Death Perception

by Victoria Laurie

  ‘‘Uh, no, I can’t. But Candice is heading out here. Her flight gets in at midnight. I can call her and tell her to wait for your courier. She can bring me the money.’’

  ‘‘Perfect. Give me Candice’s number. I’ll book the courier’s flight and give Candice the information.’’

  I blew out a breath. ‘‘Thanks, Cat. And I’ll pay you back when this all blows over, I promise.’’

  ‘‘Don’t even think about it, Abby. You’re family. We stick together, okay?’’

  I gave her Candice’s phone number and thanked her again before hanging up. It felt good to have people like Cat and Candice on my side.

  I put my new cell phone back in my purse and thought about what I should do. Obviously I couldn’t hide out here until tonight. Who knew when the couple who was staying in this room would be back?

  As if on cue I suddenly heard voices just outside the door. ‘‘Oh, shit!’’ I hissed, and ran around the room in a circle, looking for a place to hide. I pulled up the bedspread, but the bed went all the way to the carpet. I jumped up and looked around the room again, in a state of total panic. Just before the door opened, I made a quick decision and bolted for the closet.

  Chapter Eight

  I squished myself as far back into the closet as I could get and held very, very still, barely daring to breathe, while my heart thudded against my chest. Out in the room I could hear a man and a woman come through the door with much giggling and laughter. ‘‘Red, you are so naughty!’’ said the woman.

  ‘‘I know you like it naughty, Mama,’’ said the man.

  Ewwwwww! I thought.

  There was more giggling and something that sounded like the quick removal of clothing. I held in a groan.

  ‘‘I want you so bad!’’ the woman said breathlessly.

  ‘‘Mama,’’ he growled. ‘‘Go ahead and take me.’’

  This was followed by what can best be described as a series of groans, grunts, the occasional ‘‘Oooh!’’ or ‘‘Ahh-ha!’’ and the rapid creaking of bedsprings.

  I closed my eyes and rammed my fingers in my ears, but nothing helped. ‘‘Oh, yeah, big Red!’’ the woman squealed. ‘‘Mama likes it like that!’’

  ‘‘She does, does she?’’ he said with a groan. ‘‘Well, does Mama like it when I do this?’’

  Mama shrieked, leaving little doubt that she definitely liked it when big Red did that. ‘‘Oh, baby, oh baby, oh baby, oh baby!’’ she yelled. ‘‘Give it to me! Give it to Mama!’’

  Now, I’m a bit of a prude by nature, and if I wasn’t already squeamish at the thought of watching—or, in this case, hearing—other people having sex, then this little lovemaking session was definitely forcing me to consider the nunnery. Getting a rather ballsy—pardon my pun—idea, I dug into my backpack and managed to find the small digital camera I’d stuck in there almost as an afterthought.

  The bed continued its rocking horse squeaking and I edged to the door of the closet. ‘‘Oh, Mama!’’ Red said. ‘‘You make me so hard!’’

  I paused and put a hand to my mouth. Red was making me throw up a little. Easing open the door, I stuck my hand out holding the camera and snapped a picture. The creaking stopped abruptly, but a gasp echoed in the room. ‘‘What the—?!’’ I heard them both say, and I stuck my head out of the closet.

  Unfortunately, Red was a little late pulling up the covers, and I caught a glimpse of his milky white bum and his portly round belly, not to mention little Red, before he managed to pull up the bedsheet. ‘‘Gah!’’ I said, squeezing my eyes shut while I snapped the shutter again. ‘‘For God’s sake, Red! Put that thing away!’’

  ‘‘Who are you!’’ he demanded, and I lifted a lid. Red, who seemingly got his name from the smattering of red thinning hair sticking out at odd angles along his liver-spotted scalp, had pulled up the covers and his ‘‘date’’ was now smunched underneath him. She was looking at me with wide, horrified eyes.

  ‘‘I’m the PI your wife hired to make sure you weren’t giving it to someone else, out here in Vegas.’’

  ‘‘The PI?!’’ he nearly shouted. ‘‘Oh, shit! Kate’s gonna kill me!’’

  I nodded. ‘‘She will,’’ I said, making a tsking sound and edging out of the closet. ‘‘I’ve met her and she doesn’t put up with shit like this, Red. You should have known better.’’

  ‘‘I’ll pay you!’’ he said desperately. ‘‘Name your price! Whatever Kate paid you, I’ll double it!’’

