Red Roses in Las Vegas (8 page)

The Casino Venezia is, from the outside, the world’s most ridiculously designed casino, with its fake “Venice” landscape, complete with canals, gondolas and Doge’s Palace. Inside, it looks like just any other Vegas casino – the designers obviously gave up on the Venice theme once they got inside, and settled for “standard casino tacky.”

The Bellissimo Café, in keeping with that standard, was like a slightly gaudier Starbucks, with its ornate ceiling and elaborate fake-mahogany booths and chairs. Golden chandeliers imparted an “opulent” glow, and the menu was, as part of the homage to opulence, greatly overpriced.

“I get an employee discount,” Natasha said. “In case you’re hungry.”

“I’m fine,” I said, and stuck with a cappuccino, but Ian decided to order a slice of raspberry cheesecake in addition to his coffee.

Natasha looked tired. She’d just finished a ten-hour shift and had bags under her eyes. Her pale skin was obviously foundation-less, her lipstick had smeared to a light pink, and her eyelashes were coated with a thinning layer of mascara. Her brunette hair was streaked with lighter shades, but there was a four-inch gap of unstreaked dark brown. The whole impression was that of someone who was a whisker away from giving up.

“I don’t want to waste your time, since you’ve got a shift in a few hours,” Natasha said. “What do you do?”

“Dealer at The Treasury.”

She nodded. “It’s nice of you to help out your nanna like this.”

I shrugged modestly, as a waitress appeared with our coffees and Ian’s cheesecake. “Not sure how much I’m helping, really. So far I haven’t found much.”

Natasha sighed. “I still can’t believe it, sometimes. It’s all so… senseless.”

“Any idea who might be behind it?”

She shook her head. “No. Adam had no enemies, as you’ve probably already heard. He wasn’t involved in anything unusual, he was just a regular guy. Regular Adam.”

She stared blankly at her coffee, and Ian dug into his cheesecake, as though he hadn’t just stuffed himself full of KFC a couple of hours ago.

“What about the girlfriend?” I asked. “Cynthia?”

“Cynthia Pruttley.” Natasha looked up with a wry smile. “Now,
that
. That’s a piece of work. She’s got her head up here, and her shit don’t stink ’cause she’s a size zero and an
interiah designah
.”

“You’re not fond of her?”

“Hard to be. Not that there’s anything wrong with her, of course,” she added hastily. “She’s just not… friendly, I guess. She doesn’t really care to be nice anyone, not even Adam.”

“Did they fight? Or have any problems?”

“No, not like that. It’s more like… she was indifferent to him, and he just let her walk all over him.”

“I see.”

Ian swallowed his bite of cheesecake and said, “What about you? How did you get along with Adam?”

“Me?” Natasha seemed surprised by the question. “We got along fine. I was a bit annoyed that he wouldn’t let Mom stay with him once in a while, but I guess I do understand. Puts a bit of a damper on your love-life, if you’ve got a geriatric parent living with you.”

I smiled sympathetically. “Tell me about it. Do you have a boyfriend?”

She shook her head. “No. We broke up a few months back.”

Ian said, “Did you and Adam have any arguments recently?”

“No,” said Natasha.

“And what about your alibi?” said Ian. “Where were you on Friday night?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re accusing me of murdering my own brother? What are you, nuts?”

She glanced at me, more amused than offended, and I shrugged. “Sorry. He
is
a little nuts.”

“It’s ok,” she said. “I was at work. Pulling a night shift – they’ve got me on tape, I’m pretty sure. You can ask my supervisor and look it up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Ian’s just being silly.”

“I am not,” he said. “You’ve got to ask everyone for their alibi.” He turned to Natasha. “I can’t just exclude you because I’m being polite or because I don’t want to upset you or something. I’m really serious about finding out who killed Adam.”

Natasha nodded solemnly. “That makes sense.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief that Ian hadn’t managed to do too much damage and said, “What about red roses? Did Adam have a fondness for them or something?”

Natasha crinkled her face. “I’m not sure how you mean. He wasn’t into gardening or anything like that.”

I didn’t want to tell her that his last words had been about red roses, it would just make her think of how he’d died. But I still asked, “Do you think red roses might be connected with his death in any way?”

