The answer turned out to be remarkably simple.
“Remember when Marc told us how he met Lydia?” Nick asked. “He used an escort service that catered to rich men. We know Lydia was the escort. I thought about you and how you always focus on the victim, so I thought what do we know about Lydia?”
So far, so good. So far, no prostitutes.
“We know Lydia was engaged to Marc. They met through a high-class escort service. She was a lingerie model.” He ticked the items off on his fingers. “I figured Marc would answer my questions about their engagement, and you had the lingerie model aspect covered with Intimate Mode, so it was up to me to explore the other thing.”
“You frequented a brothel?”
“Not exactly. I asked around to find out how one might contact a high-class escort service. I asked one person too many and that person turned me in for suspicion of solicitation.”
“Were you arrested?”
“No, I was questioned.”
“By Detective Marbury? It would be great if it was him. He’d understand why you wanted to know.”
“No. Besides, does Detective Loncar usually understand when you start asking questions about his investigations?”
Good point.
Nick was referring to my somewhat contentious relationship with the homicide detective back home in Ribbon. It had taken a couple of years and more than one investigation for us to reach a level of mutual respect (my words).
I called down to room service for a hotel breakfast of waffles and ice cream. It wasn’t listed on the regular room service menu, but me and room service were tight by now, and I took a chance they’d be open to the request. They were. By the time the food arrived, I had a new suggestion.
“I could call Loncar,” I said. “Cops talk to other cops, right? I could call Detective Loncar and ask him to call Detective Marbury and tell him we’re on the level.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Why? That’s what I would do.”
“I know,” Nick said. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Okay, for now, I’ll think like you and not call Detective Loncar.” I sat on the bed and spooned soft vanilla ice cream onto my waffles. “You never told me what happened when you went to the police station.”
“I didn’t talk to Marbury,” Nick said. “I talked to an officer from Vice. I told him about Marc’s engagement, how he met his fiancée, and how, to protect him, I wanted to find out if the escort service was going to target him while he was in mourning.”
I was impressed. “Way to use the facts to make your lie sound more believable, Taylor.” I slugged his bicep.
He caught my fist and held it in the palm of his hand. “It wasn’t a lie. Everything I said was the truth. And it turns out they already knew all of it anyway. Marc told them about the escort service when he talked to the police.”
“He did?”
Nick nodded. “The more I think about this whole thing, the more I wonder about Marc getting hitched in the first place. The man is forty. He’s been a lifelong bachelor. He employed a service to get him dates. The signs don’t exactly point to the altar.”
“But he was happy. You saw him, right?”
“He said he was happy. And within the hour, we were on our way to being kicked out of a casino bar for public drunkenness. The night before he was supposed to tie the knot. Again, sounds like something was off.”
“Yes, and that something agrees with what Chaplain Rick told us. That the marriage was troubled from the start,” I said.
“Yeah, there’s that.” Nick picked up a waffle and took a bite. I stared at him. “What?” he asked. “It’s you and me in a hotel room in Vegas. I didn’t think you’d judge me if I ate with my hands.”
Emotions bubbled up within me. “I ate four orders of mac and cheese last night,” I said. I didn’t look away.
He set the waffle down. I waited for his response. He swallowed and said, “I love you, Kidd.”
We finished our breakfast and got ready. Where other couples might say, “Have a nice day, honey!” before going separate directions, we mixed things up.
“Hey Kidd, try to keep your clothes on,” Nick said.
“Will do. Try not to hire any hookers.”
As previously arranged, I met Amanda in the lobby outside the lingerie show. She wore a white blazer, white T-shirt, and white trousers with silver loafers. I wore her pink satin robe over my black sheath dress. It was an hour before Intimate Mode opened to the attendees, but vendors were allowed entrance to prepare their booths for the day. Amanda signed me in as one of her models, and I followed her far enough to keep up appearances. When we reached the White aisle, I took off the robe.
“I’m going to get my things from Yarvi’s booth while the coast is clear.”
Amanda took the robe and we split up. I made sure to go down the back aisle to the booth behind Joey’s so as not to be spotted. My clothes were where I’d left them, balled up and discarded against the wall where the model duffel bags had lain. I grabbed my overstuffed bag and peeked out front. The lights had not been turned on, and the interior felt deserted.
I could get back to Amanda’s booth, stash my stuff, and go about my day.
Or I could sneak into Joey’s booth and snoop.
I couldn’t shake the idea that it would be easy for Nick and Amanda to see Marc as guilty. They both wanted someone to blame for Pamela Martin’s actions in college, and Marc made an easy target. But I wasn’t convinced that Marc was anything other than a man caught in the crosshairs of something unrelated to him. Something that I was in a position to discover.
Yesterday, I would have known what Nick would do: return to Amanda’s booth and go about my day. But Nick was thinking like me, and that was an odd endorsement in my sleuthing abilities. Did it mean my instincts, though not well thought out, were right?
It’s a good thing Nick wasn’t here to monitor my decision-making.
I extended the strap on my bulging laptop bag and hung it across my chest, went to the back of Yarvi’s booth, and lifted the fabric that separated her booth from Joey’s. The trade show venue would open soon, and while it was risky to even try to snoop, this was my only chance.
But as I ducked under the fabric, I knew my instincts were wrong. Because instead of finding an opportunity to snoop, I found Chryssinda slumped in a folding chair.