Red Roses in Las Vegas (10 page)

Cynthia Pruttley was certainly very beautiful. She had delicate, waif-life features, and light blond hair that framed her face. Her features were dainty and, as everyone had already told us, she was tall and slim. Ian became tongue-tied as we introduced ourselves in the café below her office, and she ordered herself “lunch.” It wasn’t lunch; it was a tiny green decoration.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, jumping straight in. “I’m really grateful you made time to meet us.”

She made a big show of looking at her slim, gold watch. It matched the buttons on her white blouse, and she said, “This is my lunch break. I’ve only got a few minutes.”

“Oh,” I said. “Are you having a busy day at work?”

She nodded wordlessly, and I didn’t believe her. She looked like she spent all day playing Solitaire.

“Ok then,” I said, “I won’t waste your time. What can you tell me about Adam?”

She shrugged and nibbled her food. “Not much.”

I waited for her to say something else, and when she didn’t, I said, “What was he like?”

She shrugged again. “Pretty nice, I guess. I’m sad he died.”

“You were together a while.”

She looked at me and smiled. “Yes.”

It was like pulling teeth, but I kept my polite smile. “What did you like best about him?”

She looked off thoughtfully into the distance. “He was nice,” she said, finally. “Really nice to me.”

“Did you two share any hobbies?” She shook her head, no. “What did you do for fun?”

She shrugged. “We went out to eat and stuff.”

“Did you go to charity galas?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Those were ok. Fancy. I made friends with a bunch of women there.”

“Right. Did Adam volunteer at those charities?”

She gave me a confused look. “How do you mean?”

“Like, did he… umm, help out? Spend time with them raising money, or building houses for the homeless, or whatever?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. Adam had no time for all that. And these are mostly arts’ charities.”

“So how’d he go to the galas?”

Cynthia looked at me like I was stupid. “By paying money, of course. He paid for the tickets and that stuff.”

“How much did the tickets cost?”

“I’m not sure, but it was usually a few grand per ticket, and then a couple of grand more in donations.”

“Right,” I said. “But he wasn’t making much money at his job.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t know how much he made. But he made enough to treat me well. And to go to these galas. We went all the time.”

“So he bought you lots of gifts?”

“Sure.”

“Like what?”

“Jewelry, nice dinners, cruises, holidays. Flowers. A new iPad. Perfume, lingerie, the usual. I’d never be with a man who didn’t take care of me.”

“You deserve it,” Ian piped up.

This was the first time I’d heard him speak during the whole conversation, and Cynthia smiled graciously at him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“I feel the same way about women,” Ian went on. “Ever since I became I dot-com millionaire, I’ve always treated women like princesses.”

Cynthia looked at him, confused. “I thought you were a PI?”

“It’s just something I do for fun,” Ian said. “Just spending money is boring. So, what else do you like to do?”

“Well, I party a little,” Cynthia said. “I live in Vegas, right? Might as well take advantage of it.”

“Of course,” Ian said, and I kicked him under the table before he could make an awkward pass at her.

Ian didn’t seem to get what I meant and said, “Were you and Adam happy together?”

“Yes.” Cynthia nodded. “He was always busy and stuff, but I was happy with him.”

“What
didn’t
you like about Adam?” Ian asked.

“Well.” She took a delicate sip of water. “He was always working late and busy. It would’ve been nice if he’d spent more time with me. But I guess that’s why he earned the big bucks.”

“Hmm,” I said noncommittally, and Ian jumped in with our standard questions.

“Well, thanks for your help,” I said, getting ready to leave, as we hadn’t learnt anything new. Ian beat me to the finish line.

“This is my card,” he said. “Call me if you ever need anything. Or, er, think of anything else to talk about.”

“Sure,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. “And this is my number.”

She wrote it out on a napkin, and passed it over to him. I looked the other way and tried not to gag.

I was about to drag Ian out with me before he could profess his undying love for Cynthia, when she said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” I turned to look at her again, and she rummaged through her bag. “I brought this for you guys.”

She handed Ian a bunch of papers, and he unfolded them. “Bank statements.”

“Yep. The cops asked for a bunch of stuff, and they mentioned something about Adam’s financials. So I though you guys might want to go through those.”

I looked at her, surprised and pleased by her forethought. “That’s really nice of you,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

“Yes,” Ian chimed in. “You’re so smart to have remembered this. Beauty
and
brains.”

Cynthia shrugged modestly. “I just hope it has something useful in there.”

So did I.

The first thing I saw when I walked into my condo was Nanna, sitting huddled around a laptop with her “boyfriend.”

“We’re practicing a poker simulation game,” Nanna told me. “You don’t mind that I invited him over, do you?”

“No, of course not.”

I couldn’t get over my suspicion that Nathan was a con-man or had some deep, dark, secret, and I didn’t really like seeing him in my condo. But I didn’t want to sound like a disapproving old biddy.

“I’ve got to talk to Tiffany privately,” Ian said. “Maybe we should go over to my condo.”

I gave Nathan a look, and he immediately said, “Maybe I should get going.”

