Red Roses in Las Vegas (18 page)

I wasn’t in the best of moods when I stepped into my condo, and I didn’t feel any better when I saw Nanna and Nathan huddled around a laptop.

“What’re you doing here?” I asked Nathan, trying not to scowl.

My place looked neater somehow; the cushions were arranged nicely on the sofa and the countertops were spotless and sparkling. I blamed it on Nanna.

“We’re practicing before we set out for tonight’s poker,” Nanna said, smiling. “How was the party? I thought you’d stay there longer.”

I looked at Nathan through narrowed eyes, but he was studying the screen intently. “Party was terrible,” I said. “D’you know if Ian’s at home?”

Nanna shook her head. “He stopped by ten minutes after you left and said he was going out for dinner with his parents.”

“Really? His parents are in town?”

“Yeah, they just stopped by all of a sudden. Why?”

“No, no reason.” Other than the fact that, for once, it would’ve been nice to enjoy Ian’s enthusiasm; and maybe he’d actually have a good suggestion or two.

Nathan kept his eyes focused on the laptop and said, “Why was the party terrible?”

I sighed and pulled out my phone. “I want to talk to this woman,” I said, showing them the photos of Alexia Boyle. “But she wasn’t there.”

“Hang on,” said Nathan, squinting at one of the photos. “I think I’ve seen her before.” Nanna and I stared at him as he squinted his eyes and looked off into the distance. “Right! I’ve got it. I saw her at one of those conferences… RubyConf!”

“You’re kidding me,” I said, staring at him incredulously. “She was there?”

I’d just watched footage from the RubyConf event only recently, when I was investigating a different case. Vegas really was a tiny town.

“Yeah,” Nathan said. “I remember her because she was chatting to one of those developers and she actually seemed to know coding!”

“Was she a part of the conference?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “She was one of those conference girls, you know?”

I did know. They were the ones in the massive, gaudy headdresses and tiny, tiny bikini tops.

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Pretty sure. I was so surprised one of those girls knew coding.”

“It
is
surprising,” Nanna said. “But I guess you make more money as a conference girl than as a coder.”

“Did she say anything interesting?” I asked. “Did she mention a phone number or where she lived?”

“I think she did,” Nathan said, thoughtfully. “The guy asked for her number… I think she programmed it into his phone.” I groaned and he went on, “But I think she mentioned living on the Strip. In one of those new tower apartments?”

“Which one?”

He looked at me apologetically. “I can’t remember.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s ok. I’ll figure it out.”

I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.

“Where’re you going?” Nanna asked. “Nathan and I were just about to leave. You can get an early night, if you like.”

I turned back to look at them. “No, that’s ok. You guys have fun. I might be late.”

***

I sat in my car, the engine idling, while I tried to figure out a plan of action. I drove up as I tried to think, and in the end I wound up parking at the Neonopolis Parking Garage on East Ogden Avenue.

There were six or seven places where Alexia might be living, and I decided to start at the north and work my way down. Living right on the Strip was expensive, and there was a chance she might be staying with someone else. But if Nathan was telling the truth, and Alexia was still single, then she was living within a few minutes’ walk from where I’d parked.

I walked the few yards over to the Strip, and started at the Ogden. It was a place popular with Downtown partiers, and the lobby had a bright, youthful vibe.

“Hi,” I said, shining my brightest smile onto the friendly-looking concierge. He had jet-black hair combed neatly around a large bald spot, and a small, almost Hitler-esque black mustache. “I’m here to meet Alexia Boyle.”

“Do you know her apartment number?” I shook my head, and he scanned a list of the tenants. “We don’t have any Alexia Boyle living here. Are you sure you’ve got the right place?”

“Maybe she’s listed as Alex Boyle? Or Alexia Fallon? Alex Fallon? Robert Fallon? Rob Fallon?”

Each name got a head shake and a polite, regretful smile. Urgh.

I smiled my fake, bright smile. “I guess I should call her and check the address again!”

The man smiled politely and nodded, not really caring about my predicament.

My next stop was the One Las Vegas block of apartments. Once again, I strode up to the lobby purposefully, and fibbed about meeting Alexia Boyle and any of her other names I could think of.