  ‘‘Hey!’’ Mama said. ‘‘I thought you were getting a divorce!’’

  ‘‘All in good time, Ivory,’’ he said, and wiggled away from her. ‘‘Come on, Miss PI! Can’t we be reasonable here?’’

  I’m not a big fan of blackmail, but someone needed to teach Red a lesson. ‘‘How much you got on you?’’ I asked, leaning against the wall.

  Red grabbed for his pants at the edge of the bed and pulled out his wallet. ‘‘I’ve got about a thousand on me,’’ he said.

  I arched an eyebrow.

  ‘‘Two thousand!’’ he said, and pulled out another wad of bills. My other eyebrow rose skeptically. ‘‘Fine!’’ he snapped, and pulled at his pants again, lifting out an enormous wad of cash from his rear pocket. ‘‘Ten thousand,’’ he growled. ‘‘That’s all the spare cash I’ve got!’’

  I tapped my lip thoughtfully and looked at my camera. ‘‘Here’s how we’re going to play this, Red,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll take that two thousand from your wallet, and the ten thousand from your back pocket will be used to buy your wife a gigantic bauble. And none of that fake stuff, I’m talking about something that would pass an appraisal.’’

  Red let out the breath he’d been holding and moved to hand me the two thousand dollars. ‘‘Thank you,’’ he gushed.

  ‘‘Don’t get up!’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll come to you.’’ Moving forward, I took his money and eyed Mama. She was a busty, full-figured girl and—dare I say it?—not very attractive. She was also about twenty years younger than Red, which still put her in the forty-to-fifty-year-old age range. ‘‘And you,’’ I said, glaring down at her as she clutched the bedsheet. ‘‘Ivory, is it?’’

  She nodded, emitting a tiny squeak and pulling up the covers tight to her chin.

  ‘‘What’s your last name?’’ I demanded.

  ‘‘Quinton,’’ she said in a high, squeaky voice.

  I resisted the urge to smile. People tended to give up their personal information when they were lying naked next to a guy caught cheating on his wife. ‘‘Yes, Ivory Quinton, you need to get a life and stop being such a ho.’’

  Ivory nodded. ‘‘I will!’’ she said. ‘‘I swear. No more married guys!’’ Despite her bobbing head, my left side felt heavy—my sign for not likely. Ah well, once a ho, always a ho, I guess.

  As I was leaving, I said, ‘‘I’ll be calling your wife in a few days with an update, Red. Unless she’s willing to gush about the brand-new diamond bracelet or ring or necklace that her dear husband just purchased for her, I’m sending her the pictures.’’

  Red nodded furiously. ‘‘I’m going straight to Tiffany’s!’’ he promised. ‘‘I swear!’’

  I left the room, pocketing the cash and feeling pretty good about having just taught a cheating slimeball a valuable lesson. Still, I felt bad for Kate. I could only hope the new bauble that Red guiltily presented her with set off some of her own internal alarm bells and got her into an attorney’s office.

  I hurried down the hallway and made my way to the elevators. It had been about two hours since I’d ditched the FBI goon who’d been guarding me. And that was hopefully long enough for the Feds to think I’d managed to leave the building.

  I waited for an elevator anxiously and one finally arrived loaded down with people. I edged into the car and we made the short trip to the lobby. I stayed put until everyone else had gotten off, and kept peering around at the faces in the lobby, afraid a Fed might still be stationed there.

  No one who looked
like FBI was in the lobby, so I moved out of the area and scanned for the nearest exit. There was one off to the left, but as I made a first pass by the doors, I noticed a man in a dark suit and sunglasses making a point of watching every guest who exited the hotel. ‘‘Shit,’’ I muttered, and made my way over to the casino.

  The casino was smoky and crowded with tourists sitting in front of computerized games of poker, blackjack, and keno. I eyed the room, and to my horror saw Raymond Robillard not thirty yards away. ‘‘Eeek!’’ I squeaked, and dashed out of the casino, my eyes darting here and there, looking for a place to hide. My radar pinged and I felt a little nudge to turn to my right. Immediately I saw a small curtained room that looked like maybe it was a coat check, so I wasted no time dashing over and ducking behind the curtain.

  ‘‘Welcome,’’ said a young woman about my age with dark brown hair, a head scarf, and large gold hoop earrings.

