“So you have a pilot’s license?”
I shook my head. “Not finishing the training is one of my few regrets.” Opening my eyes I turned and looked at my friend. “I soloed and was working on the required hours, the cross-country, night flying, all that stuff.”
“It sounds like you liked it. What happened?”
“Loved it. Funny enough, it was one of the few things I’ve ever encountered that I was perfectly suited for. But, I let life get in the way.” Reaching across the center console, I put my hand on his arm and squeezed. “No regrets, Romeo. Live each day…”
Understanding flared in his eyes. Then he turned and with both hands, grabbed the yoke as a kid would the steering wheel of his parents’ station wagon. “What’s it like? To fly?”
I joined him in his fantasy, grabbing the yoke on my side—two escapees taking the corporate iron for a joyride. If only wishing could make it so…. “Like having your own magic carpet.”
“To take you as far as your credit card limit will allow.”
“There is that.” Leave it to the youngster to add a dose of reality.
Giving up the game, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “So, where do we stand?”
Pages rustled as Romeo flipped through his notebook. “According to the tower log, the plane touched down a bit before eleven last night. Mr. Grady sent the pilots to the hotel. He told them he and the… lady…would spend the night on the plane. It took the pilots some time to get the plane squared away, give instructions to the line, call in a breakfast order—you know all the stuff.”
I didn’t but I could imagine.
“The pilots reported that, after they’d done all their paperwork and stuff, which took about a half hour or so, a guy showed up to talk to Mr. Grady.”
“Frank DeLuca.” I opened one eye to gauge Romeo’s response. If he was surprised, he hid it well. He was either tired or getting used to my uncanny skills.
“Yeah. He showed up—”
“About midnight,” I said, stealing his glory. “But when the pilots were called back after Shady Slim was found dead, Mr. DeLuca was nowhere to be found.”
“Lucky, I swear, are you going to let me finish?” While he tried on a stern expression, his voice held a hint of humor. “You are just like your mother.”
“Low blow, Detective Junior-Grade.” I grinned back at him even though I tried not to. “You know, if I thought you were serious about me sharing any trait with my mother, I’d be curling my toes over a very high ledge while contemplating the concept of terminal velocity.”
“Retracted. But it got your attention.”
The kid seemed proud of himself, so I handed him victory. “I’ll shut up now.”
“Thank you.” I heard Romeo flip a page. “According to Miss Becky-Sue, he stayed about twenty minutes…”
“Plenty of time to get back to the dealership.”
The detective sighed heavily.
“Sorry. Change at my advanced age is very difficult—I’m working on it.” Opening my eyes, I pushed myself upright. “Please, go on.”
“Miss Becky-Sue said she went into the room in the back when DeLuca arrived—apparently Shady Slim wanted privacy. She said she fell asleep. When she woke up, she found Shady Slim in the lav and you know the rest.”
“What time was that?”
Romeo consulted his notes.
“An hour ago.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Pretty sound sleeper. She stayed asleep while the pilots freaked and called my office? And if she was asleep the whole time, as she says, how did she know DeLuca only stayed for twenty minutes? DeLuca himself told me he stayed for an hour. ”
Romeo deflated. “Good question.”
I looked for a mirror to check my appearance, then realized a plane would have no need of a rearview picture—if it wasn’t going forward, it would be going down, so behind was irrelevant. “And another thing: She said Shady Slim talked on the phone the whole ride, and something in the conversation made him angry. He must’ve used the satellite phone—his cell wouldn’t work from over forty thousand feet.”
“You sound like you think his death was from something other than natural causes. The guy was as big as a barn. I’m betting his ticker quit. What would make you think something else?”
“Curiosity, that’s all—and a strange little bit of synchronicity. We have one dead woman in a dealership owned by Frank DeLuca. Then the man himself shows up here and we end up with another dead body.” I eased myself out of the captain’s chair—a tight squeeze between the armrest and the yoke. Romeo had to strain to look up at me as I continued. “It may be nothing other than bad coincidence, but it’s worth a look, don’t you think?”
