Reunions and Revelations in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery Page 2

  “Yeah. A whole week off.”

  “I can’t wait to get out there, out in the mountains, fending off mountain lions and pumas. Braving storms. Hunting for my dinner. It’s going to be great.”

  “I think if any of those things happened, you’d be dead, Ian. From the attack, Mother Nature, or starvation.”

  “No way. I’ve been reading all about survival. I could handle myself anywhere on the planet. From Arctic tundra to deep in the ocean, to the rainforests of South America. I’m ready for anything.”

  Yeah, in his imagination.

  “Maybe if you asked nicely, Stone might take you out on an expedition.”

  Stone was an old friend of mine, and an expert at anything survival related.

  “Yes, perhaps later in the year. I could give him some tips.”

  “You give him—Ian, has anyone ever told you you’re delusional?”

  He sniffed. “Only you.”

  We got to the bottom of the stairs, and we could hear voices coming from the dining room before we reached it. Amber was admonishing Angel again for some minor infraction, while Joe was laughing at whatever she had just said.

  “Hi, everyone,” I said as I scanned the room looking for a place to sit. I made a beeline for the chair next to Uncle Joe. The centerpiece of the dining room was a large dining table, which had seats for sixteen people set up around it, but there wouldn’t be that many of us today.

  Everyone was there, except for Beryl and Maeve, who were presumably still preparing the food.

  “I’ve never eaten in a dining room like this,” Amber said. “Not in a private house. It’s amazing isn’t it?”

  It was amazing, in a tired, antique way. The room was big and spacious, decorated with paintings of scenes even older than the house. Most of the floor was covered in a massive rug under the tables and chairs that had perhaps been thick the century before, but was now thin and faded. Its original colors were probably burgundy and yellow, though now it was all a kind of beigey brown.

  Below the windows across from me, there was a large glass cabinet full of silver, and above the table hung a large chandelier fitted with what must have been two dozen candle-shaped light bulbs. Half a dozen of them had burned out and not been replaced, but the rest of them worked to give the room a homey glow, not bright enough to reveal the dust and cobwebs which I was sure were lurking in the corners.

  Uncle Joe swung his head up and around, taking it all in. “It sure is something. If you’d told me Beryl would end up in a place like this, I never would have believed it.”

  We were soon joined by the matriarch herself. Beryl’s entrance was foreshadowed by the rapping of her cane, each step preceded by a sharp thump, as she smashed her stick into the floor as if trying to damage it with every step.

  “Sit down—” She peered at us. “I see you already have.”

  We all made to stand up to greet her.

  “I said sit down!”

  We sat. Beryl thumped and shuffled her way to the head of the table and sat down. In front of her was a little handbell. She picked it up and began ringing it. And ringing it. And ringing it.

  “What?” Maeve said as she stepped into the room, a look of displeasure across her face.

  “We are ready to eat. Please bring in dinner.”

  “I was just about to,” Maeve said through gritted teeth.

  “Chop chop.”

  Beryl flicked her fingers forward in a gesture of dismissal. Maeve was only too pleased to leave.

  “Sometimes I wonder why I keep her on.”

  “I don’t think anyone could manage a place like this on their own,” I said.

  “Are you saying I’m old?”

  “She wasn’t saying that, Beryl. She’s saying that this is a big house.” Joe spoke with the practiced air of a man who knew how to deal with the old woman. I guess he hadn’t lost his touch.

  A loud rattling preceded Maeve as she returned to the room, the sound joined by squeaking of old wheels and labored breathing. The housekeeper was pushing a large trolley from which she produced plates of food for all of us, as well as a large pitcher of water which she placed on the table for us to serve ourselves with.

  “It looks lovely,” Amber said politely.

  “Sure smells good,” Joe added, lowering his face over the plate of food that had just been put in front of him.

  I thanked Maeve politely as I received my own. Our dinners were served on large china plates with floral patterns. Using my excellent investigative skills, I tried to work out what in the world the food actually was.

