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Authors: Dorothy Howell

Clutches and Curses (13 page)

BOOK: Clutches and Curses
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“What's the story on Mike Ivan?” I asked, and sat down in a chair across the desk from him.
“You first,” Jack said.
“I knew Courtney in high school. She moved to Henderson and got hooked up with a guy named Tony Hubbard who'd been in prison,” I said.
Jack made a little spinning motion with his hand. “Tell me something I don't already know.”
“Tony told me—”
He sat forward. “You talked to Tony?”
“I went to their apartment to—”
“Alone?” He sounded kind of mad now.
“I expected Courtney's parents or friends would be there,” I said.
“Stay away from Hubbard,” Jack said.
“He left town, I think. He stole her TV and stereo, and disappeared,” I said. “Anyway, Tony told me this guy Mike Ivan had been looking for Courtney—but not in a good way. He'd come to Vegas trying to find her. Some problem from when she lived in L.A.”
Jack just looked at me for a few minutes, like he was taking it all in, piecing it together.
“Mike Ivan runs a number of businesses in Los Angeles,” he said.
“Courtney, supposedly, ran a fashion accessory line,” I said. “Maybe that's how they knew each other.”
“Could be,” Jack agreed. “Ivan has money. He spreads it around.”
“From what Tony said, I gather Courtney left L.A. rather suddenly. I wonder if there was bad blood between Mike and Courtney over money?” I asked. “Enough for him to murder her?”
We were quiet for a moment, then I said, “It doesn't make sense. If he murdered her, he'd never get his money back.”
“Maybe he wanted to set an example,” Jack said.
I got a weird feeling.
“Everything I hear about Mike Ivan says that he's clean. A legitimate businessman,” Jack said. “You know what ‘Ivan' is short for?”
My weird feeling got weirder.
“Ivanov,” Jack said.
“Is that Russian?” I asked. “As in the . . .”
“The Russian mob.”
Oh, crap.
C
HAPTER
13
“H
e's really hot looking,” Maya said. “Is he your boyfriend?”
The breakfast buffet at the Culver Inn was in full swing as Maya and I stood in the corner admiring Jack Bishop as he sat at a table across the room. Somehow he made drinking coffee and eating breakfast look sexy.
“Just a friend,” I told her.
“Really?” She sounded as if she couldn't believe it.
I couldn't blame her.
Jack and I had shared a tense moment in my room last night when he'd gotten up to leave. He hesitated beside the bed. I did, too. Both of us were thinking the same thing—at least, that's my take on it.
But Ty may as well have been in the room, standing between us, because Jack left.
That's how he rolls.
Even that's hot.
I hadn't expected to see Jack here this morning. I didn't know where he spent the night.
Maybe it's just as well.
“Is he the guy who bought you the Louie Vuitton organizer?” Maya asked.
“Ty bought it for me. He's my official boyfriend,” I explained. “Ty's a business executive. He looks so hot in his suits.”
“Personally, I'm looking for something a little different in a boyfriend. I want to see him sweat, and I want to see him fix something,” Maya said. She nodded toward Jack. “Who's this guy?”
“Jack Bishop. He's a private investigator,” I said. “He drove up from Los Angeles last night.”
Maya cut her eyes to me. I knew what she was thinking—not that I blamed her, of course—and she asked, “Where's Ty?”
“In L.A. He's very busy. Major responsibilities,” I said, and found myself defending him—again.
“So Ty's in L.A. and Jack is here,” Maya said. She shook her head. “Why aren't you dating Jack?”
Good question.
I had no good answer.
“Come over and meet him,” I said.
Maya smoothed back her bangs and straightened her apron as Jack came to his feet and I introduced them.
“Maya made the muffins,” I said. “Her own recipe. She's a fabulous cook.”
“I imagine you do a lot of things well,” Jack said.
Maya blushed.
“I've got to get to work,” I said.
“Catch you later,” Jack said.
Crossing the lobby, I glanced at the trash can. Ty's flowers were gone, which made me mad, sad, disappointed, hurt—something, I don't know what. Maybe all of those things.