“I’ll get the call log,” Romeo offered. God bless him. “And I’ll see if the coroner can run a quick and dirty tox. Money’s getting tighter and tighter, autopsies aren’t done regularly anymore. I can’t promise anything, especially with no signs of anything other than a heart attack or something normal. Pretty soon, the only way we’ll make murder one stick is if we catch them red-handed.” The kid followed me out of the cockpit—I noticed he didn’t have as much trouble getting out of his chair. The expansion that came with age, stress, too little sleep and too many carbs, was a total downer.
“Let me know what you get.” I stood tall and stretched. The snooze had been marginally restorative.
“Miss Becky-Sue isn’t being completely honest with us,” Romeo said, ever the master of understatement. “How do we get her to come clean?”
“The same way you milk a rattlesnake—very carefully. Leave that part to me, kid, snakes are my specialty.”
***
The process of removing Shady Slim Grady went more smoothly than I thought, not to mention faster. We even managed to do it all inside the hangar, far from prying eyes. The funeral directors had come through. I’d never really thought about moving dead bodies around, at least not until today. The picture of Shady Slim’s lifeless body dangling in midair wouldn’t leave me any time soon, of that I was sure.
When Romeo was finished with her, I sent Miss Becky-Sue to the Babylon, giving instructions that she be parked in the Sodom and Gomorrah Suite—somehow it seemed appropriate. Security was keeping guard and Romeo had restricted her to a short leash. But, as they would a rabid dog, most people gave Miss Becky-Sue a wide berth and as much latitude as she wanted, and she was used to that.
While the young detective was tying up loose ends, I wandered into the Fixed Base Operator, the FBO to those who flew general aviation aircraft. These were the folks who took care of the planes and the pilots, providing fuel, weather information, access to Flight Service for flight-plan filing, and a place to crash while waiting on clients or waiting out weather. I was looking for the line guys who had been on duty when the plane came in—I hoped shifts hadn’t changed yet. For once, luck worked in my favor—they were still there, catching a bite to eat in the break room.
The bagels looked good, so I split a blueberry one and plopped the halves in the toaster. Grabbing a mug, I prayed the coffee was still as strong as I remembered it to be. After adding a touch of cream, and resisting the sugar, I took a hit, and groaned in delight.
One of the line guys appeared at my elbow. “Man, coffee, it’s like essential, you know?”
“A drug of necessity.”
His coffee now cold, he tossed the remnants into the sink, then replenished his mug. He blew on it for a moment than took tentative sip. Satisfied, he gulped a bit more. “You know that dead guy?”
“Yeah, he was an old family friend.” The toaster dinged and I set about covering my bagel with butter—if I was going to sin, I was going to sin big.
“Sorry to hear that.” The kid said, sounding sincere.
“Let me ask you something.” I took a bite out of my bagel as I contemplated my approach. “Did anything happen before I showed up?”
“How do you mean?”
“People coming and going. Anything unus
ual?” Soft yet chewy, the bagel was worth every calorie, so I paced myself, relishing every bite.
The kid boosted himself up onto the counter, then topped off his coffee again. “A guy came to visit.”
“Frank DeLuca.”
Recognition dawned on the kid’s face. “I thought he looked familiar.”
“Anything else?” I reached for a napkin and dabbed at some butter that dribbled down my chin.
“Well, nothing unusual, really. After Mr. DeLuca left, we’d just gotten everything buttoned up for the night and that lady came in demanding the courtesy car.”
I dropped my hand, my bagel forgotten…almost. “Miss Becky-Sue? She took the car?”
The kid nodded. “I gave her the keys myself.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know, but she wasn’t gone long, maybe a half hour.”
A half hour. Plenty of time to get to the Babylon and back…with time to kill.
