A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 03 - Red Roses in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  I half-smiled, half-sighed. “Don’t you sleep?”

  “Not when you don’t.”

  Unlike the last time I’d used my tiredness as an excuse, this time I really was tired. I wanted nothing more than to go home and snuggle up on my sofa for my three hours of sleep. But it would be nice to see Jack again. Remembering the way his green eyes sparkled was already sending flutters through my stomach, so I wasn’t able to say no.

  We agreed to meet at The Blueberry Breakfast Café, which was on the way to my condo, and, despite its name, was open 24/7, like most places in Vegas. The Spanish-style outside was low, flat and pink, and its roof blue-tiled. It had a big, neon sign out front that stayed on for the whole night and a large, inviting car park, but it was always devoid of tourists. The few who wander in by accident quickly wander out, since it’s not the “Vegas experience” that they came for. It’s a consistently half-empty, run-down place with grumpy servers and good food, and at four o’clock in the morning, Jack and I had the place pretty much to ourselves.

  We sat opposite each other in one of the squeaky, shiny red booths, and smiled. We were both exhausted from work, and we were both excited to see each other. As we waited for our order to arrive, we stretched our arms across the plastic-laminate diner table and held hands like one of those goofy couples I’ve always mocked. I tried to ignore the shivers of electricity I felt running along my arms, and I listened as he talked about his work. Something about a construction company he was trying to buy out in Oregon, and most of it went over my head, other than registering the fact that he’d have to go up there at some point.

  We unlocked hands to make space for the food when it was brought over by a blank-faced brunette whose neck had disappeared into rolls of fat. Two coffees, and a big stack of blueberry pancakes with whipped honey-ricotta topping. We dug in, and Jack asked how Nanna was doing.

  “Annoyingly ok,” I said, as I speared a piece of blueberry pancake and made sure I got enough of the topping on my fork. “She doesn’t seem to get how serious this whole thing is. And of course, I feel like I’m not getting anywhere.”

  I gulped down my overly-large pancake-piece, and Jack nodded, his green eyes concerned. “How’d it go at Verdant Wealth?”

  “Everyone was helpful, but nobody really knew the guy. He seems like everybody’s buddy – except not really.”

  Jack frowned. “Adam Bitzer. You know, the name seems familiar.”

  “Where would you have met him? It’s not like you two run in the same circles.”

  Well, neither did Jack and I, and remembering that made me frown. But before I could wonder why Jack bothered to date me, he said, “Maybe I met him through someone else. Like a friend of a friend.”

  “Did you ever go to Verdant Wealth to invest any money or something?”

  Jack smiled and shook his head, no.

  “You know,” I said. “Ian thinks those guys do some work for the Mob.”

  Jack raised one eyebrow, a thin smile playing on his narrow lips. “I didn’t get here by kissing and telling.”

  I paused, my fork mid-air. “You’re kidding! No way, you’re not serious!”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “But – but –” I stared at him in shock. “If Verdant Wealth had anything to do with those guys, maybe Adam was killed because he found out too much.”

  Jack looked serious again, and shook his head. “I’m not admitting I know anything, but let’s say, hypothetically, that the company’s got some ‘connections.’ Those connections would be very, very minor. They’d have nothing to do with Adam’s death.”

  I made a mental note to chat with Nanna’s ex-enforcer friend – pronto. Maybe Jack was wrong, and maybe he didn’t know everything that was going on in Verdant Wealth.

  “How’d it go with the family?” he asked. “Did you chat with them?”

  I rested my head briefly in my hands to keep it from exploding, and then I looked up at Jack and shook my head. “I talked to them on the phone. Well, I met with his mom and sister, but they know nothing. The brother’s still in Nebraska, but I’ll talk to Claire and Cynthia tomorrow.”

  Jack gave me a questioning look and I said, “Cynthia Pruttley’s the girlfriend.”

  “Hang on,” said Jack, leaning forward suddenly. “I know that name. Cynthia. Pruttley.” He looked off into the distance, and after a few seconds he said, “Right! I’ve met her a couple of times, on the charity circuit.”