“No, stay,” Nanna said. “Tiffany’s going out soon anyway, aren’t you, dear?”

I nodded, wondering why her memory was still so sharp, and headed over to Ian’s place.

As usual, the moment I stepped into Ian’s place, I spent a few seconds being overwhelmed by the adolescence of the décor. This was what happened when a man had too much money, too little taste, and nobody to “impress” their views of interior design on him; shelf after shelf of “collectable” action figures, dingy curtains and a carpet that seemed to have never met a vacuum cleaner.And, of course, the innumerable posters screaming about Star Wars, Wonder Woman and unheard-of characters who were either robotic or super-human.

“What did you want to talk about?” I said. “I need to head out for drinks with Emily in a few minutes.”

“Can I come?”

I frowned. “No. It’s a girls’ thing. Besides, I don’t want you hitting on her.”

“I wouldn’t hit on her.”

Ian looked dejected and I said, “Are you really going to give Cynthia Pruttley a call?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“We’re investigating her. She might be a suspect.”

“Nah. She wasn’t even here when Adam died. But maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t date anyone from the investigation till it’s over.”

He looked proud of himself, as though he’d just remembered an Investigations Rule from one of the cop shows he watches, and I smiled to myself.

“What did you want to talk about?” I repeated.

Ian sat down on his dirty, printed sofa, and cleared the coffee table of its stash of various magazines and remotes. “We should have a quick look at those bank statements before you set out.”

My phone pinged, and I checked the text. It was from Stone: “Pre-work gun range?”

I dragged a chair closer to the coffee table, texted back, “Can’t. Meeting Emily at Swivel Bar,” and pulled out the papers Cynthia had given me. I hate going through paperwork – it’s usually meaningless, doesn’t turn up anything, and is as boring as listening to my mom tell me all about her friend Jackie’s granddaughter.

“Maybe we could do this tomorrow,” I suggested, as I handed Ian the papers.

Ian split up the papers and handed me half. “No time like today.”

He was right. If I’d been investigating anything other than this case, I would’ve put it off till tomorrow. But, as it was, I stifled my yawns and pored through the papers. It wasn’t long before strange lines jumped out at me, and when I’d finished my review and looked up at Ian, I knew from his expression that he’d seen something, too.

“You go first,” I said, glancing at my watch. I had ten minutes before I needed to leave.

“All these incoming deposits. $2500 each month from Michelle Ackermann–”

“Plus, $2200 from Rachel Nge and $2500 from Nicole Weiss.”

We looked at each other and I said, “Well now we know where he’s getting the money for all those charity galas and expensive gifts.”

“So what was he, dealing drugs on the side? Being a male prostitute?”

“Maybe he was cheating on his girlfriend with these three women. And they gave him cash.”

“Sounds like prostitution.”

“Hold that thought,” I said, gathering up all the papers and standing up. “I need to run.”

“With those in your bag?” Ian looked at me disapprovingly. “You’re going to work after this, right?”

“Since when did you become my mother?” I frowned, but he had a point. I placed all the statements gingerly on his coffee table. “Don’t lose them.”

“I won’t,” Ian called, as I let myself out and rushed back to my condo.

Thankfully, Nathan was gone by then.

“You drove him out,” Nanna told me. “He’s not an idiot, you know. I don’t know why you’re so harsh on him.”

“I’m not harsh on him,” I called from the bathroom. “You need to be more careful. We don’t know what he wants.”

I didn’t have time to shower, but I topped up my lipstick, added a spritz of deodorant, and stuffed my red and black dealer’s uniform into my big black tote.

“He wants me,” Nanna said. “Why can’t you believe he wants to be my boyfriend?”

“Because twenty-something year olds generally don’t date seventy-something year olds.” I grabbed her in an impulsive hug, suddenly scared that my investigation wasn’t going fast enough. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” I called, as I hurried out the door.

Swivel Bar was a half-hour’s walk away from the Strip. It had faded wallpaper, cheesy photos of Sinatra and Elvis, and a karaoke machine that was constantly in use. Even though the martinis were $5 each, the tourists never had any reason to come in here; which was all the more reason why the place was so popular with the before-work and after-work groups of Strip employees.

Emily and I sat in one the red fake-leather booths at the back. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a group of men sitting around one of the plastic tables in the middle of the floor, eyeing us and wondering if they should approach. I wasn’t surprised – although she’s never aware of it, Emily has elfish good looks, with her short-cropped dark hair and beautiful, deep eyes.

Thankfully, the men didn’t gather up the courage to annoy us, so we sipped our club sodas and chatted about our lives. I told her how my investigation was going so far, and she nodded sympathetically, but didn’t offer any help. I was just about to broach the topic of what the cops had learnt, when a deep voice from behind me said, “Mind if I join you ladies?”

I waited a split second for Emily to chew off the man’s head, but she just smiled up politely, so I turned around, assuming it was my turn to do the honors.

