I don’t know why—which just shows you how rattled I still was—but for some reason, I asked, “What exactly are you investigating?”
“Sightings, landings, encounters, stuff like that,” he said. “We research them and analyze the information.”
“We?”
“There’s a club.”
What has become of my life?
Under normal circumstances, I might have gotten up and insisted we leave, but I didn’t want to go back to work early, nor did I want to leave my banana split uneaten.
I decided to roll with it.
“Who’s in the club?” I asked.
“Me,” he said. “And my friend Eric and my friend Dwayne, and . . . well, I guess that’s about it. But that’s just the Nevada chapter. It’s a worldwide organization.”
“Have you seen a UFO?” I asked. “Other than on X-Files.”
“Well, not yet, I don’t think so. Maybe I did. I’m not sure. Dwayne had a close encounter with a UFO. It really freaked him out,” Cliff said. “All kind of weird stuff is happening out in the desert around Vegas.”
“Alien encounters?”
“There’re different kinds of encounters, you know. The first kind is when a UFO comes really close to you.”
“That would be freaky,” I agreed, and dug into my banana split.
“The second kind is when a UFO interacts with the environment, and physical changes happen. You know, like the ground gets scorched and animals and people get hurt or scared or something.”
“Like Dwayne?” I asked. The guy who, I figured, had smoked a joint immediately before this alleged encounter occurred.
“The third kind of close encounter is when they make a movie out of it,” Cliff said.
Guess I should have expected that.
“That’s what ufology is all about,” Cliff said. “Visiting hotspots, analyzing stuff. We have a form to fill out and everything.”
Cliff hadn’t touched his salad—I think he’d forgotten it was in front of him—and I was working on my banana split when he leaned sideways and waved to someone behind me.
“It’s that guy from the store,” he said, then called, “Hey, man, come on over.”
Relieved it was a coworker and not Dwayne or Eric, I looked up and saw Detective Dailey walking toward us.
Oh my God. What was he doing here?
“Hey, man, sit down,” Cliff said, when Dailey stopped at our table. “I saw you working in the security office. Cool.”
That explained it. The security cameras were up and running now and the detective had seen my escape on the monitors in the security office and followed us here.
“Yeah, man, I’m into that security and investigation stuff. I’m going to work for the highway patrol,” Cliff said. He pointed to me. “This is Dana. She works at the store, too.”
“Dana?” Detective Dailey asked, looking down at me.
No way was I getting into the whole close-encounters-alien-investigation- X-Files thing with him.
“You’re using an alias?” Dailey asked.
I ignored his question.
“I don’t suppose you’re here for lunch?” I asked.
“I’m here to talk to you,” he said.
“Look, I already told you everything about me and Robbie Freedman,” I said.
Detective Dailey leaned down a little.
“I’m here to talk to you about Tony Hubbard,” he said.
Oh, crap.
CHAPTER 11
“How do you know Tony Hubbard?” Detective Dailey asked.
We’d moved outside the restaurant. The place had filled up with diners and gotten noisy. I didn’t want to shout my innocence over the din.
Cliff still sat inside at our table. I hoped he wouldn’t forget I’d ridden with him and leave without me.
It was hot, even though we stood in the shade of the building, but it was far better than sitting in Detective Dailey’s homicide mobile. No sign of Webster.
“What makes you think I know Tony Hubbard?” I tried to sound indignant but didn’t quite pull it off.
“I’m a detective. I detect things,” Dailey said. “For instance, your name and phone number written on a piece of paper in Hubbard’s kitchen.”
Crap. I’d forgotten I’d left my contact info with Tony.
Well, no way to dodge Dailey’s questions now.
“I went to pay my respects and Tony was there,” I said. “He’s a convicted felon, you know. Maybe you should talk to him—not me.”
“I’ve done that,” Dailey said. “We’re checking out Hubbard’s alibi. You, on the other hand, don’t have one.”
“What about Mike Ivan?” I asked.
I hated to throw somebody under the bus—somebody who might very well be innocent—but I had to do something.
Detective Dailey flinched. I’m sure he practiced showing no reaction in front of a suspect, but I saw his left cheek twitch. I didn’t know if that meant he hadn’t heard of Mike Ivan, or if he was surprised that I had. Maybe both.
“He’d been stalking Courtney, sort of,” I said. “Tony knew about him. Didn’t he mention him?”
“Hubbard was less than forthcoming during our interview,” Dailey said.
Guess I should have figured that.
“Mike lives in L.A.,” I told him.
“Don’t you live in L.A., too?”
Like that made me guilty by association.
I suppose I should have gotten angry, but I didn’t. More than anything, I felt tired—and, yeah, a little annoyed.
Detective Dailey kept eyeing me, waiting for my response. I glared back. His face softened a bit. I realized I wasn’t the only one who was annoyed—or tired.
“Where’s your partner?” I asked.
He paused for a moment, then said, “Taking a personal day.”
“So at least one good thing happened to you today, huh?”
Detective Dailey grinned. That little grin transformed him, made him look less like a hard-ass detective and more like the nice guy he probably was—off duty.
