“You know, it feels like it’s harder to track down this one old lady than it is to track down some killers!”
We all laughed at that, and Sally said, “Ian’s lucky he’s an investor and can just leave work like this. To have lunch with me, or to help you out on cases.”
I looked at Ian and he winked at me and beamed proudly.
His pride didn’t come from being a successful investor; it was because he was proud to have finally kept his trust fund a secret. Nanna and I kept telling Ian that he’d only ever meet a nice, non-gold-digging girl if he kept it a secret how much money he had, and for once, he’d taken our advice.
I smiled back at Ian hesitantly. I was proud of him for keeping it a secret, but I was also worried how Sally would react when she found out the truth—and the fact that, more importantly, Ian had been keeping a secret from her.
As I’d recently just found out, it wasn’t fun to learn that your boyfriend’s been keeping secrets from you. Important secrets.
Trying to cover my awkwardness, I asked Sally, “How’d your wine-tasting date go?”
She beamed “It went really well! And I’m so glad Ian finally got to meet my mom.”
I smiled. “And your mom didn’t tell you to run a mile from Ian?”
Sally’s smile faltered a little. “Oh, they seemed to get along just fine.”
“Sally’s mom loved me,” Ian said happily. “She thinks I’m great!”
One glance at Sally showed that wasn’t a hundred percent true.
“Er, not quite,” said Sally, pushing her food around and staring at her half-empty salad bowl. “She told me afterward that you were nice, but seemed kinda immature.”
Ian stared at Sally in shock. “Immature! Me? I’m super mature!”
I gave Ian’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Really, you’re not.”
Ian turned his aghast eyes at me, and then back at Sally. “That’s not true, is it? What did you tell your mom?”
“I told Mom I was sick of alpha jerks.” Sally tilted her chin up defensively. “I said I liked you and you’re sweet and just as mature as you need to be.”
“Aww.” Ian grinned, and his happiness melted my heart. I hoped he and Sally could make things work out.
“See?” Ian said, turning to me. “Sally thinks I’m super mature.”
“That’s not quite what she said,” I said diplomatically. “But I’m sure her mom’ll come around.”
Sally nodded in agreement. “I’m sure she will. Mom usually hates the guys I date, every single one of them. But the last couple were—well, let’s not get into it. I’m sure we’ve all got bad relationship history!”
“No one’s past could be worse than Ian’s!” I said jokingly.
And then I glanced at Ian and realized I probably shouldn’t have said that.
If Sally wanted to know why his relationships had been so bad, she’d find out that the girls had been after Ian’s trust fund—which meant she’d find out he’d been keeping the fund a secret from her.
To try and recover, I said, “But we don’t need to talk about our exes! They’re such a waste of breath.” I thought of Jack trying to be friends and wondered if that was what you did with an ex who wasn’t actually a waste of breath.
“You’re right,” Sally agreed instantly. “Let’s just focus on the future.”
She looked at Ian, and the two smiled at each other, all lovey-dovey.
I wondered if the world was full of happy couples, everyone happy but me. Why was my love life so difficult?
As Ian and I drove over to the dry cleaners after lunch, Ian babbled away happily. How great Sally was, how great his life was, how happy he was.
I tuned him out after some time, but then he got my attention again as he was saying, “So the thing is, I’ve told them I invest in shares and I do okay for myself but it’s nothing huge.”
“Uh-huh,” I told him, keeping my attention on the road.
“And so my plan is, to say that I focus on technicals and I’ve created an algorithm that does the trading for me. That way, if someone tries to talk about stocks and companies and all that stuff, I just say I run my algo. I’m a software guy. That’s close enough to the truth.”
“It is,” I said. “You are a software guy.”
So much so that Ian had invested in a start-up, which, at its IPO, had made him a multi-millionaire. Funds which were now tied up in the trust fund controlled by his parents and lawyer.
“Trouble is,” Ian said, “what if someone wants to invest with me? Maybe I should just take their money and try to give them some interest on it.”