  There was some kind of sliced meat, but it was a bit too gray to be beef, but also too gray to be pork or chicken. I eventually settled on it being beef. Alongside it were carrots and green beans. The visual evidence pointed to the two vegetables having been recently released from imprisonment in tin cans. Everything swam in a small lake of thin brown gravy. Six small boiled potatoes finished off the meal.

  “Did you make dinner rolls?” Beryl asked.

  “No. I was preparing the guest rooms today, remember?”

  “You should have made dinner rolls.”

  The conversation between employer and employee stopped there. Maeve clearly knew she wouldn’t get anywhere by arguing further. And Beryl was hardly likely to get non-existent dinner rolls magicked onto the table.

  We dug into our questionable meal. It actually wasn’t bad—it sure tasted better than it looked—but the whole thing did seem a little last century. I could imagine Nanna eating this when she was a little girl.

  “So, Roman,” Joe said, “you’re a writer?”

  “Of a sort,” said the young man with a self-deprecating smile. “Some might call me more a transcriber and editor. I help people work on their memoirs and autobiographies. They tell me what to write, and I just figure out which bits to snip and how best to arrange what’s left.”

  “It must be very interesting,” Ian said to him.

  “You’d think so.”

  “It’d better be interesting when we’re done after the amount I’m paying you,” Beryl said.

  We all looked at Beryl. She began to laugh. Relieved that she was joking, we all halfheartedly joined her. It wasn’t funny, but what else could we do?

  “Is there anything else?” Maeve asked, shutting our laughter down in an instant. She was standing by the door, waiting to leave.

  “That will be all for now.”

  Maeve began to go, but she paused when Joe spoke up.

  “But you’ll sit down and join us, Maeve.”

  “She will not,” Beryl said.

  “Oh, come on. Let her eat with us. I insist. We all do, don’t we?”

  I made a noncommittal sound of agreement. It was a bit awkward. Joe was my uncle, and I agreed that we should invite the housekeeper to join us. But at the same time, I was a guest in Beryl’s home and I barely knew the lady.

  Uncle Joe went on. “I insist. I will not eat another mouthful until Maeve is sitting with us.”

  “You always did cause trouble, Joe.”

  “Me? Did you ever look in the mirror in your eighty years?”

  For reasons I could not understand, that put a smile on Beryl’s face, and she laughed again. Joe gave her a suspicious look.

  Despite Beryl’s complaints, Maeve was soon seated with us at the table, enjoying her meal and eating it with gusto.

  “How did you end up in Las Vegas, Yumi?” I asked.

  “I wanted to get a master’s degree in tourism. And Las Vegas—well, could there be anywhere better to study tourism? I’m focusing on casino management.”

  “And it’s lucky for me she chose Las Vegas,” Roman said, giving Yumi’s arm a squeeze. “Isn’t that right, love?”

  “Sure is.”

  “I agree,” Beryl declared. “It’s good to travel when you’re young.”

  There were murmurs of agreement around the table. I wondered how many of us actually had traveled much. When you had to work, it was hard t
o get away. Especially if you had two jobs like me—working in a casino and as a private investigator. This was my first vacation in a long time, and I hadn’t even left the state. While it felt like a million miles away, we were still in good old Nevada. I thanked my lucky stars that I lived in the best state in the Union.

  “You mustn’t let yourself get tied down, Yumi.” Beryl gave a pointed look toward Roman. “A few months here, a couple of years there, that’s enough. You’ve got to keep moving. It’s the only way to live.”

  “The way you lived is not the only way,” Joe said with some bitterness.

  “Sorry,” Beryl said. That surprised me. But then, after a pause, she continued. “The only worthwhile way to live.”

  Joe shoved food into his mouth and began to chew it with all his might. I was impressed with his self-control not to argue with her.

  “We,” Roman said, with emphasis, “do plan to travel.”

  “Traveling is best done alone.” Beryl’s eyes were still locked on Yumi.

  “For some people,” Roman said, “but others enjoy doing it together.”

