My dad turned to Pearce and said, “Why don’t I pack you some lunch? That way you don’t have to listen to Tiffany’s rudeness. You can just take the lunch with you and leave.”
“That’d be great!” said Pearce, still oblivious to sarcasm.
I shot Dad a grateful look, and my mother stood up. I heard the steel in her voice as she said, “Come on, Pearce, I’ll pack you some lunch.”
She stalked into the kitchen, and Pearce waddled after her happily.
“What’s that book in your hands?” my dad asked Nanna.
She held it up and we all read the title: Texas Hold ’Em Poker Probabilities: Strategies for Winning. It was a hardcover book, two inches thick, and it didn’t look like a fun read.
“It’s for Nathan to borrow,” Nanna said. “He’s trying to improve his game.”
“Yes,” my dad said. “But why do you have it?”
Nanna and I stared at each other for a split second, and then I glanced at Nathan, who was clearly in on the secret as well. My parents wouldn’t approve if they found out Nanna’s a regular at the poker tables, so that’s information we’ve chosen to keep from them.
“Uh,” Nanna hesitated. “It belongs to Tiffany.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was just carrying it around with me.”
My dad gave me a look, like he didn’t quite believe me, but before he could say anything else, my mother stomped back into the room.
“He’s gone now,” she told me. “Happy?”
“I am, actually,” I said. “I can’t believe you wanted to set me up with him.”
She gave me a despairing look, and then caught a glimpse of the poker book.
“What’s that?” she asked, and Nanna said, “It belongs to Tiffany. Nathan’s going to borrow it.”
“Sure,” my mother said, clearly not interested in poker books. Nanna’s secret was safe for now, and my mother turned to me again. “Why can’t you just be polite, for once? How am I ever going to have grandkids if you keep driving men away?”
“He was a leech,” I said, “Not a man.”
We headed over to the dining room and I suffered through an awkward lunch. Nathan got a phone call in the middle of lunch, and he said it was his valet friend wanting to introduce him to his manager, so he left before dessert.
None of us were sure what Nathan was doing with Nanna – except for Nanna, of course, who said he was interested in her romantically. Because of her charm, wit and beauty. All of us, except for Stone, rolled our eyes.
As soon as I’d finished my dessert, I headed into my parents’ guest room and gave Minnie, Crystal’s friend from the movie set, a call.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Did you know anything about Crystal fending off unwanted advances?” I asked her. “She told a friend something about that. Said it was someone from the set.”
Minnie thought for a moment and said, “One of the producers, Ben McAllister. He’s got a roving eye, likes to give the girls a private screen test before he signs them on.”
“You think it was him?”
“I’m not sure. She never mentioned nothing to me, it could’ve been anyone.”
“What about the other producer? Jack Weber?”
“Yeah, I know he exists.”
“Ever seen him?”
“No, he never comes on set. Lets Sam do whatever.”
I thanked her and hung up, and then I dialed Ben McAllister’s number, hoping I could score an appointment with him immediately.
“I’m investigating Crystal Macombe’s death,” I told him when he answered. Impersonating a federal officer is a crime, so I wasn’t quite impersonating, just being a bit vague about the fact that I was a private investigator.
Ben listened to me politely and said, “I’m in LA at the moment, but I’ll be back in Vegas on Saturday. Why don’t we chat then?”
I agreed reluctantly, not sure what else I could do. Theoretically, I could ask Samantha to pay me to go up to LA, but I wanted to put that off, if possible. Besides, it was just one extra day.
When I got back to the den, I found my parents interrogating Nanna about Nathan.
“Something’s wrong with him,” my dad was saying, and my mother agreed.
“What do you think?” Nanna asked Stone, and everyone turned to him.
He looked back at us seriously. “You really want to know?”
There was a chorus of yeses from my parents and Nanna, and then he said, “I think he wants some advice. Someone friendly to teach him how to get by in Vegas and play poker.” He turned to Nanna and added, “You’re probably the nicest and most helpful person he met here.”
Everyone looked serious, and I could see my mother feeling sorry for the poor young kid who was new to this town. She’d probably be inviting him over for another lunch soon.
“Well, I should go,” I announced. “I’ve got an early shift today.”
“Nathan left his book behind,” my mother told me. “You should take it back with you.”
I glanced at Nanna, and she nodded too, so I picked up the heavy book, and took it with me. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it, but I didn’t seem to have much choice.
***
I rarely did afternoon shifts at The Treasury – and every time I did, I wished I could do more of them. The crowd was thinner after lunch; the tourists either eating, shopping, or sleeping off their previous long night. The gamblers were mostly tired from staying up the night before, and they didn’t usually have the energy to be angry about anything. They played mechanically, and I smiled and made polite chit-chat just as mechanically.
It was only eight-thirty when my shift ended, and I checked my phone to find that Nanna had sent me a text: “Stp b t borgata wk u hm.”
I rolled my eyes and wondered just how Nanna had learnt to text, and why she had her autocorrect switched off. Or maybe it was switched on and worked with a convoluted, Nanna-like logic. Most of the letters made no sense to me, but The Borgata Casino was on my way home, and I figured I’d stop by. If Nanna wasn’t there, I’d call her.
