by Amber Crewes
She groaned. “Another attorney? Who are you working for? Louise? How many attorneys does that woman need?”
He laughed. “I’m not working for Louise Wilson,” he assured her as Myrtle eyed him suspiciously. “I want to be working for you; I’m new in town, and I need to establish a reputation, and after looking into your case, I think I can get you out of the mess you’re in.”
“Really?” she asked. “How?”
“I looked into Louise Wilson, and she has quite a rap sheet,” he informed her. “There are things about her that you should know, and I think I can leverage those things to get you out of this city faster than you can say Sin City.”
Myrtle raised an eyebrow. “We’ll think about it,” she told him. “Do you have a business card?”
He nodded, pulling a card from his jacket and handing it to Meghan. “Call any time. I look forward to hearing from you.”
16
“H e has never looked more handsome,” Meghan thought as she stared at Jack.
Jack was dressed in a tuxedo. His blonde hair slicked back into the same style that Patrick Johnson’s hair had been during their encounter. He had a smile on his face, and Meghan saw there was a corsage of baby’s breath pinned to his jacket. Her mother adored baby’s breath, and even though Meghan had not wanted to use the flower in the corsages, she was happy that her mother had insisted.
Meghan watched as Jack walked up to a large white gazebo that was covered in lilies. Her parents had constructed the gazebo, especially for the wedding, and she knew it would look beautiful in photos. The photographer had already made her pose by the new structure earlier that day, snapping photo after photo of Meghan beaming in her gown.
Her dress was like a work of art; Mama’s French seamstress had designed the white satin ballgown, and it made Meghan look like a princess. The sweetheart neckline was trimmed with pearls, and the skirt fell in a way that made Meghan appear elegant. The sleeves were puffed, and each one resembled a perfectly crafted snowball. Meghan’s hair was pulled up into a high up-do, and her dark hair was cradled by a snood studded with pearls that matched her dress.
She gasped as the music began to play; it was Canon in D, the song typically rendered as brides walked down the aisle. It was time to be married to her handsome groom!
She looked down, her heart beating in her chest as her father took her elbow and nodded, but instead of guiding her forward, they did not move. She tried to move her feet, but it was as if she were glued to the ground. “Daddy?”
Her father shrugged. “Daddy, it’s our turn,” she told him as the crowd stood up.
Her father said nothing. Meghan couldn’t move, and she gasped as another woman in a white dress pushed past her and began to walk toward Jack. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head; the bride was Mrs. Sheridan! She was dressed in an old-fashioned wedding dress with puff sleeves, a high neckline, and a floppy white lace hat and matching cane.
“What is going on?” Meghan asked her father as Mrs. Sheridan floated down the aisle toward her fiancé.
Mrs. Sheridan reached Jack, and they took hands. Karen appeared beside them; she was holding a Bible, and dressed in a minister’s outfit. “Karen?” Meghan wondered. “What is going on here?”
“We are gathered here today….” Karen began as Meghan’s dark eyes widened.
“He’s leaving me for Sally Sheridan? I don’t understand! What is going on?” she lamented as she watched Jack read vows to Mrs. Sheridan.
“Daddy? Daddy?”
Her father said nothing. She broke free from her father. She ran down the aisle and stood between them, but no one could see her. “Hey! Hey! Jack is mine!” she insisted, but no one responded to her. It was as if she were invisible.
“Hey! Hey! Stop! He’s with me!” she screamed to no avail.
Meghan woke up in a panic, her skin cold and sweaty as she gasped for breath. The entire miserable scene had been a nightmare, and she tried to catch her breath. “What a terrible dream,” she muttered as she reached over and grabbed her cell phone from the bedside table. Though she had felt like she had been asleep for hours, she had only been dreaming for about twenty minutes.
“That was ridiculous,” she murmured as she read through her messages. “Jack would never leave me for her.”
As she glanced through her phone, it began to ring. It was a number she did not recognize, but she answered it anyway. “Meghan Truman speaking.”
“Meghan? This is Officer Brady.”
She groaned as she remembered the long night she had spent in jail. “How can I help you?”
“We’ve almost finished the autopsy,” he informed her. “And we can confidently report that the bite of your pie that Jeremiah took did not kill him.”
“That’s great!” she cried. “So I am not a suspect anymore? I can go back to Sandy Bay?”
“Not quite,” he told her. “We are still conducting tests on the scene, and we have a few more tests to perform on the body. We need you to remain in the area for further questioning.”
“More questioning?” she asked, her heart heavy with the news that she would have to remain in Las Vegas even longer. “Why?”
Officer Brady scoffed. “Because I said so; I’ve seen the news reports and realize that your relationship with Mr. Wilson seems to be more complicated than you led us to believe. You must comply with our instructions or you will find yourself back in jail.”
“Relationship?” she shrieked. “I didn’t even know him! Don’t believe what you see on the news. Is this a bad joke?”
“This is not a joke,” he said gruffly. “Do what we ask of you, or else.”
He hung up the phone, and she moaned. All Meghan wanted to do was get home to Jack and her business, and she could hardly stand being in Las Vegas for another minute.
