“Right, so who cares if she took it?”
“Well, you should.”
“I do. She’s a conniving little shrew. But the fact that my gun is missing doesn’t implicate me any further, because it’s not the murder weapon.”
“No, you’re the only one with a seemingly ironclad alibi.”
“What do you mean seemingly?”
“The cops still think you could have had it done.”
“Why would I do something so stupid as to have it done with a gun that’s a duplicate of mine?”
“Good point. Honestly, I’m not sure why they haven’t ruled you out. Something’s fishy about all of this.”
“It has been from the get-go, bro.”
“I know.”
“Honestly, Nieves could have taken my gun. Or she could have taken something else that I have no clue about.”
“I’ll find out at lunch.” I glanced down at my watch. “In fact, I have to go. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Sounds good.”
I ended the call and shoved my phone in my pocket.
Time to turn on the charm once more to get what I wanted.
11
Zee
After I got the shoes all packed up and lugged the damned package to the post office—and paid twenty-plus bucks in postage, thank you very much, Reid Wolfe—I headed into work early to have some repair work done on my costume. Several of the opulent beads had come loose during the last show, and that was a recipe for disaster.
Beads falling off and rolling on the floor while we’re all dancing in stilettos…
Not good.
Tonight was a topless night for me. We took turns baring ourselves. That way, we all knew all the dance moves for all the parts and could substitute for anyone with no notice. Revue shows like the one I was in were a dying breed in Las Vegas. Sure, topless shows were available in smaller venues in the city, but our show, Best of Sin City, was one of the last large revues that featured nearly a hundred showgirls. Celebrities like Donny and Marie Osmond and Celine Dion, among others, were taking over the biggest venues and drawing huge crowds, making traditional Vegas shows a thing of the past.
Consequently, I was lucky to have this gig. Many showgirls weren’t so lucky and had resorted to stripping and lap dancing at local clubs. Each night, I thanked the stars that I had this job. I didn’t know how to do anything else. My childhood foray into acting had proved I was no actress, and my modeling days were long over. My medical career had gone up in dust years ago. I was just too old. Too old, too tired, and too scarred.
Topless nights no longer bothered me. My scars were well hidden with creative makeup and costuming. Plus, the bright lights on stage made the leering men invisible to me, if they even existed.
I was, simply, grateful to be alive, even as the wreck I’d become.
“Good thing you came in,” one of the seamstresses said to me. “This needs to be taken in anyway. You’ve lost an inch around the waist.”
“I have?”
“Yeah. Have you been eating?”
Hmm. Had I? No, I hadn’t. Not really. Only the barest sustenance since that PI for the Wolfe family had found me.
“Well,” I said, instead of answering her question, “I don’t think any woman alive worries about taking off a few pounds.”
“You should,” she said. “You dancers are all muscle. If you lose weight, you lose muscle.”
Not in the mood for a lecture, thanks. I didn’t reply.
I sat at my dressing table—not mine, actually, the dressing table I shared with several others, though none of them were in yet—while the tailor finished working on my costume, checking my phone, when the star of our show, Candice Hall, whisked by, cigarette in hand, leaving a mixture of smoke and Chanel hovering in the air.
“I need a seamstress, stat!” she yelled in her raspy voice.
Candice was known as a diva, but she was always nice to us dancers. She’d started as a showgirl on the line herself. But she talked terribly to the tailors and makeup artists.
“Be with you in a minute, Ms. Hall,” the woman working on my outfit said.
“That can wait,” Candice said. “This ribbon on my sash is nearly threadbare. I want it replaced before the seven o’clock show.” Then she turned to me. “Hello…”
“Zee,” I said. “Zara Jones.”
“Yes, of course. How are you doing today?”
Loaded question, for sure, but she didn’t know it. “Fine. How are you?”
“Ugh. I’m so sick of these costumes. They may as well be second-hand. Have you ever seen anything so ridiculous?” She nodded to the garment she’d thrown at the seamstress.
What was I supposed to say? My costume was fine. But then, I wasn’t the star of the show, either. Candice was gorgeous—auburn-haired and tall with amazing hazel eyes—and talented to boot. And though I’d never been sexually attracted to women, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed. She had the most gorgeous pair of breasts in the show. More importantly, she was an amazingly talented dancer and singer. She deserved her stardom, and I respected her, especially since she’d worked her way up from the chorus line.
“I need a bottle of Evian, please!” she called to anyone listening.
“I have some water.” I offered her my bottle.
“Thank you, but I only drink Evian.” She smiled. Then her lips curved slightly downward. “Are you all right? You seem a little…distracted.”
“I’m fine.” I forced a smile.
Like I said, Candice was always nice to us, but we knew she really didn’t want to hear our life stories. Not like I’d tell her mine, anyway. No one knew. Except, of course, the Wolfes.
“Ready for you, Miss Hall,” another tailor finally said.
She huffed. “It’s about time. Nice seeing you, Sara.”
“Zara,” I said, “but everyone calls me Zee.”
“Zee. That’s cute!” She waved and was on her way.
Back to my phone. Except I didn’t have any messages or emails. Not overly surprising, since I basically had no friends other than Mo and my other roommates, and we were more friends by circumstance.
Except I’d been hoping…
In the back of my mind…
That I’d have a message from Reid Wolfe.
12
Reid
Nieves ordered the Dover sole Beaujolais, the most expensive item on the menu.
Not surprising. I didn’t really care, as long as she gave me something useful. I feared, though, that the “thing she found” at Rock’s place was his gun, which wasn’t going to help me at all.
Still, it was worth a grand and an order of Dover sole to find out.
I slid an envelope containing ten crisp Benjamins toward her. She opened it and pulled out the bills.
“Really?” I said. “You’re going to count the money at the table?”
“You gotta know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em.” She winked.
“That makes no sense at all.” I shook my head. “This isn’t a game.”