Panty Raid

by Diane Vallere

  The billionaire looked at Nick with gratitude. “That would be great, man. Thanks.”

  I felt like I was observing a poker game without cards. Everyone in the room appeared to have their own motivations, and none seemed to be in sync with the others. Chryssinda was noticeably disappointed that Marc had turned down her offer and accepted Nick’s, but I didn’t blame him. Even if something were going on between them—a suspicion I wanted to ignore but couldn’t shake—leaning too hard on the maid of honor of his recently deceased bride would have been in poor taste. And accepting Nick’s spontaneous offer was the smart move. Nick hadn’t known Marc was getting married. Catching up with a friend was as good a cover as any.

  But Nick’s motivation remained unclear. Was he being helpful? Or looking for information? Was he hoping to find out more about what had happened twenty years ago? Or was there something else I didn’t know?

  I pulled out my phone and checked the time. It was going on four. I slipped my phone back into my pocket, and when I looked up, Marc was watching me. “Come on, Chryssinda. Let’s give these two some space,” he said.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, I turned to Nick. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to like that guy or hate him. Help me out.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “That’s it? That’s your whole reaction? He showed up and acted like a broken-hearted victim, and then a lingerie model—who just happened to be the maid of honor—shows up unexpectedly to console him. That wasn’t weird to you?”

  “Kidd—”

  “Wait. How did she know we were here? The concierge told her? Hotels don’t do that. The concierge knows we know Marc and he wouldn’t tell me his room. It’s against policy.”

  “Kidd—”

  “Nick, I’m telling you, this is not good. And you’re in the danger zone. Right now you’re his alibi. You barely remember what you did last night. If Marc is responsible, then you’re culpable. And if he didn’t do anything, then whoever did something is watching you to see what you’re going to do.”

  “Kidd—”

  “What if Lydia’s death had something to do with the casino? I saw the Martin Scorsese movie. I don’t want to end up in a grave in the desert, Nick.”

  “Samantha!”

  I stopped talking and looked up. Nick took my face in his hands and kissed me. It wasn’t a start-your-engine kiss, but it wasn’t an innocent kiss either. It may have been a shut-up kiss. Those were the ones I tended to miscategorize.

  I put my hands on his chest and gently pushed him away to make sure he knew a shut-up kiss wasn’t a good lead for other bedroom activities. He rested his forehead against mine and took a couple of shallow breaths.

  “I don’t think you should get involved in this,” he said.

  “Aren’t you tired of saying that?”

  “I’m serious.”

  I forced my face into a pout. “You’re always serious. And you know what? I used to believe it when you said you didn’t want me to get involved, but not anymore. You’re a big, fat hypocrite, Nick.”

  “Excuse me?” He stood up straight, but the look of incredulity on his face told me he was more surprised than angry.

  “Let’s cut to the chase. When the mafia got mixed up in your business, you told me to stay out of it. I thought you were staying out of it too, but we both got involved and we both almost got killed. Have you learned nothing?”

  “Have you?”

  “I learned two heads are better than one.”

  “You learned that from Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”

  “No, that’s where I learned to be excellent to each other. And that strange things are afoot at the Circle K. And that Genghis Khan had anger management issues—”

  “Kidd.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose. “You make an interesting point.”

  “Okay. We’re on the same page? You agree with me about this?”

  “Considering everything we’ve heard so far, yes, I do think we might accomplish more if we work together.”

  This was a major relationship breakthrough! “Okay, good. We don’t have a lot of time. What should we do first?”

  “Well, we’re finally alone, and we’re engaged, and this is the last free night we have before you start working…are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Maybe that was a start-your-engine kiss? “We’ll have time for that later. Right now we need to do what?”

  Nick had a funny smile on his face. “We need to go to the casino wedding chapel and make plans to get married.”

