“Nothing’s going to happen.” I tried to sound serious, but I could barely hide a giggle.
“Promise me you’ll wear pretty underwear—just in case,” Quinn said.
“Maybe I always wear pretty underwear, just on principle. You don’t know the first thing about my unmentionables.”
She laughed. “The simple fact that you’re using the word ‘unmentionables’ concerns me.”
“I’m good in that department. Promise.”
“Ok. Have fun,” Quinn said. “And I will be expecting some text updates.”
| Eleven
Iran my hands from my lower ribs, down past my waist, to the tops of my legs. Then I gazed down at my feet in their black ballet flats. Maybe this was the kind of skirt that was supposed to be worn with heels. I don’t know—no one ever taught me any of those lady fashion rules.
I decided that, even if I was breaking a fashion law, I looked nice.
But I had no idea if I would fit in at Colin’s friend’s wedding. I’d never been to a Las Vegas wedding and wondered if the guests usually dressed more glitzy than they did at the church weddings I was used to.
And I wondered how I would fit in with Colin’s friends beyond the superficial level. He seemed worldly, like someone who understood sophisticated things, without being obnoxious or pretentious about it.
In a lot of ways, Colin fit the artist stereotype. Meanwhile, I was a writer—but not the artsy kind of writer. I wasn’t a total sellout hack, either.
I sighed and tried to reassure myself that tonight would be fine. I would probably hit it off with Colin’s friends, but if not, I could always fake it. I was a journalist after all. Interviewing skills—when they’re really good—are nearly the same as conversation skills.
I checked my phone. Colin was supposed to come get me in five minutes, which meant he would be knocking on my door any second. He was always early.
I opened the texts on my phone. It had been almost two hours since I told Jacob I was out of ideas and asked him if he had any leads on McKenna’s situation. Still no reply.
Colin’s unmistakable, light, staccato knock sounded against my hotel room door. I invited him in while I gathered the few things I’d need to take with me: my room key, ID, credit card, and phone.
Colin wandered over toward the window and looked out at the desert, where the sun was resting low in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow.
He looked put-together but completely relaxed—comfortable with himself—in his dark blue suit.
He turned in my direction. “You look nice. That’s a pretty necklace.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at him, hoping it came across as a warm smile and not a nervous one.
“Ready?” I asked.
He looked down at the phone and cards I was clutching in my right hand. I looked down, too.
“I don’t have a purse. I always just use my messenger bag and this skirt doesn’t have pockets, so …”
“Why don’t you let me hang on to those for you?” Colin asked. “There’s going to be dinner and dancing. You don’t want to worry about losing your stuff.”
“Um …” I looked down at the things I was holding. “You sure?”
Colin smiled and held out his hand. I gave him my phone and cards. He slipped them into an inside jacket pocket. I held the door open for him, and thanked him as we left the room.
In the hallway and elevator, I found myself awkwardly clasping my hands in front of my abdomen. I guess I usually had my phone to carry or my messenger bag to rest my hands on.
Now I had no idea what to do with my hands. I felt weirdly exposed.
“Oh, I think you got a message,” Colin said as he reached into his pocket and handed me my phone. I’d left it on vibrate.
“Oh, sorry.” I glanced quickly at the screen then handed the phone back to him. “You can just ignore it. I get lots of pointless news alerts and stuff.”
Then I explained to Colin everything that Quinn had checked out, and how directionless I’d become in the search for McKenna’s assailant.
“At first, I was sure it was Anne. She has a strong motive. And it still might be her, but she doesn’t have a violent past.”
“That you know of,” Colin interjected.
“Right. Then I was thinking maybe there’s someone who wants to sabotage the show for business or financial reasons.”
“Yeah?” He nodded.
“Nothing’s jumping out at me, though. No big disputes with the owners, nothing like that. Quinn thinks we have to dig into McKenna’s past—see if she was ever an informant.”
Colin nodded again and said, “I thought the same thing.”
“Right. Anyway, I asked Jacob if he has any leads. That’s really the only text I’m looking for, and I can just get back to him later. So you don’t have to keep handing me my phone.”
“Got it,” Colin chuckled and his eyes sparkled a little.
We followed the sign directing us to Eventide Garden. It was a flawless, aquascaped, indoor oasis. Twinkling lights adorned the high ceiling and miniature decorative trees.
The Eventide Garden was a large room with white travertine flooring and walls. A second, lower wall rested a few feet out from the main wall, with water between them. This created a deep stream that followed the perimeter of the room. Lighted, wall-mounted fountains released sparkling water into the man-made stream, where koi swam and aquatic plants grew.
“Colin! Is that you?” A woman, probably in her 60s and wearing a corsage, called out.
He turned toward her and said, “Hi Mrs. Benson.”
She reached out and hugged him. “I’m so glad you could come,” she said after she kissed his cheek, leaving a mauve lipstick stain on his skin.
“This is Jae Lovejoy,” Colin said.
She reached toward me for a hug before Colin even finished introducing us.
I was smiling hard, but I wasn’t necessarily happy. I guess I just needed something to do with my nervous face. And maybe I was subconsciously mirroring this woman’s glee.