  Beryl responded with a sniff, insulted that her advice was not being taken with the reverence with which someone of her age should be treated.

  “It’s hard to travel when you’ve got responsibilities,” Amber said, rubbing the shoulder of her little girl beside her.

  “You’ve got relatives. That’s what they’re for.” Beryl nodded in my direction. “You could hand the little leech off to someone else for a few months, or a year or two. See the world. That’s what I would do.”

  Joe swallowed his food. “That’s what you did do.”

  Amber was already shaking her head. “I would never do that.”

  “Your loss.”

  And my gain. While it was nice to spend time with Angel every now and then, having her thrust upon me for months or years was a level of responsibility I wasn’t ready to take.

  “Tell us about the house, Beryl,” I said to try to get her off the topic of giving life advice to people who didn’t want to hear it. She’d annoyed Joe, Roman, and Amber already. Possibly Yumi too, but our youngest member still had a gentle smile that seemed unshakeable.

  Maybe that was just the way her face fell. Maybe she was seething on the inside.

  “It belonged to my grandfather, and his grandfather before him. My family used to be in mining. That’s what paid for this house to be built.”

  “What happened to the mines?” Ian asked.

  “The same thing that happens to all mines. They dried up. Became unprofitable to keep excavating. That was back when my grandfather was young, more than a hundred years ago. This house used to be full of people, so they say. There was a whole camp of miners out there, as well. But that was long before my time. The house had become much how you see it today when I was a little girl. Now I’m the only one left.”

  “You do have a daughter, remember?” Joe said rather pointedly.

  “She refuses to speak to me. As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead to me.”

  Joe’s knife and fork clattered against his plate, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “Tell me,” Beryl said, acting oblivious to the upset she was causing. “How many people are we expecting on Sunday for this get together of yours?”

  Joe wasn’t speaking, so I responded for him.

  “There are about thirty more people who are coming out here just for the day. It should be a lot of fun. You know, I only just found out I was related to Uncle Joe, so there are going to be a lot of people I’ve never met before. Ian and Amber too.”

  “It will be a double celebration then.”

  “A double celebration?” I asked.

  “It’s my birthday. This very Sunday. I’m surprised Joe forgot.”

  “You refused to tell me when your birthday was.”

  “Did I? Well, you know now. Remember it. It’s going to be my ninetieth birthday.”

  Joe flew to his feet. “What?”

  “That’s right. Ninety years old. Though Norman says I don’t look a day over seventy. And he would know. He’s a lawyer.”

  Uncle Joe wasn’t interested in whoever Norman was. “Ninety? Then you lied to me? When we were married?”

  “Whatever do you mean, Joe?”

  “You told me you were ten years older than me! Not twenty!”

  Beryl shook her head dismissively. “It’s rude to question a woman’s age, Joe. And anyway, remember what we used to say, age is but a number.”

  “You were forty! I was twenty.”

  “And now you’re seventy, and I’m ninety. Isn’t math fun?”

  “You—You’re—” Joe sunk back into his chair and stared at his plate.

  What had we gotten ourselves into with this woman? She couldn’t seem to open her mouth without making trouble, some of it decades in the making.

  “How’s the land out here?” Ian asked brightly, trying to change the topic. “Is it pretty wild?”

  Beryl smiled at him. “It is. A hundred years ago, there were miners scaring away all the wildlife. But they’ve come back with a vengeance. We’ve got bears, mountain lions. All kinds of things.”

  Ian nodded knowledgeably. “Good. I’m planning to spend some time out there. I’m a bit of an outdoorsman.”

  I wondered what part of him was an outdoorsman. It wasn’t any part I’d ever seen.

  “It’s wild out there. You’d better know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I do. Ian’s hand flashed under the table, and then he whipped it up again, grasping a can triumphantly. Bear mace. Carry it everywhere I go.”

  I stared at him. Bear mace? Carries it everywhere he goes?

  “That’s a good start.” Beryl nodded at him approvingly. “You’ll want something else as well. Just in case.”

