Blood Bath & Beyond (13 page)

Something occurred to me as I followed Victoria down the busy sidewalk headed toward the Bellagio.

“Where’s Charles?” I asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at me. “He’s around. Sometimes he disappears to take care of personal business.”

“Shouldn’t he stay with you? For, you know, supervision?”

“I don’t need supervision.”

That was debatable, given what just happened. Could they send children to jail? “Then the
illusion
of supervision. Whatever. Call me crazy, but most people would think it’s weird to see a six-year-old wandering around Las Vegas all by her lonesome.”

“Well, now I’m with my mommy, aren’t I? And everything’s just fine with the world.”

A swell of sympathy for her filled me. It must have shown on my face.

“What?” she asked.

“It must be horrible—having a child’s body all this time.”

She looked at me curiously. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“You think I’m a hundred-and-two-year-old woman trapped inside a little kid.”

I frowned. “Well…yeah. Aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way. I’m six. I’m six with experience and an expanded vocabulary, but I’m still six. I see the world like a six-year-old would, if a bit jaded. I like puppies and kittens and waterslides and picture books. And Jell-O. I love Jell-O. Lime’s my favorite. And if sleeping with a pink teddy bear named Gummi-Boo every night is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

My frown deepened. “So you’re…just a kid. Permanently.”

“Exactly. If you’re a cute kid when you’re turned, you’ll always be a cute kid. If you’re a surly, angsty teenager, you’ll always be a surly, angsty teen. If you’re whatever age
you
are—”

“Twenty-eight,” I offered.

“—you’ll always be twenty-eight. Just with a few modifications and world experience. Frozen in time, like a snapshot.”

I had a hard time grasping that, but I think I got the gist of it. It made me feel a bit better, actually. Better, but still confused. “Then…why do you smoke and drink?”

“Mostly because I like seeing the look on other people’s faces when I do it. It freaks them out. It’s hilarious.” She blinked. “Also, smoking is relaxing and it won’t ever give me lung cancer. One of the perks.”

“But what about—?”

“Hush, puppy.” Then she giggled. “
Hush puppy!
But seriously, shut up and let me figure out how we’re going to get you back in that hotel without the enforcer seeing you. I don’t think he’ll believe you’re my mommy. He’ll probably kill us both on sight just to make a point.”

I shuddered at the thought.

I was allowing the derogatory nickname only because I needed her help. For now. If this didn’t work out, I wouldn’t spend too much more time humoring the eternal six-year-old. We’d arrived outside the hotel and I could now see the front entrance.

I grabbed Victoria’s arm to bring her to a stop. “Wait…. There she is.”

Laura DuShaw had just exited the hotel. Today she wore all white—stylish and elegant white shirt and white linen pants. Considering her husband had died horribly only last night, she didn’t exactly look the part of a grieving widow.

An attendant hailed a taxi and held the back door open for her. She got in and just before the cab drove past us, I jumped behind a cart piled with suitcases to hide.

“I guess we’ll have to talk to her later,” Victoria said.

“No, this can’t wait. We need to follow her. Now.” I waved my arms and another taxi pulled up next to us. I climbed in the backseat, half-surprised that Victoria
joined me without further argument. I pointed toward the windshield. “Uh…follow that taxi!”

Just like in the movies or reality-TV races, the cabdriver did just that without asking any questions. Cool.

I tensely kept my attention on Laura’s car, not letting it out of my sight. I wanted to look up at the hotel, to the floor and window where I knew Thierry would be, but I couldn’t risk it.

Hang on, Thierry,
I thought.
Just a little while longer.

Telepathy would be a really nice perk right about now. I’d send him that very message.

And he’d probably reply with:
What are you still doing in Las Vegas, getting yourself in more trouble than you were to begin with?

And then I’d say:
Trying to save your butt, mister.

My butt doesn’t need saving.

You could have fooled me, what with you being stuck up in that hotel room.

I’m exactly where I need to be right now. I’m biding my time.

Well, you can bide your time while I figure out who set you up.

