The Goddaughter Does Vegas

by Melodie Campbell

“There’s something wrong with me?” I said.

  “With your aura,” said Rita, nodding sympathetically. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  “Describe it,” said Salvo.

  Rita continued to stare at me. “It’s muddy.”

  Nico snorted. It came out like a sneeze, but I knew him well enough to understand his reactions to things.

  “Muddy,” I parroted. Great. I had a muddy aura. What the heck did that mean?

  “Sort of like there’s a fog around you,” said Rita. “I can’t describe it well. But are you feeling okay?”

  “I was feeling grand until one minute ago,” I said. Did a crow fly in here or something?

  “I wonder if it has anything to do with the identity theft,” Nico said. He launched into an explanation of the nightmare I’d been through in the last while. First the Amazon theft. Then the immediate problem of the Sugar Daddy dot com impostor.

  “Could that be it, Rita?” asked Salvo. “An impostor posing as Gina—could that interfere with Gina’s aura?”

  She nodded. “Definitely. It’s really most interesting. I’d love to study this. But we need to help Gina get this sorted out, Salvo. This can’t go on forever.”

  A cell phone nearby buzzed like a cricket. Salvo reached for his first.

  “Nuts,” he said, looking down at it. “I have to go. Apparently there’s a problem at the zombie conference.” He pocketed his phone.

  “Anything I can do?” asked Nico. He moved to get up.

  Salvo shook his head. “Not unless you want to clean up vomit and babysit drunken teens.”

  Nico sat back down. “Pass on that!”

  Salvo sighed. “I knew this would happen. I warned Dad! With all that makeup our zombie guests wear, they don’t look like their driver’s-license photos.”

  “Ah!” said Nico. A smile split his face. “So you’ve got a lot of underage kids with borrowed driver’s licenses getting plastered in the bars.”

  “Throwing up brains, no doubt,” I added.

  “You got it,” said Salvo, rising from his chair. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He dashed out of the restaurant.

  “Well, this is nice,” said Rita.

  I held back a chuckle. Nice wasn’t exactly how I would have described the previous conversation. Nor the one before that. Nor the seriously twisted restaurant we were in.

  “Say, Rita, you might know,” said Nico. “Is there a family significance to black velvet Elvis paintings?”

  Rita’s eyebrows shot up. “Might be. Why do you ask?”

  “Frank gave me one as a wedding gift,” I said. “It was delivered to my room about an hour ago.” I paused when I saw her face. It had softened into a look of pleasure. “I mean, it’s a lovely painting and all,” I added quickly.

  “If you like that sort of thing.” Nico sniffed.

  I glared at him. Nico is a certified interior designer. Clearly, he did not like that sort of thing.

  “Well executed is the phrase you are scrambling for, I expect,” said Rita with a smile.

  “That would work,” I said, smiling back.

  She leaned forward. “Well, yes, there is significance. Frank was a great fan of Elvis back in the day. And he likes his little joke. He obviously wanted to show that you are important to him, Gina.”

  “By giving her a velvet Elvis painting?” Nico squeaked.

  “Well, yes. You see, she’s family now. And Frank takes good care of his family. In all ways, including financially. Can you guess?”

  We both stared at her.

  She leaned forward. “Silly that he didn’t give you a hint. I know he wants some time alone with you before you go. He’ll tell you then, so I’m not really giving anything away…”

  She gestured for us to lean in closer. “When you get home, take the backing off the painting. In the lower left corner you’ll find some numbers.”

  “Numbers?” said Nico.

  She nodded. “An account number and a password.” She reached for her purse and took out a business card and a pen. She turned over the business card and wrote something on the blank side.

  We both stared as she passed it to me.

  “What is it?” said Nico.

  I pointed. It was the name of a Swiss bank.

  ELEVEN

  Just about then Pete texted me. We arranged to meet in the lobby.

  Rita had a meeting to go to, but she made us promise to save a day for her. “There’s so much to show you,” she said. “And tell you. About your mom and me, when we were together that summer.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” I said, returning her hug.