Stone was waiting for me in the lobby and he joined me as I strolled down the Strip.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told him, but he just looked at me cynically and said nothing.
“This feels ridiculous,” I said after a while.
Still nothing.
He plopped himself down on a sofa in The Borgata lounge and pulled out his smartphone, while I went to look for Nanna. Sure enough, she was at one of the poker tables, playing a hand intently. I watched her win the hand, and then she looked up and noticed me.
“That’s my grand-daughter,” she told the table as she left.
“Good night?” I asked her when she joined me.
“The best. The tourists are just coming in for their long weekend, and they’re all fresh and reckless.”
“So why’d you text?”
Nanna gave me a funny look. “You need to learn to read texts, Tiff. It’s what all the cool kids are doing these days. Much faster than writing.”
“Yes, but what does it mean?”
“I’ll walk you home,” she said. “Unless you have that ‘Winning Poker Formulas’ book on you now?”
I shook my head, and we headed for the exit. Stone joined us and Nanna said, “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
I sighed and shook my head. “Stone was just leaving.”
I looked at him pointedly, but he kept walking with us.
“Doesn’t look like he’s leaving,” Nanna said, and I gave Stone another stern look.
“Just ignore me,” he told Nanna.
“Well,” she said. “Maybe I’m the one who should head home. Leave you two alone.”
I groaned. “It’s not what you think. Stone, you can leave us here, Nanna can walk me up.”
He looked from me to Nanna and said, “You’ve got to be on your own at some point, and I suppose Nanna can take care of you.”
“I sure can,” she said drily
, and Stone left without another word.
“Maybe I should’ve left,” Nanna mused, as we walked to my condo. “Maybe you two could’ve had something.”
“No,” I said. “We’re not ‘having’ anything.”
She kept bugging me about Stone all the way to my front door. I tried to convince her that Stone was just walking me home to keep me safe, but I was distracted by our conversation and when I opened my front door, it took me a few seconds to register what I was seeing.
There was no envelope lying on the middle of the floor today. Instead, there was a big, white piece of poster paper, lying in the middle of my living area, the word “SURPRISE” written on it in red crayon.
“Crayon,” Nanna said from behind me. “Whoever writes with crayon these days?”
“Stay here,” I told her, trying to keep calm.
I was straining my ears, trying to hear something. Every tiny noise seemed to jump out at me, and I was convinced that someone else was in the condo with us. Were the curtains rustling? Was that someone breathing? I took a tentative step toward my bedroom door. My hands were cold and clammy and I reminded myself to stay calm.
I took a deep breath and was about to take another step, when Mr. Beard stepped out of the bedroom and into the living area.
“Surprise!” he said softly. “Are you surprised to see me?”
My eyes widened and my heart seemed to have stopped beating altogether. Despite it failing to pump blood around my body, I managed to take a slow step back, and asked, “What’re you doing here?”
The last time I’d seen him was in the backroom of The Riverbelle Casino, after I’d driven my stiletto heel into his neck. I knew he’d been arrested as part of the casino fraud ring, and I’d expected him to be waiting out his days behind bars.
He looked just the same as he had the last time I’d seen him – wide and muscular, with his thick body stuffed into dirty jeans and a faded grey t-shirt. He was bald, and was clean-shaven other than his close-clipped French beard.
He smiled, a wide, maniacal smile. “Stupid bitch. Didn’t you understand the photos? I’m here to kill you, see?” He lifted his right hand high into the air, and I saw he was carrying a big knife, its blade glinting in the light.
I took another step back, and heard Nanna say, “That’s an expensive-looking knife. You sure you wanna get blood on it? A gun seems more practical.”
Mr. Beard said, “Yeah, right? I’d like to use a gun, but this about getting even.” His eyes glistened and he said to me, “I’ve still got that scar on my neck. I reckon I should give you one.”
He lunged at me and I screamed and turned around.
“Run!” I told Nanna, but she was already ten steps ahead of me. She’d probably crept out after giving Mr. Beard that idea about shooting me.
I caught up with her and grabbed her wrist. A door was cracked open in front of us – some nosy neighbor must’ve been trying to eavesdrop on us, and I pushed Nanna inside, and locked the door behind us.
“Hey!” A plump man with curly orange hair glared at us. “This is my apartment!”
“Yeah,” Nanna said. “But you were listening to our private conversation!”
There was a loud banging at the door, and we all froze.
“Open up!” Mr. Beard yelled. “I know you’re in there.”
There was the sound of a door creaking open, and I heard a familiar shuffling.
“What’s all this ruckus?” Mrs. Weebly’s voice rang out, and then the shuffling stopped and I heard a high-pitched scream, followed by footsteps and a slammed door.
“I’m calling the police!” Mrs. Weebly yelled through her door. “You better be gone! We don’t tolerate that kind of thing, here.”
I heard a growl from the other side of the door, and then Mr. Beard said in a soft, sing-song voice, “Tee-fanny. I know you’re in there. And you know I’ll be back.”
There was a sharp thud, and then I heard footsteps walking away. I peered out through the fisheye and saw nothing.