There was a knock at the door, causing her to jump in panic. Who could be at her door at this hour? She got up and reached for a clothing hanger, hoping she could use it as a weapon if someone dangerous were at the door.
“Who is it?” she asked anxiously.
“Mr. Elway, the owner of the hotel. Please open the door.”
She opened the door to find Lucky Elway staring at her. “I’m sorry to bother you this late,” he apologized. “But I’ve been watching the news, and I think we need to talk.”
She frowned. “Don’t believe everything you see on the news,” she muttered as she stared at her bare feet.
“I don’t,” he assured her. “In fact, I think the claims against you are ridiculous. But, as a business owner, I want to capitalize on what’s going on. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“No,” she told him. “What do you mean?”
“Our website crashed,” he said. “We had over a million people try to access our website today. My investors called, as well as the CEO of the Vegas Tourism Board, and they had great news for me.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Because everyone in this city wants to see the hotel where Elvis’ killer stayed,” he grinned. “The CEO of the Tourism Board wants to add our hotel to a number of tours. They want to feature the hotel on the city and state tourism website. We are going to make so much money from all of this!”
Meghan furrowed her brow. “That’s insane,” she told him. “I didn’t kill Jeremiah Wilson, and anyone who knows anything about his death should understand that! It doesn’t seem fair to me that you are going to profit off of my misfortune.”
Lucky shrugged. “That’s why I am here. You’ve helped elevate my hotel to a level I didn’t realize was possible, and I want to do something nice for you! I’ve spoken to Belinda and Todd, and we want to upgrade your stay here.”
“An upgrade?”
“To our Queen Suite,” he announced grandly. “Pack your things, and I will take you up there now. It’s our finest room; the decor is new, the furniture is comfortable, and we think you will enjoy it!”
Meghan gathered her belongings and followed Lucky into
the hallway. “You’ll be even more comfortable in the Queen Suite,” he assured her as he led her down the hall. “Here we are!”
They arrived in front of a pink door. Lucky threw it open. “Ta-da!”
She looked around. The room was exactly the same as her previous room, the difference being a small couch in the corner and a mini-fridge next to the bed.
“What do you think?” he grinned at her. “Isn’t it magical?”
She stifled a laugh; the situation was becoming funnier by the second, and she wondered if Lucky truly believed the room was better, or if he was just pulling her leg.
“It’s GREAT,” she complimented sarcastically. “Gorgeous. Magnificent. It’s so different than my last room.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he said earnestly as he took her bags and placed them on the bed. “I hope you enjoy it. We will also be assuming the cost of the rest of your stay here. You have brought us so much attention, and we can’t thank you enough!”
Lucky bid her a good night and left the room. She began to unpack her bags, and as she pulled her wallet out of her purse, a thick business card fell out. She picked it up. It was the card from Patrick Jackson, the attorney she had met earlier.
Meghan took a deep breath and pulled out her phone. She dialed the number, holding her breath as the call began to go through.
17
“H ello?” Patrick Jackson answered sleepily. “Who is this?”
“It’s Meghan Truman,” she told him as she clutched the phone to her ear. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I’ve thought about what you said, and I think that I could use you on my side.”
“That’s great,” he replied. “I’m happy to hear that.”
“I want to visit Louise Wilson’s lawyer and see if we can work something out,” she said. “I want to go down there by myself and talk it out with the lawyer; I can be very persuasive, and I am not afraid to stand up for myself.”
Patrick snorted. “That is a terrible idea,” he said. “Meghan, you’re not playing with small-town lawyers from Sandy Bay; Louise Wilson is cut-throat, and from what I’ve researched about her lawyers, they are, too.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Meet me,” he told her. “Meet me at Soma, the coffee shop around the corner from your hotel. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, and from there, we’ll go to her lawyer’s house.”
He hung up the phone, and Meghan quickly called Karen. She knew Karen would be the right person to support her during her conversation with Patrick, and she hoped her friend wasn’t asleep already.
“Hello? Meghan?”
“I’m so glad you answered,” she said. “I’m going to work with an attorney to get us out of this situation,” she explained. “He wants to meet with me in twenty minutes. Will you come?”
“In twenty minutes? But it’s almost nine at night,” Karen replied. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“I don’t have a lot of options,” Meghan lamented. “He offered to take on my case, and I need all the help I can get. Please? Come with me?”
Karen sighed. “You know I need my full nine hours of sleep,” Karen answered. “But for you, of course, I will help.”
They met up with Patrick. As they left the coffee shop, several tourists pulled their phones out and began taking photos of Meghan. “It’s Meghan Truman! There she is!”
“Why is she out so late?” one of the tourists asked. “It’s nine at night! Nothing good happens after nine.”
“She’s with a man! Is that your new boyfriend?” another tourist asked.
Patrick shook his head and showed Meghan and Karen to his car.
“This isn’t what I expected a lawyer to drive,” Karen commented as she surveyed his vehicle. The interior was spotless, but the outside had clearly seen better days.
“It’s a used car,” he admitted. “I’m new in town, and I’m not making the big bucks yet.”
They sped off in the night, leaving the lights and glamour of the city and heading to the suburbs. “Is it a far drive?” Meghan asked.
