by AR Winters
“So you wouldn’t mind if I told Jeff?”
Katrina looked at me in silence for a second. “Why would you do that?”
“If you don’t care, why are you hiding it from Jeff?”
She threw her head back slightly. “Urgh! Do you really not have any secrets? At all? I’m just trying to make sure Jeff and I are ok; he might still propose! But he wouldn’t think about marrying me if I kept blabbing everything about my life to him.” My thoughts flashed over to Snowflake, and I could see that she was thinking of the kitten, too. “I’m not completely heartless,” said Katrina softly. “I knew someone would adopt the kitten.”
There it was. The real reason I’d suspected Katrina of being a nefarious murderer.
“She would’ve been taken to the pound and put down.”
“No, she wouldn’t. I left her on the Strip because I knew someone local would leave their shift and take the kitten home. And I took her back, didn’t I?”
I leaned back and folded my arms. “So where is she now?”
“I don’t know! I came home and she wasn’t here, and Jeff and I were both really upset. I hope she’s ok. I’m sure she’s ok.”
Katrina looked like she really meant it. And since I didn’t want her to discover that I had actually stolen Snowflake back, I changed the topic. “So you’re really going to tell Jeff you were Wynona Myer? Because I do need to talk to him again.”
“I’ll tell him tonight,” Katrina said. “Please don’t talk to him before then?”
I nodded. “Ok. As long as you tell him tonight.”
“I promise. Is that all you wanted to chat about? Me changing my name and my hair?”
“I guess so.” When she put it like that, the whole thing sounded silly, but I had to follow up on every lead. “I suppose I should get going, before I’m late to my shift at the Treasury again.”
I was heading out of the building, when I ran into Jacinta in the lobby. She was carrying two bags of groceries and stopped when she saw me. “You don’t have to follow me,” she said.
“I’m not following you, I came to chat with Katrina.”
“Oh? And what about the strange man who’s been following me around all day?”
I frowned. “What strange man?”
“Short, balding, wears a Hawaiian shirt?”
“That’s half the tourists in Vegas.”
“Stop acting cute, that’s your partner wearing a wig, following me around.”
I shook my head. “Ian’s spending the day with his parents. You must be imagining this.”
“No, I know that’s what spies like you people do. Following me around.”
“I told you, we’re not following you.”
“Yeah, but you followed me that night to the Peacock Club, right? Now I keep thinking someone’s behind me.”
“I never followed you,” I said. “Katrina told me you’re a dealer, and that I’d find you at the Peacock. Nobody’s following you.”
“Hmm.” She looked at me doubtfully. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just imagining being followed.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
My shift passed with what felt like agonizing slowness.
Normally, the brightness of the casino lights and the happy sound-effects imbued a kind of forced cheerfulness into me. But not today. Today was one of those days: days when I wondered what I’d done to deserve this awful job.
Every single person who played at one of my tables seemed ridiculously inebriated. I felt like a teetotaler at a bachelor party – which, in some ways, I was. All around me, tourists smelled of cheap booze, late nights, and not enough showers. Three of my games degenerated into fist-fights, two of which involved middle-aged women clawing at each other’s faces and yelling obscenities.
As if that weren’t enough, the floor manager called me into his office during my break and told me that they’d soon be introducing weight controls for the dealers. The cocktail waitresses already needed to stay below a certain weight level in order to keep their jobs, but the weight controls for dealers would be new.
I was shocked, and my face must have revealed it, because the manager immediately told me it would be at least a month or two before measures were introduced. But I was still shaky for the rest of my shift; in order to stay below the typical weight controls casinos had for their staff, I’d need to lose dozens of pounds. Pronto. Just the thought of having to give up desserts was making me crave more cupcakes.
I left my shift at around four a.m. in a daze of cupcake-cravings, and as I wandered down the dark alley behind the Cosmo Hotel, apparitions of chocolate mousse and creamy pastas floated before my eyes. Giving them up would be torture, but I would need to lose ten, maybe twenty pounds in the next two months. I’d have to turn into a salad-nibbler and spin-class addict.
