Diva Las Vegas (25 page)

Reynolds was visibly agitated as he stood in the center of the room, wearing an impeccably tailored suit that seemed to be itchy. He couldn’t keep still as he berated his wife.

Standing off to one side was Carl Bennett. His suit was no less expensive, but he didn’t have the shoulders to fill it out as well. He had an alarmed expression on his face as he watched the happy couple.

Pookie was dressed for a leisurely night at home in tight-fitting yoga pants and a body-hugging hoodie. She was standing hipshot, with a martini glass in one hand, the other on her hip. If I had been a man, I would have thought, What a body. Oh, who am I kidding? I thought it anyway.

“If you were the doctor you think you are,” she said to her husband calmly, “we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“If you weren’t a crazy, sex-starved bitch—” he said, but she cut him off.

“Sex starved? I wonder if that has anything to do with being married to you!”

Reynolds looked at his watch.

“Where is this muscle-bound boyfriend of yours?” he demanded.

“I don’t know—I told you! He’s out of control.” Pookie said. “He said he was going to kill Alexis for me. The idiot! I tried to stop him. I did!”

I got a chill down my spine. It was eerie hearing someone talk about murdering someone. Specifically me. I jumped a bit when Jakes touched my arm.

“Okay. Get back to the car.”

“What? I thought you wanted to see the look on her face when she saw me?”

“Don’t need to now. I need you in the car.”

“Where are you going?”

“I want to see if I can find a way in,” he said.

“Why don’t you wait for backup?”

“They’re on the way,” he said. “And Len will meet us here if he gets anything from Toni. So do what I tell you and—”

“—Get back in the car. Yes, sir.”

He waited until he saw me heading back and then melted away into the darkness. Jakes must have figured he’d already heard enough to incriminate them. I figured he was trying to get inside to make an arrest. I hesitated and then gingerly walked back to the atrium, knowing he’d be pissed. But I just had to see what was going to happen next.

I got there in time to see Carl Bennett suddenly move closer to the battling couple. They dropped their voices. I decided to try to move closer so I could hear better. Bad move. The ground beneath my feet was soft, squishy. In one spot, it was too soft. It felt as if the ground was giving way, so I took a quick step to try to keep my balance. Apparently, a gardener hadn’t put away all his tools, and I stepped on a rake. The handle came up and hit me in the face. I let out an inadvertent yelp and tumbled over backward, stunned. How very Three Stooges!

I sat up, my hand pressed to my forehead where the wooden handle had hit me. When I looked up, there were two people looking down at me: Dr. Eugene Reynolds and Carl Bennett.

“Who’s this?” Reynolds asked.

“That,” Bennett said, “is Alexis Peterson.”

“Oh?” Reynolds tilted his head as if he were examining something under a microscope.

“I think we should help the lady up and bring her inside,” he said.

Pookie handed me a martini. Under the circumstances, I took it. The circumstances being that my head hurt and I was among people who were probably trying to figure out a way to kill me.

“Thank you,” I said.

I was sitting in a chair, and the three of them were standing in front of me. I wondered where Jakes was.

“That’s quite a welt on your forehead,” Pookie said. “I hope you’re not considering suing me. But then, you were trespassing on my property.”

“I rang the bell. Nobody answered. I came around to see whether anyone was home.”

Pookie smiled. “That’s a quick lie. You’re good. Would you like my husband to have a look at you? See if you have a concussion? He’s not much of a doctor anymore, but I think he can still do that much.”

“Janet!” Reynolds said.

“Pookie!” she spit back. Only spite could have been the reason she was so attached to
that
nickname.

This was the first close look I’d had at the good doctor. He was handsome, in an effete sort of way—smooth, pale skin; gentle blues eyes; long-fingered, graceful hands . . . the hands of a surgeon? Or a murderer?

“What are we going to do with her?” Bennett asked. “She must have been outside listening—”

“Shut up, Carl!” Pookie snapped.

“We all know she heard us. She was standing right outside,” Carl hissed at her.

I looked at Pookie. “You sent your boyfriend to kill me, you bitch!” I was stalling for time. And Jakes.

