Chapter 14

I was cruising along Eastern Avenue munching on chicken nuggets and looking for a Christmas tree lot when my cell phone rang.

“Have you gotten a tree yet, Copper?” Sierra said.

“No, but I’m about to.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “Michael came home with something.”

“Something?”

“Yes. Come on over.”

Michael was dragging the something in at the front door when I pulled up.

“Hi, Copper,” he said. “You’re just in time to help decorate.”

I helped him drag the thing into the living room, where Sierra was arranging a sheet of plastic on the carpet in front of the window.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked.

“Some dude,” Sierra said. “He gets everything from some dude.”

I looked at Michael, who was smiling sheepishly.

“I actually am kind of a soft touch.” he said, “Especially when people come to the church selling something, not just asking for a handout.”

“Soft touch doesn’t even come close,” Sierra said. “He’s a complete and total pushover.”

“Tree” didn’t come close to describing the skeletal object my brother had spent good money on. It was completely devoid of branches on one side, and it wasn’t much better endowed on the other. What needles it had were falling off by the handful.

“Not only hideous, but totally dry, too,” Sierra said. “I won’t even ask how much you paid for it.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Michael said.

“Let’s just hope it wasn’t stolen,” Sierra said. “I can’t stand the thought of some old lady going out to pick up her newspaper and finding a stump in her front yard.”

Decorating Michael’s contribution to charity was a challenge, but a few hundred feet of wired ribbon and loads of tinsel—not to mention several glasses of well-spiked eggnog—transformed it from a beaten-up TV antenna into a thing of Yuletide beauty.

“Even Mom is going to ooh and aah,” I said when we plugged in the lights. Sierra shot me a look, and I hoped I hadn’t given her one more thing to worry about. We sat down on the sofa to admire our handiwork and finish our eggnog. Sierra passed around a plate of Greek Christmas cookies.

“What time do they get here tomorrow?” I asked.

“Noon,” Sierra and Michael answered in unison. I had the feeling they could have told me how many minutes of freedom remained.

“I hope you’ll be here for dinner,” Michael added.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said. “Want me to bring some wine?”

“Sure,” Sierra said. “We’re having moussaka.”

“One box of rotgut red should do the trick,” I said, and Sierra glared at me.

“Sorry,” I said. “Just joking.”

Sierra takes her role as hostess very seriously, with starched linen napkins, hand-lettered place cards, and those big “charger” plates. We were all going to be doing lots of dishes in the next few days, and I knew my life would be much easier if I brought a couple of bottles with real corks and years on the label.

“Michael,” I said, mostly to change the subject. “Is Julia Saxon really someone you can trust?”

It was Sierra who replied.

“Who’s been telling you stories?”

“No one,” I said. “I just—”

Sierra jumped up.

“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s a big lie.” She walked over to the Christmas tree, rearranged a couple of gold balls, and turned back. “I’m sorry. I just think it’s unfair that Julia has to keep paying for what her father did. People are just jealous of her. And they don’t want a woman to get ahead.”

Baffled, I turned to Michael.

“Julia’s father was an attorney, too, Copper—”

“He was convicted of taking bribes while he was on the City Council a few years ago,” Sierra said. “Lost his seat, lost his career. Julia had nothing to do with it. It was all that bottom-feeder Johnny Kusick.”

Johnny. Another of the names on the tape.

“The important thing,” Michael said, switching to his priestly voice, “is not to judge her by the actions of others. Julia has been a godsend for the Alliance. Without her, we wouldn’t be anywhere near this far along with our plans for the new service center.”

“The only thing she’s done wrong is to donate her time, money, and influence to help the homeless,” Sierra said. “Helping the homeless is not a politically correct thing to do in Las Vegas. This city just wants homeless people to disappear. Do you know what the most successful program has been up to now? Give them a free bus ticket to somewhere else. Do you know what the mayor’s latest suggestion is? Truck them all to an old women’s prison in the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Copper, and I don’t really want to know,” Michael said. “It’s gossip of the worst kind.”

I looked from Michael to Sierra and back again. Well, at least I asked, I thought, and I got an answer. They both trusted Julia and they seemed to know what they were doing. The tape still bothered me, but I hadn’t heard enough of the conversation to know for sure what it meant.

“I guess we have other things to worry about, anyway,” I said. “Like how to show Mom and Dad a good ol’ Vegas time.”

Just then, something darted out of the kitchen, streaked across the carpet, and jumped into the Christmas tree. The branches shook, and a couple more bushels of dry needles fell to the floor.

“I knew it wouldn’t take her long to notice!” Sierra said.

Damn. It looked like I didn’t have to worry about Sekhmet anymore.

“She’s been coming around looking for you,” Sierra said.

The cat burst out of the tree, ran across the room, and jumped into Sierra’s lap. She settled in, purring and kneading Sierra’s thigh.

“I can see she really misses me,” I said.

