heard, “Come on!”
Slowly, I opened my eyes again, and Jeff was beckoning us. Sylvia and I made our way to the car, our arms still linked.
“Nothing here,” Jeff said, showing me the empty trunk before slamming the hood down. “It’s okay.”
Was it really? I had no idea.
“I’ll follow you to the Venetian,” Jeff said as his mother climbed into the passenger seat of the Pontiac. “And if you need anything later, call me. You know where I am.”
The ride to the Venetian was uneventful, and I was thankful for that. I gave Jeff a wave as I turned in to the lane that would take me to the self-parking garage. Being back on familiar ground, I relaxed a little.
The security guard held up his hand, and I stopped, smiling at him. I leaned out my window and said, “I’m going to the shops,” anticipating his question as to whether I was a hotel guest or going to the casino. I pulled back into the car, ready to move on, but he stepped out in front of the Mustang, studying it.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’ve had a report.”
I moved the gearshift so I could take my foot off the clutch and it wouldn’t lurch forward and stop, then put on the parking brake. I opened the door and stepped out. “A report?” I asked. “I own The Painted Lady; it’s in the shops. You can check.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been told to detain you.”
My first instinct was to make a run for it. Hightail it out of there on foot and see how far I could get. And then my more sensible side told me that was ridiculous: I’d look more guilty that way. But guilty of what?
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He had a clipboard with a sheaf of papers and started flipping through the pages, finally jabbing his finger on one. His eyes met mine, and I could see something bad was on that page. But after all the things that had been going on the last few days, what could be worse?
“Could you please stand over there?” the guard asked, indicating I was to move toward the little guardhouse. I was acutely aware that another guard had appeared out of nowhere and was standing behind me now. So much for sprinting.
“I think I have a right to know what’s going on,” I said loudly, with much more bravado than I felt.
At that moment, a familiar Toyota Prius was turning the corner to exit. Joel spotted me, his face lit up, and he pulled into a handicap spot near the guardhouse. As he emerged from the tiny car, the guard who’d approached him seemed a little taken aback by his size and gave him a wide berth.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t park there,” the guard admonished.
Joel shrugged. “What’s going on, Brett?”
I sighed. “They’re ‘detaining’ me,” I said, making little quote marks with my fingers. “I have no idea why.”
I noticed now that a third guard had joined us and opened the driver’s side door. The motor was still running, since I hadn’t shut it off. I had a crazy thought that it was a good thing Sherman Potter’s body wasn’t inside the trunk.
Joel came closer, a frown on his face. He was considerably bigger than the first guard, who seemed very intimidated.
“I think you need to tell the lady what’s going on,” Joel said sternly.
“We need to search the car,” the guard said, as the other two guards were now doing just that.
“What do you think you’ll find?” I asked, hearing a familiar siren in the distance. “Did you call the police?” This was too much.
Joel gave a quick nod at me, indicating I should sidle over toward him. I did. As all three guards were now hunkered down in my car with flashlights, Joel took my hand and we began to slowly back up toward his car.
“I’m breaking you out of here,” Joel whispered.
Sounded like a plan.
The guards were clearly not very good at their job, because they barely noticed what we were up to until we were already in the car and Joel was backing out and then pulling toward the exit. The little Prius didn’t have a lot of oomph, but it had enough, and the guards were too startled to move quickly. They weren’t exactly high-end rent-a-cops.
We passed a police car with its lights flashing as we turned out onto Koval.
“We’d better get lost and quick,” I said, indicating them.
Joel knew his way around the back roads, and soon we were a couple miles away, no sirens anywhere. The guards had not taken his license plate down, hadn’t really paid much attention to his car, because they’d concentrated on him. I had told them, though, where I worked, and I said as much to Joel.
“They probably already knew that. You might want to call Tim,” he suggested.
I’d left my bag in my car, not even thinking. Could this day get much worse?
Joel handed me his phone, and I punched in Tim’s number, knowing I’d be interrupting the interrogation over at the Golden Palace but not caring at this point. The good news was, Tim answered right away because he didn’t recognize the number.
“Kavanaugh,” he said.
“Tim, it’s Brett.”
“Brett?”
“I’m going to tell you what happened, but you can’t interrupt me and you can’t yell at me,” I said, then quickly added, “The security guards at the Venetian stopped me, said they had to detain me, started searching my car, and Joel came, we took off, and now I think the cops are after us.”
He was quiet for a couple of seconds, most likely digesting this new bit of information.
“Did they say why they had to conduct a search?” he finally asked, the restraint remarkable.
“No.”
“Let me see what I can find out. Where are you?”
I glanced around at the street outside and didn’t recognize it. “We’re just driving around,” I said. “I don’t want to go back.”
He must have heard the desperation in my voice, because he said, “Have Joel take you to Murder Ink. But stay put there, okay? I’m worried about all this, that someone’s targeted you for some reason, and until we find out who and catch her, you could be in danger.”
I gave a deep sigh of relief, tears springing to my eyes because he believed me. And then I pounced on the one word that came through loud and clear. “Her. You said her. You think this is Ann Wainwright, don’t you?”
He didn’t confirm anything, just said, “I’ll call you later when I know something,” and then he hung up.
I turned to Joel. “Tim says you should take me to Murder Ink.” Jeff would be surprised to see me, but considering his criminal tendencies, he would be perfectly willing to harbor a fugitive.
Joel gave me a sly smile and pointed the Prius in that direction.
“What?” I asked, when the smile wouldn’t go away.
“You and Jeff. It’s cute.”
Cute? What was cute? Oh, right, that
Joel’s smile grew into a full-fledged grin. “There’s always been something going on with you two.”
That was for sure, but not the way he thought.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Ace is gone,” Joel said, completely switching gears.
I sat up straighter in my seat, the belt pulling against my chest. I stuck my thumb underneath it and loosened it slightly. “Gone for good?” I remembered how he hadn’t been in his room when I left, but it was as if he’d just gone down the walkway to the oxygen bar. It seemed as though he really meant it when he said he quit.
He hadn’t even said good-bye.
