Diva Las Vegas (18 page)

Using his flashlight, not wanting to take the chance of turning on the desk lamp, he began to go through the man’s desk. He found some files and personal papers, but all in all, there wasn’t enough in the desk to indicate that someone actually did any business there. It was curiously devoid of any of the clutter usually found—used paper clips, rubber bands, business cards.

The desk itself was wood and metal; very utilitarian. Normally, anyone who spent significant time at a desk made sure it was comfortable and aesthetically pleasing. That one looked as if it belonged on a display-room floor.

There was a calendar. As he went through it, page by page, he found no notations anywhere. For a doctor, that guy didn’t make any appointments.

There was an old-time blotter on the desktop, which he found odd. It looked clean and new, had not been worn through in any spots or doodled on. Who kept a blotter and didn’t scrawl at least a phone number? After all, they were easily replaced.

He was about to switch off his flashlight and give up when he spotted something. A white corner sticking out of the left side of the blotter. He used his fingernails to grab it, then slid out a business card. It was expensively done, embossed in gold letters. He shined the light on it. It had Dr. Eugene Reynolds’s name on it, and the name of something called the Whitney Institute. But the address was not the address of the doctor’s office in Las Vegas.

The address was in Los Angeles.

I almost hit the horn a half dozen times, but stopped myself. Each time it turned out to be a false alarm. I soon realized there was a bend in the road ahead, and cars slowed down for it. As soon as they reached the doctor’s front gate, they would speed up again and go right by me without a glance.

I was jumpy as hell, and tried to calm myself by thinking about Sarah and my mother, but my mind kept going back to the same subject—Detective Debra Cushing. It was obvious that she had an interest in my man. That didn’t sit well with me. I mean, okay, it’s flattering when someone notices your sig other, but Cushing was just a little too beautiful for me to be comfortable with it. On the other hand, Jakes seemed oblivious to the attention—and her charms. Was he that much in love with me, or was he just another clueless man?

I had been with a handsome man before. Randy had always attracted the ladies, but the difference was that he knew it. They’d flirt, he’d flirt back, and then he’d just shrug and give me a
What am I to do?
look. I had a hard time mustering up any positive thoughts about my ex. Except when it came to our daughter. When he had been around, he was a good dad. And as Sarah so painfully reminded me, she missed and needed him. I wasn’t sure how that was going to work, but I realized now that it had to.

When the knock came on the window, I practically jumped ten feet—or would have if I hadn’t been sitting in the front seat of a rented car. I didn’t remember locking the doors, but I must have. So I unlocked them and Jakes slid into the passenger’s seat.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“What did you find?”

“I’ll tell you when we get away from here,” he said. “Drive.”

“To where?”

“Just away,” he said.

“Do you want to—”

“Drive, Alex.”

I drove.

 

We not only got away from the house, but from the neighborhood.

“Pull in here,” he said, as we approached a large gas station. “You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I bit my lip as he got out of the car. It was driving me crazy wondering whether or not he’d found anything. He came back quickly with two vanilla lattes he’d gotten from one of those machines that had a dozen different flavored coffees.

“I pressed the wrong button,” he complained. “Damn.”

“Where to?” I asked,

“Let’s just sit here a few minutes,” he said. “I want to catch my breath.”

“Dogs?”

“There weren’t any dogs, but climbing back out was not as easy as climbing in. Or maybe I’m just getting old.”

We were parked in an end spot, where we couldn’t even see inside the gas station. We popped the tops off our coffees and sipped.

“So?” I asked at last. “Did you find anything?”

“That’s the weirdest house. It feels as if nobody has lived there for, well, ever. There were some papers in his desk, but hardly anything else. Except for this.”

He pulled out the photograph he’d found of the Sterns and Dr. Reynolds and laid it on the armrest between us.

“Oh, my God. That’s the same picture I found in Barry’s dressing room. So that’s Dr. Reynolds.”

“It doesn’t really tell us anything else, however.”

