We sat there for a bit over an hour, me devouring and Stone watching. He was cocooned in silence, and I didn’t feel like talking.
After a while, he said, “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
I looked up at him, amazed. “That’s a brilliant idea! Why didn’t I think of it?’
He shrugged. “Maybe because you’re so scared. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t figured it out completely, yet.”
Stone nodded, and I settled the bill and followed him out to The Treasury Casino, next door. It was strange, going there when I didn’t have a shift, but it seemed like the easiest option. I settled down at the café, and had another coffee with Stone, before I told him to go home.
“I should be fine here,” I said, and he nodded and left me alone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I stumbled back to The Tremonte at seven o’clock. The night wasn’t yet over for the gamblers in the pit, but it was over for me.
I hated having to pull an all-nighter when I didn’t have a shift. But I’d make the most of today – I’d head home and take a nap, and then maybe go talk to Ben, the other co-producer. I wasn’t sure what I’d do after that, but I knew I didn’t want to spend time at The Tremonte.
I packed my bag and took the elevator down to the lobby, and when I stepped out, Jack was waiting for me.
He looked grim, his face as handsome as ever, but his eyes were serious and worried. I took a step back when I saw him, and looked around. There were lots of people nearby. I was safe.
“What’s wrong?” he said, coming forward. “Why are you leaving? The breakfast buffet just opened.”
I looked away from him and tried to take a few steps toward the lobby. “I’m not feeling hungry.”
“Then just have a coffee. We’ve got delicious scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.” I shook my head but he went on, “I’m having breakfast now. Join me. Please.”
I looked up at him. He was turning on the charm again, the smile as captivating as ever, but all I could see was a psychopath trying to snare me.
On the other hand, how could I spend the rest of my life running away from Jack Weber? He had money and contacts, and knew how to put them to good use. My best bet was to have breakfast with him, and try to convince him that he had nothing to worry about from me.
We headed over to the breakfast room, which was already packed with tourists gorging themselves on platefuls of greasy food. We skipped the mile-long line for regular guests and went to the shorter line for VIP guests and those staying in suites. I didn’t know if I’d manage to eat, but I loaded up my plate with croissants and sausages and scrambled eggs, grabbed a coffee, and followed Jack to a table in the corner.
We sat across from each other, and he looked at me seriously and said, “I saw you leave the casino with another man last night. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
I was tempted to lie about Stone being my boyfriend, but that might just lead to more problems. I said, “I’m not sure if he’s my boyfriend. It’s complicated.”
It was a cop-out phrase, but Jack seemed to believe me. “So maybe you’d consider that date?”
“Jack.” I shook my head, and picked at my food, before looking back up at him. “I know.”
He held my glance for what seemed like eternity but was probably only a few seconds. “Yes,” he said finally. “You know.”
We chewed away in silence and then Jack said, “But you don’t know the whole thing. Or why.”
I shook my head. “It’s not up to me. Murder is serious business.”
Jack frowned. “Murder?”
“Crystal?”
He sat back in his chair and looked at me like I was spouting Latin. Finally, he said, “Are you serious? You think I killed Crystal?”
I took another bite of the eggs. “Witnesses saw you arguing. There’ll be a DNA match. It’s not about me, at this stage.”
Jack shook his head. “There won’t be a DNA match. I never even met Crystal. Why don’t I come over to the station with you right now and volunteer to do the test?”
I stared at him warily. Either he was very, very stupid, or he was rich enough to bribe the Medical Examiner.
“So?” he said. “Are we going down to the station now or not?”
I kept staring at him, imagining the sequence of events. It was a closed case, so why would they reopen it just to match Jack’s DNA with that found on Crystal? If anything, they’d be annoyed with me for bothering one of their biggest donors.
I said slowly, “The day before she died, you were seen arguing with her.”
Jack shook his head. “I spent the whole day up in my office. You can check The Tremonte security cameras, if you want.”
“The day before she died,” I repeated to myself. Why did that sound familiar?
And then I remembered. Max had said he’d spent the whole day with Crystal. That they hadn’t even stepped out of the hotel.
I rested my elbows on the table, put my head in my hands and groaned softly.
It wasn’t adding up. Jack could doctor The Tremonte security tapes, but he couldn’t doctor The Palazzo tapes. If I checked at The Palazzo, I’d probably see that Crystal hadn’t stepped out that day. Something told me that Jack was telling the truth, too.
I felt my shoulders sag and then my head began to pound. Jack was looking at me concernedly. “You feeling ok?”
I shook my head. I was feeling nauseous. I should be relieved that Jack seemed to not have killed Crystal, but the emotional rollercoaster was leaving me a wreck.
“I’m sorry,” I told Jack. “I feel really sick.”
I stood up quickly, and Jack followed. “Should I call the casino doctor?”
“No. I think – I think I just need some sleep.”
“Let me walk you to your room.”
I looked at him warily. Sleeping in The Tremonte meant that Jack might break in and kill me. Sleeping in my apartment meant the Mr. Beard might break in and kill me.
I didn’t want to believe that Jack was a killer, but my emotions were all over the place, and I couldn’t trust myself to think straight.
