jada handling all this?” Cleo asked, finally sounding like something other than a harridan.

  “Pretty well actually, considering that being detained by the cops is a little more intense than having your phone go dead.”

  “I thought you said they were just questioning you,” Cleo said.

  “They were, sweetie, but if you think you get to take a break to reassure your lover when they’ve got a dead casino muckety-muck on their hands, you don’t know Vegas cops.”

  “Was Danny Bonner with you?” Cleo asked.

  Annaliese shook her head. “You’re as bad as Jada. Can you imagine? She called Dan―” She frowned. “You told her to call him, didn’t you? She wouldn’t have thought of that on her own.”

  “Of course, I did. She told me you’d been arrested.”

  Annaliese rubbed her temples and sighed. “Okay, so it would have been reasonable if that were true. But you should have known Jada was overreacting.”

  “I couldn’t take the chance. And I didn’t have the opportunity to think it through. Everything came at me so fast. I’d just heard about―” Cleo’s breath hitched. She cleared her throat and tried again. “About Sebastian.”

  Alec couldn’t see Cleo’s eyes, but the expression in Annaliese’s was one of shared grief.

  “It’s true then,” Cleo said softly, as though surprised to discover she hadn’t grasped that fact before. “Sebastian’s really dead.”

  Annaliese’s lips compressed as she nodded.

  Cleo looked away first, her gaze shifting toward the corner near the ceiling, light reflecting off her moist eyes. Alec stared at her with the dawning realization that this wasn’t just a story for her. It wasn’t just about Annaliese’s involvement. Sebastian was someone she knew. Someone who meant something to her.

  He went all goosebumpy at how close she was to this story. How close that brought him to the story.

  “I know you’re disappointed there’s no story, but you don’t have to leave right away, do you?” Annaliese’s question sounded casual on the surface, but her tone reminded Alec of his mother and how she always hoped his visits home would last longer than they did.

  Cleo’s gaze locked onto her finger where it traced the lip of her cup. “It’s a new job. A different style of writing. And I don’t want to look like I’m trying to take a vacation on the company dime already.”

  She was going to have them out the door in five minutes if he didn’t do something to stop it. “Are you kidding?” he said. “You can blame me. I’m not flying into Vegas only to turn around and go home. If there’s no story, I at least want to hit a craps table.” He was already the fry cook in hell as far as Cleo was concerned, so he didn’t really need a good excuse, and the reporter in him wasn’t budging until that coroner’s report came back. Nigel would expect no less. If they were lucky, there’d be something in the report they could build on.

  “Good.” Annaliese beamed. “You can both stay at the condo. The bed in the guest room is all made up and Cleo knows where everything is―”

  “Uh, wait.” Cleo gave Annaliese a slow-down gesture, her palms down, fingers spread. “Alec and I are not sharing a bed.”

  He nearly sprayed coffee across the table. What had he missed? How did his staying in the guest room equate to sharing a bed with Cleo? Unless there was only one extra bed . . .

  Ignoring his response, Annaliese hiked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  Cleo rolled her eyes, giving Annaliese the kind of look teenagers gave dense parents. “Because we’re not.”

  When Annaliese’s gaze shifted to him, Alec figured she was about to ask if there was something wrong with him that he didn’t want to sleep with Cleo.

  He certainly wouldn’t complain about the chance, but it didn’t seem advisable to say that. Cleo would probably come at him with a straight razor intent on gelding him.

  Before Annaliese could question his virility however, Cleo said, “The paper is bankrolling him. He’ll be fine in a hotel.”

  He tensed. Hell, no. He wasn’t about to let Cleo make an end run around him. She’d be collecting information from every source in Las Vegas while he was adjusting the air conditioning in his room. No way was she getting the home court advantage without him there, supervising her closely. Not when Annaliese had offered the means to stay close to her. “I can sleep on a couch or even the floor―”

  “Nonsense,” Annaliese said, her tone turning harsh. “My dear Cleopatra, you were raised to have better manners than to push a guest out the door when there’s room for him with us—and that bed is plenty big enough for two—but if it bothers you that much, you can sleep on the couch.”

  He nearly bit his tongue in two to keep from laughing. Cleopatra? That wasn’t anywhere in her bio. No wonder she was slumping as though she’d like to slide right under the table and disappear into the floor. Even if they didn’t get a story out of it, the trip was worth it just for that tidbit of personal information.

  “You’re grownups,” Annaliese continued. “There’s no need for Alec to be uncomfortable. I trust you’re both adult enough to keep to yourselves. If that’s what you want. But I think you’re being ridiculous.”

  Cleo braced her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. Alec didn’t think she was praying. Unless it was for lightning to strike him dead.

  Annaliese’s eyes shifted to meet his, the corners of her lips lifting in a satisfied smile. Then she winked, as though they were conspirators in some grand scheme, and he realized she knew exactly what she was doing.

  He was willing to bet the farm Cleo knew too. Which meant, if he touched her in this bed Annaliese wa
nted them in so badly, he’d probably draw back a bloody stump.

  Chapter 10

  It was dark when they left El Dorado. Or as dark as it ever got on the Strip. Silence reigned as Alec drove them back to Annaliese’s condo. As much as he enjoyed needling Cleo, he was pretty sure she was out of patience, and anything he said would get his head taken off and handed to him on a silver platter. Or maybe tin. He probably didn’t rate silver.

  The few words she spoke ensured he didn’t miss any turns. Mostly, she stared out the passenger window. He figured she was sulking about how he and Annaliese had double teamed her into staying in Vegas. Annaliese’s insistence that they both stay at the condo was probably a major contributor as well.

  He pulled into a visitor’s slot and killed the engine, but before he could get out, Cleo turned toward him. Whatever it was, it was probably best to let her say her piece, so he waited.

  After several long moments, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell Willa I work for The Word?”

  He’d expected something more pertinent to their situation. Ground rules. A lecture on guest etiquette. Not a question about what he had or hadn’t said to a woman he’d all but forgotten two seconds after she’d left his sight.

  “I don’t know. I wanted to. Boy, did I want to. And I was going to. You need to get over being embarrassed about it. But the way you looked . . . Like I should offer you a last cigarette and a blindfold.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it.”

  He watched her profile. She seemed to roll his answer around in her mind. After a few seconds, her lips tightened and she nodded as though to herself.

  “Just don’t think I owe you something because you didn’t rat me out.” She pushed her door open and got out.

  He had a feeling what she really meant was “something like sex,” but he didn’t want to have that conversation, afraid he’d end up feeling like even more of a sex-crazed slime ball than she’d already implied he was. And somehow, this was all because he hadn’t been an ass and outted her.