Pretty anticlimactic. I shouldn’t have assumed he would lead me to Elise and Matthew.
But then a thought crossed my mind.
What if he had?
What if he was hiding them in plain sight?
He was the manager. He could give them a room easily. Granted, Chip and his father were also at Versailles, but the place was enormous. How hard would it be to stay out of someone’s way?
I told myself that as I made an executive decision to go back in there. Even though I was banned. But this time I wouldn’t go through the lobby. I’d go into the casino, where there were plenty of people to mask my arrival and plenty of slot machines to hide behind if I needed to. Granted, I was taller than most women, and I had tats, short bright red hair, and rows of piercings in my ears, but odder-looking people than me hung out in casinos. It was worth a shot.
The room was buzzing with activity, the cocktail waitresses barely able to keep up and keep their bosoms in their corsets. I thought about Robbin, the girl I’d met in the ladies’ room. She had a hot date with the guy who ran the place. Was that why Simon had come back?
A short man with a bad toupee bumped into me.
“Excuse you,” he muttered, wandering away.
I weaved around the slot machines, the flashing lights making me blink, the little musical dinging sounds bouncing off the ceiling. Sheryl Crow was singing about leaving Las Vegas, piped in from undisclosed speakers, no one really hearing it-it was background noise to replace that of the coins dropping into metal bins. I was a little dizzy as I approached the blackjack tables, Tim’s old stomping ground. He could still count cards, but only if there was a one- or two-deck shoe. It looked like these tables had at least six decks. No way to win, every way to lose.
I didn’t like casinos; they had never managed to win me over. I used to like the heavy feel of the plastic cups holding five or ten dollars’ worth of quarters or nickels, slipping the coins into the machines. But now that they’d done away with the coins-you just put in a bill and got back a little ticket that you slipped into a machine like an ATM to get your meager winnings-it had lost any magic for me it might have once held. There were other things I’d rather throw my money away on, like Kenneth Cole shoes. While I’d be poor, at least I’d look hot.
Hot like Simon Chase, who was standing about fifty feet away from me as I stumbled around a slot machine that wore a guillotine hat. Quickly, I ducked back behind it, peering over the top. The woman playing it didn’t even notice, she was so intent on pushing that little PLAY AGAIN button. Another downside to the new ticket system: Put in a bill and there was no reminder of just how much you were losing.
Matthew approached Simon, who looked like he’d been expecting him. They shook hands, Simon nodding, Matthew’s mouth moving. I can’t read lips, so I was at a loss. I could read expressions, and Simon’s was exasperated as he straightened his shoulders and stood taller. I could see his mouth form the word “no.”
So maybe I could read lips a little.
Add it to the resume.
I scanned the room, looking for Elise. The way Matthew had pushed her out of Viva Las Vegas worried me. Maybe she was in a room upstairs somewhere, locked in, these two guys arguing about her fate. Would she die like Matt Powell? Like Kelly Masters?
As I thought those things, I realized that people didn’t just get murdered for nothing. What did Kelly and Matt know that they had to be killed to keep them quiet? Kelly was pregnant; who was the father? Matt was in love with Elise-the tat told the story.
I couldn’t see Matthew killing his sister. But he might kill Matt. And he had enough tats so he probably knew how it was done.
But the ink was too good, too well drawn.
As my thoughts spun around like the Scrambler, Simon started walking away from Matthew, who began heading in the opposite direction.
Whom to follow?
“You go after Chase; I’ll follow Matthew.” The voice made me jump, and I turned to see Jeff Coleman standing next to me. Some detective I would make; I hadn’t even noticed him there.
“Meet you back here in half an hour,” Jeff said.
I just stood there, and he frowned at me.
“If you don’t go now, Kavanaugh, you’ll lose him.”
As he spun around the slot machine, the guillotine came crashing down and the bells and whistles rang in my ears.
Chapter 43
Jeff was right: I didn’t have time to stand here and contemplate how he’d gotten there and why he’d barked orders at me. Simon’s head bobbed among the crowd, and I kept my eye on it as I weaved in and out among the slot machines. Soon I was past the slots and amid the tables: blackjack, roulette, craps. People huddled over them, their eyes wild with hope and despair.
I could get cynical, but I can’t lie. Vegas is a great place for a tattoo shop, and I make a lot of money off those dreamers who came here looking to win big but didn’t. They wanted to go home with something, and saying, “Hey, I got this tat in Vegas,” sort of made up for it.
Sure beat a T-shirt.
I wondered what Simon Chase would look like in a T-shirt. So far I’d only seen him in a suit and tie.
And as I had that thought, I realized now I couldn’t see him at all.
I stopped and scanned the room, all the heads looking identical to one another, even the bald ones. They became a blur, and I blinked a few times to get my focus back.
There he was, leaving the casino, going toward the lobby.
Not a good place for me. Not enough places to hide. All those mirrors.
I sped up slightly, because I didn’t want to lose him again, even though my heart had started pounding with the possibility of getting caught by Bruce Manning again and, if not, how I would approach Simon about why he was following me around in a Dodge Dakota for the last couple of days.
Somehow I hadn’t pictured that as his vehicle of choice. I saw him more as a Ferrari sort of guy, maybe a Maserati. Something cool, like those guys on
He was a little older-sort of like Kevin Dillon but way better-looking. I could so see him in
I reached the hallway that led to the lobby, where the mirrors started. I had no choice but to just boldly forge ahead.
Simon Chase was standing by one of the big, lush floral displays, talking to a young woman in a skintight black dress, her dark hair all tousled in that fashionable way, her long legs stretching into those same Kenneth Cole shoes I had my eye on.
I didn’t like her.
Simon Chase seemed to, however. He was laughing, leaning toward her, whispering something in her ear. He squeezed Skinny Girl’s hand and walked away, whistling. Whistling. Yikes.
Simon began chatting up the concierge, and I saw the futility in this quest. I wasn’t going to catch him in anything. I didn’t exactly want him to know I’d followed him, either, but he’d put two and two together if I approached him casually and said, “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You got the hots for him, Kavanaugh?”
Jeff Coleman sneaked up behind me, making me jump.
“Don’t do that,” I hissed.
His leer made me squirm.
“He’s smooth, but I’d stay away from him.”
“Oh, yeah? And who do you think you are, my father?”
Jeff clicked his tongue and shook his head sadly. “He’ll break your heart. He’s broken others.”