  ‘‘Er... hey,’’ I said as I scanned the small room we were in. She was seated at a card table covered with a blue cloth decorated with silver stars. In the center of the table was a deck of tarot cards, and to the right a small sign on the wall said, KNOW YOUR FUTURE NOW! $45.00 FOR A 30-MINUTE SESSION, $75 FOR A 60-MINUTE SESSION.

  ‘‘You’re a psychic?’’ I said, then realized I’d said that as a question.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she said, giving me a funny look. ‘‘Didn’t you see the big neon sign outside the curtain?’’

  I flashed her a smile. (Did I mention that my crew has a gigantic sense of humor?) ‘‘Nope. Must’ve missed the sign. Listen,’’ I said, thinking fast, ‘‘would you mind telling me when your shift ends?’’

  She gave me another curious look, but then her eyes moved to the clock on the wall. ‘‘I’m supposed to be here until two, but if you want an hour session, I can stay an extra half hour.’’

  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out two hundred dollars. ‘‘Or,’’ I suggested, ‘‘you could take this money and go home early.’’

  ‘‘Huh?’’ she said.

  ‘‘I was hoping I could pay for your time and your uniform.’’

  ‘‘You want my uniform?’’

  ‘‘Yes. We’re about the same size. I could trade you a clean pair of jeans and a shirt for your skirt and head scarf—oh, and those earrings!’’

  ‘‘You want to impersonate me?’’ she said, and I could tell she was starting to get freaked-out.

  ‘‘Not really. But I’m here with my boyfriend, and we like to play practical jokes on each other. I thought it might be cool if I showed up in our room dressed like you and read his palm. I mean, we’ve been together for a while and we’re trying to invent new ways to spice things up a bit.’’

  ‘‘Why not just get some massage oil and some edible underwear?’’

  ‘‘ ’Cuz we’ve been there and done that,’’ I lied, feeling my cheeks flush. ‘‘Come on! Please?’’

  She wavered for a few seconds, so I pulled out another hundred. ‘‘Fine,’’ she said, taking the money. ‘‘But I don’t want your clothes. I’ve got my street clothes in my duffel bag.’’

  ‘‘Awesome!’’

  She took off her head scarf and handed it to me along with the hoop earrings. ‘‘There’s a ladies’ room right next door. Come on and I’ll change and give you the skirt and the blouse.’’

  I followed her into the ladies’ room, scanning the area for any FBI agents before ducking into the powder room. While psychic chick changed, I ran a comb through my long brown hair and French-braided it into a ponytail that reached nearly to my waist. I then put on the head scarf and the earrings, giving my reflection a nod of approval and thinking I made for a passable Gypsy.

  My accomplice came out after a few minutes and handed me the skirt and the blouse. ‘‘I’m a size four,’’ she said. ‘‘Hope those fit.’’

  ‘‘They should,’’ I said gratefully. ‘‘And thanks again!’’

  ‘‘Good luck with your boyfriend,’’ she said, and left the ladies’ room.

  I darted into the stall and hauled off my jeans and my shirt, changing into the flowing ankle-length velvet black skirt and white puffy shirt with an embroidered vest. To my immense relief, ‘‘Corina’’ had forgotten to take her name tag, which was still pinned to the embroidered vest.

  When I was finished changing, I headed out and back into the main section of the hotel. As I was scanning the floor, I noticed a bellhop moving toward the lobby area. ‘‘Excuse me!’’ I said to him.

  He stopped and took in my outfit. ‘‘Hey,’’ he said.

  I gave him a big toothy smile and said, ‘‘This is my first day here, and I’m a bit lost. Can you remind me where the employee exit is from here?’’

  ‘‘Sure. It’s down that hallway all the way to the end, where you’re going to turn left, then straight ahead and through a set of white doors marked Employees Only. Don’t forget to punch out before you leave—otherwise, they’ll dock your pay a half hour.’’

  ‘‘I won’t, thanks!’’ I said as I hurried along in the direction he pointed. I kept my eyes straight ahead as I focused on making myself appear like just another Wynn Resorts employee. When I rounded a corner and located the hallway leading to the double doors, my heart lurched into my throat when I noticed the big beefy guy in a black suit and sunglasses looking this way and that.

  Luckily, I was right behind a group of cocktail waitresses who were giggling and gossiping about the guests they had waited on. I moved to the very edge of their group and plastered a big ol’ grin on my face, hoping to appear like one of the crowd.

