A Perfect Murder in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Mysteries Book 8)

by A. R. Winters

  “That does seem rather suspicious to me,” said Nanna.

  “I think she was just being silly and inconsiderate,” I said. I slumped back against my seat. “There goes our plan to hack into her phone.” And just when I’d started to think that hacking into someone’s phone might not be such a bad idea after all.

  “We can do that another day,” said Nanna. “Where do we go to now?”

  “I’m starting to get hungry,” said Ian.

  I glanced at my watch—it was almost noon. “We can go get an early lunch, if you’d like.”

  “We don’t need lunch,” Nanna said. “We need to work, and I’ve got an idea. Since we’re already in the estate, and nobody’s in Patrick’s house—Patrick’s at work, and Carmela said she was going to the Strip to play slots—we should break into their house and snoop around.”

  I looked at her incredulously, and Ian said, “That’s a great idea! Why didn’t we think of that, Tiffany?”

  “Because breaking in is illegal,” I said. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “It’s not really illegal,” said Nanna. “I think it’s only illegal if you break in with bad intentions. Our intentions are good—we just want to find out what happened to Samantha Wells. It’s not like we’re going to steal anything.”

  “The house probably has a fancy alarm system,” I said. “What if we trigger a silent alarm, and when we’re in the house, the cops show up and arrest us?”

  “That’s why you’ve got me,” said Nanna. “You can always say that your senile old grandmother wandered into the house, and you had to follow her to try to get her back out. Everyone feels sorry for senile old people.”

  “That’s a brilliant plan,” said Ian. “Nanna can totally pull off the senile old person look.”

  I shook my head. “There’s no way we’re breaking into a mansion. But perhaps Carmela hasn’t left yet. If she’s still at home, we can try to talk to her and see if she remembers anything new.”

  We headed over to Samantha’s house, and when I knocked on the door, there was no response.

  “The place looks dead,” said Nanna. “I can’t hear anything, and I’m sure there’s nobody at home.”

  “We’re not breaking in,” I reminded her. “We already had a look around Samantha’s bedroom the other day.”

  “But not a proper look, I bet,” said Nanna. “There’s nobody home today, so we can really snoop through the house.”

  “We can’t keep standing around here,” said Ian. “This is a posh area, and we don’t look like we belong. If any of the neighbors see us, they might call the cops on us for looking suspicious. Let’s go around to the back.”

  “Quick thinking,” said Nanna, and she strode around to the side of the house and made her way rapidly toward the backyard. Ian took off after her, and I found myself following them reluctantly.

  “We can’t be wandering around on other people’s property like this,” I said. “I think we should head back to the car.”

  “Perhaps Carmela’s cleaning in the dining room,” said Ian. “Maybe should we should knock on the French doors there and see if she notices us.”

  I could feel a stress headache building up, and I wondered if going along with Nanna’s craziness was worth being able to avoid a blind date. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps I should just tell Nanna that the whole thing was off, and I’d be dropping her back at my mother’s, and I would suffer through whatever blind date my mother decided to set me up on. Perhaps I’d even get lucky, and my mother wouldn’t find any eligible young men for me.

  “There’s no one here,” said Nanna, peering in through the French doors. “I think we should just go inside and have a look around.”

  Nanna turned the handle on one of the French doors, and it swung open easily.

  “Look at that,” said Nanna. “It was unlocked. I bet the house isn’t alarmed, either.”

  “Come on, Tiffany,” said Ian, looking at me. “It’s not breaking in if the place is already unlocked. Imagine if we found out anything new. That would really get the case moving forward.”

  I’m not sure how it happened, but I found myself stepping into the house with Nanna and Ian. Mostly because I didn’t want them wandering around the house alone; I didn’t know what they would get up to by themselves.

  We had barely taken a few steps forward, when we heard noises coming from the floor above us, and the three of us froze.

  “Maybe somebody’s broken in just before us,” said Ian. “Maybe that’s why the door was unlocked and the alarm’s off. I’ll bet it’s a burglar. Or maybe Samantha was killed by a hired assassin, and now he’ll kill us, too.”

  My heart was thudding loudly in my chest. I didn’t want to get killed by an angry burglar or a hired assassin. “We should just leave now,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’ve done enough snooping for one day.”

  Nanna spied the stairs leading up to the second floor from the dining room, and she was halfway up them before I could stop her.

  “I need to know who’s making that noise,” she said. “If somebody else broke into this house, they’re probably interested in Samantha Wells. They might’ve had something to do with her death. We should find out who they are.”

  I hated to admit it, but Nanna had a point there. So Ian and I followed her upstairs, and when we found ourselves on the landing, we realized that the noise was coming from the master bedroom.

  The noises were clearer and much louder now, and Ian said, “Boy, it sounds like a wild animal’s hurt in there.”

  Nanna chuckled. “You don’t stay at cheap motels on your honeymoon without learning what that noise means.”

  The noise, which had begun as a series of loud moans, was rapidly changing into loud shrieks and banshee–like screams.

  “I feel kind of gross standing out here listening to this,” I said.

  “You’re right, it’s not a good idea to stand out in the hallway where someone might just walk in on us,” said Nanna.