Visions of months of eating only salads was making me so miserable, I almost didn’t hear the voice behind me. “Hey, Tiffany,” it said.
I turned around. “Oh, hey, Katrina.” She was standing behind me, dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight pony-tail that revealed her raw, red skin. “I thought you couldn’t go outside because of your peel?”
“Only if it’s sunny. But now it’s dark, and no-one can see me.” I began to walk towards her, but then she reached behind herself and pulled out a gun. It was small and metallic, with a silencer fitted onto the end. “Don’t move,” she said.
“What’s going on?” As I stared into the barrel of the gun, I felt myself pulled out of the daze. Katrina meant business. “Does this mean you killed Max?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Katrina shook her head. “I’m not going to waste time chatting away like a dumb super-villain. I’m killing you and moving on.”
Her left hand moved up to steady the side of her gun, and I saw my life flash before me. This alley was where I’d first met Jack. Why did we break up? Stone had warned me not to take this route, but walking down the next street would’ve meant it took ten minutes longer to get home. Mrs. Weebly had been mugged here. And now I’d die here.
Footsteps came from behind Katrina, running towards us, and then a voice yelled, “Don’t shoot!”
Katrina spun around, and I used that chance to jump forward. I landed on her back and sent her falling forward. I half-rose, pinned her down with one knee, and wrenched the gun from her hands.
I stood up and pointed the gun down at Katrina. “Don’t move,” I said.
My heart pumped a thousand beats a minute. I could feel the blood rushing to my head, and adrenaline surged through my veins.
I looked up, and into Jacinta’s chocolate-brown eyes.
She wasn’t armed, but I pointed the gun up at her, just to be on the safe side.
Immediately, she moved her hands above her head. “Whoa! I’m not here to – I’m the one who saved you.”
I didn’t trust her. “Why are you here?”
“Your partner following me around gave me an idea.”
“Ian didn’t—” I stopped mid-sentence, deciding not to correct Jacinta. It wasn’t important.
Jacinta went on, “After you told me that Katrina ratted me out, I was so mad at her I decided to follow her. I told George at reception to let me know when she was leaving. He even stopped her about some parcel so that I could get downstairs in time.”
“So you just followed Katrina all night?”
“Not all night. She left at midnight and then hung around the Treasury. I followed her from there.”
I looked down at Katrina. “Why were you at the Treasury?”
“I wanted to get you after your shift, before you called Jeff.”
“I wasn’t going to call Jeff.”
“Maybe not tonight. But you’d tell people about me, and that couldn’t happen.”
“I thought you didn’t care if people knew.”
“Of course I care! I didn’t get anything from my first husband. And there’s a rumor that I –
Wynona – killed him. Once guys hear that, they lose interest straight away.”
Jacinta snorted. “Why can’t you get a job, like the rest of us?”
Even though she was lying face-down on the ground, I could sense that Katrina was rolling her eyes. “Jobs are for suckers. Smart women use their looks and charm. Their husbands work.”
“Wow,” said Jacinta. “And I thought I was being desperate for money.”
“Call nine-one-one,” I said to Jacinta. “We need the cops here. Now.” I turned to Katrina again. “So you killed Max because he found out about you?”
“Not just that, he wouldn’t shut up about it. I offered to pay him off, but he wouldn’t take my money. And then Jeff got suspicious and they had a fight, and I decided that was it. I need to look out for my future. And it’s easy, if you’ve done it before.”
“So you did kill your first husband?”
Katrina fell silent, as though she just realized she’d said too much.
“So did you kill him?” asked Jacinta.
