Chapter Nine
I found myself heading towards Lake Las Vegas and keyed my way into Sophia’s gated community. As the automatic gates shut behind me I hoped that whoever was following me, if there was anyone following, wouldn’t be able to get in. But I supposed they didn’t need to get in to know that I was going to go talk with Sophia.
I called her from my car and she picked up after one ring.
“I’m outside,” I said, “Are you home?”
“Yes. I’ll get the door.”
I sat in the car for a moment and realized that my heartbeat had finally returned to normal. I took a look around. I was safe, alive, and the only casualty had been my poor stiletto.
As I stepped out, I wondered who Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes were working for. It could be anyone – Steven, Thelma, Neil, Leo or even the bored-looking man in reception.
Sophia stared at me from the door as I crossed the driveway barefoot.
“What happened to you?” she asked, barely able to keep the look of disgust off her face.
I pushed past her and headed into the nearest room, the formal living area with its antiques and Persian rugs. “What’s your shoe size?” I asked.
I could see in Sophia’s eyes that she thought I was on some kind of medication. “Si-ix,” she said slowly.
I frowned and shook my head. “Won’t work. I’m a seven. I’ll buy a new pair of friggin’ Manolo Blahniks and bill them to you. Or maybe Jimmy Choos this time.”
“Right.” Sophia looked at me like I had horns spouting from my head. “Did you come here just here to talk about shoes?”
“No. I’m off this case. That’s it. I’ll send you my final bill and we’re done.”
She went pale and bit her lip. “You can’t do that. We have a contract.”
“I’m terminating it.”
“Look.” She came and sat near me. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I can’t let you quit. You know I’m depending on you.”
“Go depend on someone else.” My heart was beating wildly again. I knew I was being a coward, but I’d just gotten out of one sticky situation and I didn’t know if I’d be so fortunate next time. I didn’t like Sophia enough to risk my life for her.
“No-one else will take the case and you know it. What’s wrong? Please tell me you smoked something or had a bunch of drinks before you came here.”
My voice rose an octave. “Do I look like I smoked something?” Come to think of it, I probably did. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. “No, I’m fine. I quit. I don’t need death threats and creepy guys trying to hurt me.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds and then Sophia said, “What’re you talking about? Who threatened you? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I lowered my voice. “It was Beady Eyes and Mr. Beard.”
Sophia looked like she’d choked back a laugh. She smiled and nodded indulgently. “Yes. Of course. Beady Eyes and Mr. Beard.”
“Don’t smile at me like that! I’m not an imbecile.”
“No, of course not.” She was using what I supposed was her ‘soothing voice.’ “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll get you – what would you like? Black coffee? Fries?”
I stood up, scowling. “I’m outta here. For all I know, you hired them yourself.” That option was starting to make a lot of sense. I nodded. “Yes. You hired me just so you could say that to the jury, and then you hired Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes to scare me off so I don’t find anything else.”
Sophia looked worried and stood up. “I guess if you’re on some kind of drugs, there’s no point hiring you. But nobody else will work for me. So it’s a tough choice.”
“For the last time,” I said, gritting my teeth, “I’m not high. I drove straight here from the Riverbelle, where I went to talk with Neil and Steven, and two freaky security guys dragged me into the holding room and threatened me. I’ve been told very specifically to stay off this case unless I want to wind up dead in the middle of the desert and I’d rather stay alive, thank you very much. Sorry about the case…” I trailed off lamely. “I hope you find someone else.”
Sophia looked at me seriously. “So you’re not high.”
I grabbed my head and half-screamed, half-groaned. “Argh!” I felt like shaking her. “Is that all you got from my speech?” It was amazing how I refrained from calling her names.
Sophia shook her head. “You can’t quit, I won’t find anyone else.”
“Well I can’t just get killed either, so between the two, it’s a rather easy choice for me.”
“No, you don’t have to…” I could see the wheels spinning in her pretty little head. “You said they tried to hurt you,” she said, “How did you get away?”
“Kicked one in the balls and stabbed the other with my stiletto. Which I’ve lost, by the way. Forever.” Sophia burst out laughing and I glared at her. “It’s not funny. Those were my favorite pair of Manolos.”
She shook with laughter for a long time and then finally managed to get herself under control. “But don’t you know any kung-fu or something? I thought all private detectives knew cool fighting moves. You could have just done some karate chopping and saved your shoes.”
I took a deep breath. “No. I don’t know that stuff.”
“Well you’re working around bad guys, wouldn’t it make sense to know some self-defense moves?”
“Yes, it would.” Obviously I needed someone like Sophia to point out how big a loser I was. “But it’s a bit too late now. I quit.”
“Wait, we can figure this out.”
“Nothing to figure out,” I said, “I’d like to be able to keep my organs, my life and my new stilettos.”
“No.” Sophia frowned and sat down again. “You’re not just quitting.”
I looked at her uncertainly. It seemed kind of rude to leave right now.
Sophia jumped up, as though she’d just had a brilliant idea. I expected her to say something insightful about how I might avoid Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes but instead, she said, “You must be exhausted after what happened. How would you like some hot chocolate?”