“I’m fine,” I managed to say. “I should check out and get back to my place.”
“Are you sure the re-painting’s finished?”
I stared at him blankly.
“Your place was being re-painted, remember?” Jack said, and I nodded.
“Right. Painting. Yep, done.”
I picked up my bag and headed toward the lobby.
Jack followed and said, “At least let me comp your room.”
“The client’s paying,” I said, and he didn’t say anything more until I completed the paperwork.
“My car can drop you off,” Jack said. “You shouldn’t walk if you’re feeling sick.”
I stared at him. The man knew where I lived. If he wanted me out of the way, he could just break into my condo. Him and Mr. Beard, both.
I shook my head. “Maybe the walk’ll clear my head.”
Jack looked at me suspiciously, but I was already walking quickly toward the front doors, as though moving faster would help me get to safety.
Chapter Thirty
“I’m glad you’re home,” I told Ian, stepping in quickly and shutting the door behind me. “You look like a mess.”
He ran one hand through his hair and yawned. “You woke me up.” And then his face brightened. “What’s the rush, have you found a big clue? Do you need me to come along?”
I looked at him and then walked past and peeked into his bedroom.
He was as messy as a teenager. There were clothes on the floor, and the robot-print bedsheets looked like they hadn’t been washed in months. But the window was open a crack, and the room didn’t smell too bad.
“What’re you looking for?” Ian asked from behind me. “If you tell me I can find it. I know my room’s a mess, but I didn’t know you’d be looking in.”
I walked over to the
bed, sat down, and placed my bag on the floor.
“I need a place to sleep,” I said. “People might break into my place. Can I sleep here?”
Ian nodded quickly. “Of course. We’re partners, partners help each other out.”
I sighed. “We’re not partners yet.”
“But we will be. An officer came by yesterday and I gave him the knife for you. If we weren’t partners, I might’ve kept it for myself.”
I was too tired to argue. “I’m a light sleeper,” I told Ian. “You’re not going to try any funny business, are you?”
He looked offended. “Of course not! We’re partners, you don’t double-cross your partner.” He lifted his chin. “I watched five Bogart movies last night. I’m gonna be just like him. You’ll see.”
I sighed and slipped off my shoes. “Good for you. I’ll be up in a few hours.”
I lay down on the bed. His pillow was lumpy and soft, and the mattress sunk under my weight.
“Do you need me to do anything?” Ian asked.
“Keep an eye out on my condo,” I said drowsily.
“Great idea, pardner.”
He left the room, and I let my exhaustion take over. I knew that it wasn’t a question of if someone tried to break into my condo – just who.
***
I woke up to the sound of Loony Tunes and groaned. I’d only been asleep for a few hours, and my head hurt. I stumbled out the room and glared at Ian.
“That’s really loud.”
He was slouched over on the couch, chomping on Froot Loops and laughing at Daffy Duck.
“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot you were a light sleeper.”
I looked around his kitchen. There was a nifty-looking Nespresso machine, and I said, “Where’re the pods?”
Ian left his cartoons and came over to find the pods, inserted one and pressed a button to make the coffee.
“Did you see anyone breaking into my condo?” I asked, and he looked sheepish.
“Well… There was this episode of Castle on. I had to watch it since I’m learning about detecting and I’m trying to be like Bogart. And then Looney Tunes came on.”
“So that’s a no. You have no idea if anyone tried to break in.”
He looked at me apologetically, his eyes round and dejected. I sighed. He was too puppy-like to get angry with, plus he’d made me coffee.
I took a few sips and said, “You don’t have any cupcakes here, do you?”
He shook his head, and I took a long sip of the coffee. “Fine. I’ve got cupcakes in my fridge, so I’ll head back to my apartment now.”
“I’ll come with,” Ian said quickly. “I can be your bodyguard.”
I looked at him slowly.
“Please,” he said. “I’ll be really good at it, I promise.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ok. But no Looney Tunes.”
“Deal.”
I grabbed my bag and walked down the hall. I unlocked my door, pushed it open in front of me and peered inside – there was nobody in the living area, the dining space or the kitchen. There were no envelopes or poster-papers bearing messages lying on the floor. The windows looked like they hadn’t been tampered with. All good signs.
I took a deep breath and stepped in. Ian stepped in too, crowding behind me.
I pointed at the ground, and mouthed, “Wait here.”
Ian nodded frantically.
I stepped slowly toward the bedroom. The condo was quiet, and I could hear someone else’s TV from down the hallway. I peered around the doorway and into the bedroom. It was dark, and cool and empty. I glanced longingly at the bed – the sheets looked smooth and clean and crisp. Too bad I couldn’t have slept here. But the walk home hadn’t cleared out my mind and the only good idea I could come up with was to crash at Ian’s.
I checked under the bed, stepped into the bathroom and looked around, and opened the closet door. All empty.
I pulled the curtains apart with one sweeping motion. There was nobody on the tiny balcony. I closed my eyes in relief.
“You can close the door,” I called to Ian, and sighed at the bed, which tried to entice me. Should I take another nap? Probably not, I decided.
