Ronan was staying in the Presidential Suite at the Mauritian Casino, an upscale place on the north end of the Strip. We had to take a special elevator up that stopped in front of the entrance to his suite, and when we knocked, Ronan opened the door himself.
He turned out to be a short, muscular man with jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes and a serious expression. “Ian and Tiffany?” he said.
“That’s us,” Ian said. “And you’re Ronan Hastings. I read about you in a magazine the other day.”
That got a smile out of him. “Don’t believe everything you read,” he said, leading us inside.
The living room of the suite was done in a white and aqua theme: white fabric sofas with aqua cushions, and a large painting of the ocean on one wall. The wall opposite us was floor-to-ceiling glass, a massive window looking out onto the Strip.
As we settled in, Ronan said, “I’ve already talked to the cops about Ella Miller’s death. I don’t know what else I can say.”
“We’ve been hired by Ella’s sister,” I said politely. “We’ve already looked at the police files, but I like to talk to everyone myself.”
Ronan shrugged. “Sure.”
“You knew Ella because of the case she was working on.”
“Yep.”
“Can you tell us some more about the case?”
Ronan pressed his lips together and looked out the window. It was obvious that his lawyer must’ve told him not to say too much, and he was wondering why he’d ever agreed to meet us.
“It’s a stupid case,” he said finally. “Some woman suing me because I arranged the party. I had nothing to do with the crime. It was a large suite, and I was in the living area drinking with the others.”
I watched him carefully. His expression was guarded and his tone defensive. I wondered if the plaintiff really had a case against him, and how much this was bothering him.
“You must get sued all the time,” Ian said sympathetically. “Since you’re pretty popular and all that.”
Ronan looked at him. “My lawyers handle it. Scammers chasing a quick buck is all it is—we can usually shut them down with an official letter or two.”
I said, “But that’s not what’s happening with the case Ella was working on.”
Ronan turned to us, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “I can’t talk about that case.”
“Of course, your lawyers must’ve told you not to.”
He nodded wordlessly, his expression blank.
I said, “And what about Ella? Why did you threaten her?”
Ronan sighed. “I didn’t threaten her, I just told her to back off.”
“Sounds like the same thing to me,” said Ian. “But I’m not very good at threatening people.”
Ronan rolled his eyes. “Look, I was having a bad day, okay? First, I had a pop star pull out of a party at the last minute, and the hosts decided that meant they wouldn’t pay me my cut. Even though I’d done my job. You know how it is with celebrities. You gotta charge upfront ’cause everyone’s always changing their minds about stuff. And then, my PA said she’d quit, and she was a damn good PA too. And then, this court thing. Ella kept coming after me, saying stuff, and I lost my cool. So afterward, I went and gave her a piece of my mind before my lawyer could stop me. I regret it now, of course. How was I supposed to know the woman was going to go get herself killed?”
I tried not to narrow my eyes. “So, you regret going after Ella because now she’s dead? And you’ve got to deal with these questions?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ronan snapped irritably. “I mean, yes, it’s an annoyance dealing with people like you, but I could’ve just not met you, right?”
That thought had occurred to me as well. If Ronan had something to hide, he wouldn’t meet up with PIs, who, unlike cops, couldn’t force him to talk. “Then what did you mean?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You know how it is. One day you’re alive and the next day you’re not. I wouldn’t have gone after her so hard if I’d known she’d up and die.”
I looked at him skeptically. “Hmm.”
“I’ve got a bad temper, that’s all. I guess I say stuff when I shouldn’t.”
I nodded. He did seem contrite about haranguing a woman who’d died shortly afterward; perhaps he’d felt guilty enough about it that he’d agreed to talk to us. “What did she say that made you so angry?”
Ronan’s brows knit together. “Everything. Every word out of her mouth—going after me. Made it out like I’m some kind of supervillain.”
I said, “You did facilitate a party where a girl was raped.”
Ronan shook his head emphatically. “I’m not that guy. I had no idea what was happening. Nothing like this ever happened before. And I help host lots of parties.”
“Maybe it has, and no one’s spoken out before.”
Ronan looked at me in silence, and I saw a mix of emotions in his eyes. I tried to decipher what they were—fear, guilt, anger, disappointment?
He shook his head again. “Anyway, I got mad at Ella that day, is all. I didn’t really know her otherwise.”
Ian said, “Ella knew a secret about you.”
Ronan blinked and looked at him in surprise. “What?”
“Something about you that no one knew.”
A corner of his mouth went up quizzically. “I didn’t even know I had any secrets left.”
Ian and I exchanged a glance. He seemed to believe it.
“Something about the case, then,” I said. “Something that no one else knew.”
Ronan shrugged. “I don’t deal with the case, my lawyer does.”
I frowned. “Did you and Ella talk about anything in particular?”
“No, I just told her to back off, and that I didn’t like her blaming me for what happened. I had nothing to do with it, and she and her client knew that.”
“And you didn’t talk about anything else?”
He shook his head. “I usually don’t talk to people I don’t know very well. I have to craft my image in the media super carefully, and I’m not going to mess that up by blabbing to randoms.”
