Innocent in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  I dealt the cards, made some small talk, and dealt some more. Midwesterners in colorful clothes, businessmen on the last day of their holiday, and groups of partying kids came and went, won and lost. I laughed at their terrible jokes, told them sincerely that I hoped they won, and accepted their tips.

  I moved between tables and there were times when I had to concentrate – when I was calculating the payouts on roulette or blackjack, when I was trying to charm players into giving me more tips, or when I needed to deal with an angry drunk guy and had to marshal up my meager powers of diplomacy.

  But every other moment, when I was alone at a table, on a break between shifts, or working in a zombie-like trance, I thought about Leo Becker.

  The kid was cute. I understood why Sophia couldn’t imagine him being a killer – he seemed so naïve and sweet and easy-going. It might have been one big act, but he’d seemed too hung-over to pretend. The inheritance could’ve been a motivation for anyone else, but Leo didn’t seem to care much about money.

  I quickly ruled out Leo as a suspect and began to wonder about Ethan and Sophia’s marriage instead. Had Ethan really been having affairs, and if so, had Sophia known about them? In between dealing cards for a game of PaiGow and coquettishly refusing the advances of an inebriated Asian man, I wondered if Sophia had been hiding anything from me.

  After my shift finished, I went home. I stayed up for a long time, unable to sleep. It was my first day on my first real case, and I could feel the anxiety building within me – I wouldn’t find anything new, Sophia would be convicted, and I would never get another job as a PI. My own client was hiding things from me and I was terrible at interviewing people. I wasn’t tough and cynical enough; why would anyone ever hire me again? On top of all that, I would never meet anyone decent in this stupid town, Nanna would never get to see great-grandkids, and I would die alone – unloved, miserable and a failure.

  At some point, I curled up into a tiny ball of neuroses and drifted off to sleep.

  When I woke up in the late morning, the first thing I did was to call Sophia and tell her that I needed to see her, would she be home half an hour from now?

  “Of course,” she said, laughing bitterly, “Where else could I go? I was always the scandalous stripper and now I’m the outcast.”

  I hung up and raced through my apartment, pulling on jeans, running a comb through my hair and tumbling over myself in the rush to get to my car. In my haste to meet Sophia, I contributed to the speeding problem on the expressway and, like everyone else who was driving above the speed limit, I felt perfectly justified in doing so.

  After the previous night’s near panic-attack, I was determined to crush through my fears and figure out whatever I could to help Sophia be acquitted. I told myself I could do it, I would focus on one thing at a time, and before long all my work would be finished – and then I would let myself stress over everything else that was wrong in my life.

  By the time I entered Sophia’s pretentious mansion, I was in a slightly bad mood. I was annoyed at all the expressway drivers who’d been in my way, and at Sophia for hiding facts about her marriage from me. Plus, I was caffeine-deprived.

  So after Sophia ushered me into her mansion, I skipped the small talk and announced, “I need coffee and some breakfast.”

  If Sophia was surprised by my bluntness, she didn’t show it. She didn’t even make a snarky remark about not being a café – she merely turned around and led me to her large, gleaming marble-and-stainless-steel kitchen where she heated up a blueberry Danish and made me a latte.

  As soon as I had two bites of Danish and a sip of coffee inside me, I turned to Sophia and said, “Tell me what you know about Ethan’s infidelities.”

  There was something in my tone that told her not to evade the question. Or maybe it was the wild glint in my eyes, my crazy hair, or just the fact that she wanted me out of her house before I guzzled my way through all of her expensive coffee. Either way, Sophia said, “Before or after I married him?”

  “Both.” I took another sip of the coffee. “But start with after.”

  Sophia’s eyes drifted downwards and she raised her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I should’ve seen it coming. He was rich, he could do whatever he wanted. I had a vague hope that he’d be faithful to me but I guess I wasn’t enough.”

  “When did you find out?”

  “Three months after our wedding. He was having one-night stands. Six months later, I thought he might be serious about someone else.”

  “And then?”

  “I was bitter about the one-nighters, but I freaked out about the affair. I thought he might leave me, so I raised hell. As far as I know, he ended it. I reminded him that if I had evidence of the affair, a divorce court would null the pre-nup for me. He got more careful after that.”

  “But?”

  Sophia sighed. “It’s not like he stopped seeing the women. He just got more careful. Three months before he died, I was pretty sure he was seeing someone again. But Ethan promised me he’d start getting therapy, and we’d work on making the marriage better.” She looked at me seriously. “I don’t want you to think he was a bad man or we had an unhappy marriage.”

  Who was I to judge? The closest I came to romance in my own life was when I bought heart-shaped boxes of chocolate for myself. My last serious relationship had been over a year ago, and I’d come to accept that finding and being with a man you loved wasn’t as easy as it seemed in those upbeat romantic movies.

  I shrugged and finished my Danish. “I don’t care about your marriage. But this does give you a motive for murder. Did anyone else know he was unfaithful to you?”

  “I’m sure a few people did.”

  “Did anyone know you were unhappy about his affairs?”

