by Carol Durand
“You shouldn’t,” Chas interrupted sternly. “Whoever did this has to pay the price for their crime, and if the police are going to wrongfully assume that you’re the prime suspect, we have to set them straight so that the actual killer can be brought to justice.”
“I know you’re right, I just hate being involved in such ugliness,” Missy closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she saw the detective gazing at her with a look that she didn’t recognize.
“It’s going to be okay, Missy, I promise,” he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly, unknowingly sending all sorts of fireworks through her midsection. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded slowly.
Missy was exhausted and happily full. In the back seat of the cab, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes just for a moment. The next thing she knew, Chas was caressing her cheek to wake her up as she snuggled against his shoulder. Sitting upright, blushing again, Missy blinked, trying to shake off her lethargy.
“I don’t know what happened to me,” she said, embarrassed. “One minute I was leaving the restaurant, and the next I’m crashed out practically in your lap.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly like that,” he chuckled, “but, no worries. You’re exhausted after a stressful couple of days, you needed the rest.”
“I think the nap was sufficient, I’ll be able to get through your news about Taylor now,” she said with more confidence than she felt, as they exited the cab.
“Absolutely not,” Chas insisted. “You’re going to go to your suite and get some sleep. I’ll catch you up on everything tomorrow,” he promised.
“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly, a wide yawn overtaking her.
Chas grinned down at her. “C’mon,” he guided her with his hand in the small of her back, “I’ll walk you up.”
Missy thanked her lucky stars that Detective Beckett had decided to accompany her to her door, because when he slid the card through her security lock and the door opened, it was evident that someone had quite thoroughly trashed her room. Chas put a finger to his lips, indicating that she shouldn’t say anything, and motioned for her to stay in the hallway while he searched for intruders. She nearly gasped when he drew his service revolver and held it at shoulder level when he entered the suite. She fidgeted in the hallway, scared and restless until he appeared a few minutes later, weapon holstered and speaking normally.
“Whoever it was, was looking for something,” he told her, keeping his voice low and leading her into the ravaged suite. The cushions were pulled out of the sofa and chair, and both furniture pieces were turned upside down. The mattress was pushed off the bed and pillows were taken out of their cases. Every cabinet in the bathroom had been left open, and the entire contents of the mini-bar spilled across the floor, unopened bottles and snack bags scattered haphazardly. Missy’s suitcases had been opened and tossed aside, and all of her clothing that had been in the bureau and closet had been thrown about. Too numb to cry, she looked at Chas for direction.
“We need to pack up your things and move them into my room temporarily. You’ll stay with me tonight, since it’s late, and we’ll get you checked into another hotel tomorrow. Once we leave here in the morning, you’ll stop by the LVPD and pay Detective Brasco a visit. Don’t mention anything about what happened here, just let him know that you’ve changed hotels and tell him it’s because you felt too scared to stay because of what happened to Marta. Don’t say any more or less, and don’t give him the opportunity to ask you any questions. Say what you need to say and get out. Understood?”
Missy nodded, still in shock. Chas took her into his arms and she clung to him tightly, burying her face against the thickly muscled wall of his chest. He stroked her back soothingly, kissed her hair, and deliberately released her, so that she could pack her things. While Missy put her suitcases together, he patrolled the suite, taking pictures with his phone and making mental notes. She was ready to go in short order and they rode the elevator to his room in silence. The Spartan furnishings of a non-suite room were a surprising contrast to Missy, but she found an open corner in which to place her belongings.
“I’m going to go have a chat with hotel security to try and get a copy of the security tapes from your floor. While I’m gone, I want you to get some rest. Take a bath if you’d like, watch TV, or whatever, but make sure you get a good night’s sleep, we’re going to be hitting it hard tomorrow and you’ll need to be alert.” The truth of the matter was that he didn’t expect, or even want, Missy to help with the investigation at all, but he knew she’d be more open to getting some sleep if she thought her help would be needed the following day. “Go ahead and take the bed,” he directed. “I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”
Chapter 10
Missy stood motionless in Chas’s room after he left, feeling lost and alone. Without taking off her makeup, brushing her teeth, or even changing out of the lovely summer dress that she had worn to dinner, she kicked off her sandals and slipped between the crisp white sheets, pulling the covers up over her head like a child. Chas came in hours later, having wheedled the hotel security guard into giving him a copy of the footage from Missy’s floor by bringing him pizza and a very large espresso drink. He’d reviewed the video for hours before finally picking up on a clue as to how the illegal entry into Missy’s room had occurred. The information was puzzling, but it was a start. He decided to refrain from showing it to her, thinking that she would be frightened by it. Exhausted by his late-night efforts, he sank down onto the love seat in front of the TV and dozed off, still in his sport coat from dinner.
Missy awoke early the next morning, confused until she remembered where she was and why. Hearing the sound of soft snoring, she glanced to her left and saw Chas sprawled uncomfortably on the loveseat, sound asleep. His face was so calm and handsome in repose; she couldn’t make herself look away for a few moments. Turning away finally, she rummaged through her belongings quietly, so as not to disturb the dedicated detective, and stepped into the bathroom to shower. When she came out, dressed and feeling more like herself, Missy noted that the detective had disappeared. She dried her hair, running her fingers through the golden curls and turning the ends toward the dryer, and Chas came in the door with two large coffees and a sizeable white paper bag. She switched off the dryer, twisted her hair into a messy bun and turned to face him.