And how do you intend to do that?

Any way I can.

And he’d just sigh in that way he did when I was being particularly stubborn.

But no telepathy. Too bad.

I wondered what he’d think about Laura being a suspect. It troubled me deeply to think she could be the mastermind behind this horrible crime. It would mean she’d been completely lying to me about how madly in love with Bernard she was. But maybe, now
that he was retiring and would be around more, she couldn’t handle it.

But if it turned out to be true…if she’d hired that hunter to turn her “beloved” husband into a stain on the expensive marble floor—and made sure she wasn’t there when it happened—then that was cold as ice. It would prove that there was way more to Laura DuShaw than the polished, manicured fashionista than met the eye.

Laura’s cab let her off at a smaller hotel/casino in Old Las Vegas. She moved quickly, but so did I. Victoria’s little legs worked hard to keep up.

Frankly, I was surprised Laura hadn’t noticed us yet. We weren’t being all that subtle. I caught a glimpse of her face as she moved down a long hall and then went through a black door with a silver handle. She looked worried.

“Why are you worried, Laura?” I said under my breath, my throat tight. “Feeling guilty about something?”

“Ooh!” Victoria said, halting in front of a glassed-in room. “That looks like fun! Can I play?”

My attention snapped to Victoria, who was ogling the day care the hotel had set up for its guests’ children: the “Funtime Zone.” Inside were about a dozen kids, supervised by three gray-haired women. There were storybooks, toys, and a winding slide that dropped into a container full of red foam balls.

I blinked. “I thought you were going to help me question Laura.”

“I was, but…” She looked up at me beseechingly. “Please? Please, can I? Pleeeeaase?”

She wasn’t kidding. Well, she
had
said that despite the snark and the nicotine she was only six years old. I’d have to deal with Laura by myself and I didn’t have time to debate this with Victoria if I wanted to catch up to her. “Fine. Go and, uh, play. I’ll be back as soon as I can—well, unless Laura kills me.”

“Okay, bye!” She smiled brightly and ducked inside the room. Without a moment’s hesitation, she leaped into the vat of foam balls.

Kids.

Immediately, I hurried toward that black door behind which Laura had disappeared. My hand was shaking as I twisted the handle. It was unlocked and it led into a narrow hallway. I followed it, pressing on despite my reservations. Of course I had so many reservations by now that I was practically a restaurant waiting list.

Despite my nagging doubts about her guilt, I was about to boldly confront a potential murderess about her crimes.

This could go very, very badly indeed.

Maybe it was a good idea not to have Victoria along for the rest of this ride. This could get even more turbulent than the plane had been.

The hall led past a couple more closed doors and then, suddenly, it opened into a darkened theater. Smaller than the one in which the toddler pageant had taken place, but still large and cavernous. This was a dinner theater, with tables strewn around the floor on two levels.

About a hundred feet in front of me, a few women were onstage in leotards, stretching and practicing dance steps. The only lights in the theater shone up
there and the rest of the area was in shadows. I didn’t care about the dancers and they paid no attention to anything that wasn’t onstage. I only cared about the brunette twenty feet to my left talking to a big man with a shaved head and broad shoulders, his back to me. She didn’t look in my direction and seemed oblivious to anything except for the man.

Laura’s face was strained and she had her hand on his muscled arm. “Please, Joe. For old times’ sake.”

“Laura, you’re the last person I ever thought I’d see again—let alone come here to ask me for a favor.”

“I know, but I’m desperate. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

“But last time—”

“That was a long time ago. A lot’s changed since then. You picked up and left me for that other guy—broke my heart. You think I can just forgive and forget?”

Tears were now streaming down her cheeks. “I’ll beg for that forgiveness if I have to.”

“Don’t demean yourself.” There was a harsh tone to his voice that told me even if she continued to beg, it would only harden his resolve.

Laura’s tears only became more sloppy and messy, smearing her perfectly applied makeup. “Joe, please!”