“How can you say that? It proves they knew each other.”

“We already knew that,” Jakes said. “When Barry was talking to me, he referred to Dr. Reynolds as Gene. You only use a nickname when you know someone. But we do have proof of what we suspect—that Barry is lying, or at least holding something back.”

“Did you find anything else?” I asked.

He handed me a business card. I had just enough light to read it.

“What’s the Whitney Institute?” I asked. “And why does he have a card with his name on it for a place in LA?”

“Two things I want to find out as soon as we get back,” he said.

“Tomorrow?”

“You’re going back tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll drive back Monday.”

“Why?” I asked. “I mean, why stay the extra day?”

“We have to go to the Riviera to question the other roommate tomorrow.”

“
We
as in you and Cushing?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, sipping the coffee. “Hey, this stuff’s not bad.”

“She likes you, you know.”

“What?”

“Cushing,” I said. “She likes you.”

“Come on.”

“No. You either don’t see it or you don’t want to see it, but she does. And you can’t lead her on.”

“Look, Alex,” Jakes said, “she knows I love you.”

“A man in love,” I said, “is sometimes an even bigger target.”

“I think you’re being silly,” Jakes said. “She wants to help, and she wants to learn.”

“Okay,” I said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Alex . . .” He didn’t finish. We drove in silence for a while.

“You want this back?” I asked, holding the business card out to him.

“Hang on to it for me,” he said. “We’ll check it out when I get back to LA.”

“
We
as in you and me, or we as in you and Davis?” I asked.

“Well, I guess that would have to be you and me,” he said. “I can’t very well tell Len where I got that, now, can I?”

After a quick kiss in the car, Jakes dropped me at the Bellagio. I was going to be leaving the next morning, but not until “Breakfast with the Stars” closed out Daytime in the Desert.

“Be careful,” I said as I got out of the car.

“Alex, I told you,” he said, “you’re making something out of nothing. Cushing just wants to be a detective.”

“I meant, no more burglaries, Jakes,” I countered. “Jeez, get over yourself.”

I laughed, stepped back and closed the door. I could see him shaking his head as he drove off.

 

When I got to the suite, Mom and Sarah were both asleep. It was almost midnight, but in Vegas it’s never too late to do anything, so I decided to take a bath before turning in.

After the bath, I curled up on the bed in a Bellagio robe and went through my purse, which I’d be changing the next day. I pulled out the business card Jakes had found. The Whitney Institute.

I toyed with the idea of opening my laptop and investigating online, but decided against it. The hot bath had sapped the last of my energy, and I was nodding off.

I put the card in my wallet, which would be going into the other purse. With my last ounce of strength, I filled out the room service card and hung it on the doorknob so that Mom and Sarah could have a big room-service breakfast in the morning. Then I turned off the light and fell right asleep.

Sarah was very excited when the breakfast cart arrived. She chattered to the bellboy about everything she’d done since arriving in Las Vegas. I tipped him extra because he not only listened, but also had a conversation with her.

After breakfast (well, coffee for me), I got dressed and told Mom I’d call her when I was done with the last event. Larry and I would swing by and pick up Sarah and her and then go straight to the airport.

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’m going to take Sarah down to see the dancing waters one last time.”

“Yay!” Sarah cheered.

“Have fun,” I told them, and left.

 

I walked into the Grand Ballroom, which was set up with a breakfast buffet. Amid the fans and actors milling around, I saw Brad trying to flag down a waitress. He looked a little worse for wear.

“What’s up, Brad? Late night?”

“You don’t want to know, Al. You don’t want to know.” Then to the waitress, “Bloody Mary, please? You know, on second thought, hold the tomato juice. Just vodka with a lime twist. Fast.” She walked away with her eyebrows raised.

“What happened to you? I mean, after the headlock,” I asked.

