The Santangelos (49 page)

*   *   *

People mingled. From movie stars to politicians, TV personalities and many acquaintances, everyone was there to remember their old friend Gino Santangelo. They filled the lobby of the Magiriano, moving slowly to the outside area where rows of chairs faced a specially erected podium with a center dais where the speakers would stand in front of a microphone to honor the memory of Gino. The podium was covered in an array of lavish floral tributes, and a single blowup photo of Gino and Maria on their wedding day. It was Lucky’s favorite photo.

The atmosphere was festive, exactly as Lucky had planned. Sunshine and flowers, smiles and friendship. No religious ceremony, as Gino—a lapsed Catholic—had not believed in religion. He blamed religion and people’s differences for all the troubles in the world. Lucky had always agreed with him.

Paige and her entourage marched toward the front seats full of entitlement. Danny had to tell her that were only two seats for her in the reserved section, and that her other guests would have to sit further back. She did not take the news well. Glaring at Danny, she chose Bud Pappas to accompany her to the front row.

Now it was Darlene’s turn to be annoyed as she was forced to find seats further back with the rest of Paige’s entourage. She threw Paige a furious look.

People jockeyed for position. Danny was beside himself, as he was the one who had to protect the several rows of reserved seats—seats where most of the important guests expected to be seated.

Charlie Dollar rolled in with Venus, Alex Woods, and Alex’s Asian girlfriend. Awkward, as there were only reserved seats for Charlie, Venus, and Alex—no seat for Alex’s girlfriend. Charlie Dollar was one movie star who frightened the crap out of Danny, so he made an executive decision and decided not to argue the point.

The Richmond family came through, followed by talk-show host Jack Python; a gaggle of gorgeous blondes; Cookie’s dad, soul singer Gerald M., with a very tall model; and Eddie and Annabelle Falcon.

Although Eddie had met Gino only a couple of times, he considered this to be an important event not to be missed, so he’d persuaded one of his star clients, Jack Python, to score him an invite. Now here he was, ready to conduct business at the after party. A good agent never lets a funeral get in the way of networking.

The reserved seats were filling up quickly. Steven, Brigette, her girlfriend, Gino Junior, and Leo were all seated in the front row. Only four more seats were available, for Lucky, Lennie, Max, and Bobby.

Danny told his significant other, Buff—who was helping out—to guard those seats with his life.

Refreshments were served by pretty girls and attractive waiters offering trays of still and sparkling water.

The crowd was beginning to settle. Soon the service would begin.

*   *   *

Pacing impatiently around Ian Simmons’s office, Lucky recalled the time it had once been her office, and even though it had been refurbished, being there brought back so many amazing memories. Nothing was the same, yet it was as if nothing had really changed. She remembered sitting behind her desk in this very room, running the place, giving orders, relishing every minute of being in charge.

“I guess I’ll go take my seat,” Bobby said, wondering where Venus was sitting, and if he could position himself near to her. “We don’t want to march in like a parade. It should be just you and Lennie.”

“We’ll see you out there,” Lennie said. “And you can tell your sister when you see her that she’s in deep trouble.”

“I’ll do that,” Bobby said, leaving the room.

Chris had already gone to check on everything, assuring them he would be back soon. Lucky moved over to Ian’s desk and sat behind it, observing that at least the view was the same. Lush greenery and a profusion of swaying palm trees. She remembered the day she’d ordered the trees to be planted. They’d been quite small then, but now they were tall and majestic.

“How d’you feel?” Lennie asked.

“How do you think?” she responded.

“You’re gonna do great, sweetheart,” he assured her. “You’ll make Gino proud.”

That’s all she’d wanted as a kid, to make her daddy proud. It had been a struggle, but over the years she’d gotten there. Gino had finally accepted her as the strong woman she’d become.

Ian Simmons kept a pristine desk. There was a neat stack of papers ready to be dealt with, and two Mac computers containing files on important guests and high rollers. In pride of place stood a framed photo of a woman and two young children—obviously his wife and family. Propped against the frame was a note card with an embossed gold trim around the edge. Reaching out, Lucky picked up the note card. Immediately an image flashed before her eyes.
VENGEANCE.
A word that had been printed on a note card identical to this one, the note card she’d discovered locked in Gino’s desk.