She shook her head. “No, I can’t possibly see how.”

“What about his friends? Leona said Adam had lots of friends.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, he was a bit of a loner, really. He had a lot of acquaintances – he was a friendly guy, but only a couple of close friends. There were these guys he met with to play golf with every now and then.”

“I guess I should talk to them.”

Natasha nodded. “I don’t have their info on me right now, but I’ll go home and look it up for you.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. 

A few minutes and a few questions later, I decided that there was nothing more to learn from Natasha, and handed her my card with instructions to call me if she thought of anything.

Ian and I walked away from The Venezia thoughtfully. So far, we’d uncovered pretty much nothing.

By the time we got to The Treasury, I was exhausted all over again, despite the long afternoon nap I’d taken. Failure has a way of tiring you out.

“I’m beat,” I said. “Why don’t you head home and have dinner with Nanna, and I’ll take five before getting to my shift.”

The plan was to relax over a coffee until it was time to deal with the gamblers, and maybe have a slice of cake or two.

But then Ian said, “Aren’t you going to make those phone calls? We can’t waste time, you know.”

I stared into his pale eyes until I remembered, and then I slumped forward and groaned.

“Tell me what you’ve found out,” I said, as I settled in with my coffee and slice of chocolate mud cake.

“Cynthia’s pretty,” Ian said. “I found a bunch of photos of her on a social networking site, and she’s got a profile on the Petite Bijou Designs website. I don’t know if she’s any good as a designer, but she specializes in doing “Grand Designs” style homes. And according to the social networking site, she’s big on partying. Speaking of which, Adam had a profile on that site too, but it was pretty quiet. He never posted photos of himself or updates about his life or anything. Seems like a pretty quiet person.”

I nodded and dug into the cake. Delicious, moist chocolaty goodness. “Anything interesting on Cynthia?”

“Not really. Can I have a bite of that?”

“No. Get your own slice.”

“I already had cheesecake.”

“Well, sucks for you. What about the brother, Mike?”

“Boring runs in the family. All three of them, Mike, Adam and Natasha had profiles on the social site, but none of them bothered to update. Mike’s been working at the hospital for the last ten years, married for just under that.”

“And the wife? Claire?”

“The state senator.” Ian’s eyebrows squished together. “You’d think, since she’s a public figure and all, there’d be more info about her online. But noooo. If anything, there’s less.”

“But surely there’s news articles and stuff.”

“Oh sure.” Ian nodded. “Lots of news, she’s got her website, her social networking profiles. But it’s all been scrubbed: it’s all about how great she is, how much she’s doing to improve the state of Nevada and our public schools and all that. I’m sure that if there’s any bad press, her marketing guy wipes it all clean.”

“Hmm.” I finished the cake, and tried to scrape off the chocolate sauce they’d drizzled around the plate to make it look all fancy. “But you’d expect that with politicians, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess so.”

Ian was looking at me expectantly, now that my cake was all gone. I sighed and pulled out my phone, not particularly pleased with his nagging. Still, he was right – we were in a rush and I needed to make the phone calls.

***

My first call was to Cynthia Pruttley, Adam’s girlfriend. Unsurprisingly, she was still in LA. “I already talked to the cops over here. Why do I have to talk to you again?”

I took a deep breath, explained that I believed the cops might have missed something, and that I’d really appreciate her time.

“Ok,” she sighed. “I’ll be back in Vegas tomorrow. Stop by my office after lunch.”

I thanked her and hung up, a bitter after-taste in my mouth. I could see why she wasn’t popular with Natasha and Adam’s co-worker, Sharon. There was an air of entitlement and arrogance about her, and I wondered if I should leave Ian at home when I went to chat with her. He’d probably be too busy drooling over Cynthia’s beauty to be much use. But then again, I
had
promised to take him everywhere with me.

My shift was starting shortly, and I didn’t have time to decide whether or not to take Ian with me when I went to Cynthia’s, so I made my next call. Adam’s brother, Mike.

“I’m in Nebraska,” he told me. “But I’ll be back the day after tomorrow and we can chat then.”