  It seemed to work because the suit at the door let us pass without a second look. I followed the girls through the double doors and into a narrow corridor with a room off to my left that appeared to be an employee lounge, and a door at the end with a big neon sign that read EXIT.

  The troop of cocktail waitresses bustled into the employee lounge and I kept moving, going through the exit door without looking back. I squinted in the bright sunlight of the afternoon and felt the heat rising off the pavement and soaking into my skin. I dug around in my backpack again and came up with my sunglasses, and once I could see clearly, I glanced around at my surroundings.

  It appeared I was standing on a landing with stairs leading down to a medium-sized parking lot at the rear of the building. I couldn’t see much from this vantage point except the mountains in the distance, but off to my left I could just make out the Las Vegas Convention Center. I headed down the steps and turned toward my right, crossing the lot and making it out onto Spring Mountain Road. I headed west and made it to Las Vegas Boulevard without much trouble. From here I had to decide what to do.

  I stood on the corner for a few minutes trying to figure out where I should go next. I knew that I needed to lie low until Candice arrived, but where did one lie low in a ridiculous Gypsy outfit in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip?

  I heard a honk to my right that caused me to jump about a foot. ‘‘Need a lift?’’ a cabbie said, and I realized he’d pulled over and was addressing me.

  ‘‘Sure,’’ I said without hesitation.

  I got into the cab and he asked, ‘‘Where to?’’

  I looked at him blankly for a few seconds. Then an idea occurred to me. ‘‘Hold on,’’ I said, fishing through my purse. Coming up with a gum wrapper, I said, ‘‘Two seventy-nine Desert Bloom Road.’’

  The cabbie punched the address into his dashboard GPS device and we were on our way.

  * * *

  I got out of the cab and stared up at the Brosseau residence. ‘‘That’ll be twenty-five fifty,’’ the cabbie reminded me.

  ‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ I said, turning back to him and pulling out some money. ‘‘Keep the change.’’

  The cabbie pulled away and I went up the walkway, wondering if I’d made the right decision. The door opened before I’d made it to the top step, and Nora stood in the doorway looking at me curiously. ‘‘Can I help you?’’ she said.

&
nbsp; ‘‘Nora,’’ I said. ‘‘It’s me, Abby Cooper.’’

  Nora blinked and her eyes widened. ‘‘Ohmigod, Abby!’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘I didn’t recognize you! Come in, come in!’’

  I walked through her door and was engulfed in the smell of something so good my mouth watered. ‘‘Whoa, what is that smell?’’

  Nora closed the door and pointed toward the kitchen. ‘‘Five-cheese macaroni. Have you eaten?’’

  My stomach gave a loud embarrassing gurgle. ‘‘Not since the last time you fed me,’’ I admitted.

  We came into the kitchen and Nora pulled a chair out for me at the breakfast bar. I took a seat and she bustled about, getting down a plate and a large spoon. Then she dug out a huge portion of mac and cheese, added a bratwurst link, and handed the plate to me. ‘‘God, that smells good,’’ I said, taking the plate gratefully.

  ‘‘Bob and I have been really worried about you,’’ she said as I unfolded my napkin and placed it in my lap.

  My fork hovered above my plate. ‘‘Then you know what’s going on?’’ I said.

  She smiled kindly at me and came around to sit at the breakfast bar next to me. ‘‘Bob’s a talker,’’ she said. ‘‘He never could resist filling me in on all the grisly details. He’s a kind man at heart, and sometimes his job really gets to him. He doesn’t hold it in like most cops.’’

  ‘‘He’s lucky to have you,’’ I said, blowing on some of the macaroni.

  ‘‘How are you holding up?’’

  ‘‘Not good,’’ I admitted, my fork again hesitating in midair. ‘‘Did Bob fill you in on the FBI’s latest theory?’’ Nora nodded while motioning to me to try the food. I popped the fork into my mouth and moaned. ‘‘Ohmigod,’’ I said. ‘‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.’’

  Nora smiled. ‘‘I make it with sweetened condensed milk, five kinds of cheese, and half a dozen eggs. It gives it extra texture and just the right amount of sweetness.’’

  I gobbled down several forkfuls of the delicious-tasting stuff before we talked further. ‘‘I can’t believe Dutch’s own boss thinks he had anything to do with this!’’ she said after a bit. ‘‘He seems like such a good man.’’