Fly Me to the Morgue (15 page)

‘His suite, huh?' Hargrove shook his head. ‘How does a Brooklyn torpedo rate a suite?'

‘I'm paying for it,' Bing said. ‘He's my guest here.'

‘That figures.'

‘Gents,' Entratter said, ‘I think we've all cooperated with you as much as we can, right now.'

‘You think so?' Hargrove asked. He looked at me. ‘Where's your buddy, Bardini?'

‘How am I supposed to know?' I asked. ‘You think these two check in with me with their every move?'

‘We're lookin' for him,' Hargrove said, standing up. ‘You let him know that . . . if you see him.'

‘I'll pass that message along.'

‘Mr Crosby,' Hargrove said, ‘don't leave town.'

‘Why not?' Bing asked.

‘We might have more questions.'

‘I think you might have to talk to my lawyer, in the future,' Bing said. ‘I was nice enough to come down here to be questioned—'

‘Just don't leave,' Hargrove said, cutting him off.

Hargrove looked at Lewis, who stood up and followed the Las Vegas dick out the door.

‘They're gonna try to pin the Red Rock murder on Jerry,' I said.

‘And sounds like they want Bardini for the Vegas killing,' Entratter said.

‘Jesus,' I said, sitting down next to Bing. ‘Jack, this time we're in the clear on both cases.'

‘Then maybe you've got nothin' to worry about, Eddie,' he said.

‘Somehow,' I said, ‘I can't bring myself to look at it that way.'

THIRTY-EIGHT

I went back down to the casino floor while Bing stayed to talk with Entratter. I think they were going to try to get their lawyers together.

I needed to find Jerry and tell him what was going on, and then we needed to track down Danny and warn him. As long as the cops were looking at Jerry for the Red Rock murder, and at Danny for the Fred Stanley murder, they weren't going to be looking for the real killers.

While I was looking for Jerry in the casino I started to wonder, if both murders involved horsemen, maybe they were connected. And they both also involved Bing Crosby. I didn't know if the murders could have been done by the same person, but it was no stretch to think they were somehow connected.

I didn't find Jerry in the casino, the lounge or the coffee shop. I checked the race book, but he wasn't there either. I didn't know where else to look. If he left the casino where would he go? And how? The only time he ever left the Sands was when he drove my Caddy.

I went through the hotel lobby and out the front door, checked with the valets if they had seen Jerry get into a car, either a cab or a limo. There had been no sign of him.

Inside I went to a house phone, tried his suite again. No answer. Then I realized I needed tickets for Frank Junior's closing night. I didn't want to ignore Frank by not showing up for his kid's last performance. I called my contact at the Flamingo to make sure he held out four tickets for me. I was thinking me and Jerry, and then maybe Danny and Penny.

With that done I wondered if I should go ahead and leave the hotel and look for Danny. I started away from the house phones and stopped when I saw somebody in the lobby. She was just standing there, looking around, as if she didn't quite know what direction to go in. She was similarly dressed to the last time I'd seen her, but the shirt was a little dressier, and the jeans were very clean. The heels of her boots unnecessarily added to her height. The biggest difference was her hair, which was cascading down over her shoulders, shimmering as if she had just washed it.

I walked over, reached her as her head was turned and said, ‘Miss Arnold?'

Adrienne Arnold turned her head to me quickly, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. The men in the hotel lobby were all looking at her.

‘Oh! Mr Gianelli,' she said. ‘You startled me.'

‘What are you doing here?' I asked. ‘Looking for Bing Crosby?'

‘Um, no,' she said, ‘actually, I came here looking for you. Is there someplace we can talk?'

‘Complete privacy?' I asked. ‘Or just someplace to sit?'

‘Just somewhere to sit.'

‘Sure,' I said. ‘Come with me.'

I took her to the Garden Room, where we both ordered coffee.

‘What brings you to Las Vegas, Miss Arnold?' I asked.

‘First, I wish you would call me Adrienne,' she said. ‘Second, I know I look like a country girl, but I do come to town quite often for various reasons.'

‘I'm sorry, Adrienne,' I said, ‘I wasn't judging you. At least, not harshly.'

‘I should apologize,' she said. ‘If I don't want to be judged I guess I should dress a bit differently when I come to town.'

‘I don't see anything wrong with the way you're dressed.'

‘Well . . . thank you.' She didn't blush, but she came close. I thought she was more of a country girl than she wanted to admit.

‘That's very nice of you to say, considering where you live and work.'

‘Now who's judging?' I asked.

‘I only meant, you work with such beautiful women; showgirls, even the waitresses, they're all so . . . glamorous.'

‘I think if you asked a bunch of these waitresses if they thought their jobs were glamorous you'd be surprised at the answers you'd get.'

‘Perhaps, but the showgirls, surely . . .'

‘Mostly they complain that their feet hurt,' I said. ‘In fact, that's the same complaints you hear from the waitresses.'

‘It's a problem I share with them, then,' she said.

‘Maybe that's because of the boots.'

‘Actually, it's when I try to wear regular shoes,' she said. ‘My feet feel great when I wear boots.'

‘I've been wondering about something,' I said.

‘What's that?'

I leaned forward, which caused her to do the same.

‘How tall are you when you're wearing boots?'

She smiled and said, ‘Six one.'

I sat back, a little breathless. The waitress came with our coffee. We stared at each other while she was setting it down. In the past few years the women I had spent time with had either been waitresses, showgirls, or the occasional movie star.

This lady was a change of pace for me, and I still didn't really know what she did.

THIRTY-NINE

‘I wanted to warn you,' she said.

‘About your brother?' I asked. ‘He's already been here, with a couple of his friends.'

‘What happened?'

‘I had a few of my friends with me, too.'

‘Mr Crosby's trainer?'