“She’s beautiful, Colin. Does this mean you’re finally going to settle down?”
For the first time ever, I saw Colin blush. “We’re work colleagues, Mrs. Benson.
She looked from Colin to me, then back to Colin with a sly smile. “Okay honey. If you say so,” she said. “Here, say Hi to Bob…”
We spent the next few minutes saying hello and assuring everyone we met that I was neither Colin’s wife nor his girlfriend.
Finally, music started to play and the fifty or so guests all took their seats—chairs arranged in a semi circle facing the officiant and the couple.
The ceremony was brief, with almost no religious overtones. In making their vows, the couple recited their lines softly and sincerely.
Colin smiled when they smiled, sat silently through the serious parts, and applauded with enthusiasm—along with everyone else—after the “I do’s.”
Next, Currents employees, dressed in tuxedos and skirt suits, rearranged the chairs around several tables they brought out. Champagne was poured and dinner was served.
When I told the waiter “No thanks” for champagne, he returned to pour me a glass of sparkling white grape juice. I raised my glass and tipped it toward Colin’s.
“Thanks for bringing me here. This is fun.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
In the dim lighting, his eyes seemed to sparkle from a far-away depth.
To my right, were Brandy and Nichole, the bride’s cousins. And Jocelyn and Andrew, friends of the groom’s family, sat to Colin’s left.
We made our introductions and tried to keep the chitchat going as a group. But none of the three pairs knew each other, and soon we were all talking to only our respective companions.
“Do you think you’d go for a Vegas wedding, like this? Or would you prefer to marry Mrs. Right in a church?” I asked Colin.
He leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling for
a moment.
“Neither. My aunt and uncle got married at my grandma’s lake house in the Poconos Mountains,” Colin said. “Not that I really see myself marrying, but if I did, I guess that would be the perfect place.”
“Sounds nice.”
“They have a huge back porch that overlooks the lake. We’ve had a lot of good times out there,” he said. “What about you? Do you want to be a church bride or a Vegas bride?”
I wrinkle my nose at the sound of the word “bride.”
“Most of my friends from high school and college are already married and having kids. But, honestly? I’ve never seen myself as the bride type at all.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Maybe because I like this too much? I don’t know if I’d be happy settling down and living the wifey lifestyle.”
“What if your Mr. Right is a nomad like you? Just because people get married doesn’t mean they have to settle down with the house and kids.”
“I guess…” I mumbled and looked down at my plate.
Colin looked thoughtful. Then he looked startled. He reached into his jacket pocket abruptly and removed my phone.
“I know you wanted me to ignore this …” he said as he shook his head. “But here, you better check it. It’s been vibrating like crazy.”
I looked at the screen. There were two missed calls and three texts—all from McKenna. The most recent text said, “Are you there? Can you come to my dressing room?”
I felt the color drain from my face as I looked up at Colin. He seemed a little pale, too.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” he asked.
“It’s McKenna. I don’t know. She seems freaked out, but …”
I knew I should go see McKenna, but I didn’t want to leave the wedding reception. I didn’t want to leave Colin.
“Maybe you should call her,” he said.
I nodded and stood up from the table. When I got out to the hallway, I called McKenna, but it went straight to voice mail. Surely, if she was in serious trouble, she would call the police, wouldn’t she?
While I was walking back to the table, the happy chatter in the room and the loud music suddenly struck me as irritating and intrusive.
Without taking his gaze away from my face, Colin pulled my chair out for me.
“No answer,” I told him. “Voice mail.”
He looked at his watch. “The show probably just ended. Maybe we should go over to the theater and check on her?”
“I’ll go. You should stay and hang out with your friends.”
He shook his head and started to push his chair away from the table. “You shouldn’t go by yourself.”
“Please. I’ll feel really bad if you miss this. I already feel awful about leaving.” I looked down at where I had rested my hand on his arm, then pulled it away slowly. “Maybe she’s just being dramatic. I’ll go check on her real fast and come right back.”
“Okay,” Colin said with a nod. “Just call me, okay? If there are any problems, call me. I’ll have my phone on.”
I walked as fast as I could from the wedding venue in the east wing of the hotel, across the casino, toward the backstage entrance. It took more than 10 minutes.
At one point, I was like a fish swimming upstream against a crowd of people leaving Dream Myst. Most were smiling as they walked and talked excitedly to each other.
When I got to the back stage entrance, the security guard nodded and waved me ahead. “She’s waiting for you in her dressing room.”
I thanked him and hurried down the hallway.
McKenna was sitting on the floor, her back leaning against the wall opposite her dressing room door. She had her knees bent and feet flat on the floor, with her arms wrapped under her legs. Dee was kneeling beside her, patting her shoulder.
“She wouldn’t let me call anyone. She wanted to talk to you first,” Dee said. “I really think we should call security, at least. I mean, how did they even get in here?”
“What are you talking about? What happened?” I asked.
“This,” McKenna said with a scratchy voice. She stood, pushed open her dressing room door, then took a step back from it.