I thanked him and hung up. No wonder the cops had no real suspects – everyone Adam knew seemed to have been away. Including Claire Bitzer, Mike’s wife.

“I just got back yesterday,” Claire told me. “But I can talk to you tomorrow morning. Can you come by before 8:30?”

I groaned silently, already missing my few extra hours of sleep, but I agreed anyway.

I hung up, leaned back in my chair, and turned to Ian. “All done.”

He nodded. “And with fifteen minutes to spare.”

Like I needed to be reminded.

I played my part in the casino rigmarole, handing out cards, happy for players when they won, sad when they lost, and happiest when I was tipped well. Overhead lights helped disguise the ticking hours, and the ambient noise from the slot machines, abundant drinks and happy conversations made the place seem like the non-stop party zone that all the brochures touted.

Half-way through my shift, I received a voicemail from Jack, and when I called him back, he asked if I wanted to meet up for coffee or breakfast.

I half-smiled, half-sighed. “Don’t you sleep?”

“Not when you don’t.”

Unlike the last time I’d used my tiredness as an excuse, this time I really was tired. I wanted nothing more than to go home and snuggle up on my sofa for my three hours of sleep. But it
would
be nice to see Jack again. Remembering the way his green eyes sparkled was already sending flutters through my stomach, so I wasn’t able to say no.

We agreed to meet at The Blueberry Breakfast Café, which was on the way to my condo, and, despite its name, was open 24/7, like most places in Vegas. The Spanish-style outside was low, flat and pink, and its roof blue-tiled. It had a big, neon sign out front that stayed on for the whole night and a large, inviting car park, but it was always devoid of tourists. The few who wander in by accident quickly wander out, since it’s not the “Vegas experience” that they came for. It’s a consistently half-empty, run-down place with grumpy servers and good food, and at four o’clock in the morning, Jack and I had the place pretty much to ourselves.

We sat opposite each other in one of the squeaky, shiny red booths, and smiled. We were both exhausted from work, and we were both excited to see each other. As we waited for our order to arrive, we stretched our arms across the plastic-laminate diner table and held hands like one of those goofy couples I’ve always mocked. I tried to ignore the shivers of electricity I felt running along my arms, and I listened as he talked about his work. Something about a construction company he was trying to buy out in Oregon, and most of it went over my head, other than registering the fact that he’d have to go up there at some point.

We unlocked hands to make space for the food when it was brought over by a blank-faced brunette whose neck had disappeared into rolls of fat. Two coffees, and a big stack of blueberry pancakes with whipped honey-ricotta topping. We dug in, and Jack asked how Nanna was doing.

“Annoyingly ok,” I said, as I speared a piece of blueberry pancake and made sure I got enough of the topping on my fork. “She doesn’t seem to get how serious this whole thing is. And of course, I feel like I’m not getting anywhere.”

I gulped down my overly-large pancake-piece, and Jack nodded, his green eyes concerned. “How’d it go at Verdant Wealth?”

“Everyone was helpful, but nobody really knew the guy. He seems like everybody’s buddy – except not really.”

Jack frowned. “Adam Bitzer. You know, the name seems familiar.”

“Where would you have met him? It’s not like you two run in the same circles.”

Well, neither did Jack and I, and remembering that made me frown. But before I could wonder why Jack bothered to date me, he said, “Maybe I met him through someone else. Like a friend of a friend.”

“Did you ever go to Verdant Wealth to invest any money or something?”

Jack smiled and shook his head, no.

“You know,” I said. “Ian thinks those guys do some work for the Mob.”

Jack raised one eyebrow, a thin smile playing on his narrow lips. “I didn’t get here by kissing and telling.”

I paused, my fork mid-air. “You’re kidding! No way, you’re not serious!”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But – but –” I stared at him in shock. “If Verdant Wealth had anything to do with those guys, maybe Adam was killed because he found out too much.”

Jack looked serious again, and shook his head. “I’m not admitting I know anything, but let’s say, hypothetically, that the company’s got some ‘connections.’ Those connections would be very, very minor. They’d have nothing to do with Adam’s death.”

