by Amber Crewes
She nodded. “I think you’re right,” she said. “I’ll go get some shut-eye.”
Meghan’s plan, however, was cut short; she had just changed into fresh pajamas and climbed into bed when she heard banging on her door.
“Who is it?”
“Management. Open up!”
She groaned as she rose from the bed and put on her slippers, padding to the door and hoping they didn’t need anything important. “Can I help you?” she asked as she opened the door to find Belinda standing before her.
“You’ve brought shame to this hotel,” Belinda stated firmly, a glare on her face. “There is a flock of reporters outside, and they are screaming obscenities at our guests!”
Meghan raised an eyebrow. “How is that my fault?” she asked. “How did I bring shame on your hotel? I didn’t ask the press to camp out here.”
Belinda tightened her hands into fists. “Were you on stage with Elvis when he died? That’s what the reporters are saying, and if that’s true, then you are the reason there is such a ruckus here!”
Meghan bit her lip. “I was on stage when he died,” she began. “But he chose me to come on stage! I didn’t want to go. And I wasn’t the only one up there. Another one of my friends, Mrs. Sheridan, was there!”
Belinda gasped. “So there are more of you causing trouble here? That explains a lot! I’ve had a number of calls this morning about a wild bachelorette party causing trouble in Las Vegas, and it’s YOUR party!”
Meghan shook her head. “This is ridiculous,” she told her. “I want to file a complaint against this hotel. You are intruding on my privacy, insulting me, and I have had enough.”
Belinda smirked. “No, I have. You have to leave now. It’s my right to ask guests to leave, and I am asking you to go.”
“No,” Meghan told her. “I’m not going anywhere! This is my party, and we are staying.”
Belinda glared at her. “Everyone knows you killed Elvis. Everyone knows about your dirty little affair. Why don’t you and your trashy friends get out of here before more trouble hits?”
Meghan’s eyes widened. “Affair? What affair? I’m engaged to be married! I’m not having an affair.”
“I hope your fiancé sees this!” Belinda cried as she ran into Meghan’s room and turned on the television. The channel was set to a news station, and Meghan grimaced as she saw her face on the screen. It was the footage taken only moments earlier in front of the hotel.
“Miss Truman, how well did you know Elvis?”
Meghan cringed as she stared at her face on the screen. “Not well,” she had said. “He was here at the hotel once…”
“He was here with you? At the hotel? You had him over to your hotel room? Were you having an affair with him at the hotel?”
“No!” Meghan cried. “Of course not!”
The anchor raised an eyebrow. “You were having an affair with him somewhere other than the hotel? Is that what you are trying to say?”
“No!” she insisted. “I barely knew him.”
“So you were having an affair with a man you barely knew?”
Belinda turned off the television. “It’s clear as day that you were having an affair with him! It went wrong, didn’t it? That’s why you killed him?”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” Meghan told her. “Get out of my room.”
Belinda shook her head. “Get your things and get out of my hotel, or I’ll call the police.”
Wanting to avoid another trip to the Clark County Jail, Meghan complied, quickly packing her things and dashing down to the lobby.
“What is going on?” Trudy asked, the concern clear on her face. “A staff member just kicked me out of my room.”
“Me too,” Karen told them as she appeared with her paisley duffle bag. “They told me that our party was out of control and we have to leave.”
Jackie flounced down the stairs with her three purple suitcases. “Can you believe this ill-treatment?” she cried. “Meghan, why did you have to get us in this trouble?”
“Me?” Meghan shrieked. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Myrtle waved her hands to get their attention. “Guys! Something is wrong with Karen!”
The group looked over and saw Karen hobbled over. She was breathing heavily, and her face was pale. “What’s wrong?” Trudy asked her. “Are you okay?”
Karen clutched her chest. “I think I’m having a panic attack,” she said through gritted teeth. “Being kicked out of a hotel brought back some bad memories from my younger days, and I am not doing so well. I think I need a doctor.”