  It was my turn to look confused. “Charity circuit? Why would she be on the charity circuit? As far as I know, she’s just a regular Jane.”

  “And that’s where I met Adam,” Jack said. “He was with her. Or rather, she was with him.”

  I frowned. This wasn’t making sense, considering that the folks on the Vegas charity circuit were either uber-successful local business people like Jack, their dolled and plastic spouses, some local politicos, and the occasional celebrity trying to bolster their image.

  Adam wasn’t earning enough to afford the lifestyle that went with the charity circuit – the endless large donations and the over-priced “charity” tickets and auctions. Not to mention the expensive lunches and dinners with the other members of that circuit, to make sure you kept getting invited. “Where exactly did you meet them? How often?”

  “Oh, you know.” Jack shrugged. “Here and there, at all those charity galas and silent auctions and stuff.”

  I sipped my decaf thoughtfully. “Did you know them well?”

  “No, but I met them a few times. Claire Bitzer’s Adam’s sister-in-law, right?” I nodded and Jack continued. “Yep, she was usually at those parties, too. And her husband Mike.”

  I was impressed. “How do you remember all those names? And when do you even have time to go to these things?”

  Jack smiled. “You gotta make time to network. And I just… kinda remember people.”

  “Hmm,” I said, helping myself to some more blueberry pancake. “What’s Claire like? Her dad’s someone rich, right? Joe Something.”

  “Joe Stephanopoulis.” Jack signaled the waitress to refill our decafs, and said, “He’s in the construction business here. Definitely rolling in it. Ambitious and ruthless as hell, and Claire’s picked up those traits off her dad.”

  “She doesn’t seem to have any bad press at all.”

  “That’s because she’s smart. She doesn’t do anything stupid, works hard at her job. In another four years, she’ll probably be in Washington.”

  “Anything else?”

  Jack shrugged. “Not really. She seems nice enough. Friendly, decent, seems to really care about residents here, far as I can tell.”

  I nodded. “And what about Adam Bitzer and Cynthia Pruttley? What’d you think of them?”

  Jack eyed the remaining pancakes carefully, and took a forkful. “You can have the rest,” he said. “I think I’m full. Adam – he seemed ok, I suppose. A bit quiet, but seemed friendly enough. Cynthia was–” I got the feeling he was about to say “pretty” or “gorgeous” or something equally complimentary, but he stopped mid-sentence and went on to say, “Tall, thin and blonde. Seemed like a social butterfly – knew a bunch of people on the circuit, and always seemed to enjoy herself at these things.”

  I nodded and polished off the plate. Jack didn’t seem to know anything else about these people, so we talked about random things for a little while, and after a slightly awkward goodbye, I headed home.

  Nanna wasn’t there when I entered my condo, but there was a note from her, informing me that she’d had dinner with Ian and Nathan, and was now out playing poker with Nathan. I was too exhausted to care, and went lights out as soon as I hit my sofa.

  At some point in the night, I heard voices near my front door.

  “The Texans are always the easiest to win off,” Nanna was saying in a hoarse whisper.

  “It was great,” said Nathan, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  There was a muffled sound that was suspiciously like a
kiss, and I felt my eyes widening. It was tempting to jump up, switch on the lights and yell, “What’s going on in here?!” annoyed-parent style, but it seemed like too much effort.

  The next thing I knew, my alarm was going off, the place smelled like scrambled eggs and coffee, and light was streaming in through the window.

  Time to drag myself up and go chat with Claire Bitzer.

  Chapter Twenty

  By the time I’d showered and changed, Ian had wormed his way into my condo and was digging into the scrambled eggs and bacon that Nanna had made me.

  Nanna noticed the way I was glaring at Ian’s plate, and quickly said, “There’s more on the stovetop for you.”

  “What’re you doing here, anyway?” I asked Ian, as I grabbed my own plate.

  “Nanna invited me in,” he said. “Isn’t this breakfast great? Why don’t you make scrambled eggs and bacon?”