I got in my car and drove to Holt's.
If I was late, I wondered if Fay might have the security guard at the door lock me out. Not that it would be so bad to miss work, especially with Jack in town—which was awful of me, I know—but I needed the day's pay.
I joined the crowd of employees who'd gathered around the assignment flip chart on the easel at the front of the store.
“Check your assignment, okay, then clock in, then go to the training room, okay?” Fay said, her nasal voice grating on my nerves a little more than usual this morning. “After the meeting, go to your assigned department, okay? Everybody got that?”
Nobody said they didn't get it, but Fay started over anyway.
I hate my life.
But maybe a meeting wouldn't be so bad this morning, I decided as I worked my way to the assignment easel. I had a lot to think about.
“OMG!” Taylor exclaimed as she bounced on her toes beside me. “We're both in housewares! That's SC!”
“Yeah, so cool,” I said, but with none of the excitement she displayed.
I don't think she noticed.
I clocked in, then found a seat in the last row—my customary spot for any type of meeting—in the training room. Employees filled the chairs, forming a wall of bodies in front of me, cutting off my view of the front of the room. Perfect. I could get a lot of thinking done—or take a nap—whichever came first.
Preston stepped up and addressed the employees, expressing concern over the unfortunate situation that had occurred—I'm pretty sure he meant Courtney's murder—thanking them for their understanding, their patience, their continued employment under difficult circumstances. His words turned to
blah, blah, blah
, and I drifted off.
The more I learned about Courtney's murder, the less sense any of it made. How could quiet, unassuming, not-so-bright Courtney have gotten hooked up with so many bad people? Tony Hubbard, a convicted felon, was bad enough, but the Russian mob?
Jack had told me that from everything he'd learned, this Mike Ivan guy ran legitimate businesses. Maybe he was trying to distance himself from his roots—if my family was in the Russian mob and I wanted to go legit, I'd change my name, too.
But maybe he'd changed it to evade law enforcement and cover his tracks to some degree. That made sense.
Yet it didn't explain why the Russian mob, operating on a global scale, would be interested in a small, poorly run fashion accessory business like Courtney's.
Danielle floated into my mind. She'd probably know what the deal was between Courtney and Mike. I'd call her tonight and see—
“Haley? Haley?”
Preston's voice interrupted my thoughts, jarring me back to reality.
“Where are you, Haley?” he called.
I leaned sideways and saw him at the front of the room, squinting his eyes, scanning the crowd. I gave him a little wave.
“There she is,” he announced, as if he'd just discovered life on Mars. “Stand up, Haley, stand up.”
Reluctantly, I rose from my chair.
“Let's all give her a round of applause,” Preston declared. He clapped his hands together. The employees turned to me and joined in.
Okay, this was kind of nice. I'd discovered a few dead bodies before—long story—but I'd never been recognized for my quick actions and on-the-scene leadership.
Effortlessly I channeled my mother's I-know-I'm-better-than-you-but-I-can-appear-humble smile along with her I'm-being-nice-because-it's-expected beauty queen wave.
“Haley has assured me you can all count on her,” Preston said.
I guess that meant everyone in the store would know who to turn to if another dead body showed up. Not the best way to end a motivational meeting, to my way of thinking, but this was Preston's show.
“Okay, that's it. Thanks for your hard work,” he said, which was our cue to get to work.
We filed out of the training room and, as I took the long way to the housewares department, Cliff wandered over.
“Hey, Dana, how's it going?” he asked.
I'd given up on correcting him. If he ever introduced me to his friends, I figured it would be better if they didn't know my real name anyway.
“Did you catch the
X-Files
marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel last night?” he asked.
“They're still showing the marathon?” I asked.
This seemed odd to me. Television channels never ran a marathon for days on end. But maybe they'd made an exception for the
X-Files
—either that or Cliff was watching a DVD.
“Later, Dana,” he said, and ambled away.
Taylor was already in housewares cutting open the boxes stacked high on a U-boat.
“OMG!” she said, pulling out bundles of plastic wrapped place mats. “I can't believe I'm working in this department today!”