I shook my head and pulled into the parking lot at the dry cleaners’.
“No,” I said. “You need to come clean to Sally soon. Your relationship started on a lie—you were using her help to investigate. And she was okay with that when she found out. Let’s hope she’s okay with this next lie.”
“Do I have to tell her?” Ian whined, as he unbuckled his seat belt. “It’s just so much easier to be a shares guy.”
“You’re not a shares guy,” I told him. “Like they say, the truth will set you free.”
Chapter 27
Joan glanced up at us wearily when we entered the dry cleaners.
She looked tired and harried as usual, the dark circles under her brown eyes quite prominent.
“Can’t you leave me alone?” she asked with a sigh as we walked up to her. “I’ve just been talking to the police, that annoying old man, Detective Elwood.”
“We’ve just got a few questions,” I said gently.
Her eyes welled up and she dabbed at the corners with a tissue. “My husband’s dead and I don’t get any peace. First the police, now you. Did you know Pete died, too?”
“I heard,” I said gently. She seemed extra upset today, and I tried to gauge if the extra emotion was caused by Pete’s death. So far, I couldn’t tell. “Were you two close?”
Joan blew her nose noisily, and then shrugged. “Yes and no. He worked for us for a long time. I thought well of him. He was responsible, worked hard. But you can’t become too close friends with an employee, can you? You’re always the boss.”
She looked at us, her dark eyes tired.
The delivery driver we’d met the other day, Dave, walked up to the countertop from the rear door, carrying some sort of ledger in his hands. We nodded at each other, and I wondered how to broach the topic of an affair with Pete.
I didn’t need to worry though, because Ian beat me to it.
“Joan,” he said, “you were having an affair with Pete.”
Joan looked at him, annoyed, and Dave burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Ian asked Dave.
“No way.” Dave shook his head and wiped away a tear of mirth. “No way, I mean, look at—”
For a moment, I was sure that Dave was going to say, “Look at Joan. Why the heck would a young, good-looking man have an affair with this frumpy, middle-aged lady?”
That had certainly been my thought, and it seemed to have been Dave’s.
Joan pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at Dave, who thankfully stopped himself mid-sentence.
“Yes?” said Joan.
“I mean,” Dave amended awkwardly, “I’ve seen Joan and Harvey together for a long time. They were a happy couple. I don’t think Joan would cheat on Harvey.”
That seemed to cheer Joan up. She brightened and said, “Thank you, Dave.”
Joan looked over the ledger Dave had brought in, signed something, and said goodbye to Dave, who left with a cheery, “See you tomorrow!”
After Dave had left, Joan turned to us again. Her previous annoyance had returned.
“How dare you go around accusing me of cheating on my husband! Isn’t it enough that I’m a widow—you’re making me into an adulterous wife, too?”
“I-I’m sorry,” Ian stammered. “I didn’t mean—”
“No,” Joan said, the snark in her voice biting, “I�
��m sure you didn’t.”
We were silent for a few moments. Ian and I stood around awkwardly.
Finally, I said, “So there was absolutely nothing between you and Pete?”
“No!” she snapped. “Heaven knows, I’ve been good to my Harvey.”
“Right, right,” I said. Before she could order us out, I said, “Actually, I do have another question about Harvey?”
“What?” she glanced at her watch, obviously running thin on patience.
“Well, about how Harvey and you used to go to sleep early each night,” I said. “Did Harvey always fall asleep with you?”
Joan was silent for a few seconds. She grabbed a rag from under the counter, dusting off some invisible dust mites from the countertop.
“No,” she said finally. “Harvey had insomnia. Some nights he couldn’t sleep.”
I waited for her to keep talking. After a few seconds, she went on.
“Some nights, when we’d first been married, he’d lie there and toss and turn. Finally, I told him that I might need more sleep than him, but that didn’t mean he had to be there with me. He could get up and go out. Enjoy the nightlife. Enjoy Vegas.”
