Clutches and Curses

by Dorothy Howell

  But who were they? And why did they keep such late hours?

  Night prowlers were the norm at the casinos on The Strip. Hardcore gamblers stayed up all night, feeding the slots, obsessing over the turn of a card, the spin of a wheel. You’d see them at breakfast, sometimes, with a bleary-eyed what-have-I-done look on their faces.

  Serious gamblers didn’t usually stay in Henderson, in places like the Culver Inn.

  So who was staying in one of the rooms across the hall from me?

  CHAPTER 16

  “He’s here,” Maya said, and immediately smoothed her hair back and straightened her apron.

  I didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Jack Bishop who’d gotten her all excited this early in the morning, in the middle of the Culver Inn breakfast buffet service. I did turn around, though, because Jack was always great to look at.

  He didn’t disappoint. Freshly showered, shaved, hair damp, dressed in jeans and a white Henley shirt just snug enough to show off his chest.

  Oh, yeah, Maya’s day—and mine—was off to a great start.

  “Morning,” Jack said, joining us near the kitchen door. He grinned. “Did I interrupt something?”

  Maya and I had been making plans for this evening before we’d gotten distracted and flustered over Jack walking in. No way would we admit it, of course.

  “We’re going to Macy’s tonight,” I told him. “Want to come?”

  “It’s free giveaway week,” Maya said.

  Jack paused. “Free—what?”

  Jeez, how was it men didn’t know the simplest things? Everybody knew what free giveaway week was.

  “At the cosmetics counter,” I told him. “You buy makeup or something that costs thirty bucks or more and they give you free stuff.”

  “In a special bag,” Maya added.

  “So you two both need makeup?” Jack asked.

  Maya and I glanced at each other like he’d lost his mind.

  “No,” I said. “Of course not.”

  “We’re just buying something to get the free items,” Maya explained.

  “So these free items are cosmetics you need?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. What’s up with him? Why didn’t he get it?

  Jack frowned. “So it’s this special bag you want?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “I never use the free bag,” Maya said.

  “Me, either,” I agreed.

  “So let me get this straight,” Jack said. “You buy something you don’t want, to get something you don’t need, and it comes with a bag you’ll never use?”

  Finally, he got it.

  “Exactly,” I told him.

  Maya nodded, pleased too that he understood, then pulled her cell phone from her apron pocket.

  “I’ve got to take this,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Jack glanced around at the Culver Inn guests eating at tables.

  “So where’s Prince Charming?” he asked.

  I took that to mean Ty.

  “In L.A.”

  Jack raised his brows. “Already?”

  No way was I answering that question.

  “Want something to eat?” I asked.

  He rolled with my abrupt change in topic.

  “Maya told me yesterday about wanting to start her own bakery,” Jack said.

  Hum . . . so Jack had stayed yesterday morning after I’d left and he and Maya had talked. Interesting.

  “She’d be further along if that jackass Bradley, who runs the place, would recommend her to the other motels in the chain,” I said. “She needs the money to finish college and get her business going.”

  “Bradley, huh?” Jack mumbled the name with more than a little contempt.

  “He’s a real piece of work,” I said. “But since his family owns the chain, there isn’t much anybody can do. It’s his way or the highway.”

  “Is that so?” Jack asked. He was quiet for a minute, then said, “I’m heading back to L.A. this morning.”

  A wave of disappointment hit me—which was really bad, I know—but I tried not to let it show.

  I figured he’d been investigating Courtney’s murder while he was in Vegas and he’d accomplished everything he could. Jack never told me anything until he was ready. Still, I wanted to know if he’d learned something—especially since I was a suspect.

  “Courtney had another boyfriend,” I said.

  With Jack, I’d learned long ago that I had to give before I could expect to receive. This didn’t suit me, of course, but since I wasn’t the one who could hop into a way-cool BMW Z4 and leave town in style, I didn’t have much choice.

  “Before she got hooked up with Tony Hubbard,” I added. “Any idea who it was?”

  Jack didn’t respond, just listened. “I’ll check it out,” he finally said.

  When he didn’t say anything more, I got a little annoyed.

  “Did you learn anything new?” I asked. “From the cops or anybody?”

  “Same story as before,” Jack said. “You’re their favorite suspect.”

  Oh, crap.

  Jack opened the kitchen door and leaned in. I saw Maya still on the phone. She covered the mouthpiece and said something to him. He answered, then left the kitchen. I couldn’t hear what either of them said—which wasn’t my business in the first place, but still, I was curious.

  “Catch you later,” Jack said to me.

  He didn’t leave, though, just stood there looking at me. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something—or wanted me to say something.

  “Ty went back to L.A. after I talked to him at Holt’s,” I said.

  “Is that so?” he asked.

  “He wants me to move in with him,” I said. “But I don’t know.”

  “Big decision,” he agreed.

  We just looked at each other for another long minute.

  “I’ve got to get to work,” I said.

  He nodded toward the exit to the parking lot. “And I’ve got to hit the road.”

  Still, he stood there. I stood there, too. It wasn’t that goofy tenth-grade-can’t-think-of-anything-to-say kind of thing. Something different. Something deeper.