I made a mental note to chat with Nanna’s ex-enforcer friend – pronto. Maybe Jack was wrong, and maybe he didn’t know everything that was going on in Verdant Wealth.

“How’d it go with the family?” he asked. “Did you chat with them?”

I rested my head briefly in my hands to keep it from exploding, and then I looked up at Jack and shook my head. “I talked to them on the phone. Well, I met with his mom and sister, but they know nothing. The brother’s still in Nebraska, but I’ll talk to Claire and Cynthia tomorrow.”

Jack gave me a questioning look and I said, “Cynthia Pruttley’s the girlfriend.”

“Hang on,” said Jack, leaning forward suddenly. “I know that name. Cynthia. Pruttley.” He looked off into the distance, and after a few seconds he said, “Right! I’ve met her a couple of times, on the charity circuit.”

It was my turn to look confused. “Charity circuit? Why would she be on the charity circuit? As far as I know, she’s just a regular Jane.”

“And that’s where I met Adam,” Jack said. “He was with her. Or rather, she was with him.”

I frowned. This wasn’t making sense, considering that the folks on the Vegas charity circuit were either uber-successful local business people like Jack, their dolled and plastic spouses, some local politicos, and the occasional celebrity trying to bolster their image.

Adam wasn’t earning enough to afford the lifestyle that went with the charity circuit – the endless large donations and the over-priced “charity” tickets and auctions. Not to mention the expensive lunches and dinners with the other members of that circuit, to make sure you kept getting invited. “Where exactly did you meet them? How often?”

“Oh, you know.” Jack shrugged. “Here and there, at all those charity galas and silent auctions and stuff.”

I sipped my decaf thoughtfully. “Did you know them well?”

“No, but I met them a few times. Claire Bitzer’s Adam’s sister-in-law, right?” I nodded and Jack continued. “Yep, she was usually at those parties, too. And her husband Mike.”

I was impressed. “How do you remember all those names? And when do you even have time to go to these things?”

Jack smiled. “You gotta make time to network. And I just… kinda remember people.”

“Hmm,” I said, helping myself to some more blueberry pancake. “What’s Claire like? Her dad’s someone rich, right? Joe Something.”

“Joe Stephanopoulis.” Jack signaled the waitress to refill our decafs, and said, “He’s in the construction business here. Definitely rolling in it. Ambitious and ruthless as hell, and Claire’s picked up those traits off her dad.”

“She doesn’t seem to have any bad press at all.”

“That’s because she’s smart. She doesn’t do anything stupid, works hard at her job. In another four years, she’ll probably be in Washington.”

“Anything else?”

Jack shrugged. “Not really. She seems nice enough. Friendly, decent, seems to really care about residents here, far as I can tell.”

I nodded. “And what about Adam Bitzer and Cynthia Pruttley? What’d you think of them?”

Jack eyed the remaining pancakes carefully, and took a forkful. “You can have the rest,” he said. “I think I’m full. Adam – he seemed ok, I suppose. A bit quiet, but seemed friendly enough. Cynthia was–” I got the feeling he was about to say “pretty” or “gorgeous” or something equally complimentary, but he stopped mid-sentence and went on to say, “Tall, thin and blonde. Seemed like a social butterfly – knew a bunch of people on the circuit, and always seemed to enjoy herself at these things.”

I nodded and polished off the plate. Jack didn’t seem to know anything else about these people, so we talked about random things for a little while, and after a slightly awkward goodbye, I headed home.

Nanna wasn’t there when I entered my condo, but there was a note from her, informing me that she’d had dinner with Ian and Nathan, and was now out playing poker with Nathan. I was too exhausted to care, and went lights out as soon as I hit my sofa.

At some point in the night, I heard voices near my front door.

“The Texans are always the easiest to win off,” Nanna was saying in a hoarse whisper.

“It was great,” said Nathan, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There was a muffled sound that was suspiciously like a kiss, and I felt my eyes widening. It was tempting to jump up, switch on the lights and yell, “What’s going on in here?!” annoyed-parent style, but it seemed like too much effort.

The next thing I knew, my alarm was going off, the place smelled like scrambled eggs and coffee, and light was streaming in through the window.

Time to drag myself up and go chat with Claire Bitzer.