by G. K. Parks
“Doesn’t that strike you as strange? Bisset worked for a competitor,” I said. “Why would Strader want to help further the sous chef’s cooking skills?”
“Strader was grooming Bisset for a position at Bouillon. With Kasey pregnant, he’d need to find a replacement when she went out on maternity leave,” Voletek replied.
“Kasey’s pregnant?”
“Yes, it turns out it’s the dishwasher’s baby. She’s five months along. She told Strader about it right around the same time Sizzle burned down.”
“It points to motive.”
“I think so,” Voletek agreed. “Though Strader hasn’t stated it directly, I believe he was helping Bisset hone his skills in the areas where Easton falls short in exchange for a quid pro quo.”
“Like a copy of the kitchen key or burning down Sizzle?”
Voletek didn’t answer.
“What about the front door? Was the lock tampered with?”
“Listen, Alex,” his voice was soft, “you know I can’t discuss an open investigation. These details are sensitive and crucial to proving my case. I doubt O’Connell or any other cop lays his cards on the table whenever you ask. No matter how nicely you ask.”
“Sure, they do. That’s why I’m one of the most sought after police consultants in the city. They know they can trust me.”
Voletek politely stifled a laugh. “Unfortunately, Chef Easton hired you, not the department. I’ve told you what I can in the hopes you’d have some additional light to shed, but I can’t give you more than that. I am sorry.”
Hanging up, I wondered if Voletek clued in Renner. They were buddies, and Renner had been a cop. Voletek might not have the same qualms reading in a former brother-in-blue.
However, after speaking to Renner, I realized my colleague hadn’t even bothered to ask. He was enthralled in Mr. Zedula’s case and had picked up another two investigations in Lucien’s absence. He didn’t have time to worry about a closed case now that we proved the fire was intentional and the police were confident they’d find the perpetrator. Chef Easton paid us for our time and extended his thanks. Cases didn’t get more closed than that, but I didn’t care. I wanted to know who set the fire.
“Send me everything Cross Security has and tell the techs to send anything new they receive directly to me. Lucien said it was my case, so that makes it my problem. Have we gotten anything else from Mr. Haskell? The last time we spoke he told me he planned to approach Lucien about opening a new investigation.”
“Look at you. Don’t deny it, Parker. You’re good for business.”
“Yeah, yeah, good for me.” I hung up and blew into my closed fist. I glanced around the hotel room. It was a little after ten a.m. I had the rest of the day ahead of me, and I was getting itchy.
Dilbert Haskell said there had been other similar fires, so I dug deeper. I called Lt. Payne and told him about Haskell’s suspicions, though I kept Dil’s name out of it. Swamped with cases, Payne didn’t want to hear the fire at Sizzle was part of a pattern. From a legal standpoint, he was reluctant to say he’d been wrong and the fire had been intentional. He’d change his tune when and if the police had a solid case. Right now, he stuck to his story. Lard was a common kitchen ingredient that found its way inside the vent.
“Cooking oils and fats when heated splatter, and since they aren’t particularly dense, water molecules and steam can carry particles through the air. If the vent was open and sucking in air, as the steam cooled, the fat and oil were deposited, leaving a coating that built up over time,” Payne explained. “We’ve seen other fires in commercial and residential kitchens when fans and vents aren’t cleaned.”
“Aren’t those usually in hoods?” I asked.
Payne didn’t answer my question. Instead, he said, “Grease build-up isn’t an abnormal contributing factor to kitchen fires. Though it’s something that should be checked and cleaned monthly.”
“All right. What about the dining room? The wood around the walls burned oddly. Could it have anything to do with the various layers of paint, paste, and décor?”
“Anything’s possible. In my twenty years, I’ve seen some of the damnedest things start a fire, even a horse.”
“A horse?”
“Don’t ask. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Realizing Payne wouldn’t be much help, I thanked him for his time and hung up. Since the fire department didn’t keep records the way I hoped, I’d have to do my own research.
I spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon researching Sizzle’s previous owners. Cross Security pulled city records and building permits, and we scoured the intel for any structural changes that might have occurred. In the 1990s, the dining room was expanded, a wall was knocked down, and the bathrooms were moved to their current location. No other major changes occurred until Easton tore down the exterior wall and rebuilt it.
It was harder to get access to cosmetic renovations. I reached out to the ten previous owners, getting into contact with four of them. Only two still had receipts from their business expenses.
After wasting several hours, I knew this was a dead end. It’d be impossible to figure out what type of paint, primer, and wallpaper had been on the walls. Realization hit me hard. It didn’t matter. The items on the walls didn’t cause the fire. Someone did. I just didn’t know if the person who set the fire wanted to permanently shut down Sizzle, or if he just wanted to scare Easton Lango. That’s why I had been so gung-ho to analyze the contributing factors. But since I didn’t know why the fire burned so long and hot, our suspects probably didn’t know either, unless the sealant was the cause and the arsonist put it there or knew it was there before proceeding with his plan.
That was the reason I’d been chasing this down. I wanted proof the sealant wasn’t part of the plan to spread the fire, but I couldn’t figure it out either way. I phoned Haskell’s office and asked for the chemical breakdown and reports. They couldn’t match the composition of the substance to any product on the market.
“What does that mean?” I asked the chemist.
“It could be proprietary.” Which is why I looked into construction crews and why Haskell thought they might be responsible. “Or it’s something a firebug concocted to feed the fire.”
Those words sent a chill through me. After several more calls to Cross Security and the PD to check into our questionable chefs’ computer files for details on the sealant, I called it quits. I did all I could, and I didn’t know what else to do. I had to have faith Detective Voletek would handle this.
Between Dante Bisset and Galen Strader, there was plenty of means, motive, and opportunity to go around. I just wished I knew who was responsible. My gut said Strader pulled the strings and Bisset danced for Strader’s cash and empty promises. Even my client, Easton, considered the matter closed. So I needed to let it go. This was my vacation. I should be doing something fun and touristy instead of staying up nights and spending my days researching a police matter and driving myself crazy.
On a whim, I filled the hot tub and settled in for a soak. After a few glasses of wine, I got out and dried off. The good thing about Vegas – day-drinking was encouraged. And since it was three in the afternoon, I really didn’t have any other excuse. Properly sloshed and exhausted, I flopped onto the bed and resumed my new favorite pastime, watching cartoons and napping.
The door to the suite opened, and I lifted an eyelid. My head hurt from dehydration. I reached for a bottle of water and took a few sips. Based on the position of the sun, it was still early. Maybe four or five.
“Tell me you’re watching porn,” Martin said.
“No.”
“Then that better be the gambling tutorials which play nonstop on the hotel screen.”
“Nope.”
He took off his watch and tie and hung his jacket in the closet. “A pay-per-view movie?” He picked up the stack of poker chips from where they sat on the dresser and counted them, but they hadn’t been touched. “Or
a premium channel?”
“You can look, but I didn’t see anything worth watching.” I dropped my head back to the pillow and closed my eyes. He kicked off his shoes, tugged his belt free, and climbed onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the nape of my neck.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”
“It’s okay. I’ve found other things to occupy my time.”
“Like what? Male escorts?”
“Hot tub and wine. Though, now that you mention it, I did order a handsome, six foot stud with striking green eyes. Did you see him in the hallway? He might have gotten lost.” I turned to face him. “Oh, wait. He’s here.”
Martin grinned, pleased with the compliment. “Have you even left the room since we arrived?”
“Why would I? It has everything I need, and the bellhops are friendly.”
“You should go out. I hear the pool’s amazing.”
“We have our own pool on the balcony.” Though I hadn’t used that one either.
“The one downstairs is huge. It looks like an oasis. There’s a nearby shopping mall and a garden.” He reconsidered. “Never mind. You hate shopping and flowers.”