“She does, Copper!” Sierra insisted. “She’s brought something to your apartment every day you’ve been gone. Yesterday, it was most of a dead chipmunk, but today it was a cinnamon roll. It wasn’t even in very bad shape.”

“What?”

“I’m not kidding. I’ve been going up there every day to make sure nobody else has broken in, and there it was on the doormat, in the same spot where she always leaves body parts. Who else could have done it?”

“I have no idea, but it gives me the creeps,” I said.

“I think it’s sweet. She loves you.” Sierra was petting the cat now, and Sekhmet was doing all that feline affection stuff, like stretching her neck out and purring even louder.

I sighed. With so many other things to worry about, I wasn’t going to argue with Sierra about whether cats hunt cinnamon rolls. In fact, I was glad Sierra thought the cat had brought it instead of what had to be the truth—someone had been hanging around eating breakfast at my front door. I was also glad that Sekhmet—or Delilah—had found someone who could take care of her properly. Sierra is a much better kitty mother than I will ever be.

“I better get going,” I said. “Unless there’s something else I can do to help you get ready for Mom and Dad.”

“Bed’s made,” Michael said. “The right brands of booze are in the liquor cabinet. We’re set, now that we’ve got a Christmas tree.”

Sierra rolled her eyes at Michael’s summation, which had failed to include any of the ironing, window washing, toilet detailing, and doily arranging she’d been perspiring over for the last two weeks. Not to mention five thousand moussakas and three billion cookies.

:: :: ::

It was nearly ten when I got to David’s house, and he wasn’t there. I had just set my stuff down on the bed in the guest room when the phone rang. Without thinking, I answered it.

“Nussbaum residence,” I said, dredging up a phrase my mother had drummed into my head as a kid.

“Who is this?” a woman’s voice said.

“Um, Copper Black,” I said. “A houseguest.”

“A houseguest?”

“Yes,” I said. “May I take a message?”

“A houseguest?”

“That’s right,” I said. “Who may I say called?”

“Rebecca Nussbaum,” she replied in a tone so icy it practically froze my ear. “Have David call me.”

She hung up with a crash.

Damn! I don’t know why I was so quick to answer the phone. David had an answering machine, and if he wanted to reach me, he’d call me on my cell phone.

Two minutes later, he walked in through the door from the garage. He was setting a grocery bag on the table in the kitchen when I met him at the doorway to the dining room.

“Hi, Copper,” he said, walking with me into the living room. He dumped his backpack and a pile of mail onto the sofa.

“Your—um—wife called,” I said. “Just a couple minutes ago.”

“You talked to her?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Hell, I don’t care,” he said, and I could swear he was having trouble concealing a smile.

“She wants you to call her back.”

“Yeah, well, okay,” David said, sitting down. “Message received. Thanks.”

He started looking through his mail.

“Anyway, you’ll have your house to yourself again after tomorrow night. I’m really sorry I answered your phone. I certainly don’t want to create any problems—”

“Copper, it’s fine.” He slipped his shoes off and started flipping through a new Atlantic Monthly.

“Do you know anything about somebody named Johnny Kusick?” I asked, mostly to keep the conversation going.

“He’s a real estate developer,” David said, putting his feet on the coffee table and stretching. “Had some press a while back for a land acquisition scam. Other things, too. Tried to build houses on property he didn’t really own. ‘Wheeler-dealer’ is the nicest thing I can think to call him. ‘Criminal with connections’ is probably more accurate. Why?”

“Oh, I just heard the name and was wondering,” I said.

“Speaking of people with connections,” David said, “I heard today that the police are looking at Bobby Marks in connection with Victoria McKimber’s death.”

“Really?” I said. “Are you writing a story about it? What else do you know?”

“No. And not much,” David said. “So far, it’s only a rumor. The cops are keeping it under the radar, which probably makes sense. A guy with that much juice can be pretty slippery. They’ll need all their ducks in a perfect row if they ever hope to build a good case.”

“Well, let me know if you hear anything more,” I said.

“You know I will,” David said. “If the cops arrest him, it’ll be big news.”

He went back to reading his magazine.

“David?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for letting me stay here. It’s been a huge help.”

I told him about the cinnamon roll. David put down his magazine and looked me square in the face.

“Have you figured out what you have that somebody wants, Copper?”

“No,” I said. “I can’t think of anything.”

“I hate to ask, but—” David sounded almost shy. “Is any of your underwear missing?”

“Not that I noticed,” I said.

“Check again,” David said. “It could be a peeper who wanted a souvenir.”

“Okay, sir,” I said, saluting him. “Next time I’m there, I’ll count my underpants.”

“Want a beer?” David asked, standing up. “I got some pale ale.”

“Sure,” I said. “That’s my current favorite.”

“I was hoping you’d like it,” David said. “Oh, and would you like to have dinner here tomorrow night? I haven’t cooked in a couple of eons, and I got all the stuff to make meat loaf.”

Meat loaf!

“David, you’re full of surprises,” I said. “But I can’t. Command performance at my brother’s house. My parents arrive tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Want to come?”