  “Yeah?”

  Beryl nodded at him. “You need a firearm. Sometimes bears don’t quit. If they keep coming at you and don’t stop, you want something to put them down. A Clint Eastwood gun. A magnum. That’s what I take with me.”

  At her age, I couldn’t imagine Beryl getting further than from the front door to a vehicle outside.

  “A gun. Good idea.”

  “No, it’s not.” Ian and firearms were a dangerous combination. As was Ian and a knife and fork. Or just Ian and… Ian.

  “Do you have one? Can I borrow it?”

  “We’ll see,” Beryl said. She smiled at my partner. It was the most genuine one I’d yet seen from her.

  Beryl picked up the little bell beside her plate and rang it. “Maeve? Oh, you’re right there. It’s hard to imagine you dining with us. I think we’re done with this course.”

  “I’ll clear it up.” She smacked her knife and fork down on her plate, hard.

  “Marcus and Jini will be here in the morning,” Joe said.

  “Who?” Beryl asked.

  “Surely you remember? My son, Marcus?”

  Beryl shook her head. “You can’t expect me to remember the names of all your litter.”

  Joe leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I think she’s losing it.”

  I wasn’t so sure. I thought she might just be a difficult old woman deliberately trying to wind him up.

  “What was that? I’m not deaf, you know.”

  “Nothing, Beryl.”

  The main course was followed by canned fruit and cream, and more of Beryl’s charming conversation.

  I excused myself after dinner and went back to my room. The bumpy drive had left my whole body aching, and the soft, clean sheets had me passing out at a time that was closer to the middle of my regular day back in Las Vegas than the end of it.

  My last thoughts were of what the rest of Joe’s extended clan were going to be like.

  Hopefully there would be no more Beryls.

  Chapter Three

  In the morning, I drew back the curtains in my room. I peered out the window to find the outside world bright, but murky. The inside of the window was spotless, but the outside o
f the window hadn’t been cleaned since the twentieth century. Maybe the nineteenth. I lifted up the sash. The window rose with a creak and a whine, but at least it went up.

  The world became clear. It was a beautiful morning outside, though the air was much cooler than it was in Las Vegas. It felt cleaner too. Invigorating.

  “Tiffany?” Ian called from outside my room. He banged on the door a few times for good measure. “Let’s get breakfast. Come on!”

  Peaceful view spoiled by my friend and assistant turned cousin.

  “Coming.”

  We went downstairs to see what was cooking. I could smell something already.

  After a quick peek into the dining room, which was empty, we headed toward the kitchen. It turned out that’s where all the action was.

  It was a larger kitchen than any I’d ever seen inside a private home. One end was dominated by a long wood table with two long benches on either side. It was big enough that you could easily seat a dozen people.

  Yumi and Roman were already there, a plate of bacon and eggs in front of each of them. Sausage too. I kept staring at the table, tummy rumbling. There was toast too, and butter, and at least three different preserves, and—

  “Good morning.”

  It was Maeve who had distracted my inventory of the breakfast foods. She was holding a spatula in one hand, and a pair of as yet un-cracked eggs in the other. “Breakfast?”

  “Yes, please. Whatever they’re having.”

  “Very good. I cook breakfast between seven and eight-thirty. We eat in here. Beryl takes hers upstairs.”

  “Breakfast in bed?” Ian asked.

  “Beryl cannot abide people early in the mornings.”

  And people can’t abide her the rest of the time?

  Ian asked, “Can I have breakfast in bed, too?”

  Maeve’s response was a curt, “No.”

  I smirked at Ian.

  Maeve turned back to the cooking end of the kitchen, her immediate business with us now complete. She stood before a massive stove with six burners on top and a pair of ovens that you could fit a small person inside of each, were you so inclined.

  There were miles of counter space, two sinks big enough to wash a roulette wheel, and what looked to be dozens of cupboards, as well as an open door leading into a walk-in packed-to-the-gills pantry.