He glanced around himself, suddenly agitated. “My life might not seem like much to some, but it’s what I’ve got. I’m not giving it up. No way, no how,” he repeated, running a hand through his mop of dirty-blond hair that I was pretty sure was a good dye job, and then stood up and began pacing the room.
His nervous energy made me feel slightly uncomfortable.
Sitting beside me, Ian said, “It seems like a pretty nice life to me.”
Roger gave him a withering glance. “Not when you used to be a megastar.”
He paused, put his hands on his hips, and glanced off into space, his head tilted high. He looked like a completely different person from the smooth, deep-voiced lounge singer we’d just seen performing. He looked like any arrogant young pop star, high on adrenaline and adoration. “That used to be the life.”
I crossed one leg over the other and tilted my head, watching him carefully. It was like he’d moved back in time. “You miss it.” It was a statement, not a question.
Roger deflated, looking down at me. His hands fell to his sides, and he sighed. “Of course. What I wouldn’t give to go back to those days—to have it never stop.”
Ian said, “I guess you shouldn’t have killed Alicia, then.”
Roger froze. Not a muscle moved in his body; his face didn’t change color, and his eyes didn’t widen or narrow. It was almost like he hadn’t heard what Ian had said.
Then, he turned to face Ian and smiled. He was like a politician answering a particularly tough question: he’d practiced ‘til he was perfect.
“I did not kill my fiancé. I loved her deeply and her disappearance made me very, very sad. But we all mourn differently, and I’ve forced myself to move on.”
Roger walked back to his chair and sat down again. I told myself I’d need to read a bit more about what happened between Roger and Alicia, but I had to admire the guy. His response to Ian had been perfect.
“I never doubted you for a second,” Nanna breathed. “Of course you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so sorry people made things difficult for you.”
Roger smiled at Nanna. “Thank you.”
When I didn’t say anything, he turned to me. “What about you?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been so busy researching this case that I haven’t researched what happened in the disappearance of Alicia Tumal.”
“You really think I might have killed her?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I know next to nothing about that case, other than the fact that she disappeared and your life went from riches to—” I glanced around “—reasonably successful lounge singer.”
Roger smiled thinly. “At least you’re honest.”
“I’m tempted to believe you didn’t have anything to do with Alicia’s disappearance,” I said slowly. “Simply because it made your life much worse. Unless you didn’t foresee that you’d be so much more worse off without her.” I took a deep breath. “And I don’t think you’re stupid. You must’ve known the fans would figure out you killed her and turned on you.”
Roger nodded. “So what would you like to know about this death?”
“You were just telling us how you found the body. You didn’t call the police because you didn’t want to get into trouble, and you didn’t want the attention.”
Roger leaned forward. “Exactly. So I found a robe that one of my lady friends had left behind—I don’t remember who—and I dressed him in that. I found an empty luggage carrier in the hallway. Now, that was a stroke of luck! I brought it into my room, loaded the body up onto it, and covered it. I used the service elevator to take that thing into the kitchen.”
“And you know where all the cameras are, so you could avoid them,” said Ian. “That’s brilliant.”
Roger spread out his hands. “I’ve lived here forever. I know where most things are.”
“Except you didn’t know there’d be cameras in the kitchen.”
“Exactly,” Roger said. “Used to be chefs didn’t want cameras in their kitchens. So anyhow, I got the body to the oven, pushed it in, turned the oven on, and left. Figured I was home safe. No one would be able to tie the body to me.”
“You were wrong,” said Ian.
“Yes,” said Roger. “I was. And now I’m about to lose all this.”
He glanced around himself at the tiny room, and his gaze fell on Nanna.
She smiled happily. “You’re not going to lose anything. We’ll help you out.”
Roger looked at me. “We?”
I gave my head the tiniest of shakes. I think he understood what I meant, and didn’t press anymore.
“Tell us about your lady friend,” Ian said. “You said her name was Anna. Anna what?”
“Wish I knew,” said Roger rolling his eyes. “Haven’t seen her since that night. She used to visit me every week.”
“Can’t you give her a call? Seems you knew her pretty well.”
“She gave me the number of a burner cell and she hasn’t been answering.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Burner cell?”
Roger scrunched up his nose. “She’s got a boyfriend. Told me she wanted to keep us quiet, casual, under the radar. That suited me just fine.”
“‘Til now.”
He nodded. “‘Til now.”
I still didn’t like the sound of that burner cell. “How long’ve you known her?”
“A year, maybe two years now.”
“Why do you think she isn’t coming forward to clear your name? Not that her coming forward would necessarily prove you’re innocent. The timeline still doesn’t match up, since the dead body could’ve been in your room a while.”
“Maybe that’s what she thinks,” Roger said. “Anyway, it’s not like we talk or text on her phone unless it’s an emergency. I think she keeps the phone stashed somewhere, away from her boyfriend.”
I sighed. “We need to track her down. But if the cops haven’t had much luck tracking her down with all their resources, I’m not sure we’ll be able to.”
“What’s her last name?” Ian said.