The obese brunette manning the concierge desk refused to be charmed by my dazzling smile, and told me in no uncertain terms that there was no such person staying there and that I’d better get my facts straight.
And leave
, was the unspoken phrase, and she glared at me until I shrugged apologetically and headed out the door. I could feel her dark eyes watching my back as I walked out the lobby and headed away.

Veer Towers was my third stop, and the most glamorous building so far. The two inclined skyscrapers were designed to awe passers-by, but the glamorous lobby made it clear that the buildings were definitely designed for luxury.

“I’m here to see Alexia Boyle,” I told the concierge, once again.

This time, there was a man named Joey, if his name-tag could be believed. He had thinning brown hair, and pale, watery eyes set like a pair of dead fish in his pasty, flat face.

“Is she expecting you?” he asked, looking up from his computer screen and staring at me without the slightest hint of interest.

My heart soared and I grinned broadly. “Yes!” I said. “I mean, no!” I tried to calm down and think. Joey glanced at me and raised one disinterested eyebrow. “I mean, I called and said I’d be coming by but I’m not sure if she got my message. Tell her it’s Tiffany Black, and I’m here to talk about Adam Bitzer.”

Joey seemed to be on the intercom for hours, speaking in a hushed, funereal tone and glancing at me once in a while. I was bubbling over with excitement, and when he finally hung up and looked at me, I just about squealed.

“She’s not at home,” he said in a sleepy monotone.

My shoulders slumped. “What do you mean, not at home?” He shrugged, and I felt my disappointment transforming into rage. “Who were you talking to, then?”

He looked at me blankly. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“How about I wait here for her?” I looked at him desperately, and he shook his head. “I’ll be really quiet, I promise. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Joey glanced over at the big, African-American guard who was sitting near the concierge desk reading
USA Today
. The man looked up and glanced at me.

“Fine,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’m leaving.”

I shouldn’t have expected it to be so easy.

I headed straight out the building and sat on the edge of the circular, carousel-sized fountain in front of it. Veer Towers was part of a seven-building “complex,” which meant that you had to access it using a side-street. I couldn’t just loiter on the Strip and wait for Alexia to come out, and I couldn’t even stand around near the building entrance. That would be just asking for Joey to call some security guards and have me thrown out.

I didn’t want to just leave. I walked slowly down up and down the building, trying to figure things out.

Finally, I called Ian.

“Hi.” His voice was quiet, somehow more serious-sounding than I’d ever heard.

“What’s up?” I said. “Wanna help me out with something?”

“I can’t.” He sounded regretful, in a kind of understated way. “I’m having dinner.”

“Can you cut it short?”

“No. And I have to go now.”

We hung up, and I stared at the Veer Towers entrance again. If Alexia was in there, she’d have to come out at some point. Maybe I could spend all night sitting on the edge of the water
fountain, watching the doors. But that wouldn’t work – I’d be allowed to loiter there maybe an hour or two at best.

So I called Nanna instead.

“Where are you?” I asked when she picked up.

“We’ve just arrived at The Bellagio,” she said. “I’m feeling lucky, tonight.”

“Great. Listen, do you know anyone who lives in Veer Towers?”

“I’m not sure, why?”

“I need a way in.”

“I’ll ask around.”

We hung up, and she called back after ten minutes.

“My friend Gilmore’s nephew,” she said. “He’s working on some city center project, so Gilmore’s living there. He’ll get you in. Gilmore Wyndham.”

“Thanks,” I said, my breath whooshing out in relief.

I hung up, and walked half-way towards the Veer Towers entrance, when I stopped. So far, the plan was to get in, and then head over to Alexia’s apartment. Except I didn’t know which one of the 500-odd apartments was hers.

I called Nanna again. “Is Nathan with you?”

She handed the phone over, and I told him my plan. As I’d hoped, he agreed to go through with it.
I hung up, wondering if I had been judging him too harshly
.

Nathan turned up within half an hour, supplies in hand. Alexia hadn’t left the building in the meantime, so I grabbed the empty, gift-wrapped shoe box from Nathan and went to wait for him inside Crystals, the fancy shopping center next door, where I was thoroughly ignored for fifteen minutes by all the snobby saleswomen.