Meghan ran to the front desk. “Belinda, call a doctor,” she ordered as Belinda rolled her eyes at her.
“I’m not listening to you,” Belinda told her. “You’re a murderer and an ex-guest. Why would I help you?”
Meghan stared at her with dark eyes. “Call a doctor or I will march outside, get the attention of the press, and get them to come in here. I will tell them that someone is having a medical emergency and the manager of this hotel is refusing to call a doctor. If something happens to her, then you will be considered a murderer!”
Belinda sprang into action. “I’ll have a doctor called over in a few minutes,” she told Meghan. “And I’ll let you stay here another night... under one condition.”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll help do dishes in the kitchen here.”
“What?”
Belinda sighed. “One of our kitchen staff members called in sick tonight, and we are low on numbers. If you all help, I will help you.”
“Fine,” Meghan told her. “Whatever it takes to get a doctor for my friend.”
Seven long minutes later, a doctor ran into the lobby. She knelt beside Karen, taking her blood pressure and pulse. “Are you having headaches?”
“No,” Karen responded. “I think the worst of it is over.”
The doctor took Karen’s temperature and frowned. “The panic attack may be over, but you are running a high temperature,” she noted. “I’m going to insist that you are taken to the hospital for a full examination.”
Karen began to argue, but Meghan hushed her. “You are into your seventies,” Meghan said softly. “Your health is the most important thing you have. Please let them take you in and check you out. For me? It can be my wedding gift!”
Karen gave her a soft smile. “Only for you,” she told Meghan. “I’ll go in.”
A while later, the ladies waved goodbye as Karen was loaded into an ambulance and rushed off to the hospital. Upon hearing the rest of the ladies would have to tackle a mountain of dishes, Jackie climbed in the ambulance. “I’ll make sure she’s okay!” she called out as they closed the doors.
“That woman always manages to get out of doing the dirty work,” Trudy muttered as they walked inside where Belinda was waiting for them with a box of aprons.
“Put these on and follow me.”
They donned their aprons and walked back to the kitchen. “You’ll be doing all of the lunch and dinner dishes from last night,” Belinda informed them. “Then, if there is a lull, you’ll do yesterday’s breakfast dishes.”
Myrtle groaned, but Meghan elbowed her in the side. “Shhhh,” she told her sister. “If we do this, we can stay another night, and the last thing we need right now is to be in Las Vegas without a place to stay.”
“You’re right,” Myrtle agreed. “Let’s get to washing those dishes.”
Meghan put on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and sighed. She hadn’t thought her bachelorette party could get any worse, but here she was, covered in soap and grime and with a thousand dirty dishes in front of her.
12
A s the ladies finished up the dishes and headed back to the lobby, Meghan could hardly keep her eyes open; she had been awake for far too long, and she was more than ready to get to bed. It was nearly nine in the evening, and while the other women were chatting about getting dressed and going out, she knew she needed to lay low.
“THE KING IS BA
CK!”
The women glanced at the staircase as Mrs. Sheridan hobbled down the stairs. “The King! Look, girls!”
They followed her gaze and saw she was pointing out the window at another Elvis impersonator. “That isn’t the same guy…” Myrtle began, but Meghan shushed her.
“Let her believe it’s the same guy, or she’ll never let the ‘Jeremiah dying on stage’ situation go,” Meghan hissed. “Seriously, Myrtle, we have to play this up like it’s the same person.”
Myrtle nodded and went to the front door to wave in the Elvis impersonator. “Hey, come on in!” she greeted.
Meghan gasped as she stared at him. It was Earl. “What are you doing?” she asked quietly as Mrs. Sheridan rushed at him and began to fawn.
“I love you! The King is ALIVE! He’s alive, everyone!” Mrs. Sheridan chirped. “It’s so good to see you! I was so worried about you!”