“I love shopping. I hate bills. And I don’t hate flowers. They hate me. Well, pollen hates me, but the damn flowers think they’re funny carrying around all that pollen. They mock me, Martin. They mock me.”
He reached for the empty bottle. “How much wine did you drink?”
“Not enough. You’re killing my buzz.”
He squeezed me tighter. A few minutes later, he laughed. “I used to watch this all the time as a kid. I love this show.”
“See, cartoons are awesome.”
He glanced around the room again. “Normally, only stoners say that. You know recreational pot is legal here. Should I be concerned with what the room charges will show?”
“I’m not high. I’m just tired and a little hungover.” I reached for the water and finished the bottle before closing my eyes.
“Me too,” he mumbled.
When I opened my eyes again, it was dark. I turned off the TV, which now showed infomercials. Martin remained asleep beside me, partially dressed in his business attire. He looked peaceful. He hadn’t had any severe sleep disturbances since we arrived. He was probably too busy to think about anything except acquisitions, mergers, and expanding product lines. I couldn’t recall his itinerary, but since he hadn’t moved in the last twelve hours, I hoped he didn’t miss anything important. If he had, I’m sure his phone would have rung off the hook.
A few minutes later, he opened his eyes. “Hey,” he murmured, “are you watching me sleep? I thought you found that creepy.”
“Only when you do it.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”
“Almost five a.m.”
He nodded, his eyes clouded as he considered the events he missed, the meetings, the dinners, the drinks. But he shook it off. “I can’t believe I slept all night.”
“You needed it. How do you feel?”
“Pretty good. A little R&R is just what the doctor ordered.”
“Have the nightmares stopped?” I asked. He refused to meet my eyes. “We need to talk about them.”
“No, I’m not putting you through that. You lived it, Alex. I don’t want to make you relive it because I have trouble sleeping. That’s not fair. I won’t do that to you.” I saw the question in his eyes. “How are you okay? How come this doesn’t keep you up at night?”
“It does, but I’m used to it by now. Truthfully, I’m more worried about you than anything else. I think that’s why my subconscious hasn’t had much time to be afraid for me.”
“Don’t be.”
“Easier said than done. Nothing happened to me. I got a little beat up, but I escaped. The killer’s behind bars. I don’t have to fear him, and neither do you. That’s why I can sleep at night. Is that why you can’t? Are you afraid he’ll get out or come back?”
“That’s not it.”
“Tell me what is. In case you missed the memo, I am the only other person on this planet who understands exactly what you’re going through. Talk to me. The only way to get rid of the demons is to confront them. I learned that the hard way.”
He searched my eyes for answers. “Every night, I dream I’m losing you. That I lost you. It’s always different. But the results are the same. You’re gone.”
I found myself laughing. It wasn’t rational. Initially, Martin looked bewildered, but eventually, he joined in. Apparently, we were raving lunatics. “You don’t think I’d understand that? I invented that. Hell, that’s why we’ve broken up every single time we’ve broken up.”
“I know.” He wiped his eyes, sobering. This was about more than my most recent brush with death. He had the same insecurities I did when it came to moving back into his house. And that’s when I realized his nightmares hadn’t become as pronounced and obvious until I told him I wanted to move back in. “I don’t want you to leave me again.”
“You’re afraid I will.”
“Things happen. Things happen a lot to us. I understand now more than ever why you’d leave because of some misguided attempt to protect me. I also know we don’t have the greatest track record.”
“I won’t leave and you won’t kick me out.”
“It’s more complicated than that. Every time you go to work, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. It makes me crazy not knowing if you’re safe. I need to know where you are and that you’re okay.”
“I promise I will always find my way back to you. It doesn’t matter what the situation is. I won’t give up. I’ll come home. You know it’s true. I’ve never let you down. Sure, it might have taken a bit longer when we were broken up or I was broken and bleeding, but I always came back. So I always will. You can count on it.”