Ian said, “Did you ever talk to her before that day?”
“Hell, no,” said Ronan. “My lawyer would’ve killed me if I did.”
“And,” I said, feeling stupid even as I started asking the question, “you weren’t seeing her in secret or something?”
Ronan let out a bark of laughter. “No way. I stick to models and wannabe actresses and singers. They’re much more fun than stuck-up lawyers. Besides, they look better in my Insta photos.”
I nodded thoughtfully. So far, I believed Ronan’s words, which was ironic—I’d come into the interview expecting to hate him or uncover some kind of dark secret. Either he was a very good actor, or he was telling us the truth.
“And what about the night Ella died?” I said. “Where were you?”
Ronan looked at me with eyes that were polite but steely. “I’ve already told the cops, I was at a party at the Deadly Disco. Twenty of my friends saw me there, and I’m sure they’ve called up people to ask.”
I nodded, unable to think of anything else to ask.
“You seem to have pretty good luck with women,” said Ian. “And you’re pretty rich. Whenever I meet someone, they find out I’ve got a trust fund and then things don’t work out. Tiffany thinks I only attract gold diggers.”
Ronan turned to him sympathetically. “That’s just how it is, man. Some women just want your money.”
“Do women you meet just want your money?”
Ronan shrugged. “I don’t keep them long enough to find out. We have some fun, then I cut them loose.”
“Hmm,” said Ian, furrowing his brow. “I think I’d like to keep someone around. Being in a real relationship would be fun.”
Ronan’s features softened for a minute. “Yeah, that would be nice. But I’ve given up on it. Even when I meet someone I want to keep around, they’ll probably want my money.”
&n
bsp; Ian smiled encouragingly. “Maybe not. Maybe you’ll meet someone who cares about more than money.”
Ronan shook his head, not seeming convinced. “Here in Vegas? Doubtful. Possible, but doubtful.”
Ronan and Ian got into a conversation about how Ronan had started his company, and I watched thoughtfully. Ronan was different from what I’d expected; he was genuine, and he actually seemed like a reasonably nice person.
I couldn’t think of anything else to ask him, and when Ronan and Ian were done chatting, we said our goodbyes.
“Call me if you think of anything else,” I said to Ronan, handing him my card just before I stepped into the elevator. “Anything at all.”
Ronan smiled politely. “Sure. But I don’t think I’ll think of anything.”
As the elevator doors closed, I thought I saw a change in Ronan’s expression: I was pretty sure that was a flicker of relief in his eyes. But before I could say something, the elevator headed downwards, taking us away from him and his private suite.
7
As Ian and I drove over to Deadly Disco, I said, “Did you think Ronan was lying?”
Ian shrugged. “He seemed kind of nice.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s not lying about something.”
“Okay. But what could he be lying about?”
“Anything! That’s the thing about people who are good actors—you don’t know when they’re acting.”
Ian frowned. “What makes you think he’s lying?”
I told Ian about the glimmer of relief I thought I’d seen in Ronan’s eyes as we were leaving.
“That doesn’t mean he was lying to us,” Ian said optimistically. “Maybe he was just annoyed by all my questions about work. Or maybe he doesn’t like talking to people.”
“He’s a party organizer! Of course he likes talking to people.”
“Okay, maybe it’s just PIs that he doesn’t like talking to.”
“Hmm.” I wasn’t convinced, but maybe Ian had a point. Maybe Ronan’s relief had been about something else.
When we arrived at Deadly Disco, it was almost seven in the evening, far too early for the club to open its doors.
The bouncer nodded at Ian and me, recognizing us from a previous investigation, and we headed inside.
The large dance floor was empty, dark and lit with overhead strobe lights. The place was eerily quiet, and at the far end, over by the bar, a man was getting things set up. Ian and I headed straight for the door on one side, marked “Staff Only,” and walked through the hallway on the other side.
There were doors leading to staff offices on either side of the hallway, and I knew that one of the doors led to an employee break room and another to an employee bathroom. I knocked on the door to the club owner’s office, but there was no response.
Instead, a voice from across the hallway said, “He’s not in, but maybe I can help you guys.”
The voice belonged to Kara, the owner’s assistant, and Ian and I went over to her room and exchanged hellos. Kara was a skinny brunette in her mid-thirties with dark eyes and an expression that belied her efficiency. Her room was tiny, crammed with a small desk and a couple of chairs. A poster of New York hung on one wall. The desk held a computer and a stack of papers, and the room smelled of pine air freshener.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two,” Kara said. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Not much,” I said. “Just doing the usual investigating stuff.”
“It’s been pretty boring, really,” said Ian. “I’m thinking of entering a dance competition for fun.”
“I didn’t know you danced,” said Kara. “Which competition?”
“Dance Party USA!”
Kara’s face lit up. “I watch that show! It’s so much fun—but they’re professional dancers, mostly.”
“I’m really good,” Ian insisted.
Kara and I exchanged a glance. Neither of us believed him.
“Well, good luck,” she said. “Let me know if you get in.”
“I will,” said Ian. “I’m going to enter with Tiffany’s nanna. It’ll be fun.”