I heard Ian closing the door and he said, “What’re we doing today? Are you interviewing someone? You know, I could come if you’re interviewing someone. I’m good at interviews.”
“Cupcakes first,” I said.
I pulled out the box of cupcakes Glen had given me, and opened the lid. I placed one on a plate for me, and one on a plate for Ian. We ate our cupcakes in silence, and then I had another one. I was starting to think more clearly, and the more I thought about it, the more things seemed to make sense.
Sam said he’d seen Jack arguing with someone on the Strip, the day before Crystal died. But it couldn’t be Crystal, because she hadn’t stepped out of The Palazzo that day. Jack claimed he hadn’t stepped out of work. But maybe he had, and he’d been arguing with someone who looked like Crystal. Or, more likely, Sam had been standing too far away to recognize either of them properly.
Crystal’s body had been found near Ben McAllister’s house. And he was the one person I hadn’t talked to yet – he’d been conveniently out of town for the whole week. It was high time I spoke to him.
“Have you ever interviewed someone?” I asked Ian.
“No. But I reckon I’ll be good. I’m really good at talking to people, and I’ve seen lots of cop shows. I know how it’s done.”
I looked at him and pulled out my phone. “I do have an interview,” I said. “And you can come along. But you need to be quiet, and let me do the talking.”
“Sure,” he said.
I should’ve known better than to believe him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ben McAllister said he was free to talk to me for the next two hours, and he suggested we meet in the café at The Tremonte.
“That’s ok,” I said. “You can skip the travel time; I can come to your cousin’s place in North Vegas.”
He was silent for a second and I continued, “That’s where you’re staying, right? It’ll give me a chance to drop by the murder site after we talk.”
“Ok,” he said. “We can talk here.”
He gave me the address, and Ian and I headed over and pulled up to a swanky, white house. It was double-storied and had pillars in front, and looked like it would have a pool in the back.
I was half-expecting a maid in a black-and white uniform to open the door, so I almost took a step back when a slightly chubby man with wavy blond hair opened the door.
“Tiffany Black?” he said.
I nodded. “You must be Ben.”
“Come in.” And then he noticed Ian. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Ian Ewanson,” Ian said. “I’m her partner. I heard you were trying to sleep with Crystal Macombe.”
I closed my eyes and groaned. “I’m sorry about him,” I said, regretting the information I’d slipped to Ian. “I really am.”
When I opened my eyes I saw that Ben was smiling thinly, and he waved us into a formal sitting room. The house had obviously been built and designed by someone who wanted to impress, but wasn’t sure how to do it. A large tri-color abstract painting hung on one wall, its greens and yellows picked up by the green sofa with its yellow cushions.
“Nice décor,” I said as I sat down and gave Ian a look that I hoped said, “Shut. Up.”
Ben looked at the furniture and painting and said, “My cousin’s ex-wife.”
I nodded. That made sense.
“Anyway,” I said. “What can you tell me about Crystal?”
“Lovely girl,” Ben said. “Very friendly. Talented.”
Ian said, “Is that why you were trying to sleep with her?”
Ian was sitting too far away for me to kick him, but I glared sternly and said, “Ian,” in a warning tone. Ian winked at me, oblivious.
I looked at Ben, who was watching us carefully and said, “How come you’re staying in your cousin’s pla
ce instead of one of the casinos?”
He shrugged. “We’re friends. He’s got a hot-tub and we help each other get the ladies.”
“Like Crystal,” Ian said.
I sighed, and Ben rolled his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you do have a bit of a reputation on the set.”
He raised his hands. “I like women. Is that a crime?”
“No, but not co-operating with the police during a murder investigation is. Why didn’t you tell them that Crystal had come to see you just before she was killed?” It was a shot in the dark, but Ben stiffened, and I knew I was right. “Did you kill her and dump her body nearby?” I continued, “Or did you chase her when she ran away?”
We stared at each other for a few seconds, and I was thankful that Ian was silent. Finally, Ben said, “I had nothing to do with her death.”
“Then why was she here?”
He looked at me sullenly and after a few seconds, he said, “She wanted to talk about something.”
“Like what? Like needing to sleep with you to get the part?”
His eyes narrowed and he said icily, “Nobody has to sleep with me to get anything.”
“But Crystal thought she did.”
“She was wrong. Anyway, I didn’t want to sleep with her. She wasn’t my type.”
“Hunh,” I said. “From what I hear, everyone’s your type.”
We stared at each other, neither willing to talk. And then Ian said, “This house must be a real chick-magnet.”
Ben smiled at him. “Yeah.” And then he looked at me pointedly. “I don’t need any help with the ladies.”
“Then what was Crystal doing here that night?” I asked.
“She came to talk to me. She said she knew I had contacts, would I help her get a role somewhere else if she couldn’t get this role.”
“What did you say?”
Ben shrugged. “I said, sure. But she was going to get this part. Sam was convinced she’d be a star.”
I looked from Ben to Ian, and then back at Ben.
A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 02 - Green Eyes in Las Vegas Page 17