He didn’t say anything—I didn’t expect he’d diss his partner—but I could tell he wanted to agree.
“Look, I had nothing to do with Courtney’s death,” I said. “I don’t even know how she died.”
“Slashed.” Dailey touched his neck. “Sliced the artery. Probably a box cutter.”
I’d seen bowls of those things placed all over the store like candy dishes.
It creeped me out to think how I—and everyone else in the store—had used them, made them a routine part of our day, when all along, one of them had been used as a murder weapon.
Dailey could have been trying another interview tactic, being nice, figuring that if he gave up some info, I’d do the same. If I’d known anything, I would have shared it with him—maybe. All I could do was speculate.
“Somebody followed her to the store—”
“Or was waiting there for her,” Dailey said.
Translation: I was still a suspect.
I ignored him.
“Whoever it was grabbed a box cutter, slashed Courtney’s throat, pushed her into the women’s dressing room, and left her there to die,” he said.
The image filled my head. I didn’t like it.
“Why would somebody do that?” I said, mostly to myself. “Courtney wasn’t the kind of girl who stirred a lot of passion in anyone. At least, not back in high school.”
The restaurant door swung open and Cliff moseyed out.
“Hey, you guys heading back to the store?” he asked.
“Sure,” I called.
I stepped around Detective Dailey. He blocked my path.
“I’ll check into Mike Ivan,” he said.
We stared at each other for a few seconds, then he stepped off.
I skirted around him. Cliff was in his car. I jumped in and we drove away. When I looked back, Dailey was watching.
The detective had lightened up a bit, given me some info about C
ourtney’s death, but I didn’t expect he’d continue to show me “his” even if I showed him “mine.”
I decided I’d check out Mike Ivan myself.
“TTYL!” Taylor called, as she waved and pulled away from the tire store.
“Talk to you later,” I echoed, as I got into my Honda.
I’d asked Taylor to give me a ride to the tire store after work, and she’d readily SY—said yes. When we arrived, my car had been parked under a web of plastic, multicolored fluttering flags which, luckily, meant the work was finished. I’d paid the guy inside and, even though it maxed out my credit card, luckily the bill wasn’t more than he’d quoted me when I’d brought my car in.
Maybe things had turned around, I thought, as I pulled out onto Warm Springs Road. Maybe the curse—which I’d never believed in, of course—had gone away.
This made me think that I should immediately head to yet another mall and make yet another attempt to find a Delicious handbag. I was on a roll now, luck-wise, and I shouldn’t lose momentum.
My phone rang. The caller I.D. screen showed Marcie’s name.
Yes! This proved it. Another good thing had happened. I hadn’t heard from Marcie last night, but now she was calling.
I had to find a mall right away.
But, of course, I had to talk to Marcie first. A best friend always—mostly always—came before a handbag.
“Something happened yesterday,” Marcie said when I answered.
A knot as big as a Betsey Johnson tote jerked in my stomach.
Marcie was using her something-seriously-bad-happened voice. I needed to brace myself, be prepared for whatever she was about to say.
I looked around. Where was a Starbucks when I needed one?
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Not really,” Marcie said.
I ran a yellow light. Surely a Starbucks was on the next block.
“After work, I went to that club that’s just down the street from my office building,” Marcie said. “You know, that one we went to together when that girl you don’t like was getting that new job she slept her way into. You wore that black dress with the pink scarf, and I had on that red blouse.”
Immediately, I knew exactly which club she was talking about.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I saw Ty outside the club,” Marcie said.
Oh my God. If Marcie thought it was bad, it must be mega-bad. My imagination ran wild, concocting all sorts of horrible scenarios.
Had he been in a car accident? Had he been injured? Crippled? Killed? Had he run someone over? An old lady? A child? Three kids? Three kids and an old lady carrying a kitten?
I sped up and whipped around three cars. I desperately needed a Starbucks.
A worse thought flashed in my head.
Had Ty been on a date with someone else?
Oh my God. Oh my God.
I cut across two lanes of traffic, whipped into the parking lot outside a convenience store, and skidded to a stop.
If that were true, if Marcie had seen Ty out with someone else, not even a Starbucks could help me now.
“Was he on a . . . date?” I asked.
“No, Haley, he was by himself,” she said. “I’d have driven straight through the night to tell you in person, if I’d seen him with someone.”
Yes, she would have.
I calmed down. A little.
“So what happened?”
“You know I don’t stick my nose into anybody else’s personal relationships,” Marcie said. “I’d never go up to some guy and bitch him out, unless a friend wanted me to.”
That was true. Sure, we’d talk about the most intimate details of our lives, but we’d never cross that line.
“Well, last night I did,” Marcie said. “I saw Ty, and it made me so mad that he didn’t pay attention to you, so I told him.”
“You did?”
This did not sound like Marcie at all.
“I told him that you were struggling to pay for your classes, books, fees, your rent, car payment, everything,” Marcie said. “And I told him that he was the one bright spot in your life, but he didn’t appreciate you or even seem to care.”
“You really said that?”
“Well, honestly, I’d been drinking.”
Okay, that explained it.