“Not too far,” he assured her. “Her lawyer, Pete Lawrence, lives out in one of the fancy neighborhoods just north of the city. We’ll be there in twenty minutes or so.”
They were quiet on the drive, and while Meghan was tired, she could feel her adrenaline rushing. She was eager to confront Louise’s attorney, and though she was nervous about showing up at his home in the middle of the night, she was hopeful that Patrick Jackson would help her.
Patrick drove them into a neighborhood filled with magnificent homes. “This is so nice,” Karen admired as they passed a massive stucco house with a large fence out front. “Louise must be paying him well.”
Patrick chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe how much…”
They pulled into a long drive. “Is this it?” Meghan asked as she stared at a three-story stucco house with a grand fountain in the front. “The lights are on. Is he expecting us at this hour?”
“He shouldn’t be,” Patrick told her. “I didn’t call ahead. Maybe he’s a night owl?”
They climbed out of the car, and Karen led the way to the front door. She knocked, but no one answered. “What now?”
Patrick knocked even louder, but no one came to the door. “We could keep knocking or go home,” he shrugged. “We can’t break and enter.”
“Oh, yes we can!” Meghan declared as she gently turned the doorknob and found it was open. “I didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.”
She quietly opened the door and walked inside, Karen and Patrick following along behind her. “Shhh,” she told them. “Maybe he isn’t home, maybe he is, but either way, we want to find, not be found.”
They walked into a large entryway. Tasteful prints of southwestern art hung on the walls, and a red fringe rug lay across the tiled floor. “I like his style,” Karen commented quietly. “Great prints.”
Meghan led them to a door that was closed. “I wonder what’s in here,” she thought aloud. “A closed door on the first floor... maybe this is his office?”
She carefully turned the handle and walked inside, gasping as she recognized the room’s occupants. She, Karen, and Patrick all raised their eyebrows.
“What is going on in here?” Meghan cried as she saw Pete Lawrence and Louise Wilson sitting together on a red leather couch, their limbs intertwined and their faces flushed.
“What is this?” Pete yelled. “What are you doing in my house?”
Louise screamed. “Call the police!”
Karen pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the pair. “Not so fast,” she warned them. “What are you two doing together? Louise, your husband just died, and you’re all cozied up with the attorney that’s trying to pin your husband’s death on my friend? I don’t think so.”
Karen took several pictures. “I’ve emailed those photos to myself,” she declared, her head held high. “And I am going to forward them to the police if you don’t answer our questions.”
Louise frowned. “You don’t have anything on us; we are simply talking about legal matters.”
“That’s not what it looks like,” Meghan scoffed.
Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve done a background check on Louise,” he announced as Pete glared at him.
“Who are you?” Pete asked.
“I’m Meghan’s attorney,” Patrick informed him. “And as I was saying, my background check on Louise yielded some interesting results; Mrs. Wilson has been married three times, and coincidentally, all three of her ex-husbands were either declared bankrupt or had fatal accidents. Louise has received over sixteen million dollars from the deaths and divorce settlements of these former husbands, and I’m wondering if Jeremiah Wilson might be her latest victim.”
Louise scowled. “I loved Jeremiah,” she spat at Patrick. “How dare you? Jeremiah had nothing; he walked into this marriage empty-handed, and I loved him for who he was.”
Patrick adjusted his tie with
an attitude that made Meghan laugh to herself. “He may have walked in with nothing,” he told Louise. “But you and I both know that he didn’t die with nothing; that gig at The Venetian was a massive deal for him, and his net worth was estimated at 3.5 million dollars when he died.”
Louise glared at him. “That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, but it is,” Patrick continued. “And I happened to find documentation that states you filed for divorce from Jeremiah only months before his death. It was approved the day he died. Did you know that?”
She shook her head. “We reconciled,” she shrugged. “I loved him.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Legally, at the time of his death, Jeremiah wasn’t your husband. Your case is bogus, Louise, and you know it. Pete, you know it too. In fact, you and I also know that it is out of line for you to have a relationship with your client. We have evidence that could get you disbarred.”
Pete balled his hands into fists. “What do you want, Paul?”
“Patrick,” he corrected. “I want you to drop the case against my client, or I am forwarding those pictures to the state bar association.”
Pete clenched his jaw. “Get out of my house,” he demanded. “And just so you know, even if we drop this case, your client, Meghan Truman, is still a suspect! I have evidence to prove it.”
“Oh yeah?” Meghan countered. “Like what?”
Before Pete could answer, the door to the office opened, and a stout woman walked into the room. “What is going on here? Honey?”
Pete rose from the couch and straightened his tie. “Hi dear,” he greeted the woman, kissing her on the cheek. “How are you? You are back early from your trip!”
“The kids wanted to see their dad,” she said. “And I missed my husband.”
Louise tried to straighten her hair, but the woman caught sight of her. “Mrs. Wilson? What are you doing over here so late? You look flushed! And these others? What is going on here?”
“I think it’s our time to go,” Meghan whispered to Karen and Patrick. “It looks like Pete has some dirty little secrets of his own, and I don’t want to be around for this fight!”