Pookie looked truly upset. She looked to her husband. “I didn’t. I swear. I swear!”

“He tried to kill a security guard.”

“Why, Janet?” Gene looked at Pookie. “Why did you bring somebody else in on this?”

“No! I’m telling you, Toni has gone crazy. He’s lost all control. How stupid do you think I am? Alexis is with the cops!”

“How stupid do I think you are? Stupid enough to get us into this mess!” Gene snapped back.

“
You
got us into this mess. By being such a chickenshit. When it became clear your precious formula wasn’t going to be approved, you were ready to give up. I saved it by stalling for time!”

“Janet, listen—” Bennett started.

“And you!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You had to write that damn memo. If it wasn’t for me, copies would have gone out. I’m the one who saved the whole deal. All we had to do was get rid of a few witnesses.”

I wondered whether she knew that at least one memo had slipped through. If Eddie the Stalker had gotten it from Shana’s house, how did Shana get it?

“Janet, you can’t—” Reynolds started, but she cut him off with a stare. It was clear those two men were dominated by this woman.

“You.” She spit the word. “Feeling sorry for ‘poor Shana.’ Her face hurt and she needed drugs. Give her a prescription! You didn’t need to have her over to your place. Stupidly leaving the memo out where she could see it. That’s why she had to be killed. Because of you! She would have gone to the FDA. And we’d have nothing to show for all our work!”

So that’s how Shana got her hands on the memo! And she probably tossed it in her garbage, where Stalker Eddie found it.

“If you’d had the nerve to kill her when I told you to, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Pookie went on. “I wouldn’t have had to dress like a wood nymph and do it myself.”

Then I realized what she’d just said. So she was the girl who had called Shana away to the phony photo shoot.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this in front of her,” Bennett said.

“What difference does it make, you moron? We have to eliminate her and then get out of here. Now.”

“I think you’re just a little too late, Pookie.”

That voice made me sigh with relief. Jakes was standing at the doorway, holding a gun.

“How did you get into my house?” Pookie demanded.

“I found an open window. You should be more careful.”

“You can’t just break into someone’s house!”

“So sue me,” Jakes said. “After I’ve arrested all of you for murder, and conspiracy to commit murder.” He looked at me and asked, “Are you all right?”

“Fine, now,” I said, and finished my martini.

Bennett started to cry. It was pathetic. Reynolds just looked like a beaten man.

Pookie, on the other hand, assumed a haughty attitude. She stuck out her boobs and stuck up her nose.

“You can’t prove a thing,” she said. “My lawyer will have me out in an hour.”

“What about those two?” Jakes asked.

“Let them get their own lawyer,” she said.

“And the muscle boy downtown? He’s talking up a storm.”

“He’s got so many steroids in his system, he doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing,” Pookie said.

“Well, we’ll sort it all out downtown,” Jakes said. “Let’s go, folks. Alex, come over here.”

Before getting up, I put the empty martini glass down on the drink cart. That was the only reason I saw Pookie pick up a small-caliber gun from the bookshelf behind the cart.

“Jakes! Gun!” I shouted.

I leaped for Pookie, hoping to throw off her aim as she raised the gun with her right hand. She swung her left arm at me and knocked me into the drink cart. The cart and I tumbled to the floor. She wasn’t just limber; she was strong!

But I’d cost her some time, and before she could pull the trigger, Jakes pulled his. I was on my back in a martini puddle, so I heard, rather than saw, the bullet hit her. I also heard her cry out. Her gun fell from her hand and she slumped to the floor.

“Janet!” Reynolds said, rushing to her.

Jakes rushed forward, too, and snatched her gun from the floor.

“It’s Pookie, you asshole,” she said before passing out.

Bennett took the opportunity to run from the room.

“He’s getting away,” I said, pointing.

“Not a chance,” Jakes said, putting out his hand and pulling me to my feet. “There are cops outside, all around the house.”

I let him hug me to him with his left arm as he continued to point his gun at the couple with his right.

“You shot her!” Reynolds said accusingly.