  “Because it takes effort,” I grumbled, digging into my food. “But really, why are you here?”

  “I thought you might be asleep,” Ian said. “I know you had a late shift and I didn’t want you to miss the appointment.”

  I looked at my scrambled eggs thoughtfully. “Ok,” I conceded. “I suppose you’ve got a good reason to be here.”

  As we drove over to Claire’s Summerlin house, Ian said, “We need to impress her. State Senator and all that – maybe she’ll want to hire us, later. Or maybe she’ll have colleagues who’ll need a PI. And her dad’s rich – maybe he’ll want to hire us.”

  There might not be an “us” pretty soon. But I didn’t feel like dampening his enthusiasm, so I said nothing, other than a brief warning that he should behave himself.

  Claire Bitzer’s house was a low, Californian bungalow with a lush garden in front. It was obvious that she had a regular gardener in, to maintain all those tropical plants she had out front, and I felt a pang of jealousy that I didn’t have a green thumb. Inside, the living room where we sat was tastefully decorated in shades of white, with white sofas and a cream rug that must’ve needed daily vacuuming. The white was offset by bright orange and green cushions, and the walls displayed artwork by local Nevada artists.

  Claire followed my glance and said, “I do think it’s important to support the local economy.”

  I nodded in agreement, even though I’d never be able to afford one of those paintings. Unless Jack stole one for me.

  “I hear you might be on your way to Washington, soon,” I said, and Claire shrugged modestly.

  “I don’t really care where I work,” she said. “As long as I can do my bit to help folks here in Nevada.”

  “How long’ve you been in politics?” Ian asked, and Claire smiled at him.

  “Feels like forever. But it’s only been a few years, now. I used to work for my dad, but I realized pretty fast that my heart’s not in all that money-making. I’d rather help people out.”

  I smiled politely, even though something about her rubbed me the wrong way. I was probably just jealous – she had a gorgeous house, the kind I’d never be able to afford, and she was pretty, in a classical, tasteful way, all bobbed blonde hair and subtle pearl earrings. She was friendly enough, but I couldn’t help feeling that there was a big gulf between us – she’d been born into great wealth and made amazing use of the opportunities she’d been given. Not many people I know would turn down a money-making career just to help people out, and not many people I knew would be able to afford to turn down said money-making career. Except for Jack, of course, but he’s not someone I should know.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your nanna,” she said to me. “But I can’t believe the police wouldn’t do their jobs properly.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I said lightly. Of course, as a politician, she would defend the cops.

  Ian said, “Tiffany’s solved a lot of cases where the cops got it wrong. They’re understaffed, so sometimes they jump to wrong conclusions.”

  “Oh?” said Claire, looking at me politely. “I thought you were new to being a PI.”

  I watched her carefully, wondering if I’d heard the hint of disapproval, or whether it was just my neurosis. I’d probably heard it, I decided. Claire seemed like a goody two-shoes, and naïve to boot. She probably thought that PIs didn’t have any work these days, other than tailing around unfaithful spouses.

  “Tiffany might not have been working that long,” Ian said quickly. “But she’s really good. She solved the Ethan Becker murder, even though that was a really tough case. And she cracked a murder case the cops’d given up on. And a bunch of other smaller cases, of course. We can’t mention them because of confidentiality, but Tiffany’s really, really good. And discreet.”

  He’d all but handed out a brochure saying, “Tell your friends,” and I frowned at him.

  “Ian,” I said warningly, “You know I’m not that good.”

  “She’s the best,” said Ian staunchly. “She’s just being polite.”

  “Well, I’m convinced,” said Claire, smiling at him. “Her nanna’s lucky to have helping out.”

  Once again, I was sure I’d heard a hint of condescension. Was she implying that Nanna was a criminal? And that even if I wasn’t an experienced PI, some help was better than none?

  “Speaking of helping out,” I said quickly, before Ian could start another litany about how great I was, “tell me about Adam. Were you two close?”