  “Probably. I had a fight with him in his office a few weeks before he died. I thought he was seeing someone there. But he kept telling me we’d be fine, we’d work things out and stay together.”

  I swirled my tepid coffee around in the snazzy glass latte cup. “Who was she?”

  “What?”

  “Who was the girl?”

  Sophia shook her head. “She could be anyone. A stripper, a friend, someone he ran into on the street.”

  “But you had your suspicions.”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I thought it might be Audrey. This girl I was introduced to, once.”

  “Audrey who?”

  “Audrey Waldgraf.” She shook her head again. “But I don’t want to make false accusations.”

  “What makes you think it was Audrey? Who is she?”

  “Ethan’s casino was being audited… ”

  I almost spit out my coffee. “By the Gaming Commission? This is huge!”

  “No. This was an internal audit.”

  I let out a breath. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, Audrey’s firm was looking at the Riverbelle’s accounting.”

  “Nothing to do with the gaming?”

  “No, Audrey worked at Spencer, Tyler and Goldberg, the audit firm Ethan had hired.”

  “And what makes you think she…?”

  Sophia frowned. “Like I said, I’m not sure. But one time when I went to the casino to pick up Ethan, she was there, and Steven introduced us. She was cute.”

  “And?”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “It was a hunch. Ethan started acting weird again, coming home late, going on strange trips. I caught him with a pair of Cartier diamond earrings one time. He claims they were for a high-roller client, but I’m not stupid. I saw Audrey a few days later, wearing a flawless diamond pendant that cost more than her annual salary.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments and then Sophia said softly, “The thing that got to me was the effort he put in. He’s always gone for the women he’ll get easily, the ones who are super-eager to sleep with him. He’s never bothered to chase someone.”

  “I’m pretty convinced from your story that he was seeing Audrey. Did you ever ask Eth
an about her?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not like I saw them together or anything. The first time, before he got careful, I caught him in bed with a woman.”

  Her voice was dry and cynical, and I stared at her like she was nuts. Which she was. If it had been me, I would have shot Ethan that very first time.

  I didn’t like my thoughts travelling down that route, so I said, “Tell me about before.”

  “Well,” Sophia said, “To hear him tell it, he never found true love. Vanessa was a good wife, but just not…”

  “He told you that?”

  She shook her head. “Word gets around. He used to visit the club when he was still married to Vanessa, and strippers talk to their clients.”

  “That was ten years ago. You wouldn’t have been working then.”

  “No. But rumors trickle down.”

  “So… he told the strippers he wasn’t happy with Vanessa, that’s why he slept around?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Anyone else tell you this?”

  Sophia smiled. “When you’re about to get married to one of the richest men in Vegas, people will tell you things.”

  “People who?”

  “Leo had dinner with us before we got married. He told me I’d be just like his mom, unhappy with a cheating husband.”

  “How’d Ethan react?”

  “He said Leo didn’t know what he was talking about.”

  Once a cheater, always a cheater. But I didn’t know how this information helped in the investigation. So I said, “I talked to Leo yesterday.”

  Sophia nodded. “Cute kid, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re wasting time talking to him. Any jury’ll love that guy. You need to speak to Neil, I’m sure he’ll let something slip.”

  I wasn’t quite so sure, but it was on my list of things to do and I might as well get it over with. “Where’s the best place to find him?”

  “Go to the casino, you can pretend you’re there for business or something.”

  I nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything else to talk about, so I thanked her for the breakfast and left.

  It took me a stressful half hour to get from Sophia’s gated mansion to my humble off-Strip condo. Once home, I reflected on the fact that I was feeling slightly better about my work, incredibly disgusted with Sophia’s ‘marriage,’ and a whole lot more caffeinated. I pulled out my laptop and did some research on the Riverbelle Casino and its employees.

  After making a few notes, I dialed Neil Durant’s cell phone number and held my breath, hoping he would answer and fall for my plan.

  Chapter Seven

  He answered after two rings. “Neil Durant.”

  “Hi, Neil. This is Tiffany Black, I’m a reporter for the Nevada Times and I was wondering if I– ”

  “You’ll have to speak to my PR officer, she deals with press.”

  “Natasha Williams? Yes, I’ve already spoken with her. She said it’s best, in this case, if I speak with you directly; she gave me your private cell phone number.”

  There was silence for a few seconds. Neil must’ve decided my story added up, because his next words were, “What’s this about?”

  “Mainly some questions about Riverbelle’s future direction. I’d like to speak to you in person about the specifics. Are you free anytime today?”

  I held my breath, hoping Neil would say yes.

  After a brief pause he said, “I’ve got ten minutes at 3 pm.”

  Before I could thank him, he hung up. I smiled to myself, relieved that my plan had worked, and rehearsed what I’d say in my head.

  I drove to the Riverbelle with a few minutes to spare. I wore a black pant-suit, my most expensive Manolo Blahnik stilettos, and a chunky cocktail ring on my right hand. I hoped my outfit somehow screamed ‘reporter’ and that Neil would agree to tell me something interesting.