“I can hardly believe it, either,” I said, with considerably less enthusiasm.
“It's like the RW,” Taylor declared, her eyes wide.
RW . . . RW . . . I could think of no text translation.
So far, this was the most interesting thing about my workday, which is kind of sad, but there it was.
I hate my life.
“RW?” I asked.
“The reverse world,” she told me. “You know, opposites.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, as if I understood. I didn't, but this was easier.
“Yesterday I worked in women's clothing on the other side of the store,” she said, gesturing like a flight attendant pointing out the emergency exits. “Now, today, I'm working here on the opposite side of the store. Get it? The reverse. The reverse world.”
Yeah, I got it, but I was sorry that I had.
“Did you make this up yourself?” I asked.
“OMG! NW!”
No way?
I could have sworn she had.
“Life is all about opposites. You have to respect the reverse world,” Taylor told me. “You don't like your hair blond, you color it brown. You don't want to be fat, you get thin. You don't want to live in America, you move to China. Understand? It's SC!”
Taylor kept talking, but I drifted off, mindlessly stocking tablecloths and napkins on their designated shelf on the display unit. These boxes were lighter than the plates, but no more interesting.
Ty appeared in my thoughts, bringing all sorts of emotions with him. I didn't know what to think or feel anymore. And, of course, there was no way to figure it out, since he hadn't called.
I'd put my cell phone in my pocket but hadn't felt it vibrate all morning. I checked it. Nothing.
Just because I'd told him not to ever, ever,
ever
call me didn't actually mean I didn't want him to call. He should have known that. He was my official boyfriend. Honestly, what sort of relationship was this?
I centered my thoughts on my upcoming trip to the upscale stores along The Strip and my hunt for the Delicious handbag, and my spirits lifted a little. I planned to attend a meeting of the handbag club Maya had told me about, so that made me feel a little better, too.
“Excuse me?” someone called.
Lost in thought, I reverted to sales clerk mode and immediately ducked down, then remembered where I was and stood up again.
A guy pushing a Z-rail of blouses smiled at me.
“The food is terrific at Bally's Steakhouse Restaurant,” he said.
I just looked at him. He looked back.
“Okay,” I said.
He smiled, and went on his way.
Jeez, that was kind of nice. None of the employees had seemed all that friendly before—that whole dead-body-in-the-store thing had soured the mood, I suppose—but maybe that was changing. Preston must have mentioned I was from out of town this morning—maybe I should stop drifting off during meetings—and the employees who lived in Henderson were taking it to heart.
Evidence of Taylor's RW—reverse world?
Weirder things had happened.
 
Another day of my life slipped away. I clocked out and headed for the front of the store.
“The Red Rock Resort is awesome,” a guy next to me said. “I think they have fireworks out there.”
“Fireworks are great,” I agreed.
He smiled and walked away.
“Dana, guess what happened,” Cliff said, falling into step beside me. “My car got stolen.”
I expected him to tell me it had been beamed up, but he didn't.
“That's too bad,” I said. “A car like that won't easily be replaced.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I needed to get something out of it for my afternoon break and, like, wow, man, it wasn't in the parking lot.”
“Did you report it to the police?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure. I think. Well, I'm pretty sure . . . kind of.”
I felt bad that his car—such as it was—had been stolen. He'd taken me to get my tire fixed—though I wasn't sure he remembered it—so I figured I owed him one.
Besides, I had nothing going tonight. Jack hadn't told me his plans this morning and I hadn't heard from him all day, so I figured I was on my own.
“Do you need a ride home?” I asked.
“Eric and Dwayne are picking me up,” Cliff said. “We're investigating a sighting tonight.”
“A UFO sighting?”
“Aliens,” he said.
I imagined Eric and Dwayne rolling up in a lead-lined, early '80s Winnebago with a green Martian painted on the back under the caption
HONK IF YOU BELIEVE THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE
.
“Eric saw them last night,” Cliff said.
“Aliens?” I asked. “Where?”
“The Rio.”
BOOK: Clutches and Curses
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