Lucky Charm in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  “I don't like this Billy girl,” I explained to Ian. “I know her name's Belinda, but I don't have a second name. I'd like to look her up, see what kind of background she's got.”

  “You could ask someone at the Treasury,” Ian suggested. “Billy said she'd been hanging out there for the last few days.”

  “That's a good idea,” I said, and I gave my friend Alba a quick call, explaining what I wanted.

  Alba wasn't at work, but she said she'd seen Billy around, and had seen her chatting with her friend Melissa. She promised to find out what she could, and then give me a call back.

  Alba called me back just as Ian and I had finished our lunch. “I found out a few things,” Alba said. “Her real name’s Belinda Marks, and she’s originally from Connecticut. I've also got her phone number, and I can tell you why she broke up with her last boyfriend.”

  I laughed. “I guess she's been chatting with the girls about her love life?”

  “That’s right, you know how some people get after they've had a few drinks. Apparently, there was one day when Billy got drunk and poured out her life story to Jessica. Hold on, I’ll get you her phone number first.”

  I grabbed a pen and paper, and copied down the string of numbers that Belinda recited, and then repeated them back to her. “Yep, that's it,” Alba said. “And actually, her love life isn’t all that interesting in some ways. Her last boyfriend cheated on her with her best friend, and the boyfriend before that dumped her for a nineteen-year-old who had just graduated high school. She says she's over men and moved to Vegas to start a new life. She's not sure what she wants to do, but she wants to be helpful and make people’s lives better.”

  “She sounds like someone who’s had a bit of a rough patch,” I said. “I really appreciate you digging up all this information for me.”

  “No problem,” Alba said. “Are you coming in to work tonight?”

  “Yes, my shift starts at seven.”

  We chatted for a few minutes, and then after I hung up, I told Ian what I'd learned.

  Ian popped into his apartment to grab his laptop, and then we both began tapping away on our keyboards. Ian was looking up Belinda on social media, and I was looking her up in my private investigator's database.

  An hour later, we both logged off, and I made us some coffee while we filled each other in on what we'd learned so far.

  I went first. “Belinda's got some priors. She's been arrested for assault, but she got off with community service. She graduated high school a few years back, and since then, she's worked a series of jobs—waitress, kitchen hand, Uber driver. She grew up in the foster care system, and she moved around a lot. From what I've learned of her, she doesn't seem like someone I can trust—she doesn't sound all that dangerous, but I don't think I should be flattered that she's chosen to follow me around.”

  “Belinda's love life checks out, too,” Ian said. “It's just what Alba told you—she seems to have had two serious boyfriends in her life, and neither of them worked out. I'm not sure that getting arrested for assault is such a big deal these days.”

  “It means she's got a temper on her, and she's impulsive.”

  “And that she was dumb enough to get arrested, and to not be able to wipe it off her record. Maybe that means she's not someone who’s working for Eli?”

  I looked at Ian thoughtfully. “You have a point there—I wouldn't expect Eli to hire anyone with an obvious criminal record.”

  “And if she really is someone who’s had a bit of bad luck, she might lose interest in you pretty quickly.”

  “That's what I’m hoping for.”

  After a quick chat about what we’d learned of Charlene so far, Ian and I decided to set out for Charlene’s apartment to talk to her other roommate, Mary. We stepped out of the apartment and were walking across the parking lot to where I'd left my car, when a flash of blonde and purple darted out from between the cars.

  “Tiffany! Please let me help you.”

  “Billy!” I mentally kicked myself for somehow having missed where she'd been hiding between the cars. “I don't need your help. I mean, I appreciate you asking and everything.”

  “But I'm really good at talking to people, and being persistent,” Billy said. “See, I managed to get you to talk to me a couple of times today.”

  “I know you think you're being helpful,” I said calmly. “But I really can't have you tagging along with me, or showing up like this. I investigate a lot of dangerous people, and you could get yourself hurt.”