“Hungry?” he asked, holding up the bag.
“Oddly, yes,” Missy smiled, breathing in the intoxicating scent of freshly brewed coffee.
“Well, I knew better than to try to get you commercially baked goods, so I’m hoping that you’re a fan of bagels. I brought five different kinds of cream cheese because I didn’t know which you’d prefer,” he explained, taking the bagels and containers of cream cheese out of the bag.
“I’m lactose intolerant,” Missy deadpanned, teasing him.
“Oh geez, I’m sorry, I…” Chas began apologizing.
“I’m kidding, silly,” she interrupted him, giggling. “Don’t you remember me stuffing my face with alfredo and cheesecake last night?”
“Okay, if that’s how you wanna play it young lady, it’s on. Now, when you least expect it…” he threatened, grinning at her playfulness. It was great to see her smile.
Missy sat next to him on the loveseat, gratefully accepting the huge cup of coffee and taking a tentative sip to test the temperature. She tore each of her bagel halves into five equal pieces so that she could try each of the cream cheese varieties twice. She’d never met a cream cheese that she didn’t like and was guessing that today would be no exception. Slathering a sun-dried tomato concoction onto her bagel, she asked about what Chas had been researching last night.
“Well, I don’t know if it’s going to turn out to be significant or not, but I was able to turn up a bit of dirt on Taylor Whitcombe. It has nothing to do with Marta Cambridge, but it does at least point out that he’s capable of coloring outside the lines to advance his position. It seems that wh
ile in college, an enterprising Mr. Whitcombe ran a high-priced escort service with some of his classmates. Apparently he would sleep with young coeds and threaten to tell their ultra-wealthy parents about their indiscretion unless they agreed to ‘go on dates’ with his ‘friends’. Unbeknownst to the girls, Taylor would collect fees from the gentlemen beforehand, who then went into the date with an expectation of a return on their investment, to put it delicately.”
“That’s despicable!” Missy gasped, horrified.
“Indeed, but apparently he was pretty successful at it, earning thousands of dollars a semester until he got caught. One of the girls refused to let him hold her misbehavior over her head and told her parents about what she had done with Whitcombe and what he had demanded she do to keep it quiet. University authorities were brought in, and Whitcombe was politely asked to leave campus. A sizable donation from a wealthy uncle ensured that no charges were pressed against him, and his record was sealed.”
“So how did you find out about it?” Missy wondered, wide-eyed.
Chas smiled faintly, “It’s my job to know things.”
“So what did you find out about the security tapes, did you figure out who broke into my room last night?” she asked, munching her bagel.
“No. I found out what happened, and how the intruder managed to get in, but there was no way to even get an accurate description,” the detective admitted, frustrated.
“So how did he get in?”
Beckett sighed. He wasn’t going to show her the tape, but he would tell her about it and hope that she wouldn’t have nightmares as a result. “The housekeeper came by to check on your room after we left for dinner,” he began.
“Oh that’s right,” Missy remembered, “I had forgotten and left the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on my door all day yesterday.
“So she parked her cart outside your room, obscuring the cameras view of the door quite a bit. When she went into the room, leaving the cart in the hallway, a black gloved hand reached up from underneath it and intentionally spilled a bucket of cleansing solution in the hallway. The housekeeper came out and saw the mess and ran toward the utility closet that was on the other side of the building from your room. As soon as she was out of sight, whoever was hiding under the linen bags on the cart, slipped into your room, hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door and closed it. When the housekeeper came back with a bucket of water and a stack of towels to clean up the mess, she noticed the sign on the door, and, assuming that you had returned to your room, left immediately after mopping up the cleanser,” Chas explained, watching Missy carefully for a reaction.
“Wow…someone was really determined to get in there,” she remarked, frowning. “But why? What on earth could they have been looking for? It wasn’t a robbery; all of my jewelry is still here. What could I possibly have that would be worth the planning and risk of doing something like that?”
“It probably wasn’t that you have something that they wanted, it was that they thought you might have something. Did Marta provide you with any paperwork or a contract or anything?” Chas asked, considering all possibilities.
“No, nothing,” Missy shook her head. “And why would someone else be interested in a franchise agreement anyway?”
“From what I understand, Marta Cambridge was very selective about who she approached to join her as a franchise owner. Maybe someone was jealous that you were being offered a lucrative opportunity that they coveted,” he suggested, guessing.
“But who would even know that she offered me that?”
“Her assistant, ostensibly,” Beckett replied, eyebrows raised.
“Of course!” Missy exclaimed. “But why would he care?”
“That’s what I’m going to spend a good part of today trying to find out. I’ll be contacting franchise owners to see what the terms and conditions of their agreements are. It may be that Taylor was usually written into the agreement as an overseer of sorts and she wrote your contract without him in the picture, who knows? People do strange things for strange reasons. We may have figured out who…now we just need to figure out why, because until we do that, we have nothing to take to the police,” he concluded.