  She opened the door next to the master bedroom door, and we discovered that it was a guestroom that looked like it had never been used. Bed made up, no artwork on the walls, two nightstands on either side of the bed. No other furniture. The three of us huddled into the room, closed the door behind us, and pressed our ears against the wall adjoining the master bedroom.

  “I was wrong about Patrick going over to his girlfriend’s house,” said Nanna in a hoarse whisper. “He brought his girlfriend over here.”

  “That’s why he gave the housekeeper the day off,” whispered Ian. “So that he could have the whole place to himself.”

  The noise continued for a while, crescendoing and culminating in a dead silence. We kept our ears pressed against the wall, and finally, we heard Patrick’s voice saying, “That was wonderful, Carmela.”

  The three of us looked at each other in shock. So Patrick’s new girlfriend was Carmela! How had we not seen this coming?

  “It was lovely,” said Carmela’s voice. “I’m so glad you could take the day off to spend with me. Now that you’re a free man, we can start to act like a real couple.”

  “Of course,” said Patrick. “But we don’t want other people finding out just yet. It wouldn’t look good, my wife dying, and then me getting together with my housekeeper.”

  “But we were always together, ever since I started working here,” said Carmela. “It was Samantha who was the third wheel.”

  “Yes, but I wish that nosy investigator would go away. I don’t want her to get the police to reopen the case.”

  “We’re not going to be in any trouble,” said Carmela. “We were both having brunch at the Fisherman’s Wharf Café when Samantha died. A whole lot of people saw us there.”

  “I know,” said Patrick, “but if the cops ask, then I’d have to admit I was seeing you. And I don’t want to do that. I like that we’ve got this secret.”

  “You’re not ashamed of me, are you?” said Carmela.

  “No,” said Pa
trick. “Of course not. It’s just more fun when things are a secret.”

  We heard the sound of footsteps, and then running water.

  “We’d better get going,” I said. “We don’t want them wandering around and stumbling onto us.”

  The three of us dashed down the stairs and back outside, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we were all safely ensconced in my car.

  “That was certainly eye–opening,” said Nanna. “Aren’t you glad I suggested we break in?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t like you doing crazy things, it’s dangerous. Even if we did learn something new.”

  Ian said, “Now we know for sure that Patrick and Carmela had nothing to do with Samantha’s death. They’ve both got excellent alibis.”

  “And let me tell you,” said Nanna, “I know men like him. Of course he’s ashamed of her! He wants to keep it a secret, because I’m sure he wants to break up with her as soon as he gets another girlfriend. I feel kind of sorry for Carmela, though I don’t know what she was expecting.”

  “Sometimes housekeepers marry their wealthy employers,” said Ian. “Maybe that’s what she was hoping.”

  Just then, my phone rang. It was my mother.

  “It’s almost lunchtime,” she said. “I’m making a pot roast and vegetables. Do you want to come over?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I don’t have any plans. I’ll bring Ian and Nanna along too.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then my mother said, “I thought your nanna was out with her friends.”

  “She stopped by my apartment to say hello. I’ll bring her over. Are you inviting Glenn, Karma and Wes as well?”

  “I called Glenn,” said my mother, “but the three of them have gone off to see the Hoover Dam today. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I drove up to my parents’ house with Ian and Nanna, and when I entered the dining room, I saw there was an extra place setting at the table.

  My mother was laying out cutlery, and my father was bringing in a pitcher of water from the kitchen.

  “Who’s the extra place setting for?” I said. “Who else is coming besides us?”

  My mother smiled a thin, proud smile and looked secretive and pleased with herself.

  “Your mother thought she’d get a head start on the matchmaking business,” my father said. “She figured she should try to set you up with him before another woman snagged him away.”

  I turned to Nanna furiously. “You promised!”

  Nanna shrugged. “I just got home. I didn’t know she would move so fast. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet.”

  “Talk to me about what?” said my mother.

  The doorbell rang, and Nanna said, “Looks like it’s too late now.”

  “That must be him,” said my mother. “Tiffany, go open the door, and I’ll bring all the food in.”

  I grumbled under my breath and stomped off to the front door, wondering what kind of ogre waited for me on the other side. When I opened the door, I was face–to–face with Pearce.

  “Hi, Tiffany,” said Pearce. “It’s me again.”

  “I see,” I said.

  My mother had invited him over for a matchmaking lunch a few months ago, and things hadn’t gone too well that time. I wasn’t sure why she thought things would be any better this time around, but in a way I was sort of relieved. Better the devil you know…

  I led Pearce inside and over to the dining table and said, “Hey, everyone, it’s Pearce.”

  “We’ve met you before,” said Ian. “I remember you had to leave early the last time, because Tiffany was being mean to you.”

  “I’m hoping she’ll be nice to me today,” said Pearce. And then he turned to Nanna. “Where’s that twenty–year–old boyfriend of yours?”

  “I’m a married woman now,” said Nanna. “I married someone my own age.”

  Pearce nodded sagely. “Maybe Tiffany will be a married woman too, someday.”

  “Yes,” said my mother, smiling to herself. “That’s why I thought I should introduce her to a nice young man like you.”