My heart was thumping loudly and I breathed in deeply. I could breathe again, I realized. That was a good thing.
The orange-haired man said, “Wow. That guy seems nasty.”
“He’s terrible,” Nanna agreed. “What kind of man wants to stab my grand-daughter?”
I turned around and frowned at her. “What’s with telling him to shoot me?”
“I was trying to reason with him,” Nanna said. “I thought he’d change his mind, and go looking for a gun.”
“The guy’s nuts,” I said. “You can’t reason with a guy who’s nuts.”
“Good point.”
I opened the door a crack and peered out. “Nobody there,” I called.
And then I opened the door and saw the knife stuck to it.
“Oh, shit,” the orange-haired man said.
Nanna crossed her arms and pursed her lips disapprovingly. “He ruined that knife anyway.”
“Sorry about your door,” I told the orange-haired guy. “Hang on.”
I grabbed the knife and pulled, but it wouldn’t come out.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
He grabbed the knife and pulled, but it refused to budge.
“I wasn’t really trying,” he told us, and then he tried again.
He continued to pull at the knife for a good five minutes. There was some grunting, some swearing, and then finally the knife budged a bit.
“I’m sorry about the door,” I told him again. “I can ask my friend to come fix it.”
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m Ian, by the way. Ian Ewanson.”
“That’s a tough name,” Nanna told him. “Your parents must love tongue-twisters.”
Ian smiled. “No, but they sure can pick a name.”
I looked around the condo. The man looked like he was in his mid-thirties, but the place seemed to belong to a teenager. There was a Star Wars poster on the wall, and a wall of collected science-fiction toys. There were three bean bags, a couch that looked like it’d been picked up off the curb, and a dirty shag rug.
Nanna was introducing us, and I waved at Ian distractedly as he continued to struggle with the knife.
“You live here by yourself?” I asked, and he nodded, pulling the knife out with one final grunt.
“Got it,” he said, and held it above his head like a trophy.
I flinched. “Maybe you could put it down?”
“Oh, right.” He carried it over to his shelf of action-figures and put it beside one. “This is pretty exciting, it’s the coolest thing that’s happened here all week. You must have a really fun life.”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s pretty fun when there aren’t any maniacs trying to kill me.”
“That’s the best part,” Ian said. “The way you screamed and ran away, that was awesome.” I pursed my lips and he added, “Of course, if you hadn’t escaped, I’d have gone in and saved you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Would you? You seemed pretty annoyed when we barged into your place.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But that was before I knew you were this cool private eye.”
“That’s nice of you to offer to save us,” Nanna told him. “You don’t meet young men who are so chivalrous, these days.” She turned to me and said, “Isn’t he a nice young man, Tiffany?”
Ian beamed and asked me, “How come you didn’t just shoot the guy? Detectives in all the movies I’ve seen just whip out their guns and shoot.”
“I wasn’t carrying a gun.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Yeah,” Nanna said. “Why not?”
I felt my left eye begin to twitch. “Because I have to go in and out of casino security all the time,” I told them. “You can’t take a gun into a casino.”
They nodded, and Ian said, “What about Kung-Fu? Don’t you know Kung-Fu?”
I stared at him and he said, “I guess not. Figures. You don’t look like you can do Jackie Chan kicks.”
He looked slight
ly disappointed and I scowled. “I don’t want to beat up a guy in the hallway,” I told him. “Detectives and cops sometimes don’t get along.”
He brightened up. “You know what you need? You need a bodyguard.”
“Right.” As though I hadn’t just been wondering whether or not to swallow my pride and tell Stone that I’d like him to follow me around all day.
“Hey!” he said, struck by a brainwave. “How ’bout I be your bodyguard?”
“Isn’t that a lovely idea!” Nanna said. “That would be good for you.”
“Umm, I don’t think so,” I said. “Besides, don’t you have to go to work or something?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I just live off my trust fund. I’ve been looking for something cool to do. Maybe I could be your partner?”
He looked at me hopefully and I said, “No. I do my own detecting.”
“Oh, ok. I just thought I might help out.” He looked crestfallen, and Nanna gave me a Look.
I sighed, wondering why I felt guilty. “Do you have any bodyguard experience?” I asked.
Ian smiled. “Sure. I go to the gym every day –” Probably to sit around the salad bar, eating pasta and cake, I thought. “–And I used to walk my sisters home from school when we were younger.”
My phone buzzed with a text, and I looked down. It was Stone, checking that I’d got home ok.
“Besides,” Ian was saying. “I’m looking to invest some money. Maybe I could buy a share in your detective company.”
I looked at him steadily. Money would be nice. Money would mean I could leave my job at the casino and not have to stress about bills. Money would mean an actual office, so clients could find me, and maybe a website, and maybe…
Snap out of it, I told myself. The guy was a flake. One moment he’d be financing my business, the next moment he’d be dressing up like Superman. I couldn’t deal with him. On the other hand, a bodyguard who wasn’t Stone might be a nice change.
“I’ll think about it,” I told him, and Nanna and I left.
But not before Ian handed me his card, and told me he’d get us cool business cards for “our” private investigations firm.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 02 - Green Eyes in Las Vegas Page 13