Meghan caught Earl’s gaze and mouthed, “FAKE IT” to him, and he began a full Elvis impression. He smiled and winked at Mrs. Sheridan. “I’m happy to see you too, baby doll.”
Mrs. Sheridan planted a hand dramatically on her forehead. “All of this excitement has tuckered me out. I need to lie down.”
She pretended to faint, and Earl ran to catch her as her body went limp. “Are you okay?” he cried as he fell out of character, his southern accent coming through.
“I think I need to rest on the couch,” she whispered.
Meghan rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Sheridan,” she said sharply. “Why don’t you just go upstairs if this excitement is too much? Myrtle, can you please take her to her room.”
Myrtle sprang into action, jumping up and escorting Mrs. Sheridan away. Meghan felt relieved; she was so irritated by Mrs. Sheridan’s antics, and she could have a proper conversation with Earl if she weren’t around.
“Meghan?” Trudy said softly. “Mrs. Sheridan left her cell phone down here. Look.”
Meghan saw the phone. “I’ll just give it to her later.”
“Frank’s calling,” Trudy observed. “You should take it up now. You and I both know they need to hash out whatever has been going on between them.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll take it to her.”
She walked upstairs, passing Myrtle on her way back down. “Don’t ask,” she cautioned as she moved past her.
She reached Mrs. Sheridan’s room and knocked on the door. “Hello?”
Mrs. Sheridan answered the door. She was dressed in her pink bathrobe and a matching hairnet. “I was just settling myself down,” she told Meghan. “Do you need something?”
She held up the phone. “Frank is calling.”
Mrs. Sheridan rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to talk to him,” she said.
Meghan spotted a framed picture next to Mrs. Sheridan’s bed. “Oh, you should talk to him,” she said as she picked up the photo. “You love him so much that you brought a photo of hi—wait. This isn’t you and Frank.”
“It isn’t,” Mrs. Sheridan confirmed. “Look closely.”
Meghan stared in shock. “That’s you and the real Elvis Presley!” she exclaimed.
“That was taken here in Las Vegas,” Mrs. Sheridan explained. “I came here on a trip after my first husband passed away. I was young and bitter, and I hoped the bright lights of Vegas would help heal my heart… or at least give me a reason to smile.”
“Did it help?”
“The trip was terrible!” she declared. “The girls I came here with were snotty and they quarreled the whole time. One night, I decided to go out to a casino alone, and they were so angry with me.”
“Did the trip get any better?” Meghan asked. Mrs. Sheridan’s experience had a lot of parallels to her own, and she hoped the story improved.
“It did,” she grinned. “When I was waiting for the bus to go to the casino, I got splashed by a car. It was raining hard, and I was soaking wet. I looked like a drowned mouse! As I started to cry, a limo pulled up beside me. The passenger rolled down his window, and I nearly died when I realized it was Elvis Presley!”
Meghan’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“Yes!” Mrs. Sheridan nodded. “He had seen me get splashed, and he felt bad. He invited me into his limo, and we spent the evening gallivanting around this city!”
“There’s no way…” Meghan muttered in disbelief.
“It happened,” Mrs. Sheridan insisted. “Look at the photo! He took me to the nicest restaurant in the city, and we shared a bottle of two-hundred-year-old Cabernet. That was his favorite bottle at the time. When we were through, he whisked me over to the theater where he was performing, and let me hang out in his dressing room while he warmed up. That’s where we took the photo.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” she asked. “What an incredible story. I wish I had known that all along. It explains why you are so crazy for Las Vegas.”
Mrs. Sheridan winked. “Some adventures are best kept to oneself. I just thought you could use some cheering up during this trip; remember, it may not be your ideal vacation, but something incredible could happen at any time.”
Meghan hugged her. “Thank you for sharing that,” she told her. “You’ve really cheered me up.”
Mrs. Sheridan swatted her playfully on the bottom. “Now that you’re cheered up, you should go rejoin the group,” she ordered kindly. “Go have fun.”