  Billy shook her head. “No, I wouldn't get hurt. I’d keep you from getting hurt.”

  Ian and I exchanged a glance.

  “You really don't want to come along with us,” Ian said. “Most of our work is very boring.”

  “I don't mind that,” Billy said, grinning enthusiastically. “I'm used to boring work. And I know I can help you guys out if you just let me.”

  I glanced at my watch. My patience was running thin, and if Billy was somehow working for Eli, I didn't want to risk getting in trouble. If she wasn't working for Eli, and was just someone looking for a change of pace, I didn't want to have to be responsible for her.

  I tried to rein in my annoyance. “I’ve said no about a hundred times now, Billy. I'm not going to repeat myself—I don't want you following us around, and if I see you again, I'm going to have to get a restraining order.”

  Billy's face fell. She looked like a little puppy who’d just been kicked, and she brushed back her hair with one hand and tilted up her chin. “I'm not going to take no for an answer. I know you think you don't need my help—and you probably haven't needed my help before—but I'm going to hang around, and see what I can do to make your life better.”

  “You can make my life better by leaving us alone,” I grumbled under my breath as Ian and I got into my car. For some reason, I hadn't wanted to say that out loud—maybe it was the hangdog look Billy had just given me.

  As I pulled out of the parking lot, I looked into my rearview mirror, and noticed Billy standing there, watching us drive off.

  When we knocked on Charlene's apartment, the door was opened by a young woman who had chin length, jet black hair cut into a short bob. She had multiple piercings, dark eyeliner, and wore a black tank top with black shorts. She also wore an annoyed expression, which I assumed was part of the goth look.

  “You must be Tiffany and Ian,” she said sulkily. “Christine told me you'd be stopping by. Come in.”

  Although she’d just invited us in, Mary seemed anything but pleased to see us. The three of us sat in the living, and Mary crossed one leg over the other and eyed us distastefully.

  “I'm not sure how I can help,” she said. “I didn't really know her well.”

  “How long did you know her for?”

  “I moved in six months ago. They had some other roommates before me, maybe you'd want to talk to them.”

  I nodded. “Maybe we will. But in the meantime, we really appreciate you talking to us. I know you think there's nothing to tell, but anything could help us out. Why don't you start by telling us what you thought of Charlene?”

  Mary shrugged. “She seemed nice.”

  “Were you friends?”

  “No.”

  “But you must've chatted with her sometimes.”

  “Not really.”

  I stifled an exasperated sigh that was trying to make its way out. “What did she seem like, other than being nice?”

  “I never saw her much. I work during the day at a clothing store, and Charlene worked nights mostly.”

  “Okay, but did you know anything about Charlene's friends, or her love life?”

  “No.”

  “What about her family? Did you ever meet Charlene's brother Brad, or his partner, Chris?”

  Something flickered in Mary's eyes, but she shook her head. “No.”

  “You've never met them, not even once?”

  “No.”

  We were getting nowhere. “What about her behavior
before she died? Did Charlene act unusual in any way?”

  “No.”

  I took a deep breath, determined to forge ahead with my usual questions. “And what about any enemies? Did you know of anyone who might've wanted to hurt Charlene?”

  “No.”

  That exasperated sigh finally left my body in a sharp, short whoosh. So far, the only answer we'd gotten out of Mary was, “No.”

  Ian said, “Is there any reason you don't want to talk to us?”

  Mary turned her eyes sharply from me to him. She shrugged. “I don't know anything.”

  “Then you can tell us what you know.”

  “Which is nothing.”

  Ian and I stayed there for a few more minutes, trying in vain to get Mary to tell us anything—anything at all about Charlene. But she wouldn't budge, giving us monosyllabic answers, and insisting that she didn't know anything about Charlene.

  Ian and I left feeling like we'd spent half an hour banging our heads against a large rock.

  Ian said, “I wonder what her problem is.”

