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Alec was surprised none of the main players took the opportunity to duck out. He’d thought for sure Liz had had enough embarrassment, but she stuck with the casino executives who were solicitous of her in spite of her lack of inheritance. Her ex-husband hung back but kept an eye on her, complimentary drink in hand and a sulky look on his face.
“Well, that started out slow,” Collum said, “but it was one of the more lively memorials I’ve ever been to.” He eyed the bar set up in the corner. “You’re not going to have a fit about me drinking on the job, are you?”
“I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me,” Alec said.
Callum smiled and headed for the bar. Alec was about to follow him when his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and found a text from Cleo that started with three smiley faces followed by on my way home.
Did the smiley faces mean she’d found something? Damn. He smiled to himself as he put his phone away, wishing he was there to hear about her adventure. Something good needed to happen to make missing out on that worthwhile.
He turned toward the bar, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Any word from Cleo?” Martin already had a drink in his hand.
Alec didn’t want to share her message, but he figured Martin had earned at least the bare bones. “She’s out and safe.”
“Good.” Martin looked down into his drink, nodding. The nodding went on long enough Alec figured he had something more to say. After a few long seconds, “She’s not meant for a tabloid, you know.”
So he’d figured out who signed their checks. It had taken him long enough.
“She’s bright and driven. And she’s not afraid to ruffle feathers,” Martin said. “She needs to be at a serious paper.”
“Seems to me your serious paper had her and let her get away.”
“That was a mistake. But it’s not a permanent one. She’ll come back to us because she needs us. She needs to be where her stories are taken seriously. Where she’ll make a difference.”
“I think she needs to be where they know what they’ve got when they’ve got her.”
Martin shook his head. “She’ll never be satisfied freelancing for a tabloid.”
Freelancing? Was that what she’d told Martin? For a moment, Alec was amused. Then he realized, if Martin thought she was freelancing, it was a much more realistic expectation that she’d walk away and go back where she came from. And that was exactly what Martin was telling him: Don’t get attached; she’s not staying.
Was that what she’d been working toward all this time? A way out? No, he didn’t believe it. From the moment her mother had been arrested, clearing her had been Cleo’s priority.
But before that . . .
That, he wasn’t so sure about.
And if the charges were dropped? What would Cleo’s priority be then?
Did he really think she wouldn’t jump at the chance to go back to her reputable media? She’d probably be gone so fast he wouldn’t even see the dust trail.
Well, at least he wouldn’t have to compete for the best stories. Somehow that wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.
Still, he wasn’t going to let Martin see that it bothered him.
He leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. “Maybe your paper ought to start paying its reporters what they’re worth. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to worry about luring back the ones who go astray.” He clapped Martin on the shoulder, turned, and walked away. What he needed now was a drink. Or five.
As was typical of this sort of environment, people didn’t go to the bar, get their drinks, and disperse. Of course not. They got their drinks, moved back a few paces, and congregated dead center in the path to said bar. It was a practice that always irritated Alec because it forced him to shoulder his way through the traffic jam. Determined not to add to the problem, once he got his drink, he retreated.
Liz was still sticking close to the executives, but people were approaching to offer condolences. Nothing good was likely to happen until that was over. He was about to settle at one of the empty tables to wait her out when she sent a hostile look toward the side of the room where Candy sat with Teresa.
Teresa waved at someone across the room then gave Candy’s hand a squeeze, picked up her purse, and left the table. Her chair was still warm when Alec slid into it. “Hey, lady, can I buy you a drink?”
“Ha ha,” Candy said with a smile. “It’s an open bar.”
He returned her smile. “Then I’ll buy you two.” He let the smile fade away. “How are you doing?”
She gave him a wry look. “Well, I haven’t been tarred and feathered yet, but it’s not because Liz wouldn’t like it to happen.”
“I wouldn’t worry about her. I think she lost her power when she didn’t inherit everything.”
“That doesn’t mean she can’t embarrass the hell out of me.” She stirred her drink with a swizzle stick. “I wish Willa were here. She’d make sure Liz stayed away from me.”
