All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1) Page 10

  Parker sat and rubbed the back of his neck. “You could be onto something. On the other hand, many others could have been jealous enough of Ambrosia Dawn to kill her.”

  He was right. “Or just angry at her. She sounds like a real bitch. People like that don’t pick on just one staff person. They pick on several of them.”

  “Unfortunately.” Parker blew out a breath. “Delta Langford had some serious emotional problems. Blythe struck me as more self-possessed.”

  “Yeah, but maybe she’s just a good actress.”

  “Could be.”

  There was a knock at the door and Parker opened it to a waiter pushing a white-clothed table laden with delicious smelling food. And coffee.

  As soon as he’d gotten things settled and tipped the guy, she rushed for a cup.

  He snatched it out of her hand and poured from the silver chalice. “Sit.”

  She shook her head at him. “You’re such a southern gentleman.”

  He handed her the cup. “It’s in my blood, if you recall.”

  “I do.” She slurped it greedily.

  Before Parker could pour himself one, his cell rang. It was O’Toole. After they exchanged a look of surprise, Parker answered. The meeting was at three at the casino’s big stage.

  He hung up and put the phone in his pocket.

  “Long time to wait.”

  He nodded. “Once we finish, why don’t we go down to the gaming area and see what we can see.”

  “Snooping around in a casino? Sounds like fun.” And just what she thought they should do.

  Chapter Twenty

  The glass elevator whooshed past floor after floor on its way down to the lobby, and Miranda felt the knots in her stomach tightened. But it wasn’t from the rush.

  Their first solid suspect had turned out to be innocent. Now they had dozens of other folks to interview. And the superefficient Sergeant O’Toole had now taken over the investigation. Even though she agreed with Parker it was something O’Toole should have done to start with, she couldn’t help wondering if they were ever going to solve their first case.

  And if they couldn’t find a viable suspect, if the case went cold, what would that mean for this enterprise? If Ambrosia Dawn’s killer wasn’t found soon, there would be outrage in the media. Nationwide. Would the Parker Agency get blamed? They’d probably have a hard time getting another client. Would Parker cut his losses and call it quits before their reputation had been damaged too much?

  Well, that just wasn’t going to happen. Miranda wouldn’t let it. This was her life. Her destiny. What she was meant to do. Besides, she couldn’t stand the idea of the famous singer’s murder going unsolved. Even if the woman had been a total bitch.

  She stole a glance at Parker and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. This morning his fine form was clad in a deep charcoal suit, white tailored shirt, red silk tie embossed in a classy pattern. His skin was tan from being outside yesterday, and with his salt-and-pepper hair and the distinguished lines in his gorgeous face, he was hotter than the desert sun. But she couldn’t read his thoughts.

  Miranda had selected dark slacks, black alligator belt, and a gray silk sleeveless blouse with lots of buttons and fake pockets Coco had picked out for her. Plus she had her thick dark hair pulled back in a roll at the nape of her neck, a style Mackenzie and Wendy had tried on her over the holidays.

  Since everyone else would be casually attired, they were going to look pretty intimidating at the interviews this afternoon. She hoped that would get them some answers.

  Before they reached the ground floor, her cell buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, hoping it was a text from Mackenzie or Wendy. It wasn’t. “Well, look at that.”

  “What is it?”

  “Ralston managed to dig up a photo of Sean Scott.”

  “The bodyguard who was dating Suzie Chan?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Parker leaned over to view the screen she angled toward him and they both took a look.

  Must have been a resume photo from the polished look. The guy had a lady-killer smile, with dimpled cheeks and bright white teeth. Blond crew cut. Deep tan. Tight baby blue knit shirt over acres of muscles. “Looks like a bodybuilder. What you’d expect from a bodyguard.”

  Parker stroked his chin. “I wonder if he’ll come back to town.”

  She stared at him. “Are you still thinking he’s involved?”

  “You never know.”

  “True, but if they were just fuck buddies, like Suzie Chan said, he probably thought it was more of a joke when Ambrosia Dawn threatened to fire them if they didn’t break up.”

  Parker winced at the crass term. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he didn’t like being told what to do with his personal life.”

  “Still, murder someone because of that? Awfully risky.”

  “Some people thrive on risk.” He eyed her closely. Was he talking about her? “If he was close to Chan, he might know about the tea she prepared for the singer.”

  Good point. “Maybe we should check out Scott’s place again.”

  “If he’s back, he should be at Cameron Forest’s meeting this afternoon.”

  “True.” And it would be better to surprise him there, Miranda decided, feeling the pull in her stomach as the elevator reached the lobby and began to slow.

  “I suggest we get our bearings down here and see what we can see.”

  “Good a plan as any at this point,” she agreed.

  The doors opened and they stepped out and strolled—at tourist pace—past the sparkling waterfall, the golden stairways, the modern art shapes. They bypassed the halls leading to the spas and restaurants and headed for the gaming area.

  As soon as they stepped into the massive space, Miranda’s jaw dropped. She had been in small bars with a poker machine or two before and places where there was under-the-table gambling, but she’d never seen a whole floor of them.