“I’m done with this, Laura. I have enough problems to deal with on my own. Don’t come back here if you know what’s good for you.” He yanked his arm away from her and walked across the dark dinner theater up to the bright stage without a backward glance.

She was about to take a step toward the stage, maybe to keep begging—which I was finding all kinds of pathetic—when I finally caught her eye.

Her face paled. “Sarah…”

“Laura,” I replied. My heart pounded hard. “I want to talk to you.”

She took a step back and seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to do. Then she turned and bolted away from me like—and I don’t use this cliché lightly—a bat out of hell.

I didn’t have time to be surprised that she was fleeing the scene, because I was too busy racing after her. It was the second time in two days I’d had to chase somebody down and it wasn’t something I enjoyed. But I’d do it if I had to. And at the moment, it looked as if I had to.

On the far side of the theater was a hallway parallel to the one I’d used to enter the place and another black door at the end of it. But there was a big difference, and one that worked in my favor. This one was locked.

Laura pulled on the door and I was pretty sure that with vampire strength she might be able to pry it open if she had enough time. But she didn’t.

She froze before slowly turning around to face me, pressing backward against the door. Her eyes were very wide.

“Sarah, please,” she began.

The fear on her face confused me deeply. “What’s going on, Laura? Why did you come here?”

She blinked, then rubbed at her eyes. Her black mascara had run from her tears. “Please, Sarah. Please—don’t kill me.”

Um…what?

It really didn’t sound like a “Please don’t kill me for framing your fiancé for murder.” It sounded more like a “Please don’t kill me. Period.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” I assured her, uncertain now.

She frowned. “You’re not? But I thought that you…that you and Thierry…”

“That me and Thierry what?”

“When he had Bernard killed, I figured that I became a loose end—that I knew too much, or something. If he was willing to do that to my husband, then it meant that I really didn’t know you like I thought I did. That you were capable of anything. I know what it’s like to be involved with such a powerful man, Sarah. They can make you do bad things. Things you might not normally do.”

Confusion rained down over me. “So you’re trying to tell me that you thought Thierry sent me after you to…kill you.”

“I’ll scream.” Her voice shook. “I swear I will.”

My first suspect in the murder of Bernard DuShaw had all but convinced me in record time that not only was she pathetic and weak and needy, but she was also totally innocent of her husband’s murder.

Now what?

“I
’m
not
going to kill you.” I said it again. “Seriously, I’m not.”

That something like this had to be stated so bluntly was disturbing.

Laura began to calm down. Slowly. Agonizingly slowly. If she really was innocent in all of this, I felt bad that I’d upset her so much.

“Then why did you follow me here?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I nodded at a small table to our left. “Give me five minutes.”

“For what?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Her breathing slowed to a normal rate and her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Why should I talk to you? Your fiancé murdered my husband.”

My fading antagonism toward her flared inside me like a tiny pissed-off demon. “He was set up.”

She gave me a look then—one of pity. “Oh, Sarah. You poor dear.”

I glared at her. “I’m not deluded. He didn’t do it.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue with me, but closed it. Her entire body sagged in defeat before she
finally moved toward the table and sat down heavily. “I don’t even care who did it. It’s done. And now I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”

My emotions were seriously on a roller-coaster ride today. Anger, to confusion, and right into sympathy. It was dizzying. “I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved him. This must be absolutely horrible for you.”

She looked older now than she had before. Drained and weary. “Loved him? Maybe once.”

I sat down across from her at the small round table. “What are you talking about?”

She exhaled shakily. “What I felt for Bernard…it had faded. A lot.”

“But the other night at dinner you said that everything was wonderful.”

“I know what I said. What else was I supposed to say? I’d only just met you—and you and Thierry seemed so happy together. Was I supposed to admit that my relationship was only a shadow of what it once was?”

I shook my head. “I’m surprised you’re admitting this to me.”

“What difference does it make anymore?” She glanced over toward the stage. “That man up there—Joe—he’s the one I really loved.
Still
love. But I left him for Bernard.”