Ian and Kara talked some more about reality shows and how much fun they were to watch, and then she turned to me. “I’m assuming you’re here on an investigation?”
“Yes, we’re checking the alibi of a guy who was here two weeks ago. Ronan Hastings.”
Kara nodded. “I remember that night. He brought a bunch of models along, and business was good all week. I’ll go fish out the surveillance camera files. You can watch them on my computer.”
Ian and I thanked her, and once she’d set everything up, we settled in to watch.
I said, “Ella’s time of death was estimated at around ten or eleven, so we just need to watch around that time.”
I started with the first camera, but Ronan didn’t appear on screen during that time. So I moved on to the files for the second camera—but still no Ronan. The same thing happened with all the videos we watched; Ronan was nowhere to be seen.
We watched again, starting from earlier in the day, but the last time Ronan was recorded on camera was at eight thirty, when he was seen heading toward the door and stepping out.
Things were not looking good.
“Maybe he left, and then re-entered through the private rear entrance,” said Ian. “And then maybe he somehow stayed in the cameras’ blind spots the rest of the night.”
I looked at Kara, who was sitting opposite us and working through a stack of mail. “Is it possible to stay in blind spots for a while?”
Kara shook her head. “There are a few blind spots, but no one could stay in them for more than a minute or two, at most.”
I pressed my lips together and exhaled slowly through my nose.
Ian was frowning. “I didn’t see this coming,” he said.
“Me neither,” I admitted. “Elwood said Ronan’s friends vouched for his presence at the club.”
“They could be lying.”
“I’m sure they are. But we may as well call them all and see if anyone wants to say something different about Ronan’s whereabouts that night.”
Ian and I headed back home. We found Snowflake fast asleep on Ian’s bed and headed to my apartment without her, where we spent a depressingly long time calling through the list of Ronan’s friends.
I called ten people, and Ian called ten. All of them answered on the first call; they were clearly people who were tied to their phones.
“Sure,” said everyone I talked to. “I was with Ronan that night. We were busy partying at the Deadly Disco. He was there all night, until I left after midnight. No, I didn’t talk to him after eight thirty, but he was hanging out with the other guys. Yes, I’m sure of it. No, I wasn’t too drunk to remember; no, Ronan didn’t tell me to say all this.”
By the time I was done, I was ready to rip my hair out in chunks.
I got through my list before Ian and made myself a mug of decaf while I waited. When he was finished, Ian turned to me and said, “Ronan sure has good friends.”
“I think he’s paying them.” I was fuming, disappointed at how easily people lied. “I can’t believe this.”
Ian shrugged. “I guess that’s just how it is.”
“And Elwood never picked up on it.”
“Maybe there was something wrong with the surveillance cameras…”
“I highly doubt that. Now I’m convinced that Ronan’s hiding something—why else would he bother to make up an alibi?”
Ian chewed a fingernail thoughtfully. “You don’t think Ronan actually killed Ella, do you? He seemed to mean it when he was talking about how he wished he hadn’t yelled at Ella. How can you regret yelling at someone if you killed them?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Ronan’s definitely hiding something.”
“Are we heading back to see Ronan again?”
I shook my head. “He’ll probably be out dealing with clients, this time of night.” I gla
nced at the clock—Ian and I had been so busy calling up Ronan’s friends that we’d skipped dinner. “And it’s not like we can just barge into his suite.”
I called Ronan, and when he learned it was me, his voice grew wary.
“How can I help you?” he said politely.
“There’s something we seem to have overlooked,” I said. “How soon can we come talk to you again?”
“I’m at dinner with a client, but I’ve got five minutes. Why don’t you ask me now? I’m busy all day tomorrow and most of the next.”
“I’m not much of a phone person.” This was partly true; in my experience, people have an easier time avoiding the truth over the phone. Face-to-face, you can try to read a person’s expressions and body language—even if they’re a good actor. “How soon can we meet you?”
“Day after tomorrow’s the earliest. No, the day after that. You sure we can’t do this over the phone?”
I screwed up my face thoughtfully, not wanting to wait so long to talk to Ronan. I said, “We had a look at the Deadly Disco surveillance tapes. You disappeared early in the night.”
I’d expected Ronan to deny it, but he just said, “I see.”
There was a long pause, both of us waiting for the other to talk first. I haven’t been a private investigator for long, but I knew that silence was an important part of the game.
Finally, Ronan said, “You’ve looked at all the tapes?”
“We have.”
I expected Ronan to say something about staying in the camera blind spots for the rest of the night, or maybe blaming malfunctioning surveillance equipment. Thankfully, he didn’t try to insult my intelligence. Instead, he said, “The cops never asked me about it, so I never told them.”
“I understand.”
“A guy like me—you know I’ve got a reputation to protect, right? So I let them believe I was at the club all night.”
“But you weren’t.”
“No.”
“Where were you?”
Ronan sighed and said in a hushed voice, “I can’t tell you right now. There are too many people around me.”
“Oh-kay…”
“But trust me, I’ve got proof of where I was that night. And it was nowhere near Ella.”
Dancing With Danger in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery Page 4
