Vegas is Dying (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 2)

by Morgan Kelley

  Emma gave him some time to calm down as she watched his wild movement cautiously. Crazy had a way of sneaking up on you when you least expected it.

  “This was finally my chance to save Crassmount and you two destroyed it!”

  That piqued the interest of both of the detectives. The man was using the death of a woman to boost his dying business.

  Curious.

  If that didn't scream motive, nothing did.

  The wind had apparently left his sails, and the balding man was coming down off his emotional temper tantrum. “I suppose you’re both here to ask me some questions about the dead body,” he stated as he led them towards his office. “Would you like coffee?” he inquired, once inside.

  “That would be nice,” Emma said, taking in their surroundings. The old elegance was there with the carved and mosaic ceilings. She understood why he wanted to save it, but now she had to ask, how far would the man go?

  “How do you take it?” he asked, pouring three delicate china cups full of coffee.

  “Sweet and light,” Brynn answered, taking a seat across from his desk as he handed her a cup.

  “Black please.” Since marrying her husband, and sometimes sharing coffee, she’d learned to appreciate her coffee sans any additions.

  After handing her a cup, he returned to his seat. “Now, I guess you’d like to begin.”

  Emma nodded over the lip of the cup at the man. She was silently measuring him up. He dressed as if he was wealthy, but complained of the financial situation of the business. That spoke volumes of him living outside his means. Money was the number one motive for taking someone’s life.

  “So, the Crassmount is yours?”

  He nodded. “It was once my father’s and his father’s. I’m the last in the line to own it. I’m trying to save it, or it’ll have to be sold.”

  Brynn continued. “No family to inherit it?” she inquired, taking notes.

  “No, Detective. I’m gay. I have no children and my partner wants nothing to do with it. He calls it an eyesore. I think of it as a piece of history. So much of my family is here. I remember growing up in these halls, playing in the theater, and singing on the stage,” he reminisced. “The Crassmount was an icon, until,” he paused, sipping his coffee.

  Emma didn't know if it was for dramatic effect, or if he’d changed his mind on sharing it.

  “Until?” her partner pushed.

  “My father made a very bad business deal forty years ago. He signed a long-term contract with Mason Productions. They could use the theater for as many shows as they wanted, and we’d only get twenty percent of revenue from one show a day even if they ran back to back productions.”

  “Is that bad?” Emma asked. “You’ll have to excuse us, Mr. Tyler, but we’re cops not entrepreneurs.” By playing stupid, most people would give extra information or slip up.

  “I understand. That was a decent amount then, it paid the bills of the maintenance staff, and kept up the repairs, but today it’s very little. The producer of the shows is packing the house with three shows a night. We’re struggling to keep this old beauty alive and maintained.”

  Emma pondered it. “Have you thought to discuss it with the man in charge?”

  Harrison Tyler laughed. “Please. Randall Mason and his son are heartless assholes. They feed off people, using them up before tossing them away. There is no negotiating with him. The man monopolizes the entire theater to the point that no other shows can come in here. By doing so, he’s killing my family’s dream.”

  Both women thought about it.

  “Was this woman one of his showgirls here at the theater?”

  Emma inquired.

  He shrugged. “I didn't see her. If you have her name, I have a master list of everyone in his shows. I made the asshole give it to me for insurance reasons. He’s very shady and untrustworthy.”

  This could work to their advantage.

  “Could we get a copy?”

  He nodded. “I don’t see the harm in that. If you’ll give me a second, I’ll go photocopy it.”

  When he was out of the room, Emma grinned at her partner. “It looks like we found another person with motive for the killings.”

  Westmore nodded. “If those three women are on that roster, we have our first possible suspect with motive and opportunity.”

  This could be their big break.

  Emma pulled out her cell, texting Briggs. She needed everything he could find on Randall Mason and his company Mason Productions.

  Immediately, she received confirmation he’d received the request, and he’d begin working on it as soon as they returned to the office.

  Before they could further discuss their game plan, Harrison Tyler returned with the list in hand. “Here you go.” He handed it to Emma. “I hope it helps,” Harrison offered.

  “So, you and Mason go way back?” she questioned as she scanned the list to finding the name. Under two other shows, Emma also found the other women listed.

  This had to be where the killer was getting his victims.

  “Yeah, he’s an asshole. He’s homophobic to boot. I can’t stand him.”

  The women stood. “Can you write down your home address for us, Mr. Tyler?”

  He looked surprised “Whatever for?”

  Emma shrugged. “There’s a possibility we’ll need to interview you later and speak to your partner.”

  “Why?” he inquired.

  “You’re going to need to supply alibis.”

  He looked horrified. “You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this?”

  Both women grinned. “Looks like you may be getting even more free publicity yet, Mr. Tyler. Stay in town where we can find you.”

  He stared after them, mouth open, unsure what to say. He couldn’t believe it.

  It was quite possible that there was indeed such a thing as bad publicity after all.

  * * *

  Croft took it upon himself to get out of the office and take the search of the next victim’s residence. They’d decided to head over to Tiffany Frankel’s home to speak to anyone who knew her.