“What did Ty say?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Marcie said. “I fell off the curb and sprained my ankle.”
“What?”
“Ty picked me up and carried me to his car. Actually picked me up in his arms, Haley, and carried me. Three whole blocks,” Marcie said. “He’s very strong.”
I knew that. It was really hot.
“Then he took me to the emergency room and stayed with me until Mom got there,” Marcie said. “In the exam room. Not the waiting room. And he even turned off his phone.”
“Wow . . .”
“He’s such a nice guy,” Marcie said.
I knew that, too. It was way hot.
“So, of course, I felt like a complete idiot for telling him what an awful boyfriend he was,” Marcie said.
I understood completely, having had a number of complete-idiot moments in my life.
“How’s your ankle?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“They x-rayed it. Nothing’s broken,” she said. “I’m wearing this ridiculous boot thing that weighs a ton. It’s not very comfortable, but at least I can walk.”
I should have been there with Marcie when it happened. I should be there now to go by her place, bring her the multipack of chocolate coated, double stuffed Oreo cookies—nothing less would do in a dire situation like this.
At that second, the idea of leaving Vegas behind and going home sounded really great—until I realized what would happen if my mom found out I was in town and had deliberately ditched her and beauty-queen-spa-week.
Still, Marcie was my best friend.
“I’ll come back,” I said.
“No, don’t. I’m okay. It’s not a big deal,” she told me. “And it’s not your fault. Not really.”
“My fault?”
“You know, because of the curse.”
Oh, crap. That damn curse.
“So, anyway,” Marcie said, “I just wanted to let you know what’s going on. Sorry I stuck my nose into your problems with Ty.”
“Your heart was in the right place,” I said. “Even if you were drinking.”
She laughed and I did, too; then we hung up.
I pulled back onto Warm Springs Road, more desperate than ever to find a Starbucks. I drove for a couple of miles before I spotted one. I parked and rushed inside. The line was long—Starbucks needs an express line for emergencies such as this—but I eventually got my mocha frappuccino and found a quiet table in the corner.
This curse thing was getting on my nerves big time. I didn’t believe in it, yet it wouldn’t seem to leave me alone.
How deep would it go? How far could it reach? Was nobody I knew safe from it?
I sipped my frappuccino and decided not to dwell on it. I had bigger problems.
After talking to Detective Dailey this afternoon, I’d been glad to hear him say he intended to find Mike Ivan. I wasn’t sure how long that might take, given that he was in Los Angeles. Would Vegas detectives make that sort of trip? Did they consider Mike Ivan a suspect that warranted it?
I didn’t know.
Either way, I couldn’t rely on Detective Dailey to follow through. I had to do that myself. Or rather, I had to turn to someone who would do it for me.
I pulled out my cell phone and hit the speed dial number for Jack Bishop, the sexiest, hottest—and only—private detective I knew.
CHAPTER 12
Jack is hot. Really hot. Tall, dark hair, gorgeous eyes, great build. He’s got a way-hot job as a private detective, and he’s hooked into most everything that’s happening in L.A.
I met Jack back in the day when I worked for the mega-high-power law firm, Pike Warner. I toile
d away in the accounts payable unit and he investigated cases for the attorneys handling rich and famous—and infamous—clients.
Jack also did side work. I’ve helped him out at times, and he’s done the same for me. Strictly professional, of course, though I admit at times I’ve been tempted by his good looks and toe-curling voice.
Jack’s been tempted, too—that’s what I’m telling myself, anyway—but he knew I was with Ty Cameron. Plus, Ty’s family had been represented by Pike Warner for decades. Jack was too smart to create a conflict of interest that would call his integrity into question.
Jack answered on the third ring.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Sitting in Starbucks, staring out the window at the traffic passing by, it hit me that involving Jack in this might not be my best move—for Jack, anyway. A lot of bad stuff had happened. I didn’t want to bring anything down on him.
But I couldn’t see Jack believing in a curse, or shying away from something because of one. That’s not how hot L.A. private detectives roll.
“I’m in Vegas,” I said.
“Behaving yourself?” he asked.
I smiled. “You know the old saying: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
“If you’re trying to get me to come up there, it’s working,” Jack said.
He used his Barry White voice.
My toes curled.
“I just want you for your mind,” I told him. It came out sounding sort of breathless but, jeez, I couldn’t help myself. I’m defenseless against the Barry White voice.
“My mind, huh? Not my best asset, you know,” he said.
I’d figured that, but I decided to ignore it.
“I need info on a guy named Mike Ivan,” I said. “Have you heard of him?”
“What’s the deal?” Jack asked.
His normal voice was back now, which was good. I guess.
“He’s in L.A. somewhere,” I said. “A friend of mine, Courtney Collins, was involved with him somehow.”
“Somewhere? Somehow?” Jack asked. “That’s all you’ve got for me?”
I could have given him all the info I had but decided not to. I wanted Jack’s take on him, untainted by Courtney’s murder.
“You’ll figure it out,” I said. “I owe you.”
“Damn right you do. I’ll let you know what I want, when I want it,” he said, and hung up.
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