  “Maybe she doesn't like private investigators.”

  “Seems to me she's the kind of person who doesn't like people in general.”

  I glanced both ways down the street, before getting into my car again. I couldn't see Billy anywhere and there was no way she’d know where we'd gone, but it didn't hurt to be safe.

  “It's not just that Mary dislikes people,” I said, before we drove off. “I'm sure she’s hiding something. When I asked her about Brad and Chris, she looked for a second like she was about to say something.”

  “I noticed that too!”

  “If she’s hiding something, we need to find out what it is.”

  “I’ll find out for you. I know you have to catch up on your sleep during the day, but tomorrow, during the day, I'm going to run surveillance on Mary. Maybe that way I can uncover whatever she’s hiding.”

  That night at the casino as I dealt out cards and made witty banter with the players, my mind drifted off to the case. Who would've wanted Charlene dead? By all accounts, she was a rather unremarkable girl.

  I watched the cocktail waitresses as they scurried about with their drink orders, and laughed and chatted with the gamblers. The jingles of the slot machines filled the air, and happy tourists laughed and went from one table to another.

  Being friendly was part of the job description for a waitress, just as it was for the dealers. People often met potential spouses at work, and it wasn't all that unusual for a girl to want to marry someone who was successful and could take care of her. In fact, my very first client had been a former stripper who’d married a casino owner—I didn't think that marrying someone was a substitute for a career, but I tried not to judge those who considered it an alternative to working hard themselves. From what I'd heard, Charlene's attempts at marrying into money hadn't gone well—at least, not until she'd met Andrew.

  As I watched, a large, florid man wearing a Hawaiian print shirt waved a waitress over and began to talk animatedly, waving his arms about. He looked slightly angry, and the waitress smiled, said something, and then scurried off. I wondered if the cops were right, that Charlene had been killed by someone who didn't know her all that well.

  But then I thought back to the fact that neither Chris, Brad, nor Mary had wanted to talk to me. There must’ve been a reason behind their reticence. I suspected that Mary was hiding something, but maybe Brad was too upset to want to think about his sister's death. That didn't seem right to me though—if he really was mourning his sister's death, he would've wanted to find out the truth. I'd have to do take another stab at trying to talk to him and Chris.

  When my shift was over, I found Ian waiting for me in in the lobby.

  “You really don't have to keep walking me home,” I said. “I'm sure I can take care of myself.”

  But we'd only taken a few paces forward when Billy rushed out of the crowd and over to us.

  “Tiffany! Ian! I know you said not to bother you, but I really do want to help you.”

  I was tired after my shift, and didn't feel as though my persuasion skills were quite up to par.

  “It would be great if you could leave me alone,” I said. “I don't want to be rude or upset you, but if you keep following me around like this, I'll start to think that you want to hurt me.”

  Belinda's jaw dropped, and she looked at me in shock. “I would never want to hurt you! I think it's great, how you're trying to find out who killed the cocktail waitress. I know you're working really hard, and most people wouldn't try so much.”

  “Look at it from my perspective,” I told Belinda, as I continued to walk toward my apartment. “You keep popping up everywhere, and you don't leave me alone.”

  “And I want to help you. If there’s someone out there who wants to hurt you, they could get to you just as easily.”

  Belinda's words had an eerie ring of truth to them.

  “I don't want you following me home,” I said. “If you really do want to help me, turn around and walk away—and I promise I'll have a good think about what you're saying.”

  Billy opened her mouth as though she was about to say something, but then she closed it again. She glanced from Ian to me, and then she finally said, “Okay. I don't want you to think that I'm a bad person, but I do want you to take my offer seriously. I feel like this is what I’m meant to do—that I’m meant to help you guys out. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

  “I promise,” I said wearily. “Now, will you let us get home in peace and have some sleep?”

  Billy nodded, and then she turned around and walked off.

  “I'm surprised she left so easily,” Ian said.