  The restaurant was still full when we left. I found Pete in the lobby, staring at murals.

  I pointed to one. “There’s a crow sitting on that tombstone.”

  “Why are you so superstitious about crows?” asked Pete, wrapping a big arm around my shoulders. “A bird can’t predict when something bad is going to happen.”

  I looked at Nico and he looked at me.

  “Let the poor Irish lad keep his innocence,” said Nico.

  We both nodded.

  “Ready for a bit of sightseeing?” said Pete.

  “You bet!” I said. “I haven’t seen anything except the inside of this hotel yet.”

  “And there’s so much!” Nico practically vibrated with excitement. “There’s the Venetian, Caesars Palace—”

  “New York-New York,” said Pete. “Flamingo. The Eiffel Tower Restaurant—”

  “Golden Nugget in the old town, and don’t forget the Mob Museum,” said Nico.

  “They have a Mob Museum?” I shivered. “Not going there, Nico. No way, no how.”

  “Afraid of finding your photo on the wall?” Pete laughed at his own joke.

  That’s exactly what I was afraid of. After the Lone Rearranger episode in October and my growing rep in The Hammer, it was a distinct possibility. And if not me, then several other people in my family whom Pete had met. But no way was I telling him.

  “Let’s get going then!” said Nico.

  We linked arms like Dorothy, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man, and went out to follow the yellow brick road. The one lined with Christmas trees.

  Three hours later we had seen a lot of the sights. We had wandered through the lobbies of most of the big hotels. I’d poked my head into several swish stores. Even I had to admit that the Christmas decorations added to the Vegas charm.

  “You can never have too many lights,” said Nico, wagging a finger. He was a noted expert in bling.

  “Speaking of which, we have to come back when it’s dark to see the light show at Bellagio,” said Pete. “That reminds me! I have something for us to do tonight.”

  Nico grabbed my arm. “Velvet Elvis paintings,” he whispered, pointing to a street vendor.

  They looked pretty much like the one Frank had given me.

  “Hey, I meant to ask you about that,” said Pete. “There’s an Elvis painting in our room. Where did it come from?”

  Whoops! He didn’t know about Frank and the painting. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to know.

  “Yeah, about that,” I said, stalling. “Tell you when we’re alone.” I made it seem as if I didn’t want Nico to know. Pete would back off then. And when he and I were alone, I knew ways to distract him.

  “I think I’ve seen enough casinos,” said Nico. “Time for coffee?”

  I was famished. You can walk forever on the strip. Pete still had an athlete’s constitution. Nico seemed to be mainly just nervous energy fueled by caffeine. But I was a typical Italian gal. Show me the buffet and stand back.

  “Food!” I yelled out, like one would say mercy! “I need real food. Nothing stupid like a salad.”

  Pete chortled. He always gets a kick out of my appetite.

  We were outside the Mirage. California Pizza Kitchen was beckoning, like the promise of water in the desert. I dragged the guys to a table for four and plunked my purse on the spare chai
r. A few minutes later, we had ordered.

  “So,” I said, looking across the table at Pete. “You have something for us to do tonight?”

  Pete reached into his pocket. “Front-row seats to the Manipula the Magician show!”

  Nico gasped. “Manipula? OH. MY. GOD. He’s the best! Pete, you are awesome!”

  Pete looked pretty pleased with himself. “I even got three tickets,” he said.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be right to leave Gina behind,” said Nico.

  Pizza was yummy. We ate every bit of two pies and then headed out to the strip. Things were starting to liven up. Vegas by day was a happening place. At night and at Christmas, it was off the charts. Colored lights sparkled in all directions. It was like walking through a kaleidoscope.

  The sidewalks were crammed. I kept a firm hold on Pete’s arm with one hand. With the other I held my handbag close to my body.

  Manipula the Magician was playing in a theater in one of the main hotels. It was about a ten-minute walk from the pizza place. Easy to find. Everything is well marked in Vegas.

  Piles of people were pouring into the theater. Pete surrendered the lower half of the tickets to the usher. We made our way down an aisle to the front row. It was easy to find our seats. Yet another cool thing about being in the front row.