“Anna… I want to say Ray? It started with R, that’s for sure.”
I pressed my lips together and pulled out my smartphone, where I logged into my private investigators’ database app. I was thankful the app existed, and I no longer needed to drag my laptop around.
Ian and Nanna also pulled out their phones, trawling through the search engines and social media apps, looking for an “Anna Ray.”
There was no one by that name living in Vegas, but there were a few Anna Rays in California, Texas, New York, and Minnesota.
“She lives in Vegas,” said Roger helpfully.
“That rules out everyone we’ve found so far,” I said. “Could Anna be short for something? Annabel? Anna-Sue? Anastasia?”
“Maybe,” admitted Roger.
I ran “Anna” through a name generator and came up with a myriad of options. Pairing all those options with “Ray, Vegas,” didn’t come up with much, so I tried to pair them with “R, Vegas.”
It seemed like we were there for hours, putting all those names into little search boxes and checking the photos the search engines and databases had come up with, showing Roger the results.
Finally, he pointed to a photo excitedly. “That’s her!”
The four of us all stared at the photo.
It was a woman Ian had found via a search engine, so he clicked the photo and was taken to a website for a Vegas burlesque club. “Anastacia Reynolds, singer.”
Anastacia was like the human version of Jessica Rabbit: voluptuous, beautiful, with gorgeous green eyes, wavy auburn hair, high cheekbones, and a stunning smile. She wore a sleeveless, low-cut red dress that emphasized her curves, and her lips were painted a deep red.
“Anastacia Reynolds,” Roger repeated softly.
“The website’s got a phone number,” Ian announced. “Now we know how to get in touch with her.”
I wondered briefly if I should give Anna’s information
to the police, but I decided to wait until we’d talked to her ourselves. I didn’t want Elwood scaring Anna into clamming up, and I really wanted to know if Roger’s story, or at least whatever parts of it Anna could verify, was true.
“So you’ll get in touch with her?” Roger asked hopefully. “You’re taking the job.”
“Of course she’s taking the job,” Nanna said quickly. She rifled in her bag and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. “Here’s her standard PI contract. We need a check in advance for expenses.”
I looked at Nanna’s bag. “How on earth did you get a copy of my contract?”
“Do you really want to know?” she asked.
“No, I suppose not,” I admitted, leaning back against the sofa. “And I guess Nanna’s right. I’ll take the case. I don’t know what’s going on, but the whole situation feels off to me.”
“And we’ve already got information the police couldn’t find,” Ian said excitedly.
“I don’t think the police tried too hard to find her,” Roger said bitterly. “They thought I was making her up.”
“Why didn’t you try Googling her like we did?” asked Ian.
“I did—but I looked for Anna Ray and Anna R. I didn’t do all the other stuff you guys did.”
He signed the PI contract with a flourish and handed a check over to me. “I can tell you live up to your reputation,” he said. “Do you need anything else from me right now?”
“Yes,” said Nanna, with an excited smile. “Could you take a selfie with me?”
Chapter 13
As we all got into my car, Nanna said, “I’m sure this Anastacia Reynolds did it. She killed the guy. I’m telling you—she’s our killer.”
“You’re just jealous,” I couldn’t help teasing as I started up the car and it jerked to life. “Just a tiny bit green-eyed.”
Nanna snorted. “Jealous? Of a killer? No way!”
“What now?” said Ian excitedly. “Are we going straight to her club?”
“I thought you could drop me at home first,” said Nanna. “Wes is going to be back from his boys’ fishing trip soon, and I want to be home when he gets there.”
“And then are we going to the club?” Ian asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
After we dropped Nanna at home, I called the number off the website Ian had found, asking when Anastacia would be performing again next.
“Next show’s at midnight,” said a bored-sounding woman. “Buy tickets at the door.”
She hung up before I could ask any more questions.
I considered calling back, but decided against it.
“Let’s go home,” I told Ian. “We can go to the show at midnight.”
By the time Ian and I got home, it was early evening.
I had a couple of hours to kill before we set out for Anna’s show, and I spent a few long minutes staring at my phone. Ryan still hadn’t messaged me.
Finally, I picked it up and called Stone. “I can see you now,” I said.
Five minutes later, Stone was at my door.
I didn’t ask him how he got there so quickly; instead, I just let him in silently.
He was wearing his usual dark jeans and polished dress shoes, but today he was wearing a green-and-white checkered cotton shirt. It looked somehow fresh and summery, less formal than the white shirts he normally wore.
He quirked one dark eyebrow at me. “What?”
I shrugged. “Nice shirt.”
The corners of his lips went up slightly, and he took a step toward me.
He looked into my eyes, and I wondered how long it’d been since I’d last seen Stone smiling. The last few times we’d met had been in much more stressful situations. His smile was nice, I decided, something rare and precious.
He reached a hand behind and pulled something out of his back jeans pocket. “This is for you.”
I looked down at his hand and was oddly disappointed when I saw what it was. “An envelope.”
“With a letter. From Ryan.”
My heart gave a loud thud, and I felt my knees grow weak. “Oh.”