Coincidence or not?

Hurriedly, she read the neat script.

King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan thanks you for a pleasant stay, and hopes you will accept this gift as a small token of his appreciation
.

A rush of adrenaline hit her hard. The stationery matched. The note cards were identical.

Her mind began racing. Had King Emir come to Las Vegas to take his revenge for the murder of his son? Was that possible?

Yes. That had to be it.

King Emir Amin Mohamed Jordan had somehow or other arranged Gino’s assassination, and now the son of a bitch was here on the day of the funeral to gloat.

But was that all? Or could there be more?

Vengeance. The son of a bitch wanted vengeance for something she’d had nothing to do with.

Had he put other plans in place?

Was something bad about to happen?

“Get Chris,” she said urgently, turning to Lennie. “Get Chris right away.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

Student nurse Felicity Lever, a plain, overweight girl with mousy-brown hair and a pronounced overbite, was twenty years old and bored by her job. She’d wanted to be a model, only God had not given her the gifts to achieve that dream. She’d thought about becoming an actress, but how was it possible for that to happen unless a Hollywood producer discovered her? Instead she was a student nurse who would eventually become a registered nurse, and, according to her parents, that was her lot in life.

Felicity was a keen follower of popular culture, and the moment she entered Willow’s hospital room, it struck her that there was something very familiar about the girl lying in the bed. Edging closer, she attempted to get a better look.

The girl had long pale red hair and pretty features. She was all beaten up. Apart from a broken leg, she had a swollen black eye and coagulated blood bruises down one side of her face. Even so, Felicity was sure she was someone.

Without warning, Willow suddenly opened her eyes. “I’m thirsty,” she mumbled.

“I’ll get you some water,” Felicity said, still trying to figure out who the girl was.

“Why’m I here?” Willow asked, her eyelids fluttering.

“’Cause you was in an accident,” Felicity said.

“What accident?”

“A bad one,” Felicity said. Then, just like that, it came to her. The girl was Willow Price.
The
Willow Price. The young actress with a shady track record who’d made many a headline in her time—from being voted the most popular newcomer in
People
magazine to a series of DUIs and accusations of shoplifting, plus a slew of very public fights with unsuitable boyfriends.

Felicity experienced a tingle of excitement. This was big, very big.

She rushed outside to the nurses’ station, where Shaquita was stuffing her face with a brownie. “Guess what?” she crowed.

“What, child?” Shaquita responded, chewing contentedly.

“The girl in room six is famous.”

“Famous?”

“Yes,” Felicity boasted. “And I’m the only one who recognized her.”

Shaquita put down her brownie and squinted at Felicity. “Who is she, then?”

“Willow Price.”

“Willow who?”

“Willow Price. Go ahead and google her. I’m telling you, she’s famous.”

“You sure about this?”

“Positive,” Felicity said with a triumphant smirk. “Do you think it’s okay if I ask for her autograph?”

“Certainly not,” Shaquita said sternly. “Right now the poor dear doesn’t even know her own name. She has a mild concussion, so it might take time before she remembers anything. We should inform Dr. Ferris an’ the police, so they can go about finding a relative or a husband.”

“Don’t think she’s married,” Felicity stated, wondering if she dared to take a selfie with the famous girl. “I’ll go check Wikipedia and find out.”

Shaquita frowned. “Wiki what?”

“It’s a place on the Internet where you can discover everything about anyone,” Felicity explained, thinking,
Old people. They know nothing
. “I might even be able to find her address or contact info.”

“Leave it to the police,” Shaquita admonished. “It’s not our job.”

Well, it might not be your job,
Felicity thought.
But why shouldn’t I make some money out of this?

An avid consumer of the tabloids, Felicity had often read about how they offered money for inside information, and what was Willow Price lying in a hospital bed in Barstow if not information?

Shaquita had no clue what a coup this was, and Felicity was determined to take full advantage of the situation. After a few moments she slipped away from the older nurse, who was now paging Dr. Ferris, and returned to Willow’s room with a paper cup of water and a straw.

