Lounge Singers And Liars In Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  Maybe Pete had even managed to sneak the body into Roger’s suite. If he was dating Anastacia, perhaps he used her help in smuggling in the body. I wasn’t yet sure why he’d bother to do that, but perhaps Pete had a connection to Roger that he’d lied about.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Stone. “I really need to track down Pete before it’s too late.”

  Chapter 20

  I had absolutely no clue where to look for Pete, so Stone and I headed over to the Tremonte.

  With the help of our friend in casino security, we ran through the day’s video footage to see if he’d visited the casino—but no luck. Pete was on camera the night before, at Roger’s show, but not since then.

  Stone and I walked up and down the Strip for a bit, watching the tourists and keeping an eye out for Pete—but still, no luck.

  We took a quick late lunch break at a fast food joint, where I dug into a juicy burger and fries, and Stone ate a boring-looking chicken salad. I grabbed a chocolate milkshake on my way out, sipping on it as we did yet another walkthrough of the Strip.

  “This feels kind of pointless,” I said. “Maybe I should just give up and wait for him at Anastacia’s show tonight.”

  “Maybe,” Stone agreed. “You should go home and take a nap.”

  “That makes sense. A nap’ll give me more energy to do extra sleuthing tonight.” I remembered that I’d traded my shift with Vanessa, and now I was supposed to go into work—well, I could always call in sick. Or maybe I’d just go to my shift tonight at seven. Some nights, working as a dealer helps me sort through information on a case.

  I said goodbye to Stone and walked the couple of blocks back to my apartment, where I ran into Ian in the elevator.

  He’d just returned from his date, and he spent a couple of excited minutes telling me all about the wine tasting and how much fun he’d had with Sally and her mother.

  I was happy for him, and proud that he was in a real, seemingly grown-up relationship, but I also felt a pang of jealousy. I hadn’t seen Ryan in what felt like forever, and I wasn’t sure when I’d see him next.

  I no longer felt like taking a nap, so I headed over to Ian’s apartment, where I spent a few minutes playing with Snowflake. When Snowflake got bored of tummy rubs and stalked off to the bedroom for a power nap, I filled Ian in on the case.

  “I need to find Pete,” I said, “It sounds like he’s the killer, but there’s no way to track him down.”

  “Let’s go for a drive,” Ian said. “We might see his car. Hey, we could even check out a couple of parks where he could take a nap.”

  Those sounded like long shots. But then again, I saw gamblers win big on games with long shots every day—so maybe it was time to take a risk.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Ian.

  Ian and I had been driving around and visiting parks for what felt like a couple of hours, when my phone buzzed.

  I pulled over and checked it immediately, hoping it was Ryan—but once again, it wasn’t.

  It was Stone.

  “We’ve found Pete,” he said.

  I gasped. “Where?”

  “Heard it over the police scanner. There’s a car just off East Sahara in flames. Matches what you told me about Pete’s car.”

  “Ohmygod—any news of Pete?”

  “Don’t know yet. They’re just getting to the fire.”

  He gave me the address of the car, and I jotted it down. “I’m heading there,” I told him.

  I hung up and drove as fast as I legally could, my heart racing.

  Pete’s car had been found—but what about Pete?

  When we got there, Ian and I found a raging inferno.

  The firefighters were out in force, trying to put it out, and Ian and I got out and stood behind the barricade and watched.

  “Why?” Ian asked. “Why would someone do this? You think Pete’s trying to get payout on car insurance?”

  “I doubt it,” I said.

  From where I stood, the inside of the car looked like a solid wall of flames. My heart sank to my feet. No way could anyone inside the car still be alive.

  I hoped with every little fiber of my being that Pete wasn’t in there.

  I chewed my lower lip and waited. The firemen did their job, rushing around and dousing the flames. Slowly, they dipped lower and lower, until they were out completely.

  “There’s someone in here!” a firefighter called out to someone.

  A cop car had pulled up, and an officer got out. As the officer walked over to the firefighter, I heard him say loudly, “This wasn’t an accident—the guy’s wrapped in chains!”

  The officer pulled out his walkie-talkie and spoke into it. I couldn’t hear everything he was saying, but I did hear the word “backup.” This was serious.

  Pete had just been killed.

  I sighed and walked over to my car, Ian following close on my heels.

  “I was so sure Pete had killed Harvey,” I said, getting into my seat and buckling up. “He had motive, and he might’ve had the means to smuggle the body into Roger’s suite. Everything seemed to be lining up.”

  “Do you think he lied about not knowing Roger? You think Roger was setting him up as a fall guy and then he killed him?”

  “I’m not sure what to think anymore. Maybe if I head to my shift, I’ll be able to figure things out as I work.”

  Chapter 21

  My feelings toward my job as a dealer at the Treasury Casino fluctuated a lot over the last couple of months.

  The whole reason I started training as a PI, and then taking on cases, was because I wanted to leave my casino job. But well-paying cases that didn’t bother my ethics were not all that easy to come across, and the casino role paid well and had reliable hours.

  Most importantly, I’d actually grown fond of my job as a dealer.