  They strolled over a gaudy carpet through a huge, dimly lit space that rang out with the happy electronic tunes of a multitude of slot machines. In row upon row of threes and fives, it was the machines that provided most of the light. Their bright panels and flashing wheels could probably light up a small town in Nebraska.

  The air hinted at a flowery scent, something piped through the air ducts to camouflage the smoke, no doubt.

  To one side were flashing billboards advertising Keno and Poker. Against another wall was a block of maybe a dozen big screen TVs, playing every sports station in the world. Rows of lighted numbers were displayed and cashiers were on hand to take your bets.

  Miranda leaned toward Parker and whispered. “A person could lose an entire trust fund in one afternoon here.”

  “And some of them do.”

  She eyed him cautiously. “I know your taste for risk.”

  He chuckled. “It’s you I’m worried about. Shall I give you an allowance?”

  There was a time when a remark like that would have her throwing the man flat on his back, sexy ace investigator or not. Since she left her abusive husband over thirteen years ago, it was a point of pride that she had earned her own keep and she’d never take any money from a man. Least of all gambling money. But she’d gotten used to the way Parker would spoil her on occasion.

  So now she just gave him a cynical laugh. “If you recall, I know how to pinch pennies.”

  He returned a knowing smile. “I do.”

  They passed by a wide block of windows revealing a long hall plastered with artwork. Across from them were blackjack tables. Dozens of them.

  It wasn’t quite noon, so there hadn’t been many players at the slot machines, though some diehards were on their stools, attention focused on the flashing images before their faces. There were only a few folks at the blackjack tables as well. About three tables had a decent amount of players.

  They strolled toward them casually. Suddenly Parker stopped and nodded toward a column.

  Miranda stepped over to it and he followed. He rested a hand aga
inst it as if he were about to kiss her.

  “Are you getting frisky again?” she grinned.

  He bent his head and brushed his mouth against her cheeks. Then his lips were at her ear. “Very slowly, look over at the second table on your left.”

  She waited for him to pull back, then smiling coyly as if she were seducing him, she cast a nonchalant glance in the direction he described. She almost dropped the flirting ruse when she spotted him.

  Sitting at the far end of the third blackjack table from where they stood was a good-looking young man in a tight black knit top and jeans. He had a winning smile, muscular build and a blond crew cut.

  Miranda turned back to Parker and slipped her arms around his neck. She pulled him to her and whispered. “That’s Sean Scott. He looks just like the photo Ralston sent.”

  “He does indeed.”

  “Maybe we’ve got a lucky streak going.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “We need to watch him,” she whispered, her senses coming alive.

  “Do you know how to play blackjack?”

  She shook her head. “I only bet in games I know I can win. You?”

  “My father taught me when I was a boy. I haven’t played in years, but I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike.”

  “For you, probably.”

  “I’ll go over to his table. Why don’t you find another spot to observe from.”

  She looked around and spotted some more slot machines not far away. “I’ll be over there.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck. And don’t lose this nice shirt.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  Miranda watched Parker head for the table and take a seat. The dealer, a big man who reminded her of a bouncer she once befriended in Sheboygan, acknowledged Parker’s presence with a nod. When the bouncer-dealer finished his hand, she watched Parker exchange some cash with the man. Bouncer slid a stack of chips over to him.

  Scott stayed put.

  Bouncer began to deal the cards. Miranda would have loved to sneak a peek over Parker’s shoulder but they weren’t here to play.

  She strolled around to one of the nearby banks of slot machines and pretended to shop for a lucky one. She sat down at one on the end and peeked around it. Perfect view.

  Scott was still playing. So was Parker.

  She studied the machine’s display. It wanted money up front, the greedy thing. Suppressing a groan, she stuffed her hand into her pocket and drew out a buck. She slipped it into the machine.

  It greeted her with a friendly little ditty.

  She tensed. Did Scott hear that? She peeked around the machine’s side again. Scott and Parker were studying their cards intently. Whew.

  She turned back to the machine. What now? A large square button flashed madly at her. Spin, it read. She guessed that was it. Here goes a dollar, she thought.

  The lights began to flash and, well, spin. Round they went for a while then they stopped. Nothing. Play again? Another button flashed. Not much choice. She hit it.

  Once more there was flashing a spinning and some more carnival music. After what seemed like five minutes it stopped. Wishing the machine would be quiet, again she peeked around the machine. Still at the table. How much was Parker going to risk?

  Pursing her lips, she hit the Play Again button once more. Once again, the images flashed and spun. Once again, the video game tune played.

  And then the numbers stopped, aligned. Seven. Seven. Seven.

  Huh?

  The whole machine started flashing and beeping and playing more music—much louder music than before. “Shhh!” Miranda said to it. But the thing just kept on.

  Then a mechanical voice said “Winner! Winner! Winner!”

  Miranda got to her feet. “Shut up!” she told the thing.

  Ignoring her, it spat out a slip of paper. Miranda snatched it up and stared at it. Fifteen hundred dollars.

  Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped—almost up to the rafters above—and spun around. “What?”

  A short, wrinkled lady with copper colored hair teased into a bouffant stood hands on hips, glaring at her. She looked at least seventy. “That’s my machine, missy.”

