Red Roses in Las Vegas (16 page)

The party was being held in one of The Riverbelle’s large ballrooms, and the ride along the Strip gave me enough time to take lots of deep breaths, and go over my game plan.

“These are the women I need to talk to,” I said, showing Jack the photos I had on my phone. “Know any of them?”

“They look familiar,” Jack said. “But they’re all… you know, plastic Barbies.”

I gave him a funny look, but I knew what he meant. Skin by dermatologist, hair by La Pretentious Salon, and nose by plastic surgeon.

“How about their husbands?” I said, reeling off the husbands’ names and professions.

“Yeah, I know the guys,” Jack said. “Not very well, but well enough to say hi to.”

“Ok. Well, maybe the wives will be with the husbands.”

“Nah,” Jack said. “They tend to split up.”

“Do you expect us to split up?”

I stared at him in horror. I didn’t want to be alone among these monsters; fake, pretentious, rich people. Who throws a gala evening for the rainforest? I didn’t believe that the forest appreciated all this effort they went to; the rainforest, wherever it was, would probably have preferred cash donations.

Still, I wasn’t here to party – I was here to grill these four women about Adam Bitzer’s death.

The moment I stepped into the massive Riverbelle Casino Ballroom, I knew exactly why these people wanted to donate to the rainforest. It was a hell of an excuse for a party.

At least half the ballroom space was taken up by lush, verdant greenery. Palms, fronds and large, impressive trees I’d never seen before in my life were scattered throughout the room, arranged to create a kind of maze which opened up in the center. In the middle, there were a couple of round tables where a seven-course dinner would be served later on but, for now, the guests thronged around one wall, drinks in hand, acting as though they were oblivious to their surroundings.

Cocktail waitresses in relatively demure black uniforms walked around politely displaying their trays of drinks and hors’d’oeuvres, while somewhere in the back, a DJ piped subtle “rainforest noises” over the sound system, mixed in skillfully with some kind of techno beat.

A couple of people glanced up when we entered, and some of them seemed to know Jack. They looked at me curiously, but if I looked any different from the kind of girl they expected to see with Jack, they didn’t show it.

I didn’t really feel too out of place. The women wore jewel-colored dresses, and the men wore white or black tuxedos. It would’ve made more sense if the men wore garish Hawaiian shirts, but I suppose those with actual invites would probably have seen the dress code written out.

“See any of the women?” I whispered to Jack. I wanted some input before he had to wander off and together we scoured the room, pretending we were just having a harmless conversation together. I linked my arm through his, and leaned against him for a second, enjoying one extra moment of proximity before I had to run off.

I spotted Rachel Nge first. She was wearing a deep green floor-length gown that set off her jet black hair and perfect skin to perfection, and she was chatting with two other women who were both wearing red.

Jack coughed softly. “That’s Nicole Weiss,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “To my ten o’clock, talking to the silver-haired fox and the lady in purple.”

I glanced in that direction, and spotted the lady in purple. Nicole was standing opposite her, wearing a sky blue dress that I knew must’ve been picked to set off her baby-blue eyes.

“Michelle Ackermann’s next on my list,” I said.

We glanced around, and spotted her just as she entered the party with her husband, a tall, thin man who looked to be about a hundred.

“Who’s the last one?” Jack asked.

“Alexia Boyle.”

We glanced around, but there was no Alexia Boyle nearby.

I was just about to start scanning the crowd again, when a strawberry-blonde in a peach dress came up to us. She was as wide as Jack and I put together, and she reeked of a terribly floral perfume.

“Jack!” she exclaimed, smiling broadly. “What’re you hiding out here for? Come mingle! And who’s your friend?”

“This is Tiffany,” he said. “Tiffany, Miffy.”

“Miffy.” I smiled at her, thinking that it sounded like a cat’s name. Although a cat would probably smell better than she did. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she said, smiling broadly. Her eyes took me in carefully, and I could sense the hostility behind her gleaming white teeth. “Have we met before? I don’t remember your name, but you look familiar.”

