Mo piped in, but on a different subject. “Why do you think Angel gave you a face when you mentioned Detective Miller. Do you think he’s crooked?”
“I never got that impression,” I said. “But we’ve been wrong before.” Actually, we had been wrong so many times in the past, I was beginning to lose count.
“Going back to the homeless guy outside the casino,” said Sabrina, “remember when he said not to trust anyone? Miller had just been there.”
That was a lot to think about, but there wasn’t really anywhere we could go with it, so we moved on. Sabrina plugged Luke’s Place into the GPS on her phone and we got ready to go. I definitely was not looking forward to this. Luckily I had two bodyguards to protect me.
We drove south on Interstate 15, and then took a turn to the west at some main road. Honestly, I wasn’t really paying attention, even though I was driving. I was just following Sabrina’s instructions. My inattention derived from dwelling on a few questions that needed answers: What could Peep have done to have her sister hate her so much? Was Ludwick somehow involved in the disappearance of the girls from Oregon? That would have seemed farfetched if it hadn’t been for the fact that Ludwick hailed from Vista, a tiny town that no one had ever heard of. And then there was Richard. My gut told me that he was dangerous—really dangerous—and here we were, walking right into his den. Finally, there was Miller. I hadn’t really given him much thought until Mo brought up Angel’s reaction. So far, he hadn’t given us any reason to doubt his honesty and professionalism, so I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Needless to say, I hadn’t found answers to any of my questions before we arrived at Luke’s Place. It was exactly as I had imagined it—very western in appearance, right down to the hitching rails for cowboys to tie their horses to. The horses in this case were fat Harleys and the cowboys were probably even fatter bikers. Real horses could breathe a sigh of relief.
Judging by the number of bikes and cars, it wasn’t crowded, but the size of the parking lot indicated that it could get very crowded during the peak times. I agreed with Sabrina. This was a good time to check it out.
“Do we know how we’re going to do this?” I asked.
“I say the direct approach,” said Mo.
Big surprise.
We walked up the steps of the porch that ran around three sides of the building. They were trying for the image of an old west saloon, with chairs outside for the cowboys to sit in to watch the townspeople walk by. The trouble was, there was no town, so there were no townspeople. There were only cars. And the chairs on the porch had probably never been sat in.
We opened the door and walked in. At least there weren’t any swinging batwing doors. But, just like in the old westerns, everyone looked up as we walked in. I say everybody, but in fact, there weren’t more than a dozen people in the place. I was right about the size of the bikers though. A dozen pairs of eyes—men and women—were watching Sabrina and Mo with great interest, and more than a little lust. As was usually the case when I was with them, I was invisible.
We walked up to the bar. The bartender was a bald guy in his fifties. He was of average height and weight—a first for that place—and looked like a real businessman.
“Help you?”
“We’re looking for someone,” I said.
He looked us up and down, spending an inordinate amount of time on Sabrina.
“You’re not cops. That’s obvious.”
“No.”
“Missing person?”
“The person we’re looking for isn’t missing,” I said, “but he might be responsible for someone else going missing.”
There was a momentary recognition, like he knew exactly who I was talking about.
“I don’t talk about my patrons.”
“A girl’s life is at stake,” said Sabrina.
“Sorry to hear that.” He didn’t sound sorry. “You want a drink, or not?”
“Not,” I answered. Probably not the right answer.
“Then take a hike.” He turned away from us and pretended to arrange liquor bottles.
That didn’t go over so well with Mo. She turned to face the room.
“Are there any real men here?” she said in a loud voice. She had everyone’s attention, but they all stayed silent.
“We’re looking for Dickie. You all know him. Big, ex-football player. Scum of the earth. He’s responsible for the abduction of a friend of ours.”
“What’ll you give me if I help you?” asked a particularly repulsive guy. He was in the 300-pound range with bad skin and long, greasy hair. “How about a blow job?”
Someone would actually say that in front of other people? The worst part of it was that no one seemed to be shocked at the comment.
“You’re a fucking pig,” said Mo.
She could have stopped there, but this was Mo.
“Besides,” she said. “I’d never be able to find something that small under all that blubber.”
That did it. The guy got up, knocking his chair over in the process. If this was a real old-time saloon, someone would’ve drawn on the other.
He looked at me and said, “You gonna let this bitch talk to me this way?”
“Why?” I answered. “Does it offend your sensibilities?” I was getting daring in my old age.
“Huh?” he answered.
“Which word didn’t you understand?” asked Mo. It was clear that she didn’t want me to get hurt. This was her show. Sabrina hadn’t said anything, but I could see her scanning the crowd. She was ready.
He started to walk toward her, but Mo went on the offensive, taking one step forward, jumping high in the air and catching the guy with a flying round-house kick to the side of the head. He staggered, but didn’t go down. In a fluid motion, she landed on the floor, spun, and kicked him in the knee, and then, with the same leg, kicked him in the groin. He went down with a grunt.
“Huh, I guess you did have something down there,” said Mo.