  I sat down between Pete and Nico. This was great. Distraction was just what I needed. For the next two hours, I wasn’t going to think about Amazon fraud, online impersonators, muddy auras or anything sketchy.

  Tomorrow I was getting married! I smiled at Pete. He squeezed my hand.

  The first hour went by in whirl of stunning acts. Nico had been right. Manipula was brilliant. No way could I figure out how he did those illusions. We clapped madly.

  As the applause died down, the great magician said, “Thank you! Thank you. Now for the next part of the show, I need an assistant. Someone from the audience. Let’s see…”

  Manipula walked purposefully down the center steps of the stage. His gaze traveled along the front row and stopped. His eyes were huge as he lifted his arm.

  “You.” He pointed at me. “You’re perfect.”

  Pete snorted. “Obviously, you don’t know her well.”

  I whacked him with the back of my hand.

  “He means you, Gina.” Nico coaxed me with a hand on my shoulder. “Go, go, go!”

  Manipula reached forward with his palm open, like you do when meeting a new dog.

  “Come,” he said gently. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Wouldn’t you know he said the exact words that would bring me to my feet. Afraid? I was afraid of spiders and snakes. And maybe Aunt Miriam, who was scarier than any of the men in our family. But not Vegas entertainers dressed in funny gowns and capes. No sir. It took more than a Vegas stage to scare me.

  I took Manipula’s hand. Together we walked up the steps as the crowd cheered. I heard Nico’s wolf whistle rise above the din.

  The magician led me over to the standing mic. His face was rather ghastly with all that stage makeup. But his smile was warm and encouraging. When the applause had died down, Manipula let go of my hand. “Give them a big smile,” he said to me.

  I looked into the crowd and smiled. It was impossible to see anyone in the audience. The lights were too bright.

  Manipula said, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Gina Gallo,” I said clearly into the mic.

  “GINA?” Three voices rang out from the crowd.

  I stood paralyzed in front of the blinding lights.

  “Gina? Pumpkin?” cried a shaky male voice.

  “RUN!” yelled Nico.

  I couldn’t see him, but that didn’t matter. When Nico tells me to run, I scram without thinking.

  I was down the center-stage steps in seconds. Then I took off up the aisle. I could hear Nico behind me, saying encouraging things like, “Run, run, run, run!”

  Unfortunately, Nico didn’t give any instructions on where to run to. So I just kept going, into the lobby and out the door. At the sidewalk I bolted left.

  “No, no, no!” yelled Nico. He slapped my shoulder, and we stopped momentarily. “Wrong way.”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me along Las Vegas Boulevard. At the first intersection he steered me into the side street. A taxi stood waiting. Nico threw up an arm to flag it, and we tumbled in.

  “The Necropolis,” said Nico to the driver. “And can you let us off around the back, please.”

  I had to smile. Nico may have been Mob, but he was Canadian Mob. They know their manners. They always say sorry before they whack you.

  Ten minutes later Nico opened the door of my hotel room.

  “See? I knew this extra room card would come in handy,” he said.

  “Crap!” I slapped the palm of my hand on the wall. “I left my purse behind.”

  “Pete will bring it.” Nico pushed the door open.

  “Crap!” I said. “I left Pete behind.”

  “Not for long,” said Nico.

  He was right. We didn’t have to wait long.

  I lay on the bed with my legs hanging over the side. Nico was draped dramatically across the only easy chair in the room.

  The card reader clicked. Pete entered the room. When the door closed, he leaned back against it. He dropped my purse to the floor and crossed his arms against his chest.

  “Will one of you kindly tell me what’s going on?” he said quietly.

  So we did. At least, most of it. I told him about the Amazon scam, and the Sugar Daddy-dot-com identity theft. Nico recounted the scene with Jerry. We both assured Pete that Stoner was working to get things resolved on the Internet front.

  “So those guys at the show tonight were expecting to meet you here in Vegas,” he said, shaking his head. “Poor schmucks. Wonder how many people this fake Gina Gallo scammed?”