I glanced desperately behind her, hoping to see Alexia Boyle appear behind one of those massive potted plants. No such luck.

“Umm,” I said. “No, I don’t think we’ve met. I – this is the first time I’ve been to one of these parties. It’s very nice.”

She brightened up, as though she’d pegged me for who I was – a cheap date for Jack to impress and then discard. “Yes, isn’t it dear?” I was of no importance to her, so she rotated her thousand-watt smile away from me and towards Jack again. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to him. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

She made as though to thread her arm through his, and Jack gave her a polite smile and kept his arms to himself.

“Actually,” he said. “I’ll join you in just one minute. There’s someone
I
want to meet first, and I’ve got to take Tiffany with me. Come on, Tiff.”

He grabbed my arm, and half-dragged me away.

“Who do you want me to meet?” I asked.

He grinned. “Isn’t she terrible?”

I looked down and shook my head. “It’s not her fault. I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t be silly! Come on, let’s look for Alexia Boyle.”

We strolled through the party, nodding to people but not stopping to say more than a quick hello. “I’ll be back in second,” Jack would say, and we’d continue walking.

We must have passed everyone at least three times. Alexia Boyle wasn’t here. We’d reached one corner of the cocktail area, away from the guests, and were half-hidden by the massive rainforest plants.

“I should get talking,” I said to Jack. “I guess you should go mingle.”

He let go of my arm and wrapped his arm around my waist. Our eyes locked for a second, and he said softly, “I’ll miss you.”

And then he was leaning in to me, his breath warm on my cheek. Our lips met, and I drowned in his kiss. He smelled so nice, and his lips were so soft, and I felt myself falling deeper and deeper, the blood pounding through my veins.

I forgot about the rest of the world for a moment, forgot about the rest of my life. There was nothing but Jack and me together, and I didn’t care about anything else.

And then suddenly, I remembered why I was here, that time was ticking away. I pulled back, breaking the magic. Jack blinked, and I took a deep breath.

“I guess I should talk to those women,” I said.

“Yeah.”

Jack placed a hand on the back of my neck, leaned down, and gave me a quick kiss goodbye. And then, within a few seconds, he was gone. Before I knew it, I had only the memory of his lips brushing against mine. Jack was lost in the crowd of black tuxedos, mingling and chatting with the business associates and “friends” of his world, and I scoured the shiny ball-gowns for the women I needed to interrogate.

Rachel Nge looked like the friendliest of the three. I’m not sure why I thought that – maybe I just admired her perfect skin and silky black hair. I threw back a glass of white wine – obviously something expensive and designed to be savored slowly – and headed up to the group of women surrounding her.

They smiled at me politely when I approached, sizing up my cheap-ish dress and imperfect teeth, knowing immediately that I was “not their kind, dear.”

“Hi,” said one the brunettes. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“I’m Tiffany,” I said shaking her hand.

“Gauri,” she said.

I looked at Rachel, who smiled at me, polite and wordless.

“Rachel Nge?” I said.

She had the grace to not look surprised. Instead, she looked as though maybe she’d met me somewhere and then forgotten my name.

I decided to play that angle. “We met at that other party, remember?” I smiled ingratiatingly. “How are you? It’s good to see you again.”

“I’m ok, how are you?”

She was smiling politely, but it was obvious from her stoic eyes that she knew we’d never met before. For a moment, I wondered how the rich became so hardened to people around them – were they constantly being hit up for loans and favors?

“Yeah, I’m ok. Could I speak to you privately for a moment, please? It’s kind of important.”

The women exchanged a glance, still trying to maintain their polite, friendly façade towards me, but obviously annoyed at the intrusion.

“Actually, I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” Rachel said sweetly. “Why don’t we chat some other time?”

I shook my head and leaned in closer. “It’s about Adam Bitzer,” I whispered.

Rachel froze for a second and then glanced at me warily. I could see the shock in her eyes, which was quickly replaced by suspicion.

