Just Deserts in Las Vegas Page 9

The footsteps behind me continued. They were heavy. Not the clicking of heels, or the scraping and shuffling of tennis shoes. These were deliberate footsteps by someone wearing boots. Proper boots at that, not pretty ones.

  I passed under another light, and then when I was a dozen steps in front of it I whirled around. My thought was that whoever was behind me—no doubt completely innocently—would be illuminated and I’d be able to get a good look at them.

  But the person behind me wasn’t under the light. They were farther back. I’d completely misjudged the distance between us. In fact, the light only served to make it even harder to see who it was. But I could make out a shape, and it was a big one. A few yards behind the pool of light there was a silhouette of a man who’d stopped walking just like I had.

  The man’s shape looked familiar.

  Or maybe I just wanted it to look familiar. I mean, how much can you really tell in the dark?

  “Stone?”

  The man turned and walked away, far faster than he had been walking before. Heavy steps on long legs, the kind of steps I’d need to run to keep up with.

  I stared after him, squinting my eyes, wishing, hoping to see more. To see Stone.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, the shadowy figure just faded into the shadows, turning into another alley and disappearing.

  I stood there, arms folded in front of me, staring after him, trying to process what I saw.

  But all I had was the memory of a shadowy silhouette at 2:15 in the morning.

  I reached into my bag, tempted to call Jack, in Macau. But what would I say to him? I hadn’t seen a face or any identifying features. It was a feeling more than anything else.

  And if I had seen Stone, why did he hurry away from me? That didn’t make any sense. It had to have been someone else, someone who didn’t like being spotted by me.

  I let my fingers fall from my phone in my bag. I wasn’t going to call Jack. I wasn’t going to call anyone.

  Instead, I turned and carried on with my journey home. I tried to get back to thinking about the case while I walked, but I couldn’t focus on it.

  All I could think about was that silhouette. That big, broad-shouldered outline of a man looking in my direction.

  Watching me?

  Or watching over me?

  Chapter Twelve

  On Tuesday morning, I was buzzing with adrenaline as we drove over to Amber’s office to pick up Ian’s niece. The adrenaline rush wasn’t from the excitement of getting to look after a toddler for the day, but rather because Ian was driving. He was still practicing, and his improvement was progressing at a glacial pace.

  “Ian! Eyes on the road.”

  He had started fiddling with the radio while the traffic was stopped, which was fine, but the fact he continued while trying to drive forward when the traffic cleared was not. Especially since he had the spatial awareness of a drunk golden retriever.

  “Don’t worry! I’ve got this. I’m really getting the hang of driving now.”

  “You think so, huh?” I slowly relaxed my double death grip—one hand on the handle above the door, the other gripping my seatbelt, but ready to snatch the wheel at any moment. Just in case.

  “Oh, yeah. I was thinking maybe I should get a manual car when I buy one. They’re a lot more fun to drive.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I read an article about it. ‘Real Men Drive Stick.’ It was pretty interesting.”

  While Ian certainly met the technical requirements to be classed as a real man, I didn’t think the article in question was referring to men who were real the way Ian was. Even if he did dress up as a cowboy on the weekend.

  “When you’re still a beginner, driving shouldn’t be fun. It should be a serious and careful endeavor. I suggest you don’t worry about making it fun until you’ve got a couple of years’ practice under your belt.” Or a couple of decades, ideally.

  In front of us, a traffic light turned green, and Ian immediately leaned on the horn to encourage the car in front of us to a sprinting start. The driver beeped its own horn back at us and slowly began to move forward, deliberately taking their time.

  “Some drivers, huh?” he said to me in a spirit of camaraderie.

  “Yeah. Some drivers.”

  We made it all the way to his cousin’s office without me needing to snatch the wheel, and with no major heart attacks and a few incidents of shrieking on my part. A pretty successful journey with Ian in my book.

  When we arrived, Amber was standing in front of the door to her office, Angel in front of her looking as sweet as a fresh-frosted cupcake. Beside them were a child’s car seat and a bag of supplies.