I wasn’t sure he was listening.
“Look,” said Sabrina in a soft voice. “I know the rule is to protect your own, but your friend Dickie took our friend. The right thing to do is to help us.”
Getting no response, she changed tactics. She caught the attention of the bartender, who was also most likely the owner.
“Do you know who I am?”
Holy shit! Sabrina was going to use her fame? What had happened to the shy person who was overwhelmed by her celebrity status?
“My name is Sabrina Spencer, a bestselling mystery author.”
“And one of the most beloved people in the country right now,” I added.
“A few well-placed words from me,” she continued, “and I can put this place out of business. If I tell my fans what happened here tonight, the outcry would put you under in a week. Do you really want that? Is Dickie worth it?”
There was dead silence for a minute, then the bartender said in a quiet voice, “Dickie owns the place.”
Chapter 21
We didn’t expect that one. We all went silent for a moment.
“He only comes in once in a while,” said the bartender. “The chances of catching him here are slim.”
As strange as it might seem, I found my voice before the other two.
“Tell Dickie that we want to talk to him.”
“How and when?”
“Uh.” My ideas were exhausted.
Mo jumped in, saving me.
“Tell him we want to meet in a public place,” she said. “We just want our friend back.”
“I’ll tell him, but just to let you know, Dickie’s not into that shit—kidnapping.”
“What shit is he into?” I asked.
“I’ll tell him.” He turned away and started fiddling with liquor bottles.
I wrote down my phone number and left it on the counter.
“Here’s my number. We want to hear from him today.”
The guy didn’t respond, so we left. As we got in the
car, Mo asked, “Do you think we’ll hear?” There was a pleading in her voice. I realized that this was killing her. I understood. If Sabrina had disappeared, I would be a blubbering mess. “Frantic” wouldn’t even begin to describe how I would be feeling.
“I honestly don’t know,” I answered. What could I say?
We sat in the car without turning on the engine. The truth was, we had no idea where to go next. We were just silent. I think we all knew that someone was going to have to make a decision, but we were all hoping it would be one of the others.
Sabrina’s cell phone rang, making all three of us jump. I knew it wouldn’t be Richard, as I had left my number, not Sabrina’s.
“Hi,” she said without enthusiasm. “No, I won’t be there. I’m sorry, but this is much more important. Yes, I realize I agreed to do it—against my better judgment, I might add—but this involves a person’s life. No, this isn’t going to affect my standing among my fans. It’s only a couple of thousand people—most of whom are not fans, but are people in the book industry. Don’t worry, you will still make bucket-loads of money on my books.”
I could tell she was getting angry. It was a publicist on the other end, and Sabrina wasn’t very fond of publicists. I did feel for the poor guy though. Getting Sabrina to actually talk to a group was a coup, and now he had just lost it.
“You’re good at talking,” Sabrina was saying. “I’m sure you can come up with a reason that will appease everyone … like the truth. Someone close to me has been kidnapped.”
She said the last line with venom and hung up the phone.
“Remind me to send him a big apology and a gift when this is all over,” she said quietly. The real Sabrina was coming back out.
I started the car and pulled onto the road heading back toward Las Vegas. I didn’t know exactly where I was going, but some kind of movement was needed. We kept hitting dead ends, and it was getting old fast.
“Do you think Peep is alive?” asked Mo in a small voice.
“I do,” I answered. Did I actually believe it? I wasn’t so sure. If they really were into human trafficking, Peep would be a prize. On the other hand, knowing that we were going to be relentless in our search for her, they might want to eliminate her from the scene altogether. So, it was possible she was dead, or it was possible that she had already been shipped out to a buyer just to get her away from us. What I didn’t want to tell Mo was that of all the options, Peep still being alive and still in Vegas was the least likely. In my gut, I felt that we would never see Peep again.
Chapter 22
My phone rang just before we reached our hotel. We had decided to go back to freshen up and grab some lunch. And then … then what? We had no idea.
I put the phone onto the car’s Bluetooth.
“Hello?”
“You’re looking for me.” It was Dickie. He had a softer voice than I had expected.
“We’d like to meet with you to negotiate getting our friend back.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.
“C’mon. Don’t waste my time. Your ex-wife, Priscilla. You argued with her at the trade show, then you took her.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end. He was probably trying to decide how many people he was talking to, and whether that included the police.
“Look,” I said. “You’re just dealing with three of us. I’m sure your guy at the bar described us. No police. We’ve tried going that route and it got us nowhere, so it’s just you and us. All we want is Priscilla back.”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” he finally said.
Less than I thought it was going to be.
“Where?” I asked.
“I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon. That’ll give you time to get the money and me time to decide on a place that will guarantee no cops.”
“I said…” I began.
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted. “You said no cops. Everyone says that, then they contact the cops anyway. You want her back, you’ll do it my way.”
“Okay,” I said quickly. “Can we talk to her?”
“Nope.”
I figured it was worth a try.