  I didn’t say anything, and as we all sat down around the table, Ian said, “You’re the guy who lives in his mother’s basement making videos on YouTube, right?”

  “It’s a nice setup in her basement,” said Pearce. “I’ve got my own room, and my own bathroom, and my own microwave. I have a whole shelf full of chips and Funyuns. And I don’t make YouTube videos anymore. There’s not enough money in them.”

  “So what do you do now?” said Nanna.

  “I’m in the weight loss business,” said Pearce.

  We all gawked at him. Pearce spilled over the edges of his seat, and he had already loaded his plate with more mashed potatoes and roast than the rest of us all combined.

  “Isn’t that a bit deceptive?” said Ian. “What kind of weight loss work do you do?”

  “I run a blog about losing weight,” said Pearce. “I do a lot of writing. It’s real creative work, too. I’m, like, totally an artist.”

  I snorted. “I don’t think you’re an artist.”

  Ian turned to me and said, “You were just telling me yesterday that you need to be nice to artist types. Even if you don’t understand that what they do is art. You said that painters and writers are real sensitive types.”

  “Yeah,” said Pearce. “We’re real sensitive. Some people don’t understand that what I do is art, and that’s hurtful.”

  “That’s because it’s not art,” I said, trying not to sound as exasperated as I felt. “You run a blog about losing weight, and you weigh about five hundred pounds yourself.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” said my mother. “Pearce doesn’t weigh five hundred pounds.”

  Pearce nodded. “Exactly. I only weigh four hundred and eighty–five pounds.”

  “That doesn’t make him an artist,” I grumbled.

  “Still,” said Ian, “you were just telling me that we need to be nice to artist types and pretend to appreciate their work.” He turned to Pearce and said, “So, what kind of things do you blog about?”

  “I write about diets,” said Pearce. “And exercise, and supplements. I’d like to lose some weight myself, and then maybe I’ll have my own supplement line.”

  “Did you hear that, Tiffany?” said my mother. “Pearce would be a successful businessman if he started his own supplements line.”

  I looked at the heap of food that Pearce had piled up on his plate and was now busy stuffing into his mouth. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” I said. “In the meantime, he’ll just have to make money off his art.”

  “I post about healthy recipes too,” said Pearce. “Maybe you could start to make some of those recipes.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” said Ian. “Tiffany was telling me the other day about how she plans to start cooking.”

  Pearce beamed. “That’s great. I need a girlfriend who can cook. I’m a foodie, and I can’t just eat junk food all day. I mean, I can, but I don’t like to. It’s great that you want to start cooking.”

  I turned to Ian and said, “I might have to change my mind about learning to cook. I don’t want to go around giving guys like Pearce the wrong idea.”

  “Don’t give up on the idea of cooking,” said Ian. “You can cook for me. And I promise, I won’t tell anyone else that you cook.”

  “You could tell me,” said Pearce. “I could write about it on my blog. You’d be famous, and you’d be helping me to make art.”

  “What you do isn’t art,” I reminded him.

  Across the table, Ian looked at me disapprovingly. “Now you know how I feel about Andrew’s art,” he said. “I don’t believe that what he does is art, and I’m not about to go around being nice to him.”

  By the time I got home from lunch, I was feeling like I needed to take another day off from the casino.

  But that wouldn’t do, since I would need to take a day off when E
li came into Vegas and I’d have to do surveillance for Stone. Plus, Stone had said that Johnson would meet me when I was walking home from the casino, and tell me what had happened in Afghanistan. I was starting to regret not canceling the date with Ryan and staying in the car with Stone to hear all the details, but it was too late now. I needed to go to the casino and hope that I would run into Johnson when the shift was over.

  My shift passed without incident, and unfortunately, I got home without running into Johnson. I slept in, slightly disappointed that another day had gone by without my learning what had happened to Stone, and when I woke up, it was past noon.

  I showered, dressed, reheated leftovers that my mother had made me bring home, and invited Ian to come over to have lunch with me.

  We ate in silence, and after a while, Ian said, “So, are we going to try to talk to Julie again today?”

  I nodded. “But if neither Patrick nor Carmela had anything to do with Samantha’s death, then perhaps Julie had more to do than we imagined. Perhaps it was more than just making scary prank phone calls to Samantha.”

  “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to talk to us.”

  I nodded, and when I’d finished eating, I called Patrick.

  “What do you want?” he said. “I’ve already told you that I’ve got nothing to do with Samantha’s death.”

  “I know,” I said. “I believe you.”

  There was silence for a beat, and then he repeated, sounding suspicious, “Then what do you want?”

  “I think Julie Edwards might have had something to do with the whole thing, but she won’t talk to us, so we need to go and surprise her. Can you put my name on the list with the guards? Then I can get it, and I’ll go and talk to Julie today.”

  “Anything to get you off my back,” Patrick growled, and then he hung up.

  When Ian and I drove up to the Lake Las Vegas estate, we found that Patrick had indeed put our names on the list, and we drove straight through to Julie’s house.

  A uniformed maid answered the door when we knocked, and she stared at us in surprise.

  “We’re here to see Julie,” I said.