When I saw who it was, I raised an eyebrow and tried to keep the disapproval out of my voice. “Stone! What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I had some time to kill before an appointment near the Strip. Thought I saw you wander in.”

I glanced at Emily and made a face, before sliding over to make room for Stone. I didn’t believe his story for a second, but I couldn’t see why he’d bother to crash my girly-time with Emily.

Emily and Stone exchanged polite hellos, and then there was an awkward silence for a few seconds.

“Am I interrupting?” Stone asked.

I shook my head. “Not really. I was just telling Emily about the investigation.”

He took a swig of his beer and looked at Emily. “I assume you’ve told her what you guys’ve learnt?”

“Actually,” I said, “I hadn’t asked Emily to tell me. I know the LVMPD takes their secrecy seriously.”

Emily nodded. “Yeah, I could lose my job for talking about an open case. And it’s not even my case.”

“Still,” I said slowly. “Is there anything at all you could tell me? You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t for Nanna.”

She looked at me sympathetically. “You know I want to help, Tiff. But I can’t. I really shouldn’t. Besides, there’s not really much to tell.”

“So you’ve taken a peek?” I brightened up a little. If Emily had taken a look, she would’ve told me if she’d found anything serious. I hoped.

Emily sighed. “Yeah, I did have a look at it. But like I said, there’s not much to say.”

“Except for that one thing,” Stone said.

We both turned to look at him in surprise and I said, “What one thing?” and then turned to look at Emily again.

She was watching Stone, slightly puzzled. “How do you know?”

Stone raised an eyebrow. “I have my sources. Besides, word gets around.”

“What one thing?” I repeated, looking from Emily to Stone.

Emily signaled the waiter, and ordered a martini. We waited for him to leave, and then Emily turned to Stone and said, “I suppose you can tell her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I asked.

“I just found out,” Stone said. “Just stopped by to chat with the guys a little earlier.”

“What guys?” I asked. I needed to know who these blabbermouths were.

“Can’t tell you that. But they tell me what I need to know.”

I looked at Emily, smiled, and tried not to sound accusatory. “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Emily frowned and looked from me to Stone. “Whoever these guys are that you’ve been talking to, they shouldn’t have been talking about the case.”

Stone shrugged. “Tit for tat, sometimes.”

“Tell me what you’ve learnt,” I said, looking from Stone to Emily, not caring who answered.

Emily’s martini arrived and she took a sip before saying, “The investigation wasn’t a hundred percent thorough. They talked to some people but learnt nothing. That’s why Nanna’s it, simply because she’s the easiest suspect. Although they’ve probably got the case sewn up – she’s got no alibi, her prints are there, and she’s got motive.”

“This is crazy,” I said. “She didn’t do it.”

“I know she didn’t,” Emily said. “But that’s what we’ve got. And I never said this.”

I sighed, and Stone said, “There was something else.”

Emily shook her head. “You tell her.”

I looked at Stone and he said, “They never found his cellphone.”

“How’d you mean?”

“He didn’t have a cellphone on him the night he was killed, and then they just never found his phone. Calls to it go straight to voicemail. His girlfriend says she’s got no idea where it might be, and the cops haven’t managed to track it or anything.”

I looked at Emily and she shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to add.”

“And the guys looking into this didn’t think that was important?”

“It might be,” said Emily warily, “But they couldn’t link this to the murder in any way. He might’ve just let the battery go dead, maybe it’s lost somewhere.”

“I’m sure they went through his office and his house really carefully. So it’s not there.”

“Maybe it’s in the Lost and Found at his work,” Emily said, “Or maybe it just slipped out of his pocket in a cab or a bar somewhere. Just because it can’t be found…”

She let her voice trail off and I glanced at Stone, who looked as impassive as ever.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I said, almost to myself, “But maybe it does.”

“Sure,” said Emily. “I guess you could try to look for it. But the department already tried. How do you–”

A balding, slightly overweight man came and stood next to our table, and we all turned, stared, and waited for him to say something stupid.

“Hi,” he said to me. “You’re Tiffany Black, right?”

I knit my eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…”

“Chris Appleby,” he said, extending his hand across the table. I shook it mechanically. “We met once, a few years back. Your mother invited me over for dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve got a pretty bad memory.”

“And I’ve got a great one,” he said. “She served roast beef and you talked about your job as a dealer at The Treasury?” I shook my head. “I’m your nanna’s friend’s son?” Still nothing. “I’m working as her lawyer now, now that she’s accused of that murder?”

Recognition dawned. “Well. Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

He glanced at the orange-ish drink he was holding sheepishly. “Sorry. I thought you’d remember me.”

“I’ve got a bad memory,” I said apologetically. “Anyway, thanks for stopping by to say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting from one foot to another. “That’s the thing. Your nanna told me you were investigating this case, right?” He looked at me and I nodded. “Have you learnt anything?”

“Not yet. But I will, hopefully soon. And then we won’t need your services. No offense, of course.”

“Uh, that’s the thing,” he said nervously, glancing from me to Emily and then back at me. “The court date’s been pushed up. Her trial starts in a fortnight.”