I went inside and looked around. At first, everything seemed fine. Then I saw what they were talking about.
Four pieces of paper were taped to the mirror on McKenna’s vanity. They were crude black-and-white photographs. Despite the fact that photos were grainy—probably taken with an outdated camera or phone—it was easy to recognize the figures in the pictures: McKenna and Mariah.
The photos looked like they were taken from above ground level, maybe one or two stories up. They showed Mariah and McKenna in the grass courtyard outside McKenna’s apartment building. Mariah had Cecile on a leash, and McKenna was standing near them, looking at her phone.
I walked closer to the photographs, careful not to touch anything. One of them was zoomed in on McKenna’s face. There was a black, ball point pen “X” mark over her face.
I poked my head out the door. “Let me call Jacob, okay? He’s the detective. He’ll know what to do.”
“I don’t want to be on the news,” McKenna said. Tears were streaming down her cheeks now.
“I know,” I assured her. “Jacob will understand. We’ll keep this quiet.”
Jacob answered the call immediately. His tone had its usual we’re-old-friends quality. “Hi Jae, I was just getting ready to …”
I cut him off. “Can you come to Currents? Someone put threatening pictures all over McKenna’s dressing room.”
“Did you call dispatch?” His voice was serious now.
“No. She doesn’t want anyone to know. The casino doesn’t even know.”
He exhaled. “All right. I can be there in ten minutes.”
We hung up. Dee led McKenna and I to an empty office down the hall.
“You want me to find your mom?” Dee asked.
McKenna nodded. “She’s probably in the VIP box.”
None of us wanted to alarm Mariah—or face her hysterics—but she needed to know. We all needed her to help us figure out how to keep McKenna safe.
“When do you think those were taken?” I asked McKenna.
“It must have been right after lunch. Mom brought me a salad. We ate, took Cecile out, then hung out for a little bit before it was time to come here,” she said. “It had to be today because—see my tank top and PJ pants? They’re new. I’d never worn them before today.”
“All right. That gives us something to go on—a time frame.”
“I think I know who did it.” McKenna’s tone was flat. She gazed blankly down toward her lap. “It was Anne. She hates me, and, well…”
McKenna covered her face with her hands, crying harder now. “Me and James, we’ve been kind of … getting back together.”
I patted her shoulder. “Okay. It’s okay.”
I tried to hide the irritation in my voice. I didn’t care who she was involved with. But lying—covering up a relationship—only made things more complicated when her life was in danger.
| Twelve
“What happened?” Jacob asked when Dee led him into the office where McKenna and I were waiting.
McKenna started to tell him about the pictures, but her sentences were disjointed—interrupted by sniffling and crying.
“We can show you,” I said. “Someone took pictures of McKenna and her mom outside McKenna’s apartment building today. They went into her dressing room during the show and taped them to her mirror.”
“Let’s take a look,” Jacob said, holding the door open for McKenna and I.
McKenna walked into her dressing room first. She immediately stepped to the side, as if she were afraid to be in close proximity to the pictures.
Jacob leaned closer to the pictures and squinted. “I don’t see any stamps—any identifying marks. I’ll take them to forensics for fingerprints, but I’d be surprised if we get anything.”
He turned toward McKenna. “Do you know where th
is picture was taken? Would it be from an apartment?”
“No, apartments don’t start till higher floors. I think there’s a gym and offices on the second and third floors.
“What time do you think they took it?” he asked. “Were you texting someone there?”
He pointed to the picture where McKenna’s head is bowed over her phone.
“I wasn’t sending a text … that’s probably just me getting confirmation for my manicure appointment.” She took out her phone and scrolled for a moment. “It says 2:14.”
Jacob nodded. “Ok, good. That’s a start.”
Mariah burst into the room. This time, she wasn’t tearful or hysterical or even anxious. She was angry.
“Who are you?” she asked Jacob.
He started to introduce himself, but she interrupted.
“You’re the police? The actual Las Vegas P.D.?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m a detective. We’re not calling in uniformed officers because your daughter is concerned about the publicity.”
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I was afraid Currents was going to try some sort of in-house investigation—like they did when Mike got hurt—but I wasn’t going to have it.”
She turned toward her daughter. “Kinney, we’ve got to get you away from this show—maybe away from Vegas, too. It’s not safe.”
“Mom, no,” McKenna said. “I’ll get fired. My career will be ruined.”
“What kind of career will you have if you get killed?” Mariah asked.
Jacob stepped in. “We’re going to take this seriously. We can keep you safe until we figure out who’s doing this,” he said. “I can’t tell you to stay—that’s your decision—but if you stop working or leave town, we might never catch these people.”
“Certainly you’re not talking about using my daughter as some sort of bait?” Mariah asked. Her hands were on her hips.
Jacob held his palms out. “Absolutely not. But our best chance for catching these people is to keep a close eye on McKenna.”
“You said ‘these people.’ Do you think there’s, like, an organized group targeting McKenna?” I asked Jacob.
Assignment Vegas: The Case of the Athlete's Assassin: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery Two (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 9