  It was to lighten Emma’s workload, but it was also to get him out of the squad room and some fresh air, before he lost his mind. His mood was deteriorating quickly as he dwelled on the situation.

  Briggs got the text from Emma, and made a note to do a search. When he glanced up, his boss was staring at him.

  “Was that from her?”

  Oh boy!

  He wasn’t even using her name. This was bound to be ugly. He wondered who would get custody of him in the divorce. He hoped Emma and not the cranky, irate man.

  “Yeah, she needs me to run a search on someone.”

  He made a disgruntled sound somewhere between acknowledgement and a growl. “Fine.”

  “You know, you may be jumping to conclusions here and making this worse than it needs to be,” he offered, trying to take some of the heat off them both.

  “She lied to me and right to my face!”

  Briggs didn't know how to counter that. “Okay, but maybe there was a damn good reason why,” he suggested. “You should give her a chance to explain before you go off the deep end.”

  “Curtis, you’re single. Stop giving me advice on my marriage. When your wife lies to you, that’s a sign something bad is coming. I won’t tolerate it, especially since she knows how I feel about it.”

  He wanted to mention something about Emma having to endure his temper, but he let it go. “Okay.”

  Please, oh please, let Emma get him in the custody agreement… If this destroyed their relationship, his boss was going to be impossible to deal with. He actually began to ponder if he could switch careers and become a detective.

  “We’re here,” Croft growled, getting out and slamming the door behind him. He knew he needed to focus on work, but all he was thinking about was his wife and what she did. Was this the first time? If he tolerated it, would it happen more often? It was a slippery slope, and he knew
he needed to take a hard line and not let her get away with it.

  There was no excuse.

  They were married and that meant no lying, cheating or destroying the foundation of what they built.

  The tap on his arm drew his attention. He was standing motionless in front of the apartment building. Greyson’s partner was beside him as they stared at the mailboxes. On box number three was ‘Frankel’ and another name. Apparently, Tiffany had a roommate.

  “Let’s buzz first. Someone may be home. If no one answers, we can look for a building manager or start talking to neighbors.”

  Briggs was glad to see his boss was back in control. “Sure thing.”

  Once inside the building, he hit the buzzer for apartment number three. Immediately, a voice came over.

  “Tiff, is that you? Did you lose your keys again?”

  “No. It’s not Tiffany. It’s Director Greyson Croft and Special Agent Briggs, and we’re from the FBI.”

  “Oh,” came the surprised voice. “You can come on up.”

  The buzzer sounded and was followed by an audible click, to unlock the main entrance. Both men climbed the stairs to the door marked three. There was a skinny, shirtless man standing there waiting.

  “Can I see ID first? You can’t be too sure in Vegas,” he asked as he checked out the older man. Christian couldn’t help but focus on him as he grinned. The gentleman could frisk him any day. There was something about the flecks of gray in his hair and the storm cloud colored eyes. Holy yumminess, this was his lucky man day.

  Both men held them out, and he checked out the names before nodding. “Come on in, my name’s Christian. Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, still smiling at the older man and ignoring the younger one. Not that he wasn’t a cutie too, but ‘Director Hotness’ had his total attention.

  “Did Tiffany Frankel live here?” Croft asked as he tried to ignore the lecherous stares the man was casting in his direction. Could the day get any worse? First, he and his wife had a major blow up in their marriage, and now a man was openly ogling him.

  What the hell? Croft wished he’d stayed in bed.

  “She does, and I’m her roommate. Has something happened? Did Tiff get herself arrested again?”

  Both men looked at each other. Briggs finally spoke.

  “What had she been arrested for?”

  Christian leaned forward. “Okay, you didn't hear this from me, but Tiffany likes sex.”

  “So prostitution,” guessed Croft. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a pretty girl struggling in Vegas to walk the strip and get caught by the cops.

  “Not quite.” He wasn’t sure how to explain this. “She was the John, not the Jane.”

  Both men stared at him.

  “You’re telling us she was purchasing services off the strip?” Croft didn't know what the world was coming to. They had a pretty girl paying for sex.

  That just seemed… off.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Croft said, getting the jist of what he was saying.

  Christian grinned. “Oh, goodie. I like it rough,” the man immediately purred back, hoping that he wasn’t being too subtle. Yeah, he had a wedding ring on, but sometimes a married man liked a little dalliance or two.

  He wouldn’t mind showing him some fun.

  Croft was mortified and tried not to not react to the blatant innuendos. He prayed his face remained neutral.

  Briggs was finding the entire situation entertaining.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m very married and very straight,” Croft added, trying not to upset the man. He wasn’t a homophobe. He was just very into women. Specifically, a redheaded one, with forty-three freckles on her nose and apparently a propensity to lie.

  Again, his mood dipped into crankiness.

  “All the good ones are taken or married,” Christian replied wistfully. “Anyway, she was caught buying a prostitute.”

  “Why?”

  The man laughed. “Tiff had to have sex pretty much non-stop. The legs on her bed should be bronzed for posterity, along with the headboard.” He jerked his thumb towards the door of her room.

  The men knew it was time. “We have some bad news for you, Christian. Last night after work, Tiffany Frankel was attacked and murdered as she left the theater.”