Fifteen minutes later, I got tired of waiting and walked back toward the fountain. I met Nathan mid-way. He wasn’t carrying the massive bouquet of flowers he’d turned up with, and I grinned.

“It worked?”

Nathan nodded enthusiastically. “It wasn’t easy at first. The concierge guy wanted me to leave the bouquet with him and said he’d take it up, but I kept insisting. Said the sender wanted me to confirm that I’d handed it over.”

“Great!” I beamed. “At least you got in. You did get in, right?”

“Of course. It’s on the eleventh floor, apartment 1117. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

I frowned, hoping I wouldn’t need it, and watched Nathan disappear along the Strip.

Joey, the concierge, sighed when he saw me again. “Do you want me to tell her you brought a gift?”

“No,” I said, smiling smugly. “I’m here to see Gilmore Wyndham. He’s expecting me.”

Joey looked at me suspiciously, but punched the buttons in his intercom anyway. He turned back after a few seconds.

“Go on up, fourteenth floor.”

I nodded and headed over to the elevators, where I pressed “11” instead of “14.”

Alexia opened the door after just a few knocks. She was wearing pink and blue teddy bear pajamas, and she peered out at me with red, watery eyes. Her dark brown hair hung limply around her splotchy red face, and she clasped a box of tissues with one hand.

“Yes?”

She glanced at the gift-wrapped box in my hands, and I smiled happily.

“This is for you.”

I handed it over to her, and stepped inside before she could close the door.

She sniffed and took a step back, immediately sensing that I wasn’t here for the gift.

I raised my hands up and quickly said, “I just want to talk to you.”

“You’re Tiffany Black.”

I was a bit surprised by how quick she was, and I glanced at the box of tissues she was clutching. “I just have a few questions. I’d really appreciate it if–”

“Are you working for Rob?”

“Huh?” I blinked at her, and took a few seconds to realize she was talking about her ex-husband, Robert Fallon. “No.” I shook my head emphatically. “Absolutely not. I’m investigating Adam Bitzer’s death.”

“Why?”

I could go the route of implying that I was an LVMPD detective, but she seemed too smart to buy that, so I said, “My nanna’s been accused of killing him.”

There was a beat as she regarded me warily, still not closing her apartment door. I glanced around surreptitiously while she watched me; the place was obviously a furnished rental, with a dark, fabric-covered sofa, a large flat-screen TV, and a corridor that probably led off into the bedroom. There was a tiny stove in one corner of the room, a fridge, and a small dining table.

“It sounds pretty ridiculous,” Alexia said finally. “Can you prove you’re not working for Rob?”

“No,” I said. “Of course I can’t prove that. I never even met the man.”

“Then how’m I meant to trust you?”

I pursed my lips and tried to think fast. “Maybe I could prove that my nanna’s really accused of killing Adam? I could call her, and, and… maybe I could call the detective who’s investigating this case?” I wasn’t sure Elwood would help, but it was worth a shot.

Alexia blew her nose loudly and said, “Ok. I believe you. But I really don’t want to talk about Adam. Could you leave, please?”

“Why not?” I said, clutching at straws. “Why were you paying him money? What’s going on?” She continued to look at me stoically, and I said, “Why are you protecting him?”

“I’m not protecting him, I just don’t want to talk about him.”

“I think you’re protecting him.” I crossed my arms, but she just shook her head and began to walk over to the intercom hanging on the wall.

“Wait!” I said, and she paused. “You have to help me, please. My nanna’s in trouble and you seem to be the only one who knows what’s going on.”

She regarded me silently and sniffed. I tried again. “I know you’re getting divorced. Maybe I can help out somehow, maybe I can… I don’t know, I’m a private investigator. I’ll owe you one if you help me now.”

She smiled thinly. “I don’t think I’ll need that favor, ever. But I suppose I could let you ask me a few questions. The damage’s already been done.”

“What damage?”

She rolled her eyes and finally closed the apartment door. I waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t; she just put down the empty, gift-wrapped shoebox, and headed into the kitchenette, where she switched on a kettle.

“What damage?” I repeated.