  I shrugged. “It's just for now. I will think about letting her help us out, even though I don't want another person tagging along—I don't want to be responsible for someone else. I wonder what she'll do when I tell her no again.”

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, I texted Ian once I was almost ready for breakfast. He came over to my apartment a few minutes later, but for once, he didn't have Snowflake with him.

  “I left Snowflake with Tariq,” Ian said, in response to my questioning gaze. “I feel really sorry for the man, and I think being with Snowflake cheers him up a bit. He must've gone through a lot.”

  “That's very considerate of you. How’s he been settling in?”

  Ian looked a bit guilty. “He’s really nice, and he's always doing stuff. Like, last night, he asked me to go out and buy some groceries, and then he made us dinner—he made enough for about twenty people. He told me to freeze the leftovers, and that I could eat the food even when he wasn't around. That it might help me remember him.”

  I shuddered. “Why would you need to remember him? It sounds like he doesn't think he'll be around for very long.”

  Ian smiled, but his voice lacked its usual enthusiasm. “If you think about it, he and Stone probably need to leave soon to talk to the CIA officials and clear up Stone’s record. And if that goes well, Tariq might not come back to Vegas.”

  “I guess that's the best possible scenario.”

  Ian started making coffee, and I looked in my fridge. I had three eggs in the carton, and a tiny bit of cheese. “I could make us cheese omelets,” I said, “but I feel like having something sweet and comforting instead. The case we’re investigating isn't going well so far, and I'm really worried about Stone. I know we can trust Tariq, but what if Eli and his men find out somehow that Tariq is here?”

  Ian ignored my panic about Eli. “If you want something sweet, maybe I could go over to Neil’s Diner, and pick up something to bring home? What do you feel like?”

  I thought about it. Pancakes would be nice, or even a big, large cookie—although you probably weren’t supposed to have cookies for breakfast. One or two couldn't hurt, right? Or maybe even a muffin…

  I was weighing my options when there was a loud knock on the door. I opened it to find Nanna and Wes standing in t
he hallway.

  Nanna was carrying a large Tupperware box, and she beamed at me. “Good morning! I figured you hadn’t eaten breakfast, so I come bearing food.”

  She carried the box over to the countertop and opened it to reveal an assortment of muffins.

  “Muffins! Perfect!”

  “A muffin breakfast is always a good breakfast,” Nanna said. “We stopped by Glenn's on our way up here, and he said to bring these for you.”

  There were at least a dozen muffins in there, and Ian and I shared a knowing look. It would be a good idea to try to save two of the muffins to take the Tariq.

  We all grabbed plates and mugs of coffee, and helped ourselves to the muffins. Nanna pointed out the different flavors, and I picked a white chocolate and raspberry muffin, and a chocolate chip muffin. We headed over to the couch to eat and chat, and I took a sip of coffee before biting into the first muffin.

  The white chocolate and raspberry muffin was delicious. It was soft, fluffy, and the white chocolate was a wonderful, deep burst of sweetness, that paired perfectly with the slightly tart raspberry.

  “Glenn and Karma would have come along,” Wes was saying, “but Glenn wanted to go down to the specialty baking store down in South Vegas and pick up some ingredients. He said he couldn't be too late in getting there, or everything would be sold out—they're having some kind of sale right now.”

  “Maybe I could ask him to get me a few items,” Ian said thoughtfully. “I've been meaning to get back into baking, but I haven't had time, not with this new case that we’re working on.”

  “How’s it going?” Nanna said between bites of her orange—poppy seed muffin.

  I shook my head. “Not too good. So far, pretty much everyone who could have been a suspect has an alibi. And Charlene didn't get out all that much, so she couldn't have made enemies. She dated a few tourists, so she doesn't even have a steady boyfriend, or someone who could have been jealous and passionate enough to commit murder. We're going to try to follow up on some of those tourists she dated who went back home, but I think that's a long shot.”