“Yeah?” But I could tell words weren’t enough to ease his mind.
I nodded, and he crushed his lips against mine. When we broke for air, the thought which had been at my periphery the entire time came to the forefront. He wanted a commitment. That’s the glue he needed to hold himself together. “Do you need more than just my word? Because we’re in Vegas.” My cheeks burned, and my heart pounded. In a few seconds, I wouldn’t be able to breathe. “People come here to do all sorts of wild and crazy things. Gamble, drink, get married. Throw a rock and you’ll hit a chapel.”
“Are you proposing?”
I nodded, blinking against the spinning room. “We’re moving in together. It’s the same thing.”
“Alexis, I love you,” he pressed a hand against my neck, “but I won’t say yes when the concept panics you. Breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay.” I clutched his hand and forced long, slow breaths in and out. “I want you to tell me why that scares you so much. Is spending your life with me that scary?” He suspected whatever terrified me about committing to us was the same thing that now terrified him, but it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t.
“We’ve been over this before.”
“Humor me.” He waited patiently for my heart rate to slow and my breathing to normalize.
“You’re a man of your word. If we enter into a legally binding contract, you’ll never leave me. I don’t doubt that, but I’ll never know if the reason we’re together is because you actually love me or if you’re staying out of a sense of obligation. My adopted parents stopped loving me when I proved to be a disappointment. I wasn’t who they wanted. If they could, they would have sent me back and gotten another kid, a different kid who would have become a prima ballerina, who would have fulfilled their dreams, but they couldn’t get that other kid because they were stuck with me. I don’t want to wonder if you secretly resent me or hate me. I don’t want you to be stuck with me. That’s why I’m scared. Because I’ll always wonder.”
“You never have to worry about that with us.” He pressed his lips to my forehead, but I shook it off. That was ancient history. It didn’t matter. “Since you feel that way, why would y
ou ask me to marry you?”
“It’s what you need.”
The light dawned in his eyes; he realized it was true. “We’ll figure something out.” His gaze fell on the crack in the drapes. “Right now, let’s watch the sunrise and go for a swim. I’m free until lunch, and I will be damned if we don’t have a little fun on this trip.”
Twenty-nine
I put my book down and reached for the tube of sunscreen. The pool was crowded, even though it was the hottest part of the day. While I slathered on the sunscreen, I watched a group of girls toast to their upcoming friend’s nuptials. Vegas wasn’t just a destination for shotgun weddings. It was also the perfect place to host a bachelorette party. Damn, now that I said it out loud, I couldn’t escape the idea.
Couples were everywhere. The pool was filled with them. Although, a few might have been hired. I couldn’t tell. It was difficult to differentiate hookers from vacationers. Though prostitution was legal, I didn’t think the hotel would want working girls and guys to pick up prospective clients at the pool. Now if they were hired before they came to the pool, that was a different story.
The oddly shaped pool curved around. One end was shallow, letting people walk into it as if they were walking into the ocean. Another area had steps. A partially separated area allowed patrons to swim up to the bar and order, and there were even tiled seats where a person could drink or even dine while never getting out of the water. I wondered how many tiny umbrellas were inside the filters.
Even though Martin had taken me out for a nice breakfast, I was getting hungry, but eating and swimming weren’t a good mix. At least that’s what I’d been told over and over again. Though the cluster of partying men and women didn’t seem to get that memo. Drinking and swimming also seemed like a bad idea, but everyone was doing it. When did I get so old and boring?
Movement caught my eye, and I watched a man surface in front of the waterfall. His back was to me, which is why he stood out. His skin was covered in inky black. Wings spread over his back, the tips kissing the tops of his shoulders while intricate feathers ran down his side, snaking around to his front. A dark, shrouded figure stood out from the center of the man’s back, sharply contrasted by the elaborate, feathery mass. An angel of death. The only unmarked skin on his back were the two indentions where his pelvic bone jutted out.