“Oh, after the fan dinner, one of the waitresses asked me to go to a club that was rockin’. So stupidly I went. What can I say? She used to be a showgirl. Nice bod. We had fun.” I got the impression he was going to go into detail about exactly what kind of fun he had.

“TMI, Brad. TMI.” I didn’t need to know any details.

I had heard enough. I waved a hand at him, rolled my eyes and went looking for my table.

It was a nice breakfast and the fans were all very happy. As I ate my scrambled eggs, I saw Priscilla. She was wearing a chiffon cocktail dress. At nine a.m. Frankly, her taste was kind of growing on me. Maybe it was time to go home.

“So, how was it? And why didn’t you take me?” George was using a curling iron a little too close to my face.

“Hey. Watch it!” I exclaimed.

“Sorry. Not really. How was it?” George asked again.

“It was fine. Busy.” I studied his face in the mirror, and then it dawned on me. George was hurt. “Are you mad at me?” I asked.

“Why would I be mad at you? Oh, maybe because I’ve been there for you during all your crises and all your last-minute needs, and the second you get a real boyfriend, you dump me?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was he serious?

“Well, if you are mad at me, maybe you can put the very hot curling iron down and we can talk about it.” I winced as the hot wand came perilously close to my cheek.

“Your hair’s done, anyway,” he said as he put it down. His whole body kind of sagged.

I led him out of the room into the empty hallway. In a hushed tone, I said, “I’m sorry, Georgie, if I hurt your feelings. I didn’t realize.”

“I just never hear from you anymore. You didn’t tell me you were going to Vegas, either. I figured you were doing that thing that girls do—get a serious boyfriend and dump their friends.” I was dumbstruck. “Wayne and I go through our ups and downs, but I’m always there for you.” I felt awful!

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Had I really done that? Very possibly I had been all caught up in Jakes and murder and had put George on the back burner. Come to think of it, I hadn’t even seen him since Hef’s party. “I’m really, really sorry. You’re my best friend. If I neglected you, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay. I just needed to get it off my chest.”

“Well, let me make it up to you. I’ll take you out. When are you free this week?”

“Wednesday or Thursday. I’m sorry if I was a little over-the-top. Silly! I guess I just need some girl time.”

I hugged him. “Is everything okay with Wayne?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He sniffled and went back into the dressing room.

I was heading down the stairs to the commissary to get a quick breakfast when my cell phone rang.

“Hey. I’m back. I missed you.”

“That’s nice to hear. How did it go yesterday?”

“Alex,” Jakes said, “did you hear what I said? I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” I said. “I’m sorry. I was being a little bitchy. In fact, I was a little bitchy the entire weekend.”

“No, well . . . not the entire weekend.”

“C’mon. This whole Cushing thing is annoying me.”

“Really? Why?”

I couldn’t believe him. Was he for real? “Never mind. What’s going on? What happened yesterday?” I grabbed an orange juice from the refrigerator.

“I do have some bad news,” he said. “Brass wants to see me today, so we can’t get together until tomorrow.”

“Are you in trouble—again?” I asked. “Could I get a bacon-and-egg sandwich on whole wheat, please?”

“Are you talking to me?” he asked.

“No. Sorry. One sec.” I gestured to the cook. “Bacon and egg on wheat?” He looked at me, annoyed. And I didn’t blame him. I hated when people talked on cell phones while shopping, ordering, driving. Guilty! “Well, what can they do to you?” I asked.

“I guess I’ll find that out. Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Can we have dinner afterward, then?”

“Yes,” I said. “In fact, I’ll cook for you. To make up for being so mean.”

“And I’ll let you,” he said. “See you tomorrow night.”

“Wait!” I said. “What happened in Vegas after I left? Did you talk to the other roommate?”

“We did. It was kind of strange, but it can wait until I see you.”

“And what about the Institute?” I asked. “When are you going over there?”

“Probably tomorrow,” he said, “but I won’t know what I’m doing until after I have my meeting today. We’ll talk about it all tomorrow, all right?”

“All right. I missed you.”