  I don’t know what it was. Jack didn’t seem to know, either. He left and I watched as he climbed into the Beemer he’d parked in the check-in lane and drove away.

  Yeah, okay, I knew I shouldn’t have told him that stuff about Ty and me. I didn’t know what it was with Jack. He made me do the craziest things—without even doing anything.

  “Haley! Haley!”

  Maya barreled out of the kitchen and grabbed my arm. Her eyes were round, her mouth open—two indications that something absolutely huge had happened

  “That was Arlene,” she said, still clutching her cell phone as if it were Arlene herself. “She’s the one who gets all the jobs for the convention centers. Remember I told you? I work for her sometimes handing out brochures at conventions, doing hospitality at banquets and things?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  She burst ahead—another indication that something absolutely huge had happened.

  Oh my God. This was getting better and better—way better than free giveaway week at Macy’s.

  “She wants me to work for her at a convention.” Maya took two deep breaths, trying to calm herself. “A handbag convention.”

  The earth stopped rotating—I swear. Time stood still. Really.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Had I heard her right?

  I drew in two deep breaths, too, trying to calm myself, bracing myself just in case I hadn’t heard her correctly.

  “Did you say a handbag convention?” I asked. Actually, I think I whispered it.

  “Yes.”

  “A handbag convention.” I didn’t ask. I just said it, a little louder this time.

  “Yes.”

  “A handbag convention—for real?” I’m pretty sure I shouted that.

  “Yes!” Maya shouted, too. “It’s at the Mandalay Bay.”
r />   “When?”

  “Next week.”

  “Next week?”

  “Yes!”

  “Oh my God!”

  “All the designers will be there,” Maya said.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Handbags everywhere. Fall lines will be previewed. New designers nobody’s ever seen before.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Fashion shows. Displays. Accessories.”

  “Accessories?” I screamed.

  Okay, now I felt dizzy. Maya grabbed my hand. She seemed kind of wobbly, too. We helped each other to an empty table and dropped into chairs.

  We both just sat there for a few minutes, trying to recover, trying to take it all in.

  Maya pulled herself together first. I had to hand it to her.

  “Arlene says some of her usual people cancelled last minute,” she said. “She asked me if I could do it and, of course, I said yes. I gave her your name, too. We can do it together.”

  I froze. What was this? Did she just say I was going to have to work at the handbag convention?

  I guess Maya saw my hesitation.

  “It will be great,” she said. “We get to go in before the public. We get to see everything first. We can come and go to any of the displays or events, anytime we want, for as long as we want, because we’ll have unlimited employee passes.”

  Okay, now she was talking. And, besides, as I’d learned long ago: just because you had a job didn’t mean you had to actually work.

  “Plus,” Maya said, “we’ll get paid.”

  I could see where that was a definite benefit for Maya—and me, too, really.

  The biggest benefit for me was that if I saw a handbag I absolutely had to have—and I was certain I would—I could buy it on the spot before anyone else even saw it.

  I jerked straight up in the chair.

  Oh my God. They were bound to have a Delicious handbag there.

  “So you’ll do it?” Maya asked.

  “Hell, yes,” I vowed.

  Really, what could possibly go wrong with my day now that I would be getting a sneak preview to a world-class handbag convention—and the first shot at a Delicious handbag?

  Nothing. Not even at Holt’s.

  I breezed through my day unloading U-boats of boxes filled with table linens, flatware, plates, cookware, glasses, pots, and pans. My thoughts were consumed with the handbag convention, what I’d see there, what events might be scheduled, what gorgeous handbags I could buy.

  Once or twice throughout the day, I may have actually put an item or two in its designated display location.

  Fay walked up as I was forcing a dozen casserole dishes into a spot probably meant for place mats.

  “I need you to stop that, okay?” she said.

  Even her nasal tone didn’t grate on my nerves as much as usual, and I actually stopped what I was doing.

  “I need you to help with training, okay?” Fay asked.

  She wanted me to help with training? Had I passed into another dimension somewhere between stocking the wine glasses and the steak knives?

  “Preston says you’re one of our most experienced employees, okay?” Fay said. “So I need you to help with training. Can you do that?”

  I’d never trained anyone in my life.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Okay, good. Take this, okay?” Fay passed me a bright yellow bibbed apron with a neon blue H embroidered on the chest.

  I’d worn an apron like this one when I’d handed out Bolt, Holt’s energy drink, in the Santa Clarita store. Here, I’d seen management circulating through the store wearing the apron, asking questions about Holt’s policies and procedures at random. An employee was rewarded with a Hershey’s chocolate kiss for a correct answer.

  “I need you to train on CBT, okay?” Fay said.

  CBT . . . CBT . . . what was CBT?

  “Can you do that?” Fay asked.

  “Of course,” I said.

  I donned the apron as Fay walked away, found the kisses in the big front kangaroo pocket, unwrapped one, and popped it into my mouth.

  So far, I liked being a trainer.