“I don’t have to talk to you. I don’t have to talk to anyone. As soon as the cops get here, I’m getting a lawyer and I’m charging you with assault.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After she was arrested, Katrina did try to charge me with assault, but that didn’t go too far. Mostly because the very next day, her prints were found on one of the banknotes that had been in Max’s desk drawer, and ballistics matched her handgun with the weapon that had killed Max.
Katrina refused to talk about the death of her first husband, and as far as Elwood would tell me, she was cagey about the details of Max’s death. But the trial would be starting in two months’ time, and meanwhile, a grateful Margo Langton wired me the rest of my fees for the case.
“I kind of saved your life,” Ian told me. It had been four days since Katrina had been arrested, and Ian had managed to remind me of this every day since. “If I hadn’t lied to you about spending the day with my parents when I was following Jacinta around, she wouldn’t have been there to distract Katrina.”
“Ok, ok,” I said, “You’ve made your point. Now, shh – Nanna’s coming in.”
We were standing in the ceremony room of a small Vegas chapel. Plastic flower wreaths decorated the walls, and the ordaining minister wore a pirate costume. The place smelled thickly of women’s perfume and regret, but I knew we’d always remember this day as being special.
The chapel doors opened and Nanna entered, wearing a long, white gown. Her white hair looked fluffier and whiter than usual and her soft blue eyes glowed with happiness. I could feel a lump building in my throat, and I glanced at my parents, who were standing opposite. My dad looked stoic, and my mother dabbed at the corner of her eye with a tissue.
Two nights ago, we’d just finished having a big family dinner with Wes, Glenn and Karma, when Nanna had excused herself. When she came back five minutes later, she was wearing a big glittering diamond ring, and announced that Wes had asked her to marry her – and she’d said yes.
We looked all gasped and looked flabbergasted; Nanna showed us the ring that she’d been hiding in her bedroom for the last few hours, and said, “Have you ever seen such a gorgeous thing?”
We cooed over the antique diamond ring that Wes had found and congratulated the happy couple. I glanced at my parents after admiring the ring – they looked as conflicted as I felt.
Later that night, when it was just my parents and I lingering over decaf and carrot cake, we quizzed Nanna on her decision. She was adamant, claiming she was in love and ready to settle down again.
“I’ve had a lot of fun here,” she said. “But if I live another thirty years, I should grow up. Even if it’s only another five more years, I’d like to be married to Wes and living happily ever after.”
“So you’ll all live here?” my mom said.
Nanna shook her head. “No, Wes owns a condo in Indiana so we’ll move out there. His family’s all out there. I’m ready for a change.”
“So you’re leaving us?” I said.
“I’ll come visit,” said Nanna. But I knew it wouldn’t be the same.
None of us wanted her to leave. But we all wanted her to be happy.
So here we all were, enjoying her Vegas wedding.
The bridal waltz began, and Nanna began to walk forward slowly, leaning on the arm of an Elvis impersonator. Within a few seconds, a techno beat began, transforming the waltz into house music. I looked at Ian, who shrugged and whispered, “She told me she wanted it to be funky, so I found this tune.”
I nodded and looked at Wes, in his tux, standing next to the pirate-minister. He watched Nanna with a look of patient happiness.
When Nanna stepped onto the small stage the music stopped, and Nanna and Wes looked at each other and smiled.
They’d prepared their own vows, which were short and sweet and made me tear up. Ian sniffed into his tissue next to me. When the rings were on their fingers, and they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, we all cheered. It wasn’t how I’d envisioned Nanna’s life turning out, but I was glad she’d found love.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I’d taken the day off to celebrate Nanna’s wedding. After the chapel, we went back to my parents’ house. I decided to start dieting next week and ate too much wedding cake. Nanna’s friends were all there, and considering that most of the partiers were eight-something-year-olds with all kinds of medical conditions, the party got pretty rowdy.
Glenn and Karma left at seven-thirty, and Ian and I headed home an hour later. I’ll admit, I had all kinds of romantic visions in my head as I walked towards my apartment door. Plus visions of the delicious triple-layer chocolate cake I’d have at my wedding. I’d make sure to have a brunch reception, just so that we could serve waffles and ice cream.