  “Looks like they’re ready to go. I should have driven faster.”

  “No, you definitely shouldn’t have.” I got out of the car and walked up to the office door, smiling at Amber. I liked to smile at her because she looked like me, and it felt like I was smiling into a mirror. A mirror in which the person reflected back at me was a lawyer instead of a detective-dealer, but a mirror nonetheless.

  “Hi, guys.” I crouched down. “Are you ready to come and be a detective today, Angel?”

  Angel looked at me with wide, innocent, saucer eyes, before pulling a gun and shooting me. A finger gun, that is.

  “Pow! Pow!”

  “There won’t be any of that!” I said to Amber nervously. “We’re just going to be talking to a couple of Ian’s friends. There won’t be any shooting or fighting or anything like that. Mostly driving around and boring conversations.”

  Amber was nodding at me. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. I’m not sure where Angel got the idea that detectives go around shooting people all day long, but Ian assured me you don’t do that. Speaking of, what’s he doing?”

  I’d thought Ian would be right behind me when I walked up to the office, but he clearly wasn’t. We both looked back to see him standing by one of the rear doors of my car, leaning inside. He re-emerged in his normal gangly upright position and walked toward us.

  “I just had to clear a space for Angel’s car seat,” he said as he approached.

  Angel rushed down the stairs, and enveloped one of his legs, halting his progress toward us. “Uncle Ian!” she yelled in excitement.

  I picked up the car seat and began to carry it over to my car.

  “You better give me that,” Ian said, taking it with one hand while he held Angel’s hand in the other.

  “You know how to put it in?”

  “Sure. I watched twelve different YouTube videos last night.”

  I was impressed, and relieved. I had visions of myself leaning into the back of my car, swearing and stretching and getting frustrated as I tried to install it.

  I crouched down so I was at Angel’s height and watched with surprise as Ian installed the car seat in no time. Angel clapped her hands together, and I found myself joining her.

  “Good job!” I yelled at him, in much the same way I would have praised Angel.

  “Thanks,” he said, stepping back with an inordinate amount of pride visible on his face.

  “I’m impressed,” Amber said as she approached us, offering Ian the bag full of supplies and goodies for looking after Angel.

  “Yeah, I’m a bit of a car guy,” Ian said nonchalantly.

  I was amused to think that Ian considered installing child seats to be the kind of thing that car guys were into. Pleased, though.

  “I’m really sorry to rush you guys, but I’ve got to get to a conference—thank goodness it’s here in the city—thanks again for looking after Angel. You be good now, won’t you?”

  Angel looked up at her Mom and began to giggle like she’d just said the funniest thing in the world. Amber apparently took that as confirmation, and with a final wave and repeat of her thanks, rushed off to her car.

  “Wave goodbye to Mommy,” Ian said to Angel, as the three of us watched Amber peel out of the parking lot at a rapid pace.

  When we’d finished waving, An
gel looked up at Ian and me.

  “Pow! Pow!” she said, shooting us both with her fingers.

  “I guess that means its time to get sleuthing.”

  Ian and I had a minor disagreement about where we wanted to start the investigation. I thought it would be a good idea to talk to Sally first, since she could give us some insider information on her friends, who were our suspects. But Ian didn’t agree.

  “Let’s give her a bit more time to cool down first. You saw how angry she was at me on Sunday. She said if I was going to accuse her friends of being murderers, then she didn’t want to talk to me at all.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Let’s talk to Pepper. I mean, it was probably her or Dylan who did it anyway, right?”

  “Did it?” Angel called from the back seat. “Did it! Did it!”

  “We’ll talk to everyone with an open mind. But I think we need to perhaps watch what we say. I think we might have a parrot with us,” I said, jerking my thumb behind me.

  “Parrot?” Angel called loudly. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror and saw the excitement on her face.

  “Let’s just go before we say anything else,” Ian said. “To Pepper’s.”