  I walked to the next aisle where a woman who’d introduced herself earlier—and whose name I’d already forgotten—stocked vacuum cleaners.

  “Got some training questions for me, huh?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, and stood a little straighter, giving myself what I hoped was an air of authority. “First question: what does CBT stand for?”

  “Computer based training,” she told me.

  Really? That’s what it stood for?

  “Very good,” I declared.

  I gave her a chocolate kiss, took one for myself, and moved along.

  I moseyed through the aisles thinking it better to take a lap through the store—just to get the lay of the place, of course—before I selected another employee to quiz. I ate two more kisses along the way.

  Taylor jumped out from behind the cosmetics counter.

  “OMG! You’ve got your own apron!” she exclaimed. “It’s got your initial and everything!”

  I looked down at the H on my chest.

  “Is everybody getting one?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “And it will have your own initial on it.”

  “SC!”

  Now I definitely needed another chocolate kiss—make that two.

  A woman popped up from behind the jewelry counter.

  “Haley,” she called. “The Cirque du Soleil show at the Mirage is terrific.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  Jeez, everybody was so friendly today.

  I headed down the main aisle and spotted Cliff in men’s wear. I shoved in two more kisses.

  “Hey, Dana,” he said, and ambled over. He leaned his head back and shook out his long wavy hair. “Listen, could you, you know, uh, like give me a ride home from work? The police haven’t found my car yet.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Honestly, I figured that whoever had stolen the thing would have brought it back by now.

  “No, man, like I don’t know if they’re even trying,” Cliff said.

  “Imagine that.”

  Maya had called earlier and cancelled our trip to Macy’s—some problem at home—so I didn’t have anything definite planned. I doubted Ty would fly in again, and Jack was long gone.

  “Sure, Cliff,” I said. “I’ll meet you out front after work.”

  By the time I punched out, I’d finished off the entire bag of Hershey’s kisses and asked a total of two training questions. Really, every trainer has their own style and that’s mine.

  Cliff waited outside the store. He got into my car and gave me directions to his house. We headed north on the 515, then exited on Charleston and turned onto Arden.

  This was definitely not Stephanie Holden’s neighborhood.

  The houses here were older and in need of repair. Windows and doors were barred. Weeds sprung up among the rocks in front yards. Trash and old junkers cluttered the sides of the houses. The Stratosphere Tower loomed in the distance.

  “Here’s my place,” Cliff said, pointing.

  I pulled up to the curb in front of a house that hadn’t seen a new coat of paint since it was new, apparently.

  “You own a house?” I asked.

  “Well, you know, technically it’s my grandma’s,” he said. “But I help her take care of it.”

  I eyed the house, then Cliff.

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’ve got my own room in the garage. Want to come inside?”

  I had no desire to spend the evening on a threadbare futon, watching X-Files Season Five wearing a tinfoil hat.

  “Some other time,” I said.

  Cliff made no move to get out of the car. For a minute, I worried that he’d forgotten where we were.

  “Want to go see something cool?” he asked.

  “No thanks.”

  “I’m not supposed to tell anyb
ody, but hey, you being Dana and all, you can see it,” Cliff said.

  “No, really, that’s okay.”

  “Eric and Dwayne—those dudes took somebody to see it,” Cliff said. “Like, hey man, they said they didn’t, but, hey man, I know they did.”

  “Does this have something to do with the aliens?” I asked.

  “Wow, dude, you’re one smart chick,” he declared.

  “Are they still at the Rio?” I asked.

  “No way,” Cliff said. “We staked out that place for hours. Eric sat in the buffet eating for, wow, like all night or something.”

  “You didn’t get to eat?” I asked.

  “Dwayne and me, we kept watch out back, you know, like where they bring in the food,” he said. “We hid behind the Dumpsters. Like, wow, dude, they’ve got some huge Dumpsters at the casinos. But that’s okay, because we’ve got ways of checking out everything.”

  I don’t know why, but I asked, “What sort of ways?”

  “Our field investigation kits,” Cliff said.

  “Oh, yes, your ufology field kits. How could I have forgotten those?”

  “We’ve got cool stuff. Binoculars, night-vision goggles, flashlights. We’ve got, like, little cameras on wires that can look around corners. Real spy equipment and everything.”

  “That does sound cool,” I said.

  “Damn straight it’s cool,” Cliff said. He pointed to the house. “You want to come inside and see it?”

  “Another day,” I told him.

  “Okay, sure,” Cliff said. He gazed out the window for a minute, then turned to me again. “Hey, do you want to go see them?”

  Hadn’t we just been over this?

  “I don’t think so, Cliff. I don’t want to catch alien cooties or anything,” I said.

  “We’ve got special spray.”

  Guess I should have figured that.

  “I got this buddy, his name is Ronnie,” Cliff said. He frowned. “No wait. His name is Donnie. Yeah, it’s Donnie.”

  “Let me guess, he’s a ufologist, too?”

  “Donnie’s the guy who broke the whole thing open, man,” Cliff told me. “It was all Ronnie’s doing.”

  “You mean Donnie?”

  “Wow, dude, he drives a truck for a grocery warehouse.”