  12

  “Whoa,” I said (still channeling Bill & Ted). “I mean, is that what you want? To get married spontaneously in Las Vegas? While we’re on a work trip? In the wake of a suicide that maybe wasn’t a suicide and has suspicious similarities to the death of a woman who was romantically linked to the very same man?”

  “When you put it like that…” Nick’s voice trailed off. He cupped my chin and looked at me. “Marc and Lydia were supposed to get married today. They had The Left Bank chapel reserved. It seems like maybe we should go to the chapel ourselves and see if we can find the person who officiated their wedding. Maybe ask him or her a couple of questions. Together.”

  I blinked a couple of times. “That’s not bad,” I said. “Did you just come up with that?”

  “No.” He let go of my chin. “I got the idea earlier today. I’d be there right now except Marc showed up, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to tell him where I wanted to go.”

  “Do you think the same chaplain who performed their ceremony is there? If not, maybe we can somehow find the couple he paid off. That could establish a timeline, people who saw Lydia alive, her state of mind—” I headed toward the door.

  Nick caught me by the arm and spun me around. “You do remember our cover story, right?”

  I put my hands on both sides of his face and forced him to stare directly at me. “You just encouraged me to use our engagement as a cover story.” I kissed him. “You’re such a romantic.”

  The Left Bank’s wedding chapel was on the Mezzanine. We took a few wrong turns on our way to find it, but when we arrived, it was impossible to ignore where we were and what we could do if we wanted. Large urns of lilies filled the vestibule. Wreaths with banners that said “Congratulations!” and “Happily Ever After!” stood on easels by elaborately-carved wooden doors. A row of matching bouquets sat, ready for use, on a narrow bench along the far wall.

  I wasn’t yet ready to examine my knee-jerk reaction when Nick suggested this course of action. I said yes to his proposal of marriage because I knew I wanted a future with him, but I still wasn’t sure how to handle the whole wedding thing.

  Should I invite my family to come back to Pennsylvania from California, where they’d moved when they abandoned (listed) the house where I now lived? Convince my sister to come home too? What about friends? Neighbors? Murder suspects who’d turned out to be innocent? I mean honestly, where does one draw the line when it comes to planning the guest list?

  A Las Vegas wedding chapel presented an easy answer to those complicated questions.

  But was I a Vegas wedding sort of woman? I’d never thought about it. And here I was, in the lobby of the wedding chapel. Where a woman, dressed in a floral dress and a matching flower pot hat, who introduced herself as Irene, just told Nick she could expedite our marriage license if we upgraded to the Gold package and for an extra hundred dollars get Elvis to stand in as a witness.

  See? They don’t make these decisions easy.

  Even if the stars aligned and they waived the Elvis fee, I knew I couldn’t do it for two reasons that I would think about later:

  A) I wasn’t dressed appropriately, and

  B) It didn’t feel right.

  “What do you think, honey?” Nick asked, with his arm around my waist.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “The last place we looked had those nice flower package
s, and the one before that offered complimentary champagne and a discount on the honeymoon suite. It’s a difficult choice.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t offer discounts,” Irene said, “but we can see if Ann-Margret is available to be your flower girl. Would that make a difference?”

  This woman played hardball. “It might, but what I’d really love is some guidance.” I took a deep breath, looked her straight in the eye, and asked, “Would it be possible for us to speak to the chaplain?”

  Turns out, it was. Irene asked us to sit outside the chapel while Chaplain Rick finished his current ceremony.

  “What do you think?” Nick whispered.

  “I don’t know if I’m a Vegas Wedding person.”

  “Neither do I. What I meant was, now that we’re here, do you have any ideas about how to get information?”

  “Aside from the meet-with-the-chaplain plan? Because that was good. You didn’t think of that.”

  He grinned. “Proud of that, aren’t you? Do you know what you’re going to ask when he comes out?”

  “You wanted to be a team. Do you expect me to do all the work?”

  Nick slowly unbuttoned his jacket and held the left side open. The guestbook was nestled into the waistband of his trousers. “Is that—” I started.