“I thought he was dead,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

I jerked my head to one side, and she excused herself from the gaggle of women and followed me to a slightly more private spot in the room. We stood, drinks in hand, sizing each other up for a split second. Of course, there wasn’t much about me to size up.

“Adam was killed at midnight, on Friday,” I said. “Do you know anything about that?’

“How would I know anything? And who are you, anyway? How d’you know Adam?”

I looked at her carefully. Her cheeks were starting to darken, and she was watching me with the carefulness of a hyena looking for an opportunity to pounce.

“I knew Adam well enough to know that you two were involved, somehow. Why were you sending him $2,500 every month?”

Her eyes widened and she took a quick breath. “How do you
know
that? Who are you?”

I shrugged, not quite sure why I was hiding the truth. “It’s not important who I am. What’s important is that you were paying good money every month. A person might think you were
channeling funds away, maybe doing some money laundering.”

She laughed suddenly, her eyes wide and light-hearted again. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Adam told me he was collecting money for a charity for street kids in Rwanda, and he showed me photos of all the work they did. I’m a big softie, so I gave him money.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”

She looked at me, smiling and pleased with herself. The tension had left her face, and she sipped her champagne happily.

“Do you have receipts for this charity?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, why? I wasn’t doing it for tax breaks or something. Just trying to help out poor people in Rwanda.”

I frowned and watched her carefully, not sure that I believed her story. It all seemed too convenient, too neat.

“Are you done with the questions?” Rachel said. “I’m not sure why you’re even asking. Who are you? How did you find out I was giving Adam money?” Her eyes narrowed again. “Are you a hacker of some kind?”

It was my turn to laugh. I
wished
I were a hacker – it would’ve made my job so much easier. I would just go into everyone’s computers, find out what was going on, and solve every case in seconds.

“No,” I said. “I was just a friend of Adam’s.”

“Oh.” Rachel raised one eyebrow. “A friend.” She said that word slowly, as though I’d just said I was Adam’s transvestite lover. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Where were you at midnight on Friday night?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “What is this, an interrogation?”

She was about to turn around and stalk off and I quickly said, “As a matter of fact, it is. I’m not Adam’s friend, I’m investigating his death.”  She turned and looked at me again, her previous annoyance replaced with comprehension. “It doesn’t make sense,” I went on. “I know you’ve got nothing to do with it, but I need your help looking into it. Do you know anything about Adam, anything that could’ve gotten him killed?”

For a moment she judged me silently, wondering how much of my story she believed, and how much she could say to me. And then her eyes were masked with a polite blankness, and she said, “Sorry, can’t help you there. I didn’t know Adam well at all.”

I sighed. It had been worth a shot. “And what about Friday night?”

“I was home. With my husband. And we’ve got a live-in housekeeper and chauffeur. They’ll tell you I was there.”

“Right.”

I didn’t doubt her alibi for a second, but as she turned and walked back slowly to her friends, I wondered what she was hiding from me.

Rachel was gorgeous and elegant and her green dress set off her figure perfectly. Mine weren’t the only eyes trailing after her as she crossed the floor, and I sighed, feeling strangely defeated.

I glanced across the room, looking for my next target. Nicole Weiss was still here, talking to a middle-aged couple about something, tossing her head back and laughing. I could see Michelle Ackermann standing in another couple, surrounded by three women who looked gratified to be in her company. Alexia Boyle was still nowhere to be seen.

I decided to go talk to Nicole Weiss first. I finished my drink, and was about to grab another one, when I decided I should slow down and took an orange juice instead.

Once again, I walked up to the group and smiled happily in the face of their polite judgment. I pretended to have met Nicole somewhere before – a story that she clearly didn’t buy but was too polite to contradict.

Nicole was absolutely gorgeous – she had stunning, baby blue eyes and shimmering blonde hair that fell about her face in large, loose waves. Her nose was small and perfect, and she looked like someone you’d expect to see on the red carpet at a movie premiere, promoting her latest blockbuster film.