‘Jerry,' I said, ‘and Dean Martin.'

‘Dean Martin,' she said. ‘That's an impressive friend to have.'

‘And he used to be a boxer,' I said. ‘Your brother backed down.'

‘Yes, but don't depend on him staying that way,' she warned. ‘Philip is mean.'

‘Will he be mean just to me,' I asked, ‘or to you, too?'

‘Oh, he'll be mean to anyone who gets in his way,' she said. ‘Or sometimes, just for fun. When we were kids, living on a farm, he'd torture animals to death.'

‘Sounds like a great brother.'

‘No, Christopher was the great brother.'

‘Were horses his business?' I asked.

‘Not always, but they were now. He started breeding them a few years ago, but was still working his regular job.'

‘Which was what?'

‘Investments.'

‘And what's your business?'

‘Antiques.'

‘And Philip's business?'

‘That's a little . . . hazy,' she admitted. ‘We've always wondered what he's into, and why he's always broke.'

‘So that's why he doesn't want the horse sold?' I asked.

‘Not until he can figure out a way to get his hands on the money,' she said. ‘Christopher wanted to keep him away from the profits of the horse sale.'

‘Adrienne,' I said, ‘would Philip have killed Christopher to keep him from selling the horse?'

She looked stunned.

‘You haven't considered that?'

‘No,' she said, ‘not til now.'

‘Christopher was beaten to death,' I said. ‘Philip is quick with his hands. It seems to be the way he solves his problems.'

She hesitated, then said, ‘Oh my God.'

She needed something stronger to drink so we went to the lounge. Didi was there and seated us, giving me a hard look as she did. I ordered two martinis.

‘Cute,' she said. ‘Is she going to poison my drink?'

‘I doubt it.'

She rubbed her face, a masculine gesture I was surprised to see from her.

‘If she did maybe I'd just drink it,' she said. ‘How could one of my brothers kill the other?'

‘We don't know that he did,' I said, ‘but instead of looking at your brother the cops are tryin' to pin the murder on Jerry.'

‘But why? He didn't even know my brother?'

‘It's a long story,' I said. ‘Jerry has a . . . checkered past.'

‘One that has nothing to do with horses?'

‘Exactly.'

‘And your past?'

‘Checkered, but for a different reason.'

Didi brought the drinks, set them down carefully, then stared at me, holding the tray down in front of her.

‘Anything else, sir?' she asked politely.

‘Not right now, thanks, Didi.'

She nodded and walked away.

Adrienne picked up the martini and sipped it gratefully.

‘Have the police been in touch with you?' I asked.

‘No, and I've wondered about that.'

‘With their sights set on Jerry, there's no reason to bother you.'

‘That doesn't sound like a very good way to run an investigation.'

‘I agree. Do you know of anyone else who might have wanted to kill Christopher?'

‘No,' she said. ‘If it had been Philip who was killed, I may have been able to give you some names. He has a lot of people mad at him.'

I thought about that for a moment.

‘Let's assume for a moment,' I said, ‘that Philip didn't kill his own brother.'

‘All right,' she said. ‘That would make me feel . . . a little better.'

‘OK,' I said. ‘Which of the people who are mad at Philip would have killed Christopher to make a point?'

FORTY

‘My younger brother is the family accountant,' she said. ‘I'll ask him.'

‘He did Philip's books?'

She hesitated, then said, ‘Not officially.'

‘OK, I don't need to know the family details,' I said. ‘But I would like some names that we can check out.'

‘We?' she asked. ‘Are you a detective, too, Eddie?'

‘No, but I know one. A good one. If I give him enough information, he should be able to get to the bottom of things.'

‘Do you need a client?' she asked. ‘If he needs to be paid—'

‘Don't worry about it,' I said. ‘Bing Crosby's footin' the bill—'

‘Not for my family, he isn't,' she said. ‘If your detective is going to find out who killed my brother, I'm going to pay him.'

‘I don't think Danny would object to bein' paid by a beautiful woman,' I said. ‘In fact, I know he wouldn't.'

‘I'd like to meet him.'

‘I don't know if that's such a good idea.'

‘Why? Is he one of those detectives with a flat nose and scars on his face? A big cigar in his mouth?'

‘Actually,' I said, ‘Danny's too handsome for his own good. I try never to introduce him to women I'm interested in.'

‘Am I on that list, now?' she asked. ‘Women you are interested in?'

‘Let's say I find you interesting,' I said.

She smiled.

‘You're very good at tap dancing with words, aren't you?'

‘I have to be,' I said. ‘I can't dance a lick with my feet.'

When we left the Garden Room I walked her to the front door of the hotel and had the valet bring her car around.

‘I was serious about wanting to meet your detective,' she said.

‘I'll make it happen,' I said. ‘Where do you live?'

‘I'll be staying out in Red Rock at my brother's place until I settle his estate.'

‘Is there much of an estate to settle?'

‘The house, some money, insurance, that sort of thing.'

‘Anybody gonna get rich?'

‘Not that much money, or insurance,' she said.

‘And then there's the horse,' I said. ‘Is it accounted for in the will?'

‘We're reading the will tomorrow,' she said. ‘I'll let you know.'

‘You can call me here.'

‘No home phone?'

The Valet drove her car up at that moment, blue '62 Pontiac Grand Prix. A nice car, but nothing flashy.

‘I'll instruct them to give it to you if you call when I'm not here.'

I walked her around, opened her door and closed it after her, then leaned on it.

‘Remember,' I said, ‘the more information I have, the more I can get done.'

‘I'll call you,' she said. ‘Meantime, watch out for Philip.'

‘I will.'

She put her hand over mine, then started the car and drove off.

The Valet, Tim Daly, came over to me and said, ‘Nice lookin' piece, Eddie. New?'