Her eyes welled up with tears again, and she dabbed at them.
I felt an uncomfortable twisting in my chest. What wife would be happy, knowing that her husband was out all alone at night, in a city like Vegas?
“Did he go out much?”
Joan shrugged. “I think sometimes he came home and fell asleep. Sometimes he’d come home in the early morning. The day he went missing—I mean, the day he died—I figured that’s what happened. He’d gone out and gotten busy.”
I tried to keep my tone light and soothing as I asked, “Where did he go? Did he tell you?”
Joan sniffed and stared down at the countertop. “Sometimes he told me. He said he went out to dinner, to watch shows, to visit the casinos along the Strip.”
“Sometimes he didn’t tell you,” I prompted.
Joan nodded, not meeting my eye. “I didn’t want to know. I mean, I know I’m not—” she gestured to herself, running her arm up and down “—and I know there are women in Vegas who are…” She gulped, forcing herself to continue. “I tried to be a good wife to Harvey. And if I wasn’t, I guess…”
Her words trailed off.
Ian said, “Do you think Harvey was cheating on you?”
Joan sniffed, and dabbed at her eyes again. “I don’t want to think about it! I didn’t want to think about it… we were happy together. I wanted to believe that he was just enjoying the nightlife. I never found any notes or lipsticks lying around, or whatever it is that means your husband’s having an affair.”
I nodded, giving Joan’s arm a light, reassuring squeeze. “There’s lots to do in Vegas at night. I’m sure he was just enjoying all the entertainment here. Did you know he had dinner with Roger twice?”
Joan nodded, and her lips twisted upwards. “Detective Elwood told me.”
“Had Harvey told you this?”
Joan shook her head. “We didn’t often talk about where he’d been.”
“Well,” I said, “it seems like he might’ve had a history with Roger after all. You don’t know anything about that?”
“No,” said Joan. “If I’d known, maybe Harvey would still be alive.”
Ian and I sat in my car after our chat with Joan, trying to figure out what our next steps should be.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Ian was saying. “Joan didn’t have an affair with Pete. But Harvey might’ve been having an affair with someone. But then why would Harvey want Pete dead? It’s all a mess.”
“It is all a mess,” I agreed. “Maybe Greg got it wrong.”
“Or maybe he was trying to throw us off the scent.”
“Very likely.”
“But you know what,” I said, “If Harvey did have a girlfriend, maybe his girlfriend had something to do with his death. And maybe Joan’s lying about her affair with Pete.”
“If I were sick and in the hospital,” Ian said, “I’d want Sally to visit me.”
“And I’m sure Sally would want to visit you,” I said reassuringly. And then it hit me. “If Joan was having an affair with Pete, she’d go to visit him the hospital!”
Ian snapped his fingers. “Bingo! Now all we need to do is visit the hospital and check their records. If Joan visited Pete, she’d been having an affair with him. That’s easy enough to check.”
Turned out, it wasn’t easy enough to check the hospital records after all.
The hospital staff took their clients’ confidentiality very seriously—as well they should, I reminded myself.
But when we described Pete and explained that we didn’t want to know about his treatment—just who had visited him during his month-long stay—the receptionist we’d been talking to relented and said she remembered Pete quite well.
“Poor guy,” she said. “He didn’t have many visitors at all. Just the one lady, very sexy she was, too.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Hourglass figure, green eyes, long brown hair? Like the human version of Jessica Rabbit?”
“That’s the one!” said the receptionist.
“Did he have any other visitors at all?” I asked. “Maybe a middle-aged lady, wears a scarf over her hair and baggy clothes, brown eyes?”
“No,” said the receptionist. “Just the Jessica Rabbit lady. Nobody else. Poor guy.”
As Ian and I headed back to my car, we were both confused.
“So Anastacia’s definitely Pete’s boyfriend,” I said. “That’s that.”