***
Christian Louboutin had a signature boutique in the Forum Shops at Caesar’s Palace. A long shot, but I had to chase that pair of shoes. Even though I’d told him to go home a long time ago, Paolo still lurked out front of the FBO, staying way past his shift to see I got home. With a nod I acknowledged his kindness—he knew grateful when he saw it.
I settled in the soft embrace of the leather backseats afraid I might not have the energy to get out again. When Paolo was settled in front, I pressed the intercom button. “Would you mind stopping at the Forum Shops on the way back to the Babylon?”
His eyes swiveled to the rearview mirror. “Which entrance?”
“The middle one, on the through street near the spa. I’ve got my eye on a pair of shoes.”
Riding the escalator from the dark parking area into the high-ceilinged, beautifully lit, high-energy Forum Shops was a bit like being pulled from the dungeons and thrown to the lions. Blinking at the lights, I tried to time my jump into the flow of humanity without much success. Dodging patrons, I worked my way upstream to the Christian Louboutin boutique.
This was dangerous territory for me—I’d never met a stiletto I didn’t like. Keeping my eyes focused straight ahead, I moved quickly past the displays to the counter in the back. Thankfully, a young lady jumped to help me, leaving no time to linger into trouble. “May I help you?”
I introduced myself. “I’m looking for a pair of red shoes. Strappy slingbacks?”
She tried to frown but her forehead didn’t move—Botox, a Vegas affliction. “Red. Too bad. This season’s signature shoe sounds like it would’ve been a perfect fit.” She reached for a large ringed binder and started flipping pages. “As all the signature shoes are, it was a limited edition. We only received two pair.” She stopped at a page, then turned the book around so it faced me as she pointed. “That’s it there. If you’re interested, perhaps I could get them from another store?”
I unfolded the photocopy Jerry had given me and smoothed it on the counter. The shoes were identical. “Would anyone else in town have sold these shoes?”
“Our other styles, yes. But the signature shoes are limited to the official boutique.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know who bought the pairs you had, would you?”
The sales lady glanced around then lowered her voice. “I really shouldn’t give out that information.”
“It’s part of a murder investigation. I can get a warrant, if I need to, but that would be so…public, don’t you think?” I patted her hand. “We can keep it between you and me.”
“Murder,” she whispered, her attention clearly piqued. Funny how a good killing did that. “If they paid cash, I probably can’t help you.”
“If they paid cash you’d probably have the shoes back.” Regularly johns wanted to buy gifts for their high-end hookers. The ladies preferred cash purchases. When the john went back to the wife and kids, the escort would return the gift and take the cash refund.
“Good point.” The salesgirl’s mouth puckered in distaste at the thought. “We’re in luck, my manager has gone to lunch.”
She disappeared through a hidden door.
I tapped my toes, my arms crossed tightly across my chest, as I exerted heroic willpower, keeping my eyes averted from the enticements in the display cases.
She didn’t take long. Glancing around furtively, she looked guilty. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone around to see, if you ignored the cameras, which I did. “You know, I’ve always wanted to work at the Babylon.” She pushed a scrap of paper across the counter. “One pair of shoes came back, we sent them to corporate.”
“When did they come back?”
Her eyes hit mine, her confusion apparent. “Last week. Why?”
“And the other pair?”
“We sold them right after they came out—a special order. These were a really hot, limited-edition kind of thing. I remember delivering them myself. And, curiously enough, he paid cash.” Her face paled as she looked over my shoulder. The manager must’ve returned.
I palmed the paper. “Thank you so much for checking on the availability. I’ll send my guest at the Babylon over later.”
Turning, I grinned at her look of relief, then sashayed out of the store as if I hadn’t a care in the world—an Oscar-worthy performance, if I do say so myself. I didn’t look at the name until I was once again settled in the limo, this time en route to the Babylon. Carefully I unfolded the scrap. There, in a flourishing cursive, was one name, a name I recognized:
Frank DeLuca.