I was unlocking my door, thinking about marriages and vows, when Mrs. Weebly accosted me.
“I need to come inside, dear,” she said, pushing the door open and walking in before me. “You and I need to talk.”
Her voice was higher-pitched than usual, and that her hands were shaking. I guessed that maybe someone new in the building had been rude to her.
“I thought you were ok with Ian having a kitten,” I joked, and then immediately wished I hadn’t said that. What if Mrs. Weebly had changed her mind about Snowflake?
“It’s not about kittens,” Mrs. Weebly snapped, sitting down on my couch and looking at me, her eyes bright with anxiety.
I dropped my bag on the floor, sat down opposite and smiled, hoping I looked reassuring. “How can I help?”
“I don’t know. These two men came looking for you.”
The smile slid off my face. “What do you mean, looking for me? What men?”
Mrs. Weebly shook her head. “They were just here, knocking and asking for you. Well, they knocked, and then, when you weren’t home, they knocked on my door and asked if you didn’t live here. They weren’t very nice.”
I took a deep breath. Just because Mrs. Weebly didn’t think these men were very nice, didn’t mean they were bad people. Mrs. Weebly thought most people weren’t very nice. But just to be clear, I asked again. “What men?”
Mrs. Weebly shook her head. “I heard them knocking, so I looked out my fish-eye. There were two of them, in black suits. And then when you didn’t answer, they knocked on my door.”
“What did they say?”
“Well, first they asked me if a Tiffany Black lived next door. I said yes, since you do live here. And then they asked me if I knew a Jonathon Stone. They showed me his photo and everything.”
I felt a shiver run down the back of my neck. This didn’t sound good. Perhaps Mrs. Weebly was right; perhaps these men weren’t very nice after all. “What did they want with Stone?”
Mrs. Weebly pursed her lips. “They said they were from the CIA and they were looking for him. They didn’t seem very friendly. So I told them I didn’t know Stone.”
I nodded, feeling a rush of relief.
“Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do after he stopped that man from mugging me. Now, Stone. He’s a nice young man. There should be more people like him, not like those rude men in suits.”
There was a loud, insistent knock, and Mrs. Weebly and I both looked up at the door.
“That’s them,” said Mrs. Weebly in a hoarse whisper. “They must’ve been waiting for you.” She shuffled over towards the bedroom. “I’m going to wait in here. I don’t want to talk to those men again, I don’t care how many sex toys you’ve got lying around.”
There was another loud knock, and Mrs. Weebly closed the bedroom door behind herself. I waited a few seconds and then opened the front door.
There were two men facing me. One was tall, bulky and broad shouldered. His skin was tanned, and he had the look of someone who spent a lot of time in the gym. His eyes were dark brown and his hair a dirty blond. His partner and he wore identical, cheap-looking black suits. Nobody in Vegas wore a suit, let alone a cheap black one. Unlike Blondie, the other man was short and looked like he never walked anywhere, let alone to the gym. He was bald, clean-shaven, and had watery grey eyes. Neither of them looked happy to see me.
“You’re Tiffany Black?” said Mr. Bald.
“I am.” I guessed that Mr. Bald was probably in his early forties, and Blondie in his late thirties. I couldn’t see a wedding ring on either of their fingers – I doubted anyone thought they were nice enough to get married to.
“We’re looking for Jonathon Stone.” Mr. Bald pulled out a photo of Stone and showed me. The photo showed Stone getting into his car. It looked fairly recent. “We’re from the CIA,” he added.
“I didn’t think the CIA made its employees wear such nice suits,” I joked nervously.
The two men shared a glance, and then Mr. Bald pulled out a shiny golden badge. “You sounded skeptical.”
CIA badges were a dime a dozen on eBay, but I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “Why are you looking for Stone?”