I looked at her curiously. Hot chocolate did sound good. Come to think, that was a pretty insightful comment. “With marshmallows?”
“Absolutely.”
I brightened up. “Ok.”
Sophia led me to the kitchen and as we walked, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Stone,” I heard her say, “This is Sophia Becker. I have some work for you, it’s rather urgent. Please call me back when you get this.”
I wanted to ask who that was, but before I could, Sophia said, “Do you want a light hot chocolate or a creamy one?”
It wasn’t even a choice. “Creamy.”
She nodded and I sat down on a barstool at the counter and watched as she pulled out a milk carton, a jar of heavy cream and a block of dark chocolate. She placed the dark chocolate on a chopping board and pulled out a knife, when her phone rang.
“This is Sophia… Oh, hi, Stone… It’s a protection job… No, please don’t send Zac, I’d rather talk to you… Sure, I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
I watched as she put down the phone and began chopping up the dark chocolate block into tiny bits. “Who was that?”
“That was Stone,” she said, as though that answered everything.
I wanted to ask who he was, but a part of me didn’t really care. I was here for the hot chocolate and when that was finished, I’d leave. I watched Sophia heat up the heavy cream and milk, and add the chocolate and sugar.
“How come you have all this stuff?” I asked. “It doesn’t look like you ever eat anything.”
She smiled. “I eat. I have a personal trainer and work out two hours a day.”
“Right. But you don’t eat hot chocolate or Danishes or cupcakes.”
“Those are for my friends. Sometimes the girls from the club come and visit me. They’re basically the only people who still hang out with me.”
My e
yes widened. “You’re still in touch with them?”
“What? Just because they’re strippers we can’t be friends?”
Point. “So why’d you become a stripper?”
“Same reason as everyone else. I needed the cash. I figured I’d dance for a few years, save a bit of dough and get a degree. Maybe start a small business.”
“But you met Ethan instead.”
Sophia smiled. “Yes. I fell for that man like a ton of bricks.”
And then found out he was some kind of sex addict. I tried to come up with something nice to say, but I didn’t know the man and what I’d found out didn’t seem particularly nice. So I said, “You know, the investigation really doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Nobody has anything to say a–”
Sophia cut me off. “Keep trying. Something’s gotta come out.”
“No, it doesn’t really. You know, even the police have unsolved cases sometimes.”
Sophia poured out the drink and reached into a cabinet for the packet of marshmallows. She popped two into the mug of hot chocolate and said, “I don’t care. Keep looking. Find something.”
She placed the mug in front of me and I wrapped my hands around it. Sophia’s eyes looked glassed over and her smile seemed to be pasted on from years of practice. She was selling herself a dream in order to stay calm and I wondered what would happen if I couldn’t deliver on that dream.
There was a knock on the door and Sophia sashayed over to answer it. I heard muted voices and sipped on my hot chocolate. It was good, just what I needed to make up for losing that triple-chocolate cupcake.
The voices grew louder and Sophia walked back into the kitchen with a man at her side. He was tall and wore jeans and a white shirt. He was muscular in an understated way, more athletic footballer than beefy security guy. His face was serious and angular, and his dark hair fell slightly over his forehead. His eyes were piercing black and I could tell they missed nothing, and when his gaze met mine I felt a sudden rush of electricity.
Sophia said, “This is the friend I wanted you to meet.”
He held out a hand and said, “Jonathan Stone.”
“Tiffany Black.”
We shook hands and he sat down on the barstool next to me. I wondered how he and Sophia knew each other. Had she been his stripper? Had she slept with him? Not that I cared.
As though reading my mind, Sophia said, “Stone did some work for my husband.”
Well. That probably meant she hadn’t slept with him. I don’t know why that made me feel better, but it did.
I turned to him. “What kind of work was that, Jonathan?”
“Call me Stone.”
“Stone.” The correction made me feel naïve and I frowned.
“I did some executive protection work.”
“Oh.” That was a euphemism for bodyguard duty.
Sophia prompted me, like she was urging a toddler to recite a nursery rhyme, “Tell him what happened with Beardy and Pointy Eyes.”
“Beady Eyes,” I said, sounding cross, and took a sip of my hot chocolate to remind myself why I was here.
Stone crossed his arms on the counter and leaned forward, looking at me carefully.
I glanced at him, half-expecting him to smile encouragingly, but his face was impassive.
“I don’t know who you are,” I said to him, “I’d feel silly telling you the story of my life.”
His expression didn’t change. But he did say, “What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, who you are, what you do, and what your background is.”
“Jonathan Stone.” There was a long pause. “I’m a guy. I own Stonehedge Security. I was in Special Forces. I’m retired from that now.”
“Stonehedge Security. What do you?”
“Security services.”
The guy was attractive, but I wondered if he was daft, or just being obtuse. I didn’t need an idiot protecting me, but on the other hand, he had been in Special Forces. He must’ve had some experience with men like Beady Eyes and Mr. Beard, and probably with men a lot worse.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. I don’t need protection.” I picked up a teaspoon, fished out one half-melted marshmallow and chewed it happily.