“And he’s not seeing Joan.”
“No. It makes sense, too. Why would he have an affair with Joan when he was dating a gorgeous woman like Anna?”
Ian snapped his fingers, his eyes wide like he’d been struck with a great idea. “Maybe we misunderstood when Greg said Pete was sleeping with Harvey’s best lady.”
“How so?”
“Maybe he meant Anastacia—maybe Harvey was having an affair with Anastacia. Anna was Harvey’s best lady. And Pete was having an affair with her, which made Harvey mad when he found out. Maybe Harvey pointed Pete out to Gregory not because he was scared, but because he wanted Pete to pay.”
I turned that over in my mind. In a strange way, it seemed possible.
“There’s a high chance Harvey was having an affair,” I said softly. “Even Joan seemed to accept that possibility.”
“Right,” Ian nodded. “And we know Pete was dating Anastacia. Whether or not Anna was involved with Harvey, too, she might know something about Pete’s death.”
“We’ve got to talk to her,” I said. “And this time, we won’t let her slip away.”
Chapter 28
I made a quick phone call, and my friend Rhiannon agreed to take over my shift. With that sorted out, I took a quick power nap before getting up at night, dressing quickly, and going over to the burlesque show with Ian.
As we sat in the dim room, people began streaming in. There were a few sets before Anna’s, and the excitement level seemed to go up the longer we were there. It seemed evident to me that most people were coming to see Anastacia; she was the big draw for the place.
Silence fell as soon as Anastacia got to the stage. Her voice was deep and her presence magnetic. All eyes were on her, fascinated, as she sang and performed through song after song, pausing only to take short breaks.
Finally, when her last song was done, the audience went berserk, applauding and whistling their approval. The curtain fell briefly, and when it came up, there was a different trio of women on stage, and they began to perform the first few chords of a song I’d never heard before.
A few people started to leave, while others stayed put, curious about the rest of the performers.
“Let’s go,” I whispered to Ian. “We need to catch her before she leaves.”
We scurried over toward the bar, intent on asking the bartender where Anastacia could be—but then we saw her. She was already there,
chatting and laughing with the bartender, who reached under the counter and pulled out a large black tote bag.
“Have a good night,” he said, waving goodbye to her, as she turned and began walking toward the exit.
Ian rushed ahead, and I saw him blocking her path.
Anastacia must’ve thought he was a slightly deranged fan, because I saw her smiling politely and trying to walk away. When Ian wouldn’t leave, she nodded at the burly security man who was approaching.
The security man picked up his pace, and so did I. We both got there at the same time.
“This guy bothering you?” asked the security man.
“That’s my friend, Ian,” I said quickly. I looked at Anastacia. “We’re private investigators. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
Anastacia looked into my eyes and hesitated.
Up close, she seemed even more beautiful than she had on stage. Her green eyes sparkled, and her skin was smooth and flawless. I assumed she was wearing heavy stage makeup, but it had been applied so expertly that it looked like real skin, not like foundation. There was an aura of youth and attractiveness about her.
At my words, she finally nodded, and waved away the security guy.
“It’s okay,” she said to him. “I’ll chat with these people. The guy seems off, but this woman seems all right.”
“Anastacia, I’m sorry about Ian,” I said to her as we walked, three-abreast with me in the middle, toward the exit. “He gets carried away sometimes and doesn’t do a good job of explaining himself.”
“I’m sorry,” Ian said, echoing my words. “Sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean to.”
Anastacia sighed, and tilted her head to indicate that it was okay. As we headed toward the exit, she waved goodbye to a group of men whom I assumed were show regulars.
“Call me Anna,” she said in her low, husky voice. “And it’s okay, I guess—I’ve had a few run-ins with some people who seemed a bit ‘off,’ and perhaps I was too quick to judge.” She glanced past me to give Ian a wary look. “I might’ve been wrong.”
Lounge Singers And Liars In Las Vegas Page 14