“Adam’s why I got divorced, stupid s–” She took a few minutes to let out a string of expletives, and I waited patiently till she was done.

The kettle boiled, and she found a mug and put a teabag in it.

“What did Adam do?” I asked once again. “What damage?”

“He got me divorced,” Alexia said, pouring the water into the mug. She put the kettle back, and then regarded me sullenly. “That guy – it’s all…”

“How? Were you seeing him?”

Alexia laughed bitterly, and then started to cough. When her cough attack was over, she said, “No, of course not. Who’d date that loser? He was blackmailing me.”

Blackmail. I helped myself to a seat on the sofa, and stared into space. The world made sense now – the regular payments, the women’s unwillingness to talk.

“I was paying him, like he’d asked,” Alexia was saying, “But then Rob found out and asked me what the money was for. So I gave him that story about charity for Rwandan kids, and he made me stop.”

“And you told Adam about his?”

Alexia dipped the teabag a few times, pulled it out, and threw it into the trash. “Sure. Except he didn’t care. Kept telling me to pay up and, when I didn’t, he actually emailed Rob the pictures. Urgh!” She groaned and rubbed her forehead with one hand. “One stupid crush, one stupid fling, and I lost it all.” Alexia stared at me, her eyes a wild mixture of anger and regret, and said, “Can you believe it? I had it all. And now I’ve just…”

She looked around herself, and I followed her glance. It didn’t seem too bad to me – apartments on the Strip rent out for more than a three-bedroom condo in the ’burbs, and the place seemed clean and nicely, if generically, furnished. But who knows? It was probably a dump compared to how she used to live.

“How did you meet Adam?” I asked.

She frowned, remembering, and sniffed. “It was at some party. He came up to me, introduced himself, seemed charming enough. I can’t believe I thought he was nice!” She blew her nose and went on. “Anyway, he’s asking all these questions, real polite. How long had I been married, was I a Vegas local, that kind of stuff. He must’ve looked into me, cause the next thing I know, he’s calling me, asking to have drinks. I say no, but he’s really insistent, saying it’ll be five minutes and he’s got something I should see.”

She put down the box of tissues and grabbed the mug of hot tea instead. “Of course, what I should see were those photos he took of me – stupid photos of me and Joshua together. Urgh.”

She took a sip of her tea and I watched her. “Are you still in touch with Joshua?”

“No, that was over as soon as I saw those photos. I mean, the damage was done, but still, I was gonna be careful.”

“And then what?”

She sighed, and took another sip of the tea. “Adam said I needed to pay him. Every month, $3,000. I bargained it down to $2,200, and he said if my husband asked, I was going to tell him that it was for a Rwandan charity thing.”

“And your husband did find out.”

“Sure thing. He asked me where the money was going, and didn’t buy for a second that it was a charity. Thought I might’ve had some kind of fling with Adam, so of course I have to stop paying him.”

“And then Adam hassled you for a bit, and then he sent the photos to Robert?”

“That’s right. The entitled sonofabitch.”

She seemed resigned now, rather than angry, and I wondered if I felt sorry for her. Although, truth be told, I was more surprised to learn about Adam’s hobby than anything else. I should’ve seen this coming – monthly payments from three rich women? I shook my head. No wonder none of them were willing to talk about him.

After another couple of sips of her tea, Alexia said, “And now I’m divorced. All because of that freak.”

I nodded, wondering what to do next. “Where were you,” I asked finally, “last Friday night?”

She laughed, a bitter, unhappy sound. “At work. The Spearmint Rhino.”

I nodded. That made sense – what else would an attractive, intelligent woman work after she got divorced? Strippers made a lot of money, much more than doctors in many states, and as long as she maintained her youthful good looks and gorgeous figure, Alexia would be able to afford a nice lifestyle.

“Thanks for your help,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

She sighed. “As long as you don’t tell Robert we had this talk.”

I nodded and stood up. “Good luck with the settlement. I’m sure something will turn up for you.”

I headed down to the lobby, where Joey seemed to have forgotten who I was, and wandered thoughtfully back to where I’d parked my car. I figured it was time to pay Adam’s girlfriend, Cynthia Pruttley, another visit.