“I’ll call you tomorrow around noon. No cops. I’ll be watching.”
He hung up.
I turned and looked at the other two. For the first time since arriving in Las Vegas, Mo had a hopeful expression.
“Do you really think…” She left the sentence hanging.
“Yeah, I do,” I said.
*****
Sabrina and I were in our room dining on room service fare, kind of halfway between lunch and dinner. We ended up with some pretty good sandwiches. After talking for a while in our room, Mo had finally gone to her room to take a nap. With the ray of hope hanging overhead, I figured she might actually get some much-needed rest. It was nice too, for Sabrina and me to get a little bit of alone time together. Other than the sounds of us chewing, the room was dead silent.
“I never knew how loud one potato chip could sound,” said Sabrina.
I put down the chip I had in my hand.
She laughed. It was the first laugh I had seen in days.
“I’m just kidding,” she said. Then she got serious again. “So do you really think we will get her back?”
“I think so,” I said. “I’m not quite as confident as I tried to sound to Mo, but I think so.”
“Should we call the police?” she asked.
“I think he’s right,” I said. “I think he—or someone he works with—will be keeping an eye on us. Besides, didn’t we decide that we’re not sure we can trust Miller? I’m not crazy about the idea, but I think we’re going to have to do it Dickie's way.”
Now that I was finished eating—despite the laughter, I was too embarrassed to pick up another chip—I started stroking Sabrina’s feet. Well, that led to one thing, which led to another, and in five minutes we were naked in bed releasing days of pent-up stress and emotions. In fact, we were so stressed, we had to do it twice, with a few minutes in between for me to recover.
When we were done, Sabrina asked, “Do you think Dickie is a killer?”
We have strange pillow talk.
Once I realized that she wasn’t referring to my body part, I said, “He killed Peep’s father, so I guess technically that makes him a killer.”
“But didn’t you say that Angel didn’t think he did it?” asked Sabrina.
“More like she knew he didn’t do it,” I answered. “At least from her point of view.”
“She was traveling with him,” said Sabrina. “Could it be she knows something?”
She rolled out of bed and walked over to the table and her laptop. I just laid there watching her in her nakedness. I was pretty sure she would always take my breath away. She ruined the show by putting on an official Mirage robe and sitting down in front of the laptop. I sighed in disappointment, crawled out of bed, and put on my clothes. Then I joined her at the table.
“What was Peep’s father’s name?” Sabrina asked.
“Beats me. Peep’s last name is Hollister.”
“I knew that,” Sabrina said distractedly, her complete attention on the screen in front of her. It only took her a minute to come up with the account of the murder.
“Here it is,” she said. “His name was Randolph Hollister.”
“They were into stuffy in that family,” I said.
“I guess Peep kept her family name,” said Sabrina.
“Or she changed back to it after Richard left,” I suggested.
I went quiet as she read. She switched around to different sites to get the information. Finally, she sat back and said, “Richard was a sleaze.”
“It took you all that time to come up with something we already knew?”
She gave me a look. “He was a sleaze, but I don’t think he was capable of murder. Speaking from personal experience, I suppose anyone is capable of murder, given the right circumstances and conditions, but I don’
t feel it from him. All of his ex-football teammates raved about how friendly he was. They said he was kind to animals. That’s a big one in my book. But Mo was right. He cheated people left and right. He always had a new scheme that needed financing and he would do whatever it took to get it.”
“Who’s the source for those tidbits?” I asked.
“Just about everyone,” she replied. “They all knew.”
“But despite the fact that everyone knew that he spent his life cheating people,” Sabrina continued, “They all still liked him. Plus, they all knew he was cheating on Priscilla, but said it wasn’t much of a marriage. Does ‘not being much of a marriage’ give you carte blanche to have an affair?”
“I guess in some people’s minds,” I answered. “The same people who don’t need any kind of excuse to engage in one. What about the night Randolph died?”
“Not much detail. Richard had come over, presumably to borrow money, and had gotten into a terrible argument with Randolph. Peep said she came into the kitchen, which is where they were arguing, and saw Richard bash in her father’s head during a fit of rage. He then got in his car and took off. The theory was that he met up with Andi and they drove to Central America, where he was later presumably killed.”
“Any cameras?”
“Not in the kitchen. The driveway camera shows Richard leaving at about the same time Peep said her father was killed.”
“Any fingerprints on the weapon?” I asked.
“None at all. It had been wiped clean.”
“So the circumstantial evidence is shaky.”
“Well, add to that Peep’s eyewitness account and it would be enough to put him away,” she said.
“I hate to say this,” I said, “but besides being a sleaze, Richard doesn’t sound like he was a bad guy. Maybe now, but not then. I don’t think he would have been someone I’d hang out with, but he was almost …”
“A victim?” suggested Sabrina.
“Yeah. It’s kind of hard to imagine when you see him now, but the more we learn about him, the less it seems he would have been capable of something like that.”
Vegas Lies ( Lies Mystery Thriller Series Book 3) Page 9