  The man’s lower lip began quivering. “Are you serious?” he asked, wiping a tear that slid down his cheek. “She’s dead?”

  When Croft nodded, the man struck. He threw himself on the agent and began to sob hysterically.

  “I can’t believe it,” he wailed, holding onto the man’s strong chest. Oh yeah, Director Hotness was making him feel much better.

  Greyson stared at his partner, seeking his help.

  Briggs was fighting not to laugh. They’d just told the poor man his friend was dead, laughter wouldn’t be welcome.

  Croft mouthed the word ‘please’.

  He shook his head, his own eyes watering. “I’ll get you some water,” he said, escaping to the kitchen, where he was certainly going to succumb to the choking desire to snicker at his boss being man hugged by a grief stricken roommate.

  Today was an interesting day. By the time he returned with a glass of water, Croft had Christian off his body and sitting with a pile of tissues in his hand. The man sniffled and accepted the glass of water.

  “Thank you.”

  “We need to search Tiffany’s room. I hope you don’t mind,” Croft said, wanting to escape.

  “I don’t.”

  Before walking away, he took a long shot. “Did Tiffany know anyone named Sara Jensen or Valerie Weist?”

  He thought about it, mulling it over. “I’ve never heard the first one, but the second sounds familiar. Maybe they worked together at a show?”

  “Was Tiffany a showgirl?”

  He nodded. “Yes, she was a damn good one too. She could work those costumes and the headgear. I tried it on once and it had to weigh ten pounds.”

  Croft was glad Christian was calming down, and he wasn’t surprised the man was trying on the costumes- not in the least. “What show was she currently in?” he asked, wondering if the man knew.

  “She was in a ‘Touch of Lust’,” he paused. “It’s ironic that a woman who was addicted to sex was in a show about getting off. We used to laugh about it all the time.”

  Croft didn't find anything about this case funny or ironic.

  “Was she seeking medical help? Like a therapist to get her through her addiction?” he questioned.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact she was. Hey! That’s where I heard the name Valerie Weist from! Tiffany came back from her last appointment, and said she met another showgirl there. They exchanged numbers and had made lunch plans.”

  It was odd that two women were dead after seeing the same therapist. “Do you have her card or possibly the doctor’s name?”

  Christian nodded as he headed to the refrigerator. Pulling it down, he returned to the room and handed it to Mr. Hotness. “Tiff didn't have any family around here. When can I get her body?”

  Croft took the card and read the information. It was the same doctor and location as the other victim. “I promise that my partner here will be in touch as soon as she’s available to be released.”

  The man nodded. “Can you lock up when you leave? I think I’m going to go in my room and lay down. I don’t feel so well.”

  Both men nodded as the man crossed the room and closed the door. From behind it, they could hear the muffled sobs.

  Croft’s interest was piqued.

  Two of their three victims knew each other and visited the same therapist.

  And none of them had any family.

  It was all too suspicious.

  In their line of work, if it smelled off, looked off and made you feel off, it was pretty much waving a red flag to grab your attention.

  Now, it had done just that.

  Both teams ventured back from the field. It was time to rendezvous and discuss what they’d independently learned, before cutti
ng out for the night. First Emma and Brynn returned from their interview, and both were busy typing up reports to share with the men on their team. Neither looked up as they approached, knowing there was a fight brewing for both of them.

  Emma was afraid she’d cry if she looked Greyson in the eyes, and Brynn was afraid she’d punch Curtis in the face.

  Yeah, it was one of those days.

  The hostility in the air was equally reciprocated from the men. Briggs wasn’t in the mood to talk to Detective Westmore, and Croft had nothing to say to Emma.

  Both men took seats, as far from the women as possible. It was more proof that the evening was only going to get worse, before there was a break in the anger.

  When they finally sat, someone broke the silence.

  “How was your interview?” Brynn asked, staring at the director. She’d act as the intermediary for her partner, knowing the woman would do the same for her. It was the unspoken rule between them.

  Croft shrugged. “I think we’ll start running a few new angles that popped up.” He broke down the details of what they learned, making eye contact solely with the detective and not his wife. When he did finally glance over at her, he saw the emotion and misery, and chose to ignore it.

  Right now, he wasn’t ready to be forgiving. In fact, he was waiting until they got home to start the mother of all fights and draw the line in the sand.

  Tonight, there was going to be a war.

  Emma stared at him. The anger was brewing, and she wished he’d see it all from her perspective. Right now, he was too upset to be calm, so all that was left was to ride it out.

  “We found out some interesting things too,” Brynn stated, leaving it open for her partner to pick up and say something.

  “We found the owner of the theater where the body was found. He gave us this,” Emma said, sliding it across the table for the men to see. She’d highlighted the three pertinent names. “They all worked out of that theater in different shows.”

  “That’s great work!” exclaimed Briggs. “You found the killer’s hunting ground.”

  Emma nodded, wishing she’d found a way to fix her husband and herself instead. He had only looked at her once, and it was in anger. It seemed all the love was gone and drained from his entire body. Now, she knew why they called him the ‘Ice King’. He was really good at being chilly.