  The Riverbelle Casino was toward the northern end of the strip, and though the exterior wasn’t as flashy as the Bellagio or Caesar’s Palace, it had a clean, modern look. Parking was a breeze and I walked over to the lobby. The large gaming pit was visible from where I stood and had a modestly busy look – if I had to guess, I’d say that the Riverbelle was doing decent business. Not great, but not too bad either for these crazy economic times.

  “Hi,” I said to the serious-looking man in Reception. “I’m here for an appointment with Neil Durant. Tiffany Black.”

  He glanced at me, checked something on his computer, and then handed me a blank plastic keycard. “Go left and take the elevator,” he said, sounding bored. “Swipe the keycard and press 37.”

  I thanked him and headed off, noting the security cameras everywhere. There were cameras along the lobby, cameras in the hallways and cameras in the elevator.

  I got off on what was obviously a corporate floor, accessible only by those with the right keycards. There was a small reception counter, beyond which I could see an open-plan working area with executives typing away at computers. There were large rooms beyond the open-plan area, walled off by translucent frosted glass. I guessed that the largest room was the security team’s workspace and the medium-sized rooms were conference areas and executive offices.

  I walked up to the cute blonde working at reception and said, “I’m here to see Neil Durant.”

  She smiled and nodded. “He’ll just be a minute.”

  I waited on the couch nearby and the receptionist was right – a stunningly good-looking man appeared within a few minutes. We introduced ourselves and I followed him back to his office. I was impressed that he hadn’t kept me waiting long, and hopeful about the interview.

  Neil looked like he was in his late twenties, but I guessed he was actually in his late thirties or early forties and spent a lot of effort maintaining his ex-model good looks. He was tall, muscular and tanned, with a Botox-smoothed forehead. His hair was dark and slightly long. I promised myself I’d do some more research when I got home and look up photos of Neil modeling underwear.

  As I settled into the chair opposite his desk, I noticed he was observing me with an intensity that would have seemed creepy in a less good-looking man. I smiled and said, “Why don’t we get started with the interview?”

  “Of course. What would you like to ask?”

  I pulled out an MP3 voice recorder and placed it on the table between us. Immediately, Neil shook his head. “No recordings.”

  Damn. I put the recorder back in my purse, but left it playing. Without the interviewee’s consent, a recording wouldn’t be admissible evidence in a court, but it might help me later when I was putting together my notes.

  “The first thing I want to ask,” I said, “Is what your future plans are for the Riverbelle Casino.”

  Neil leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. He crossed his hands behind his head in a gesture of mock relaxation, but I could tell that he was still watching me suspiciously, as though I might suddenly do something crazy like pull a gun on him or jump onto his desk and start dancing topless.

  “I have big plans,” he said, “But they’re private. What’s the next question?”

  “Uh.” I stared at him in confusion for a split second. That first question had been a ruse, intended to get him to lower his guard and start spouting corporate bullshit about how wonderful the casino was and how they would be even more profitable soon. His hostile answer threw me off a bit, and was at odds with how eager he seemed to be to do the interview. I decided to push ahead regardless. “How has Ethan Becker’s death affected the Riverbelle?”

  His eyes brightened and he leaned forward. “It’s business as usual. I was the CEO when he was around, and I made most of the decisions. That hasn’t changed.”

  “And how has Mr. Becker’s death affected you personally?”

  “I miss him, of course. But that hasn’t affected my work or the profitability and future growth trends of the Riverbelle.”

  “I believe you and Mr. Becker had some disagreements when h
e was alive?”

  “Yes, I didn’t always agree with his ideas for the Riverbelle.”

  “And did you have any disagreements on personal issues?”

  Neil shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “Well – I am writing an article about the Riverbelle’s past and future, so I’d like to g– ”

  “Really? Because I talked to Natasha, and she said you never talked to her. And then I called the Nevada Times, and they said nobody named Tiffany Black works for them.”

  My eyes widened and I could feel the blood draining from my face. I was surprised Neil had even talked to me for so long.

  He smiled. “Why don’t we get this cleared up? Who are you really working for?”

  I kept staring at him in shock. My mind had gone blank and I tried desperately to switch it back on. Why hadn’t I planned a back-up identity?

  “Alpha Investments? The Warkowski brothers?” Neil mistook my shock for stubbornness and said, “I’ve had a few proposals already, and you won’t get any information unless you let me know who the buyer is.”

  “Buyer?”

  “For the Riverbelle.”

  Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? That would have been a great cover. I was about to launch into a story about how I worked for a private buyer, but then I stopped. That wouldn’t help me at all – Neil would just talk about financials, and how great he was at his job.

  “I’m a private investigator,” I admitted. “I’m not working for any investors, I’m just looking into Ethan Becker’s death.”

  It was Neil’s turn to look at me in shock, and for one split second I was pleased by his reaction. And then I realized he would clam up, so I quickly said, “This isn’t about you. I just have a few quick questions about Mr. and Mrs. Becker.”

  Neil crossed his arms. “Who hired you?”

  “Sophia Becker.”

  He broke out into a short laugh and said, “That woman thinks hiring you will help her? No way. I can’t stand that… witch.”

  “Uh… I just w– ”

  “Nope. Not answering any questions.”