  “Fine. But we’re going to have to talk to Sally eventually. Maybe you could call her tonight and try and clear the air with her.”

  “Yeah,” he said dubiously. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

  I drove us to Pepper’s condo. With Angel in the car, it seemed prudent for us to put Ian’s driving practice on hold for the rest of the day.

  Pepper lived on the twentieth floor of a beautiful modern building with a spectacular view of the Strip in the middle distance.

  “Come in, come in,” she said from the hallway as we exited the elevator. We’d spoken to her through the intercom on the street and she’d come out to the hall to greet us.

  Ian introduced his cousin’s daughter as we approached, and Pepper gave her a friendly but somewhat wary greeting.

  “Are you a good girl?” Pepper asked.

  “Angel’s an angel,” I said, telling Pepper one of my first lies of the day.

  “No!” Angel shouted, before bursting into giggles.

  Pepper laughed nervously and led us inside.

  “Nice place!” Ian said as soon as we were inside. “How much does it cost you?”

  The condo looked like something out of a magazine—all the furniture matched and had a delightfully modern look to it. The hardwood floors were sparkling clean, and on the far side of the room from the entrance were floor to ceiling windows with breathtaking views. It was like being in a miniature, more homey version of Jack’s office in the Tremonte.

  Pepper laughed and ignored Ian’s question. “I have this condo for my brand. I have to live somewhere s’cool, you know? People don’t want to follow people who live in some grungy old apartment.”

  Ian and I exchanged a look. Was she talking about the building we lived in? I mean, technically she was right, it was kind of old and grungy, but I preferred to think of it as having character. And the location was great. And the rent wasn’t quite as eye-watering as it would be in a place like this.

  “Drawing!” Angel shouted and began to rush across the room. Her target was a large whiteboard on rolling wheels set up in front of part of the window.

  “Oh… don’t, don’t touch… please…” Pepper scurried after Angel.

  Ian and I strolled behind the pair of them, past a gleaming white leather sofa and a white rug that looked to be fake polar bear. At least I hoped it was fake.

  The whiteboard caught our interest almost as much as it had Angel’s. On the top was written in big letters, Pepper’s Ghost Town Ideas! And underneath were a series of bullet points: spooky nights, vegan retreats, yoga weekends, influencer training, photoshoots, non-vegan barbecue weekends, hunting, ghost hunting, horseback riding.

  Angel snatched a whiteboard marker off the little shelf at the bottom, pulled off the lid with practiced skill, and immediately dropped to the floor where she began to swing the marker in a sweeping arc around her on the wooden surface.

  “Drawing!” she shouted.

  “No!” Ian and Pepper said simultaneously.

  Ian lifted Angel up from the floor while Pepper dropped to her knees and began to wipe at the surface with a tissue. Luckily the marker came straight off the varnished surface of the wood, but it didn’t alleviate Pepper’s consternation.

  “Oh, please, please don’t do that. Can you stop her? Please?”

  “Maybe she could draw on the whiteboard?” I suggested.

  Pepper stood back up, looked at the whiteboard, and then back at me. She knew I’d seen the list.

  “This is just, you know, some ideas. It’s how Dylan and I cope with the grief. We just… make lists. You know?”

  “Right. Sure. Why don’t you snap a photo of your list and then let Angel draw on the board?”

  Pepper nodded. “Don’t need a picture.” She grabbed the board eraser from the little shelf and quickly wiped away all of her ideas from the board.

  “Angel?” Pepper said nervously.

  Angel was now standing beside Ian, innocent eyes staring up at Pepper.

  “Draw on the board. I’ll get you a chair. But not on the floor, okay? Or on the sofa—”

  “On sofa?”

  “No! Just the board!” Pepper rapped her knuckles on the board. “Just here. Only here. Nowhere else. Okay?” She turned to Ian. “Does she understand? Can you tell her?”

  “Only board,” Angel said. “Okay!” She snatched up a marker and began to scrawl on the board like a true little angel.

  I wondered how long that would last.