  Once I started to seriously consider handing in my resignation, I realized that I liked it—and I stayed on.

  That night, as I dealt cards and made small talk with the players, I was happy I’d stayed on at the Treasury.

  The casino floor was loud and bright, and the windowless walls prevented me from guessing the time without glancing at my watch. The gamblers were all in a good mood that night; apart from one small fist-fight between two middle-aged men, there was no drama on the floor. The whole place buzzed with a happy, exuberant energy, and quite a few players won nice, big sums of money before walking away from my table.

  I thought about everything I’d learned about Harvey’s murder as I dealt cards and asked players if they’d like to stand or hit. Nothing seemed to jump out at me, but I was bothered by Roger’s past. What had happened to Alicia? Why hadn’t the truth come out in all these years?

  And that brought me to Nadia Tumal.

  She clearly bore a serious grudge, and she seemed desperate to see Roger put behind bars. Was she desperate enough to frame him for a different murder he hadn’t committed? Perhaps, from her perspective, getting Roger imprisoned for a crime he hadn’t committed was the same as getting him punished for a crime he had committed.

  By the end of my shift, I still hadn’t had any major breakthroughs.

  The only thing I knew for sure was that it was high time I spoke to Nadia Tumal.

  I trudged home in the wee hours of the morning after my shift, but when I got to my apartment, my brain was buzzing on a strange high of concern and excitement.

  Harvey Gaudet’s death was as mysterious as it’d seemed when I’d first heard about the case, and the more I spoke to people, the less new information I seemed to learn.

  Unable to sleep even after I’d showered and changed, I made a mug of coffee and sat by myself in my silent apartment.

  The letter from Ryan stared up at me from its spot on the coffee table, the envelope sealed and tempting.

  Finally, I gave up and opened it.

  “Dear Tiffany,” the letter began, “I’m so sorry you’re finding all this out from a letter. Please know that I love you and care for you d
eeply, and I’m sorry for my behavior.”

  It went on to say that Ryan had known for months that he’d be going undercover, but he hadn’t told me.

  “I’m not sure why I didn’t say anything,” the letter said. “Sometimes, I thought maybe I should just end things with you. Where were we going if I was going to go undercover and not be sure when I’d be back? But then I’d see you, and I couldn’t end it.”

  He went on to explain that if he told me, we’d have had time to think things through. Where were we going with our relationship? How long should we wait it out? What did we want?

  “I know your mom wants you to get married and have kids,” the letter said. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want. If it’s what you want, maybe you shouldn’t wait around for me. But if you’re not in a big rush to settle down…

  “Anyway, I’m not sure what to say. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I guess I just wasn’t sure what I could possibly tell you.

  “Lots of love, Ryan.”

  I read the letter once more, and then I put it back in its envelope and stared at it.

  So many feelings swirled around inside me that I couldn’t separate them out from each other.

  Finally, exhaustion overcame me, and I headed to bed.

  Tomorrow would be another day. Another day when I could hopefully get closer to the truth.

  Chapter 22

  The next morning, I woke up late and did exactly what I’d done the day before: grabbed myself a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee, and settled down in front of the news.

  This time, there was no special report on the murder, but the news did mention briefly that Roger’s career was taking off again; his shows were packed, and he was likely to need a bigger venue soon. His old records were selling again, and rumors swirled that he might be in talks with a producer to create another record.

  I sipped my coffee thoughtfully as the newscaster moved on to talk about a celebrity wedding and the guests who’d be attending.

  What did it mean that one disappearance had led to the demise of Roger’s career, and the other had led to its improvement? Did it mean anything at all? Even if Roger wasn’t Harvey’s killer, did he have something to do with the man’s death?

  I wasn’t getting any answers to those questions sitting around at home, so I got dressed and headed over to Ian’s.

  Ian was still in his pajamas and watching TV—but unlike me, he was watching cartoons.

  “There’s nothing on the news about Pete’s death,” he said.

  “I’m not too surprised. It’s sad, but that’s how the news is these days. Pete was a homeless guy who didn’t seem to be involved in anything.”

  “You think Joan told the cops about him and Gregory?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll tell Elwood the next time I see him, but I don’t think Pete had anything to do with it after all. I mean, he’s dead now.”

  Ian nodded. “Yeah. So what’s the plan for today?”

  “We go talk to Nadia Tumal. I checked her Twitter account: today, she’s protesting in front of the Tremonte.”

  Nadia Tumal was hard to miss.

  She, along with a half-dozen other protestors, was camped out in front of the Tremonte with large signs and angry expressions.

  “Down With The Oligarchy!” read one sign, while another read, “Smash The Patriarchy!”

  I wasn’t sure what oligarchy or patriarchy had to do with Harvey’s death. Perhaps they were stock signed they used at every protest.

  “Roger is destructive,” chanted a skinny woman, “Bring him to justice!”

  The others joined her, and they pumped their signs up and down in time with their chants. A slender man was trying to hand out pamphlets to passersby. Ian and I took one each, and I read mine thoroughly.

  “Roger Is A Killer!” read the headline, followed by the byline, “Bring Him To Justice Finally.”