  “What?” Miranda said again.

  “That’s my machine. I’ve been playing it all morning. I just got up to go to the john.” She had a shocking pink T-shirt with three aces on the front on her skinny body and matching slacks. She shook her head and her pink hoop earrings bobbed against her face.

  This had to be a joke, right? “Look, lady. All I did was—”

  The woman reached out a bony finger and poked Miranda in the shoulder. “Sweetie, that’s my machine and my money. I primed the pump.”

  Miranda gritted her teeth. “I didn’t see your name on it.”

  The woman’s hollow cheeks puffed out and turned from pale to a blush red. “Do you want me to get a manager, honey?”

  Miranda wanted to smack the woman, most of all for causing such a commotion. She stole another glance over at the blackjack table. Uh, oh. Scott was gone and Parker was getting up from his seat. She couldn’t stand here jawing with this crazy lady.

  The woman poked her again. “That’s my machine,” she said again, almost shouting. She looked like she was about to scream.

  Miranda glanced back at the blackjack table. Parker was on the move. Damn.

  She turned to the lady and shoved the ticket into her hand with a grunt. “Here.”

  The woman looked down at her hand, then up at her. “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t spend it all in one place.” And Miranda spun on her heels and hurried away. Sheesh, what a sore loser some people are.

  # # #

  Miranda caught sight of Parker heading for a row of the hotel’s meeting rooms along the far wall away from the noisy slots. Sean Scott was about fifty feet in front of him.

  She hustled in that direction.

  Up ahead she saw Scott duck down a yawning opening between a spa and a lounge. Parker followed. As he turned, she saw him spot her. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. She nodded back and hurried to catch up.

  At last she reached the opening. It was marked “Old World Charm Alley,” and as she stepped into it, she saw it was done up like a street in a medieval European village. Underfoot were fake cobblestones. Overhead were lanterns that looked like they were lit by real flames, though Miranda was sure that was an illusion. Shops that appeared centuries old lined the streets with quaint window displays and signs over their doors written in script.

  The Town Tavern. The Village Boutique. Ye Old Nail Salon. No need to give up modern comforts just because you were pretending to be in the long ago past.

  The air here was cooler and less smoky and as she followed the curve of the “road,” she caught the scent of perfumes and baked goods. She passed a middle-aged couple who looked like they’d just had a fight. A man in a suit hurried past in the opposite direction. Late for a business meeting? Or rushing for another spin at the roulette table?

  She spotted Parker standing before a haberdashery window, hands in his pockets looking like he was just here to browse.

  She stepped up beside him and he smiled at her as if she’d surprised him.

  “There you are, darling. What do you think of that one?” He pointed to one of the hats.

  “Not your style.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, took his hand and leaned in.

  “Scott’s a few shops ahead. He seems to be shopping.”

  “Hmm,” Miranda said. “Seems pretty free and easy with his money.”

  Parker nodded. “He lost a good bit at the table.”

  She wasn’t going to ask what Parker lost. “He can’t earn that much as a bodyguard. Makes me wonder if he doesn’t have a sugar mama.”

  “Or if he’s in debt up to his ears.”

  She had a thought. “Maybe he was trying to get money out of Ambrosia.”

  “Perhaps.” Parker turned his head to glance at the reflection of the opposi
te shop in the window just as Scott emerged from its doorway and turned down the hall. He was carrying a single red rose.

  What was he doing with that? Miranda wondered.

  “There he goes.”

  “On him.”

  “Let’s stroll together.” He squeezed her hand, holding her back.

  She tossed him a strained smile over her shoulder. Okay, he was right. It wouldn’t do to tackle the guy like a linebacker.

  She swung his hand between them and strolled like a giddy teenager in love as they passed a bakery and a beauty shop.

  A young couple stood before the window of a candy shop, arms around each other, pointing at a big chocolate heart, giggling. Real newlyweds, Miranda assumed.

  She and Parker kept going. After a few more yards, they rounded another curve.

  They were nearing the stage area now. Up ahead large double doors formed a circular entrance with a boldly lit marquee spelling out “The Diva Theater.” Apparently they also offered magic acts, comedians, and a variety of performers. But the headliner was Ambrosia Dawn. Her sign was still up. Apparently the casino hadn’t decided what to do to fill her spot yet.

  Ahead of them Scott slowed.

  They slowed.

  He turned back and glanced at the bakery as if he were considering picking up a pastry. Miranda caught her breath. With a firm tug that gave the illusion of an invitation, Parker led her over to the jewelry shop window.

  Breathing in and out she stared at the display of necklaces, not seeing anything. Had Scott made the tail? That was all they needed.

  As nonchalantly as she could, she smiled and pretended to straightened Parker’s collar. “I did tell you diamonds are my birthstone, didn’t I?” She dared a quick glance over his shoulder.

  Good thing she did. At that moment, Scott ducked into a little side room that looked like a ticket booth.

  “What is it?”

  “He—”

  Just then one of the theater doors opened and a figure appeared. Tall, long blond hair, dressed in tight jeans and a black knit top with a pink sweater thrown over it.