Stone handed the letter over, and my fingers closed around it.
I was still staring at it by the time Stone got to my front door. “I’ll leave you alone with it.”
I looked up at Stone. I wasn’t sure how I felt— Finally, something from Ryan! But… why the letter?
“Thank you, Stone,” I said softly.
He tilted his head. “How are you doing?”
“I… I guess I’ve been better.” I gave him a wry smile. “Did you know Ryan knew about his leaving months before he told me?”
Stone’s eyes softened with sympathy, and I knew he’d known. Of course he’d known. Stone has contacts everywhere—and knows far too many things he shouldn’t.
And then, instantly, I felt bad about dragging Stone into my drama. “It’s okay,” I said. “Thanks for the letter.”
“Bye,” he said, and then he disappeared.
I sighed to myself. It would’ve been nice to spend more time with Stone, but he was right in assuming I wanted to be alone.
But he was wrong in thinking that I’d want to read the letter now. I glanced at the envelope. It was sealed. I wondered how Ryan had gotten it to Stone. Why a letter, and not a text? How much did he have to say?
I didn’t want to know those answers just yet. I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
It was easier to focus on Harvey Gaudet’s death instead. And to wonder about the mysterious burlesque singer, Anastacia Reynolds.
Chapter 14
After Stone left, I decided to treat myself to a rare daytime nap. It took no time at all to fall fast asleep.
When my alarm went off at eleven, I’d been in the middle of a dream where I was chasing an old white-haired lady. The closer I got to her, the further away she got—until she finally splintered into a hundred old ladies and they all ran away.
It was a thoroughly depressing dream, and I lay in bed for a few minutes before I forced myself up. I wished I’d been dreaming of fun stuff, like amusement park rides and cupcakes. Not dreams that highlighted my failure to perform a simple task. Maybe I should just return Susan’s money and wash my hands of that job completely.
Anastacia’s show was one hour long, and Ian and I sat mesmerized as she performed.
It was near the end of her show, and the tiny hall where she performed was packed. Looking around, I saw that every other audience member, both male and female, was riveted by Anna’s performance.
She was certainly gorgeous—that was part of her appeal—but it was her poise, her grace and confidence, that really stole the show. Her green eyes sparkled under the lights, and her voice was rich and enchanting.
There were only five minutes left of the show, when I glanced across the room and saw him again—the baseball cap wearer who’d been watching the dry cleaners! Why was he here?
I nudged Ian, jerking my head toward the guy.
“No!” said Ian in a hoarse whisper once he saw who it was. “He was at Roger’s, too!”
“He’s definitely involved in Harvey’s death somehow,” I said. “And I’m not losing him this time.”
“Okay.” Ian nodded his head. “You go track him down, and I’ll track down Anna.”
Our plan decided, I headed out and over to the parking lot. As I scoured the lot, I spotted what I was looking for. The white sedan belonging to Baseball Cap Guy.
I lounged beside it, wondering what I’d say. But just as the sounds of loud applause reached my ears, I saw Baseball Cap Guy heading my way.
He spotted me and froze, before taking off at a run.
He dashed toward the darker, emptier side of the parking lot, and he seemed much quicker than me. I was about to lose him.
Pulling my smartphone out of my bag, I threw it at him, clocking him soundly in the head.
“Ow!” he stopped and rubbed the back of his head where I’d hit him.
That gave me enough time to close
the distance between us.
By the time he turned around and saw me, I’d already caught up to him.
“Hey,” I said, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
I meant to explain to him that I just wanted to talk. That I didn’t mean to hurt him.
But instead of giving me a chance to talk, he groaned loudly and fell to the ground, writhing around in obvious pain.
“What’s wrong?” I said in a panic. I’d barely laid a finger on the guy. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not!”
Chapter 15
Ian ran up to me as I stood there, gaping at the man on the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked. “Did you beat him up? Did you get a chance to use your Krav Maga skills?”
“No! I barely touched him.”
We both stared at the guy, and then I stretched out one arm. “Let me help you up.”
“Thanks.”
He let me pull him up, then he dusted off his pants. “You got my weak spot,” he said. “That nerve still hurts.”
“Oh. Why?”
The man glanced around the parking lot. The show’s customers were starting to stream out now, and a few of them were giving us funny glances, clearly wondering what was going on.
“Let’s go somewhere to talk,” I said.
The man had taken off his sunglasses, finally, but he was still wearing his baseball cap.
“Do we have to?” he asked. Even in the darkness, his brown eyes looked watery, and I could make out the dark shadows under them. “Why can’t you two just leave me alone?”
“We aren’t doing anything,” I said. “But we keep running into you. Seems like we might have some common interests.”
“Okay,” he relented. “There’s a decent coffee place five minutes’ walk from here.”
We walked the distance in silence until we got to a small joint with a neon sign hanging out front. The sign declared that it was “Jim’s Crowded House,” and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted out the front door. Despite the late hour, people were coming in and out of the place, laughing and looking as awake as they would at ten in the morning.
Lounge Singers And Liars In Las Vegas Page 8