  A small paragraph below explained that Roger had killed his fiancé, Alicia Tumal, and gotten away with murder once, thanks to a rigged justice system involving corrupt cops and paid-off politicians. But this time, he’d been caught on camera, and law-abiding citizens who wanted a safer community should insist on his arrest and advocate for the death penalty.

  I finished reading my pamphlet and watched the protestors from a distance.

  Nadia Tumal was wearing loose white linen pants and a loose tunic top. Her arms were stick-thin, her cheekbones high, and her face gaunt. There were dark circles under her eyes, her dark hair was cut in a short bob, and she was chanting tirelessly. I’d seen videos of her on the news, and she always seemed so energetic.

  She really seemed to want to see Roger taken down, and this seemed to be her way of ensuring he got what he “deserved.” Maybe she’d taken things a step further to ensure her idea of justice.

  As the group chanted, tourists and regulars continued to walk in and out of the Tremonte. The protestors and the casino visitors were doing an odd sort of dance: the protestors trying to get near enough to the visitors without obstructing them, and the visitors trying to sidestep the protestors on their way in or out of the Tremonte.

  Except for one man. He was rotund, red in the face, and clearly drunk as he wobbled and swerved on his way out of the Tremonte. His brows were drawn together in a scowl, so I guessed he hadn’t enjoyed a winning streak.

  As he passed Nadia, he lurched accidentally, bumping into her, and sending her wobbling and taking a few clumsy steps to the side.

  The man recovered, straightened himself, and glared at the protestors, as though it was their fault he’d bumped into one of them. Then he marched off in a huff, presumably heading toward another casino.

  Nadia was straightening up from her stumble, and it was then that I noticed her hair wasn’t real; it was a wig. And it’d slipped a bit.

  Unobtrusively, Nadia handed her sign over to another woman, and took a few quick steps away, toward a quieter spot, where she pulled her wig straight, and fished a mirror out of her pocket to make sure the wig was in place.

  I decided now was as good a time as any to talk to her.

  I walked quickly toward her, Ian close on my heels.

  “Hi,” I said, extending a hand, “I’m Tiffany, and this is Ian.”

  Nadia shook hands with us dubiously. “Are you reporters?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m a private investigator looking into Harvey’s death.”

  “There’s nothing to look into,” she said brusquely. “Roger’s on camera killing the guy.”

  “You know as well as I do that isn’t true. If it were true, you wouldn’t have to do all this protesting.”

  Nadia eyed me judgmentally. “What do you want?”

  “Information. About Roger, about Alicia.”

  Nadia glanced back toward the group, who seemed to have lost a touch of their fervor at her disappearance. “I’m needed. I don’t have time to waste chatting. Especially not on a useless topic.”

  She took a step away, and I quickly played a hunch. “Is it terminal?”

  Nadia froze. Slowly, she turned around. “What do you know?”

  I pressed my lips together. “Not much. That’s why I’m asking.”

  Nadia sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Yes,” she said, walking back toward me. “It is. I’ve got three to six more months, apparently. And I don’t want to die without seeing Roger get what he needs.”

  I felt my heart sink. “I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t be. I’ll live long enough to see justice be served, and then I’ll be at peace.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you frame Roger, hide the body in his room to get him in trouble?”

  Nadia laughed. It was a bitter, slightly high-pitched laugh, and she shook her head. “Oh, I wish I’d thought of that. But then, I would’ve had to have killed a guy. So no, I didn’t frame Roger. This is all him.”

  I pursed my lips, not sure whether I believed her
or not. Being close to death’s door might have made her more desperate than usual.

  “I’m sorry about your sister,” I said.

  Nadia sobered up and nodded. “So am I.”

  “What happened?”

  She looked off into the distance, remembering the past. “I was at home. I lived in a studio apartment then, off on Hills’ End. The cops showed up. Asked me when I’d last seen or talked to my sister. I said it’d been two days. We spoke to each other about once or twice a week, but were close. Then they told me the news.”

  She grew silent.

  I prompted, “What made you blame Roger?”

  “He’s the only one who could’ve done it! He says he got home late and she wasn’t there, but that can’t be. There’s no proof he got home late. He must’ve got home, killed her, and hidden her body somewhere.”

  “What makes you think someone else didn’t visit her and convince her to run off—or maybe kill her?”

  “They didn’t find DNA from anyone else in the house. Have you not read the reports?”

  I glanced at Ian, trying to hide the fact that I hadn’t actually done too much in-depth research on Alicia’s disappearance. I’d been so busy with Harvey’s death that I hadn’t looked at the past case in details.

  Ian shrugged. He clearly hadn’t researched Alicia’s death either.

  “Maybe the person wiped the place clean.”

  Nadia snorted. “No, then they’d have found the place wiped clean. Cops found evidence of Alicia’s DNA and Roger’s DNA—and nobody else’s.”

  That did seem slightly damning.

  “Maybe Alicia went out to meet someone else.”

  Nadia shook her head vehemently. “Then she’d have been seen! She used to not be able to step out without getting papped.”

  Ian said, “Maybe she stepped out in disguise and managed to avoid the paparazzi.”