Sophia was watching us carefully and said, “So you’ll keep working on the case?”
I swallowed the marshmallow, fished out the other one, and ate it thoughtfully. Now that I had some warm, chocolate liquid inside me, I was feeling a lot better. Come to think of it, Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes were clearly imbeciles, the way they had let me run off like that. I probably didn’t have anything to fear from them, really, and I doubted they’d want to tango with me again. Mr. Beard would most likely spend the rest of his life in mortal fear of stilettos, and Beady Eyes would probably spend a week at home with an icepack pressed against his junk. Besides, I’d never go back to the Riverbelle, so I’d never see those two again.
It would be a shame to let Sophia down and give up on my first case. This nice, hot-chocolate-creating woman would be convicted of a murder she didn’t commit and I would be branded a failure. I’d always remember that I’d let down someone who needed my help and I’d probably never get a PI job again.
So I nodded and said, “I’ll keep working.”
“Great!” Sophia smiled. “I knew it was nothing to worry about.”
“Tell me what happened.” Stone’s voice was deep and serious and he swiveled around to face me, his dark eyes boring into mine.
I was about to beg off, but there was something in his eyes that demanded an answer. He was looking at me as though his whole life depended on hearing my story, so I quickly recounted what had happened, finishing off with kicking Beady Eyes, punching and stabbing Mr. Beard, and running out of the casino.
Stone looked at me the whole time, his attention never wavering. When I finished the story, I thought I saw the hint of a smile on his face. “So. You managed to hurt them pretty bad.”
“Well,” I said, reflecting, “I could hear Mr. Beard’s screams all the way up the stairs and I didn’t look back at Beady Eyes, but he didn’t seem to be too happy.”
Stone nodded. “And then you drove straight here?”
“Yes.” I remembered the fear I’d felt and how I’d driven like a maniac. “It felt like someone was following me. But that might’ve just been my adrenaline rush.”
Stone looked at me thoughtfully and then he pulled out his wallet; he took out a business card, flipped it over, and wrote something. He passed the card over to me and I read: Carla Dubois, KravMaga, 586-3325. Stone: 548-2525
I flipped the card over. The other side was Stone’s business card, with his business name and office phone number.
“Call me if you’re in trouble,” he said, “And call Carla to schedule a lesson.”
I tucked the card into my purse and said, “I’m fine, but thanks.”
“I see you’re not wearing stilettos right now.”
Touché. The man might look like he was made of wax and sounded almost like that too, but he wasn’t stupid. I nodded and said, “I’ll call her.”
“Right. The next thing you’ll need is a weapons permit.”
“I’m not carrying a gun.”
Stone looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but all he said was, “Suit yourself.”
“I will.” I didn’t believe in gun violence and I wasn’t about to contribute to it.
Stone stood up and looked at Sophia. “Good seeing you again.”
Then he turned and left.
I heard the door shut behind him and said, “He doesn’t talk much, does he?”
Sophia shook her head. “He does have a soothing presence, though. I’m glad you’re staying on the case.”
I wanted to tell her that I’d been calmed down by the hot chocolate’s presence, not Stone’s, but a few minutes after he left us, I was no longer so sure. I finished my hot chocolate and said goodbye to Sophia. As I drove away, I felt my uneasiness creeping back and wondered how long
Beady Eyes’ and Mr. Beard’s injuries would keep them out of commission. For all I knew, they might be quick healers who would be feeling fine by the following day. And whoever they were working for probably had more beefy men at his disposal.
I made a quick U-turn, drove into a side street and made a full circle around the block before heading back onto the expressway. Despite my fancy driving and the twists and turns I made, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed.
Chapter Ten
After all the troubles of the day, my night-shift at the casino went surprisingly well. It was just the kind of pleasantness I needed – by some miracle the tables I dealt at didn’t have any drunks, super-grouches or uber-unpleasant people.
I went to bed feeling hopeful and woke up the next morning feeling just as optimistic. I called Vanessa Conigliani straight away and when she answered, I introduced myself as a detective investigating the Ethan Becker murder.
“Would it be possible to meet up some time today to discuss the case?” I asked, and there was a slight pause.
“Around what time?”
“Whenever’s convenient for you, Mrs. Conigliani.”
She sighed. “Oh, what the hell. Can you come over in two hours?”
Two hours would be a bit of a rush. I hadn’t had breakfast yet and I’d been looking forward to a relaxing morning. But this woman was the last person on the list Sophia had given me and I really needed to talk to her. “Of course.” I said. “Will you be at the Summerlin house?”
“Yes,” she said. I repeated the address Sophia had given me, just to verify that it was right.
We hung up and I rushed to make my morning coffee and get dressed. I was sure Vanessa Conigliani would be a sweet woman, but just in case, I wore my heavy cocktail ring again and my second-favorite pair of stilettos.
A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 01 - Innocent in Las Vegas Page 5