  “—Shhh.”

  “When did you—”

  “—Shhh.” He rebuttoned his jacket. “I’m going to look at it in the restroom. If Chaplain Rick comes out, start without me.” He walked (awkwardly) to the door marked Men and left me alone in the vestibule.

  The doors to the chapel opened and a post-middle-aged couple came out. The woman had her hand tucked under the crook of the man’s arm, and they smiled at each other in a way that could only be defined as pure happiness.

  “Congratulations,” I called out to them.

  A solemn man in a dove gray suit came out next. Irene introduced us. “Chaplain Rick, this nice young lady and her gentleman friend are considering getting married here and they have a few questions for you.” She looked around. “Your man is still here, isn’t he?”

  “He went to the restroom,” I said. “He’ll be back in a moment.”

  Irene said something to the chaplain in a low voice, and they both looked at me. “Would you like to wait for him or get started?” Irene asked.

  “We can start without him,” I said. I followed Chaplain Rick into the chapel and sat next to him in a wooden pew.

  “I understand you have questions about our ceremonies,” he said. “I can assure you that I take my responsibilities here very seriously. To me, this is a job where I have the privilege of joining two people in holy matrimony. I witness the love they share. It’s not often a job can bring you daily joy, and that makes me a lucky man.”

  “It sounds like you enjoy your work,” I said. “I guess you see all kinds of couples. People renewing their vows, people who’ve dreamed of coming here to get married, and maybe even people who had a good night in the casino and get a little carried away?”

  The chaplain was noticeably offended by the thought. He sat a little straighter and focused his bright blue eyes on me in a way that suggested I was out of line. Just when I thought he was about to propose ten Hail Marys, he asked, “What are you implying?”

  “Nothing! I’m sure everybody who comes in here truly believes their marriage is going to work.”

  I hadn’t intended to insult the chaplain, but it seemed he did only see the best in each couple’s intentions. In a way, it was sweet. But sweet wasn’t going to tell me anything about Lydia and Marc, and while I was super proud of Nick for lifting the chapel guestbook, I was also slightly competitive, and this being the first time we’d collaborated on an investigation (my words), I had a rep to protect. In short, it was time for me to bring home the bacon.

  “My fiancé’s friend, Marc Rico, recommended the chapel to us. He said he was here last night and you conducted the ceremony. Do you remember?”

  Chaplain Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I remember.”

  “Then they were here? Lydia and Marc?” I held my breath. It seemed the chaplain could back up Marc’s story.

  The chaplain appeared noticeably disturbed. “I have a sixth sense about these things, and that union was troubled from the start.”

  13

  The words left me shaken. So far, what I knew was this: Marc claimed to have paid off a couple so he could take their spot and marry Lydia last night. The night before the two of them were scheduled to be wed. Lydia was now dead. But according to Chaplain Rick, the ceremony hadn’t been a joyous occasion. I felt like I was at the Blackjack table with an ace and a king and the dealer told me I had a losing hand. Something wasn’t adding up.

  “Can you tell me anything else you remember about last night?”

  Chaplain Rick hooked his finger under his white collar, pulled it away from his neck, and swallowed. He turned his head away from the ornate floral display behind him and coughed, and then picked up a bottle of water and swallowed a gulp. “Forgive my earlier indiscretion,” he said. “A wedding is between a man and a woman, or in some cases a man and a man or a woman and a woman. My role is not to judge but to make the vows official. I’ve seen couples come through those doors with all different sorts of motivation. I do my best to find what I believe to be each couple’s truth and that’s what I speak to.”

  After getting a nugget of information from the chaplain, I couldn’t help thinking he was holding out on me now.

  “From what Marc told me— Marc’s a friend, did I mention that? —he was supposed to get married today but he and his bride were so eager, they couldn’t wait. He said he paid off another couple who was here. Do you remember anything about them? The couple who originally had the chapel last night?”