***
Frank DeLuca—his dealership. But what dummy would kill someone on his own turf. I know…murder is often a crime of passion and opportunity. And now his shoes. I sure needed another tête-à-tête with the good Mr. DeLuca.
But first, I needed to find my father. The news of Slim’s departure to the Poker Room in the Sky should come from me—I owed him that. Heck, I owed them both that. But, I wasn’t about to tackle that job solo; I needed reinforcements. Mother could help soften the blow, but she hadn’t answered the phone at her apartment.
Miss P answered on the first ring, “Customer Relations. How may I help you?”
“I need to find my mother.”
“If you’re going to kill her, I refuse to be an accessory.”
I filled her in on Shady Slim. “Mona hasn’t been looking for me or anything, has she? It’s still pretty early. I thought I’d find her at home, but no such luck.”
“She’s in Mrs. Olefson’s suite. They called to invite you to tea.”
“Tea? How civilized. I smell a rat.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“That’s what my day was missing—a platitude. Have you ever thought about doing one of those calendars? You know the ones with one page for each day and they have like a joke or a word or something? Yours could include a platitude.”
“Why don’t we do it together? One day a platitude, the next day a cliché?”
“Now that’s really gilding the lily.” Somehow the banter righted the ship of my day, filling my sails. “Personally I’d rather do a Handsome Men of Vegas Uncovered kind of thing, but that’s just me. I’ll be with my mother and Mrs. Olefson. Pray for me.”
“I’ll light a candle.”
“Even better. Oh, before I go, has Brandy had any luck finding Cole Weston?”
“Not yet. She did get a bead on him though, from one of the players last night. He said he last saw Cole leaving the property early this morning.”
“Interesting. Any idea where he went?”
“None.”
“And he hasn’t been seen since?”
“No.”
“Why am I not surprised? Let me know if he appears, okay?”
When I ended the call, my step was lighter. I don’t know why, but I felt the glimmer of a song in my heart. Even a meeting with Mona couldn’t dim my newfound joie de vivre. This being my life, I knew it couldn’t last. Someone would rain on my parade, I was sure of it. The director of my life ne
ver could resist shouting, “Cue the catastrophe” every time I hit a happy stride.
Dane caught me at the elevators.
Am I clairvoyant, or what?
“Lucky, can I have a minute?” His reflection appeared next to mine in the polished bronze doors.
“Shouldn’t you be in jail?” Looking at him would probably turn me to stone or something, so I didn’t take the chance. But the vision of Dane up close and personal with waterboarding did brighten my outlook.
“Apparently, they didn’t think I’d be a flight risk.” He cleared his throat. His voice sounded hollow.
“Since you have so many ties to the community,” I fired back. Sarcasm is my best thing. Followed closely by my ability to spend the bulk of my time in the company of less than stellar men.
“Lucky…” His voice broke. Tentatively he touched my arm.
I pulled away as if I’d been poked with a cattle prod. “Don’t.”
He dropped his hand; his arms hung at his sides; his shoulders drooped—like a scarecrow with no backbone…and no brain, but that last part was my personal opinion. Either way, it wasn’t a look I would associate with the former Army über officer. I felt my resolve slipping. I am such a pansy-ass. Like a drunk with a bottle, I found it next to impossible to resist a problem that needed solving.
And Dane was most definitely a huge problem.
But he wasn’t mine.
“Look, Cowboy,” I said, summoning fortitude I didn’t know I had. The elevator doors opened and he followed me on. “I got a hotel full of problems to solve and yours isn’t one of them.” I waved my penthouse access card. “I’ve got to find my mother then deliver some real bad news to my father and you’re not invited.”
Dane refused to budge. From the looks of him, he’d dug in his heels like a roped calf. “I want to explain. I need to explain. You owe me that much.”
“Owe you!” With hands on my hips, I whirled to face him. The man had cojones; I’d give him that.
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