Willow was attempting to struggle into a sitting position and not having much luck. “What’s wrong with my leg?” she whined. “What happened to me?”

“It’s broken,” Felicity said matter-of-factly, feeding her some water through the straw. “No biggie. Better a broken leg than dead.”

Willow’s eyes filled with tears. “Where’s my mom? I want my mom.”

“I guess you must’ve been driving?” Felicity said, probing for information.

“What?”

“Like I bet you were coming from some wild Hollywood party,” Felicity said, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of it all. “A party chock-full of movie stars.”

“Huh?” Willow mumbled.

“Do you know Justin Bieber?” Felicity continued. “I’ve read he’s supposed to be trouble, but it doesn’t matter to me. I like him anyway. Do you think he’ll ever get back with Selena?”

“My head hurts,” Willow said, pushing the straw away.

Abandoning the cup of water, Felicity decided it was time to whip out her cell phone. Switching it to camera mode, she began snapping a few random shots.

Willow raised up her hand to shield her face. “What’re you
doing
?” she cried out.

“We need photos,” Felicity said with an authoritative nod of her head as she moved in and took a couple of selfies next to Willow.

“For what?”

“For … um … the doctors.”

“Doctors,” Willow murmured, and once more she shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Time to make a phone call,
Felicity thought.

*   *   *

There was nothing Jeff Williams liked better than a scoop. And Willow Price languishing in a hospital near Barstow was definitely a fresh story, which nobody else had. After getting the call from some young nurse, he’d thoroughly checked the Internet to see if anything had broken. Nothing.
Nada
. The Willow Price story was all his.

He called the nurse back. She e-mailed him the photos of Willow lying in a hospital bed. After seeing the photos, he’d offered her five hundred dollars not to talk to anyone else. She’d been so thrilled that he realized he could’ve gotten away with offering her two hundred.

I’m too freaking generous,
he thought.
Mustn’t make the same mistake again
.

*   *   *

Pammy was luxuriating in Willow’s bed when the house phone rang. Most people didn’t have house phones anymore, but when Willow had rented the place it was there, so she’d kept it as a backup for when she forgot to charge her cell.

Pammy picked up and said a cautious “Hello.”

A male voice came back with “Who am I speaking to?”

Pammy considered the question. Could the voice belong to movie star Ralph Maestro? If it
was
him, as Willow’s mom, shouldn’t she tell him off for sleeping with her daughter? The age difference between them was disgusting. Surely he’d be more comfortable with a woman like her? A sexually mature woman with plenty of life experience.

“This is Willow Price’s mother,” Pammy said, putting on her best posh voice. “To whom am
I
speaking?”

Instead of announcing himself as movie star Ralph Maestro, the man said, “Jeff Williams from
Truth and Fact
.”

Truth and Fact
magazine was Pammy’s bible. She read it from cover to cover every week. Was there anything better than devouring stories about celebrities who’d had horrible plastic surgery, and cheating spouses readying themselves for multimillion-dollar divorces?

“Oh,” she said.

“Hello, Willow’s mom,” he said.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Williams?” she said, still with the posh voice.

“We’ve received a report that Willow was in a bad car accident,” Jeff said. “I’m leaving for the hospital right now and I was thinking that you might wanna come along with me so’s we can run an exclusive family story.”

Car crash. Hospital. Exclusive family story
. Pammy’s mouth dropped open. “Is … is she all right?”

“Banged up a bit, from the photos I’ve seen. Nothing life-threatening.” He paused, then said, “Of course we’re gonna pay you.” After another pause, he added, “You on?”

Pammy was already out of bed. “How much?” she asked.

And so a deal was made.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

Everything was under control, and yet everything wasn’t. Lucky felt it, and she hoped Chris did too, for her intuition had never failed her.

She told Lennie about the matching note card. He didn’t seem at all concerned. “It’s gotta be a coincidence,” he said. “Besides, we’ve got security up the ass. According to Chris, this place is on lockdown. Nobody’s getting in without a pass, so no worries.”