  “At least six that we know of,” Nico said. “Probably more.”

  I just groaned.

  “Anything else I should know?” asked Pete.

  Nico looked at me. I shook my head. No sense alarming Pete any further.

  “Can we call it a day?” I said. “I’m bushed.”

  Nico said goodnight and left. I got up to brush my teeth.

  Pete followed me into the crypt. “I won’t rest until you are legally Mrs. Malone. Far too many suitors waiting in the wings here.”

  I pointed my toothbrush at him. “It’s my protection against showgirls.”

  He laughed and encircled me with his arms.

  TWELVE

  It was nearly noon when Nico phoned the next day.

  “Here’s the plan,” he said. “The wedding service is at four. We’re meeting Lainy at one, in the bar. Lainy will take you to the hair salon after we have a quick drink. Then she’ll help you dress. I’ve arranged for a limo to drive us to the chapel. Pete will meet us there, of course.”

  I smiled. Pete and I had separated an hour earlier. I had no idea what he was doing at the moment, but he’d been given strict orders to vacate our room. No way was he seeing this bride before the wedding.

  Pete had yet to see my wedding dress. I’d hidden it well, in a special compartment of my luggage. It had packed down easily, like silky satin does. I’m not into Cinderella ball gowns. I don’t like a lot of fluff. This was the sort of gown I knew Pete would appreciate. It had a low neckline, framed with rhinestones.

  At five to one I met Nico at the entrance to Embalmed. Never had I been in a bar like this before. The whole thing looked like a morgue from one of those CSI shows on TV.

  The bar was stainless steel, as were the tabletops. The surgical lights that hung from the ceiling were dimmed. White porcelain tiles covered the walls.

  “Can you believe it? Look over there.” Nico pointed.

  I grinned. The bar itself didn’t have bottles. Instead, there were jars with clear plastic hoses leading down to spigots. Most of the jars had poison labels on them.

  It was pretty busy. All the tables were filled, so we
sat at the bar. Nico dropped onto the stool beside me.

  “I think that red stuff might be Campari,” Nico said, pointing to one of the jars.

  I was wondering what type of poison to order when Lainy rushed in. She spotted us and waved.

  I had to smile. No one makes an entrance like my famous friend. With her big red hair and showgirl figure, she can rock a suede cowgirl skirt or designer duds. We got the cowgirl look today.

  I expected a big hug and kiss. I got them, but her gorgeous face was a study in alarm. “Have you seen it?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Seen what?” I asked. “The chapel?”

  “The local news.” She grabbed my upper arm. “Come on. It’s playing on the screen in the lobby.”

  I sprang up. Lainy led us out of the bar. “Darn,” she said when we got to the lobby. She pointed to the big screen on the wall next to reception. “They’ve moved on to something else. Wait a minute.” She reached into her bag. “I’ll get it on my tablet.”

  She pulled out a tablet and started poking it feverishly. I was completely baffled. What was so important that we had to leave the bar before I even ordered a drink? I needed that drink. It was my wedding day!

  “Here it is,” she said. She shoved the tablet into my hands.

  I looked down at the screen. Nico crowded in behind us.

  “And in breaking news, have you seen this woman?” said a deep male voice.

  Now I really needed a drink. There it was. My Facebook photo! I gasped and listened.

  “Police are asking for help in locating a woman going by the name of Gina Gallo, who is the suspect in a number of senior scams.”

  “Yes, Steven.” The camera switched to a pretty young female reporter, standing in the lobby of another hotel. “I’m on the scene in Vegas, where Gina Gallo has fleeced numerous elderly men out of their savings. One of her victims is with me today. Ernie, do you want to say a few words?”

  The microphone was thrust at his elderly face. But before he could say anything, a stout woman grabbed it out of his hands.

  “I’ll say something,” said the not-so-pretty woman. “It’s despicable, that’s what it is. Conning good men like my Ernie into thinking you love them. Pleading with them to send money so you can meet them in Vegas. You’re a heartless cow, Gina Gallo! When I get my hands on you, I’ll rip your face off—”