“Could I speak with you privately, please?” I asked her, and then turned to the couple. The lady had light reddish-brown hair which clashed with her low-cut orange dress, and the gentleman had puffy, red cheeks and was just finishing his drink. “Would you excuse us please?”

“Actually,” Nicole said slowly, “I think we should chat later. I’m uh – kind of speaking with my friends, here.”

She smiled at me politely, and I leaned closer. “It’s about Adam Bitzer.”

That got her attention. Her face was frozen but her eyes widened slightly. She turned to the couple and said apologetically, “I’ll be just a minute. I’m so sorry.”

We walked together to a slightly more private area, and I wondered at the similarities between her reaction and Rachel’s.

Impulsively, I asked, “Do you know Rachel Nge?”

“Sure,” she said. “We see each other sometimes. We’re friends.”

I didn’t know how much ground the word ‘friends’ covered, but I didn’t ask.

We stood under a tall plant with a creeping vine going around its trunk. I wondered if these trees were fake, and if they were, how much they cost to buy. Clearly, this was a great use of the charity’s money.

“What’d you want to know about Adam?” Nicole asked me, watching me warily. “Were you guys partners?”

“Umm, no,” I said, “I’m single.”

She looked at me blankly, and I said, “Why were you paying him money each month?”

“Who told you that? Did he?”

She narrowed her eyes and took a distrustful step back.

“Why does it matter who told me?” I asked. “Just tell me what it was about.”

“So you don’t know what it was about,” she said slowly, processing the words carefully. And then she brightened up. “It was a charity. Adam was giving money to poor kids in some African country. I gave him money for that.”

“For the charity?”

She nodded cheerfully, and I rolled my eyes. I glanced around the room, and caught Rachel Nge’s eye. She held my glance for a second, and then she looked at Nicole. The corners of her lips went up, and then she went back to her conversation.

I sighed. “Do you know Rachel well?”

“Why?” Nicole frowned, surprised by the abrupt change in questions. “We’re friends, I guess. I see her sometimes at these things.”

“Right.” I floundered about, trying to find some way to get more information from her. I decided to try a different tack. “What was the money really about? Because I know it’s got nothing to do with charity.”

“Oh? How do you know that?” Nicole folded her arms across her chest, calling my bluff expertly.

“Adam never gave that money to charity. He spent it on himself.”

“I’m not sure how you know that, but that’s not what he told me. He said he gave it to charity.”

“But he didn’t.”

She shrugged. “He was a scumbag, and if he didn’t give it to charity that’s not my fault, it’s his.”

“Really. He was a scumbag?”

Nicole smiled sweetly. “If I gave him money for charity and he didn’t spend it on charity, that would make him a scumbag, wouldn’t it?”

“Except you didn’t give him the money for charity.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

She shrugged. “Who are you, again? I don’t think we’ve ever met and I’ve got no idea why you’re asking me all these questions. I need to get back to my friends.”

She looked at me
skeptically, giving me one last chance, and I decided to pull out my trump card. “I’m an investigator. I’m looking into Adam’s death. Is there anything at all that you could tell me about him? Anything that might’ve gotten him killed?”

She snorted. “Who know why he got killed? People get killed all the time.”

“Was there any particular reason
you
know of?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he got mixed up in something.”

“Like what?”

“Hey, I don’t know. It’s just something that came to mind. Who knows what he did? I barely knew the guy.”

“And yet you gave him $2,500 every month.”

“He said it was for charity.”

I sighed. This was going nowhere. “Where were you on Friday night?”

“I was home. With my husband. Watching TV. And then we went to bed.”

I pursed my lips and nodded. Nicole twirled around and sashayed away, and I wanted to smash my glass of orange juice on the ground.

Of course, I didn’t. I scanned the crowd, and noticed Rachel watching Nicole with what seemed like amusement. Michelle Ackermann was still holding court with her gaggle of girlfriends, and Alexia Boyle was still not in attendance. I sighed. It was time to talk to the woman with the meanest assistant in the world.