  Chaplain Rick smiled and patted my hand. “I get the feeling you have something else in mind with the questions you’re asking and the answers you seek.”

  Busted again.

  Before I could get out a denial or come up with a plausible cover story, he continued. “Marc seems like an attentive young man, and I’m sure it’s hard to watch someone you care about become betrothed to another. The right man is out there.” He smiled sweetly. “Trust that there is a master plan for you, Samantha.”

  “I don’t—I mean, Marc and I—I mean—my fiancé is outside. He’s—he’s in the restroom.”

  “Oh?”

  “Kidd?”

  I whipped my head around. Nick entered the chapel and approached us. Seeing my alarmed face, he put his hands on my shoulders. I put my hand on top of his and squeezed and smiled at Chaplain Rick.

  “This is him.”

  The chaplain looked back and forth between our faces as if looking for any indications we were lying. I put my left hand—the one with my engagement ring—on top of my right hand on top of Nick’s hand. A small cramp seized up on my right side from the unnatural twist of my torso, but the pain seemed necessary.

  “Are you feeling better, honey?” I asked Nick.

  Nick looked confused. “Um, sure.”

  I turned back to the chaplain. “Nervous stomach,” I said.

  Nick’s arm tensed. I looked back at his face and saw a forced smile.

  The chaplain’s smile returned. “It happens. Trust me when I say true love does not have to be rushed. If it’s meant to be, young man, you’ll get over your nerves and be ready to say ‘I do’ in no time.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Chaplain,” Nick said. “There is something about this one that makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

  “Well, if the feelings persist, you can always take Kaopectate.”

  Our trip to chapel had been worthwhile. The chatty chaplain had confirmed that the circumstances of Marc and Lydia’s spontaneous wedding weren’t as idyllic as he’d like us to think. I couldn’t wait to tell Nick, but even more so, I was eager to learn what he’d discovered from the wedding guestbook. When we stood up to le
ave, I wrapped my arm around his waist. He stiffened and stepped away.

  Irene noticed and called me to her. “Don’t force things, honey. He’ll come around.”

  “Thank you for your advice,” I said and followed Nick out.

  Being guests of a casino hotel meant a certain amount of white noise surrounded us at all times. When we’d first walked through, buzzers, bells, laughter, and cheers had assaulted my hearing. We’d been here for twenty-four hours, and already the sounds were fading into the background as part of the experience of Las Vegas, like taxi cab horns in New York and wind in Chicago.

  Nick walked ahead of me, and any conversation we were going to have was squelched for now. I was surprised he could move that fast with a guestbook tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Nick had hidden talents.

  We went down the stairs from the Mezzanine to the main floor and passed the giant slot machine by the entrance of the casino floor and the boulangerie that opened onto the lobby. My stomach growled. It seemed like forever since we ate and I wasn’t exactly the type to skip a meal. When Nick jabbed the Up button by the elevator, it occurred to me that the reason he was walking so fast maybe had nothing to do with the guestbook in his waistband.

  “Are you annoyed with me?” I asked.

  “Should I be?”

  “I don’t know. Did you find something out in the guestbook?”

  “Forget the guestbook. It was a bad idea.”

  “Why? Oh. You feel guilty.”

  “I don’t feel guilty. I just don’t want to talk about it here.”

  “But it was your idea, Nick.”

  “Not now, Kidd.”

  He didn’t say anything until we reached our room. I was boiling hot by that point and pretty sure we’d be sleeping in separate beds again.

  “This isn’t fair, Nick. That whole thing was your idea. You brought it up to me. We’re supposed to be spending time together, so if that’s what you wanted to do then I’ll do it, but you don’t get to flip flop on whether or not we should ask questions about what happened. Tomorrow morning, I have to go to the lingerie show. I’ll be at Flush until five o’clock, and I can’t sleuth from a room filled with lingerie models.”