Really, I don’t know why I said that. Maybe it was because I was positive he’d say no.

“Sure!” David said, and there was nothing I could do but give him directions.

One beer led to three, along with a half a dozen games of backgammon, most of which David won. It was way past midnight when I finally went to bed, and I had to be at work by eight thirty. I lay there staring at Rebecca Nussbaum’s sewing machine thinking about how much Christmas shopping I still had to do. And I’d have to call Sierra and tell her about the extra guest for dinner. I decided to bring her a bottle of apple schnapps and some expensive vodka along with the wine to soften her up. I knew how she loved those stupid sweet girlie martinis.

Instead of sheep, I fell asleep counting panties.

:: :: ::

Thursday, December 22

I can’t survive on three hours of sleep, and three shots of espresso were no match for three late-night beers. But I made it to work in time to beat Chris, and he looked like he needed his Starbucks even more than I did. I could have sworn he was wearing the same clothes as the day before, too, which made me wonder once again about his private life. I always thought I could tell whether a guy was gay or not, but Chris Farr was a mystery to me. I was leaning toward gay—not that it was any of my business. I just couldn’t help being curious.

Anyway, this was the big day. Michael was collecting the parental duo at McCarran Airport at noon. Sierra wouldn’t get home until four, and I’d promised I’d get there no later than six. I still had to buy the required alcohol, and I was also hoping to get my Christmas shopping done. If there is a place in the universe where you can get all your Christmas shopping done in one lunch hour, it’s got to be Las Vegas. And I guess I had nasty old Ed Bramlett to thank for the extra hour Chris was allowing me for lunch. It just proved there’s an upside to everything, even randy old geezers with bad coughs.

I couldn’t quite believe that Daniel was arriving the next day. With everything that had been going on, I’d barely had time to email him. He’d been busy, too, though. He was trying to finish a report he had to write to get his fellowship funded for the second half of the year, and he was also applying to graduate school. He was acting like it was the end of the world, but I knew he’d get it done. Daniel was a down-to-the-wire kind of guy. He’d probably have to run to catch his plane, but he wouldn’t miss it.

I needed to focus on work and get a serious amount done. I had made a deal with Chris about the following week. I had been planning to take the whole week off, but he told me if I’d come in Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I could have Tuesday and Thursday off, and he wouldn’t count them against my vacation time. Two free days was too good a deal to pass up, and I convinced Daniel it was a good idea, too. He’d be in town the whole week, but he wanted to play poker. If I had to go to work, he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about deserting me. But in the meantime, I had about four thousand phone calls to make. I was still getting final details for the calendar about New Year’s Eve parties.

My salvation was the bookshop at the Monaco, a big megaresort on the Strip. Not only did I find something more or less appropriate for everyone on my Christmas list, the store provided gift wrapping at no extra charge. All I had to do was stop by the next day and pick everything up, which I could do on my way to the airport to meet Daniel. I still couldn’t believe there was a bookstore in a casino, much less a well-stocked one with knowledgeable clerks who wrapped things up for free. One more thing my Connecticut friends would never believe about Vegas.

I also bought a leather jacket for Daniel in a fancy men’s boutique in the shopping mall at the Bellagio. It cost more than a week at the Golden Nugget, but I figured, what the heck? It’s fun to spend money on people you love, especially ones who also happen to make you quiver. Tomorrow, I kept thinking. Tomorrow!

:: :: ::

I had started making calls again when Ed Bramlett appeared in front of my desk. I braced myself for the worst, but he just handed me a manila folder. He left without even coughing much. I looked inside and found a few xeroxed pages that all seemed to be about Julia Saxon. But my phone rang, and I still had a meeting with Chris Farr scheduled. The contents of Ed’s folder would have to wait.

It was Heather on the phone, wanting to know what I’d done about Victoria. As if I’d had time to do anything. Damn! I wished I’d never let her talk me into accepting that stupid dress. On the other hand, I couldn’t wait to wear it for Daniel. Heather would just have to be patient. Victoria was dead. She wasn’t an emergency.

I was trying madly to make all my calls before five, but then Heather called me again, worrying now about Victoria’s husband and kid. I agreed they were probably in for a pretty sad Christmas, but what was I supposed to do about it? Once again, Heather out-muscled me. I agreed to meet her on Saturday to talk things over. I kicked myself after I hung up. All I wanted was one measly uninterrupted week with Daniel, but now that was looking like a pipe dream. I wished I had gone to Costa Rica after all. How could I have ever thought that spending New Year’s in Vegas was better than basking on a tropical beach?

I was never going to make it to my brother’s house by six. I hadn’t even bought the booze. I decided to call David and tell him to wait until six thirty to arrive. Somehow, I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to meet Sierra and my parents unless I was there to run interference. David’s volume knob was cranked up a couple notches past reasonable, and I wanted to make sure my mother knew he went to Princeton before she labeled him a boor.