Meghan nodded and left the room, smiling to herself as she walked back downstairs. “That woman…”
Earl greeted her when she returned. His face was puzzled. “She doesn’t really believe that I am Elvis Presley, does she?”
Meghan shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Earl, what are you doing all dressed up in that outfit? Are you taking over your uncle’s business? What’s going on?”
He blushed. “I hoped I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew,” he said sheepishly. “But I’m running out of money, and my uncle’s costumes are all sitting in my apartment... I went to the manager of the Venetian and talked with her, and she agreed to let me take over his role. I need to pay the bills somehow, and I know what to do, so it seemed like a perfect fit.”
Meghan smiled. “That’s amazing,” she told him. “I’m glad to hear one tidbit of good news today!”
He nodded. “I’m starting to really enjoy it,” he admitted, his eyes bright. “Something inside of me thinks perhaps I was born for the stage. I really get a rush when I perform!”
Before she could respond, she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
She turned to find a red-headed man with a large mustache staring at her. “Are you Meghan Truman?”
“Yes… who is asking?” she replied to the stranger.
He revealed a manilla envelope from his briefcase. “This is for you.”
“What is it?” she asked in confusion. “And how did you find me?”
“I have my ways,” he told her ominously. “This is a subpoena from the attorney of Louise Wilson. Mrs. Wilson, the wife of the late Jeremiah Wilson, is suing you in civil court for the death of her husband.”
13
E arl’s eyes widened. “Yikes. That sounds rough. On that note, I had better get back to the theater! See you later.”
Meghan’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Are you kidding?” she exclaimed as the lawyer handed her the documents. “After everything I’ve been through on this stupid trip, Louise Wilson is suing me in civil court?”
Jackie and Karen walked into the lobby just as Meghan insulted the bachelorette weekend. “Stupid trip? Gee thanks, Meghan. It’s not like anyone put a lot of hard work into making this a great time for you.”
Meghan turned to face her. “Don’t you start with me! This trip has been all about you. You know I never wanted to come to Vegas, and yet, here we are in a dumpy motel with a lawyer telling me I’m getting sued for someone’s death?”
Jackie tightened her left hand into a fist. “Don’t you act like this is my fault.”
“I would say it is your fault,” Myrtle chimed in as she came back to the lobby. “We told you that Meghan wanted a quiet trip.”
“She’s right,” Karen added. “When you told us about Vegas, I told you that Meghan would hate it and that she would even prefer staying in Sandy Bay and doing a little girls’ weekend.”
Jackie scowled. “I wanted to make it special.”
Meghan shook her head. “You wanted to make it something you would find special. This isn’t me, and you know it.”
Belinda scurried over to the group. “You ladies are causing a scene! Stop shouting at once!”
Todd appeared, and he shooed Belinda away. “I’ll take care of them, Belinda. What’s wrong, Meghan? Did something happen? I’ve heard your group has had a rough time with all the news crews outside…”
Meghan could feel her face growing hot. “A rough time doesn’t even begin to describe it,” she told him. “I need to take matters into my own hands.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Can you take me to the theater at The Venetian? I need to get over there and figure out just how this mess started.”
He nodded. “No problem. I’m still on the clock, but I can leave in thirty minutes if that’s ok?”
She agreed, and then turned to her friends. “I am going to get to the bottom of all of this. I didn’t have anything to do with Jeremiah’s death, but unless I prove that, the police won’t let us leave Las Vegas. I am going to the theater and solving this mystery!”
An hour later, Todd and Meghan arrived at The Venetian. The theater was empty except for Earl, who was practicing his set on stage. “Hey Meghan!” he greeted as she followed Todd inside. “Hope everything got figured out for you.”
He returned to his set, and Meghan turned to Todd. “Thanks for bringing me down here.”
“Not a problem,” he assured her. “I’m happy to help. I know quite a few people around The Venetian, so it wasn’t hard getting you in to peek around.”