“You bet I did,” Jakes said. “You’re a doctor. Take care of her. I’ll need her on her feet to walk into a cell.”

I looked down at Pookie, who was out cold. Blood spread from her shoulder, down her chest and arm.

“She killed Shana herself,” I said. “She dressed up as a wood nymph. George’ll be able to identify her.”

“Maybe she did the showgirls herself, too,” Jakes said. “When Cushing gets here with Elizabeth Sessions, maybe she’ll ID her.”

“What about Toni?”

“Just muscle, I guess. She’s right about one thing, though. He’s loaded up on steroids. He doesn’t even remember stabbing the guard.”

“I’m just glad it’s over,” I said. “It is over, isn’t it?”

“Should be. You took a big chance, jumping for that gun,” Jakes said.

“Yeah, she swatted me away like a fly. She is freakishly strong!”

“But you kept her from shooting me,” he said. “You’re my hero.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear for a change. I guess heroes aren’t gender specific, either.” I smiled, leaning against him.

“By the way,” he asked, “how’d you get that lump on your forehead?”

It was late the next evening, and we were lying together on a chaise in back of my house. We snuggled under a big, comfy blanket thrown over us against the winter chill. Mom and Sarah were asleep. Jakes had spent the entire day tying up loose ends, and now he was filling me in.

“Elizabeth Sessions identified Pookie as the woman who killed Susan Couture. She tried to kill Sessions, but she got away.” He took a sip of red wine.

“What about Linda Bronson?”

“We don’t know. Pookie isn’t talking.”

“What about Toni?”

“He’s talking,” Jakes said. “He’s got a classic case of ’roid rage. In his own demented way, he wanted to prove his love to her, so he took it upon himself to go that extra mile.”

“By killing me?”

Jakes nodded. “George identified Toni as the man who was dressed as the Incredible Hulk at Hef’s party. Then he identified Pookie as the wood nymph, the one who lured Shana away to a phony photo shoot.”

“So Pookie killed Shana?”

“That’s what Toni says.”

“Are you sure he’s not just trying to cover his own ass?” I asked.

“We considered that maybe he killed them all for her, and now just doesn’t want to take the fall alone. It’s a possibility, but I don’t think it’s the case.”

“So what do you think?”

“You saw her. She had all of those men wrapped around her little finger.”

“She’s a tough broad, all right.”

“We questioned Dr. Reynolds and Bennett. They back up what Pookie said, that it was all her idea to kill the women who had tried the antiaging cream.”

“How did they get their hands on it, anyway?”

“The three girls in Vegas had boob jobs by Dr. Reynolds, and he gave them a free trial of the cream.”

“And Shana?” I asked, trying to take it all in.

“Same thing. Reynolds did her breast augmentation, and convinced her to try the cream. She was the one who threatened to go to the FDA. She saw that the formula worked and caused regeneration of cells. Then, after a period of time, it began to reverse itself and actually made the cells degenerate. Ultimately, it caused these women to look even older than they did before they used it.”

“It made their skin look younger, and then reversed itself? That’s brutal.”

“When we asked them to look more closely, both MEs—LA and Vegas—found the skin around Linda Bronson and Shana’s eyes had somehow aged—gotten thinner and more susceptible to wrinkles. They also had traces of the same drugs in their systems.”

“That botch—botchu—”

“Botchuhylonic acid, yes. And the painkillers. As the formula started to degenerate, apparently it also caused these women a significant amount of pain.”

“Why didn’t the three showgirls go to the FDA?”

“Reynolds convinced them he was going to fix the problem.”

“And what? He realized he couldn’t?”

“He realized he couldn’t in time to get FDA approval. So Pookie took it upon herself to ‘fix’ the problem.”

“Why not Reynolds? Or Bennett? Why did she take it upon herself? That seems kind of extreme.”

Jakes ran his hand over his face. He looked so tired. I rubbed the back of his neck, stroked his hair.

“They all had something to gain, but Reynolds says Pookie wanted to make sure it was approved before their divorce was final. FDA approval meant more money for her. Lots more.”

“What were they going to do once the cream was approved?” I asked.