  Pepper walked across the condo to the kitchen area, where she removed a stainless-steel chair from under a dining table and carried it back over.

  “There, stand on this. Then you can reach the whole board.”

  Angel clambered up onto the chair, and for a few moments, it looked like we could talk to Pepper in relative peace while our young artist got to work.

  Pepper gestured for us to follow her to the sofa where Ian and I sat down, while Pepper pulled around a white armchair to sit facing us.

  “So. Guys. What’s up?” Pepper’s eyes flicked back to Angel for a moment before refocusing on us. “It was a terrible weekend, wasn’t it?”

  “Absolutely tragic,” I said somberly.

  “Silver Bend was nice though,” Ian said a touch too chirpily.

  “Pepper, I’m sure you know why we’re here.”

  “Not really.”

  “Didn’t you speak to your father?”

  She shook her head. “Not since Sunday.”

  “Ah. The thing is, Pepper, he’s hired us to investigate what happened to your Nanna. He wants us to see if we can’t find out more than the cops can.”

  “Oh. I see.” Pepper stared down at her knees a moment, then her head whipped back up. “Oh! Can I film you guys? I won’t use all of it, but I can probably cut it to make it look really exciting. Detectives investigating my own Nanna’s murder! Wow!”

  “No, Pepper, you can’t do that,” I said firmly. “It would not be appropriate in the slightest. We just want to ask you a few questions. We’re going to talk to everyone who was there that weekend.”

  Pepper didn’t look pleased. “Well, what do you want to talk to me for? I don’t know what happened.”

  “We have to eliminate all the suspects until we find out who did it,” Ian said.

  “But I’m not a suspect. She was my Nanna!”

  “Suspect!” Angel shouted helpfully from her chair across the room. I stopped myself from smiling at her, but Ian didn’t, even giving her a little clap to Pepper’s annoyance.

  “In these kinds of cases, everyone is a suspect until they’ve been eliminated,” I said as diplomatically as I could. No one likes being told they’re a suspect in the death of someone dear to them.

  “What about you?”

  “It wasn’
t me, I was with my Nanna and my dog. And I had no motive.”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t have any motive.”

  I glanced back in Angel’s direction, this time at the whiteboard. A board that until a couple of minutes previously had a list of things Pepper was considering doing with her dead Nanna’s ghost town.

  “Pepper, don’t you stand to inherit a substantial part of your grandmother’s estate?”

  She stared at me. “Yeah, but so what? Look—” She pointed around the room. “I don’t need money! And she was my Nanna. You’d have to be sick—really sick—to think I’d ever harm her just for an inheritance.”

  “Please, Pepper, we’re not accusing you of anything. We simply want to talk to everyone who was there. There’s no need for anyone to get upset.”

  “It’s hard not to be upset when your Nanna’s dead,” she said quietly, indignation still audible in her tone.

  “Where’s Dylan?” Ian asked.

  “Out. He’s got a gig.”

  “Did he help you make the list that was on the whiteboard?”

  “Yes. It’s just something we were doing last night. We’re both so upset over it all. We did it to take our minds off what happened. I heard that thinking about the future is a good way to get over grief.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked her.

  “Yeah. Suzie Bright said it on her channel. It seemed logical to me. So Dylan and I got to thinking about the future. You know, someone’s going to have to do something with Silver Bend, and I doubt Dad will want to…”

  “Right. Pepper, do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm your Nanna? Or who would have benefited from her death?”

  She slowly shook her head.

  “Of the people who were there? No. Not at all. It definitely wasn’t any of my friends. If it was anyone there, it must have been Abner.”

  “Do you have any reason to suspect him?”

  “Nanna said he wasn’t that excited to open the town up to the public. He liked the quiet. Maybe he wanted to stop her opening?”

  We sat in silence for a moment while I contemplated that idea. Nanna and I had met Abner before the others had arrived, and although he struck me as a somewhat strange character, it was hard to imagine him as a killer. Or if he was, it would be in a duel in the dusty main road, not sneaking around in the night blocking up chimneys.