  “Not particularly,” she admitted. “We met every once in a while for family dinners, but my job’s pretty crazy and I don’t get to socialize as much as I’d like.”

  “What do state senators do, exactly?”

  Claire smiled. “You would not believe it – there’s so much work involved. I’m usually at work by now.” I glanced at the clock – it was only a quarter to eight. “There’s a bunch of correspondence involved, keeping in touch with constituents and that kind of stuff. And there’s a lot of legislation I need to vote on, and there’re bills I need to decide on or try to pass. Right now, I’m working on a bill that’ll help in-need families save more assets. So I need to gather support for those bills, and that means talking with groups like The Women’s Network of Attorneys and The Rotary Club. And I need to research things, be briefed on a lot of things, attend a lot of meetings, and of course, there’s senate legislation. And then, at the end of the day, I need to go to a lot of networking parties, keep in touch with people.”

  “Wow,” I said. “It sounds terrible.”

  Claire smiled. “It’s exhausting, but it’s worth it. At least, I hope it is.”

  I laughed politely, admiring her resolve to help people out. Most of us just complain about politics – Claire was actually doing something about it. “Speaking of networking,” I said, “I heard Adam liked to go to a lot of these charity events. Did you ever run into him there?”

  She nodded. “Quite often. He and that beautiful girlfriend of his went to these things a fair bit.”

  “Cynthia Pruttley,” I prompted, and she nodded.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Any idea why Adam went to all these parties? As far as I know, he wasn’t earning all that much money, and it’s not like he’s got family money.”

  Cynthia twisted her lips and shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t help you there. Maybe he was helping out with the charities and didn’t have to pay for those tickets and things?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” If he’d been volunteering at a charity, his mother would’ve added it to the list of reasons why he was a saint. Still, it might be worth calling her and checking up.

  I went through the rest of my questions, and got the typical responses in return. Once again, I learnt that Adam didn’t seem to have any enemies, he did seem quite friendly, and he hadn’t seemed any different in the weeks before he’d been killed. No, she had no idea what he’d been doing in the office so late at night, and she didn’t know anything about “red roses.”

  Finally, I asked her how her trip to DC had been.

  “Good,”
she said. “I met with a couple of people and I think we’ve really progressed on some matters.”

  “When did you get there?”

  “Flew out late last Sunday night, and then I flew back this Saturday. Mike’s still in Nebraska. We went to the airport together last week, but caught flights in opposite directions.”

  I smiled. “What about Mike? What’s he like?”

  “Just the best husband in the world,” Claire said. “We’ve been hoping for kids, but it doesn’t seem like that’ll happen. The two of us are really happy together and I’m just so glad I married him.”

  “Is his job as crazy as yours?”

  “It’s nuts in a different way. I think that’s why we got together in the first place – we both want to help people, and Mike’s way of doing that is to help people who are ill.”

  I nodded, unable to think of anything else to ask, and glanced at Ian, who’d been pretty quiet and well-behaved during the interview.

  “Well, I guess that’s it,” I said, fishing out a card from my bag and placing it on Claire’s shiny white coffee table, on top of the big book about historic Las Vegas. “Call me if you think of anything.”

  “Of course,” she said, with a friendly smile.

  I always have this conversation when I’m leaving. People always say they’ll call, but they never do. I couldn’t depend on Claire to tell me anything new – I could only hope that my conversation with Cynthia Pruttley would reveal something. Anything.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nanna was fast asleep when I got back to my condo, and I decided that a nap wasn’t such a bad idea. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow, and before I knew it, my cell phone alarm was going off, and there were five voicemail messages waiting for me.

  The first was from my mother, asking me why I wasn’t picking up, and what was Nanna up to? The second was from my friend Emily, asking me if we were still on for cocktails this afternoon. The next three were all from Natasha, with info about Adam’s friends. His three closest friends were Charlie Stiggins, a cop; Barry Wardle, a marketing exec at a construction company; and Johann Tappley, who’d got married and moved away to Canada a few months back.