“So where do we start?” Missy asked, excited to finally be doing something constructive to clear her name.
“We start by finishing our breakfast, then you take a cab to the police station to meet with Detective Brasco, and I’ll check into the new hotel and text you the address. When you’re done with Brasco, just come back to the hotel, and hopefully I’ll have some news for you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Missy agreed, popping a piece of bagel into her mouth.
Chapter 11
“I’d like to speak with Detective Brasco, please,” Missy told the heavyset sergeant at the reception desk of the LVPD.
“He’s out. You wanna leave him a message?” the gruff-voiced man asked.
“Umm…no, I suppose I’ll just call…” Missy began, not knowing what to do.
“Gladstone?” she was interrupted by an abrasively nasal female voice. Much to her dismay, it was Detective Ramirez, Brasco’s surly partner. Missy wondered absently just what precisely it was about police work in Vegas that seemed to make everyone aside from Detective Brasco turn into a cranky and less than pleasant human being.
“Hello, Detective Ramirez,” she pasted on a smile. “Lovely to see you again, have a good day,” Missy turned, heading for the door.
“Not so fast,” Ramirez stopped her in her tracks. “What was it that you needed from Brasco?”
“Nothing,” Missy lied, anxious to get away from her. “I’ll just talk to him sometime soon,” she turned again to leave.
“Yeah, maybe sooner than you think, Gladstone,” she replied nastily. Missy didn’t bother turning around to acknowledge her remark. Stepping out into the fierce dry heat, she felt more than a bit wilted by her experience, but was eager enough to get away from the dark presence of Detective Ramirez, that she walked quickly a couple of streets over and hailed a cab. She checked into the new hotel and was pleased to discover that Chas Beckett’s room was right across the hall from hers. She knew she’d feel safer knowing that he was just steps away. She knocked on his door to retrieve her luggage and get settled in.
“Hey, how did it go with Brasco?” he asked when he opened the door.
“It didn’t.” Missy explained her encounter at the police station, and he advised her to call the number on Brasco’s card and leave a voicemail with the information.
Chas carried the luggage across the hall and left her to get settled into her room. He told her that he had several calls to make, and that she would be on her own for the day. At loose ends, Missy decided to wander down to the huge, brightly lit casino that encompassed the entire first three floors of the hotel. She’d never tried her hand at any of the games and for a while she just watched people playing, fascinated.
“I never pegged you for a gambling woman,” a familiar male voice teased beside her.
“Drew!” she exclaimed, surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“I got bored, so I’m checking out the casinos in all the major hotels. It’s pretty interesting, I’ve won over $200 so far this morning,” he grinned.
“Seriously? How on earth did you do that?” Missy marveled.
“Basically by doing what you’re doing, except rather than watching the card games, I watch people play the slot machines. When they’ve played for a while and give up because they’re not winning, I wait for them to leave and take over their machine. I’ll allow myself three plays, and if I haven’t won anything, I start over. When I win, I quit playing on that machine and move to another one that’s been vacated. It’s crazy, but it’s been working out pretty well,” he took out a roll of bills to illustrate his point.
“I want to try it,” Missy enthused.
“Check it out,” he said, directing her attention to an elderly woman who was vacating a quarter slot machine. “She hasn’t won since
we’ve been standing here, go give it a shot,” he started walking toward the machine.
Missy sat down, baffled by all of the buttons, flashing lights and numbers. She dug in her purse and realized that she had no cash. “Do you have a spare quarter?” she asked Drew, sheepishly.
“I’ll do better than that milady,” he took out a dollar bill with a flourish and fed it into the bill slot of the machine.
“Thanks! Now what do I do?”
“Just push a button that looks interesting to you and see what happens,” he advised, grinning.
Missy pushed a button somewhere near the middle and watched the colorful dials spinning madly. When all of them lined up with the same picture, she was startled by the bells ringing and flashing lights that exploded all around her. A number appeared on the screen and grew by the second as the bells jangled non-stop.
“This is good, right?” she asked Drew, laughing and a bit embarrassed by all the noise.
“Jackpot, baby! Way to go!” he high-fived her.
When at long last, the commotion coming from the machine stopped, a ticket was generated and she pulled it out of the slot to find that she had just won $3700.
“Wow, great system!” she exclaimed, hugging Drew.
“Yeah, that’s not really something you want to say in a casino,” he replied, keeping his voice down.
“Oh, oops, sorry,” she giggled, giddy at having won on her first try.
“This is your idea of keeping a low profile?” Chas suddenly appeared at her side.
“Oh geez, I didn’t even think of that,” Missy replied, chagrined.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked pleasantly, his hawk-like gaze assessing Andrew with practiced professionalism.
“Oh, I’m sorry, how clumsy of me. I’m just so thrown off because I won and it was excited with the lights and sounds…”
“That I heard across the casino,” Beckett teased her dryly.
“Right. Chas, this is Andrew. Andrew, Chas,” she introduced them and they shook hands, each seeming to size the other up.