Willa wasn’t there? Alec had assumed she was, but with so many people to watch, he hadn’t noticed her absence. “I’m surprised she’d miss this. She’s fond of knowing what’s going on.”
Candy smiled as though they were sharing confidences. “Gossiping, you mean.”
“Yeah.” Alec smiled back. “Gossiping.”
“I always liked that about her. She knows everyone’s secrets.”
“Surely not everyone’s.”
“The secrets she doesn’t know aren’t worth knowing. That’s what she always says.”
“If that were true, I know what secret I’d ask her about.”
She cocked her head. “What’s that?”
“Who killed Sebastian.”
Candy quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s a secret any more.”
“But I’m not convinced— Wait. What do you mean, ‘it’s not a secret any more’?”
“Oh.” Candy’s hand went to her mouth as if she could stuff the words back in. “Oops.” Then she dropped her hand and shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s not a big deal now. It’s just something Willa said last week.”
“And that was . . . ?”
“That if she could bet on who killed Sebastian, she’d put her money on Annaliese.”
“Willa said that, did she?”
“I told you what she doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing.” Candy looked out across the crowd then changed chairs so her back was to the room. “I can’t stand the looks Liz keeps shooting at me. Warn me if she heads this way, okay?”
“Of course.” He still didn’t understand why Candy thought she’d revealed a secret. “Exactly when did Willa say that about Annaliese?”
“Let’s see.” She took a sip of her drink. “It was when we were shopping, so it must have been Tuesday.”
The day before Annaliese was arrested. A lucky guess? Wishful thinking? He’d seen no evidence that Willa held a grudge against Annaliese, but they’d been friends once and ex-friends often made the bitterest enemies. “What happened to Willa and Annaliese’s friendship?”
Candy looked into her nearly empty glass. “Willa didn’t tell me much when it happened because my marriage was in trouble, and then I was in the middle of my divorce. She figured I had enough problems of my own and didn’t want to burden me.”
“But isn’t that what friends do? Share the burden?”
“I’m sure she meant to tell me eventually, but . . .”
“But what?
“Well, after the divorce, our friendship got a little strained.”
“Why’s that?”
Candy blushed. “Because I’m an idiot.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“No, it is. I know it. I can be blind to things that are staring me in the face.”
Alec couldn’t help smiling. He liked people who acknowledged their own failings. “And what were you blind to?”
Candy’s blush deepened. In a tiny voice, she said, “Willa had a crush on me.”
That was the last thing Alec expected and, for once, he was certain it showed on his face. It took a second to recover. “And you didn’t feel the same about her.”
Candy shook her head. “She’d been a good friend to me, but I’ve always been into men.”
“But you stayed friends.”
“Yeah, but it was awkward for a long time.”
“And now?”
“Now, we’re good again.”
“So she got over it.”
“Yes. Finally. And it only took her falling in love with someone else.” Candy swiped her fingers across her forehead then flicked them as if wiping away sweat.
“So who’s she in love with?”
“I don’t know except that she’s a showgirl, and she’s involved with someone else, but Willa says that’ll be over soon.”
A cold chill walked down Alec spine. His lips felt numb as he repeated, “A showgirl?”
“Yeah. That’s why she missed the memorial. She had a chance to spend time with her today.”
There were dozens of showgirls, any one of whom might fit Candy’s scenario. It didn’t have to be Jada. But Willa pointing a finger at Annaliese the day before the arrest? If Jada was the object of her affections, Annaliese’s arrest had conveniently cleared an obstacle.
If his suspicion was right, Cleo would walk into the condo and find Willa there. She trusted Willa, and if she found the marker, she was probably dying to tell someone.
Alec stood. “I’ve got to go.”
~***~
Cleo didn’t stop shaking until she was halfway to the condo. There’d been a really bad moment when she’d discovered the outer door of the suite was locked and she’d realized she might be trapped. Fortunately, she’d found a set of keys in the receptionist’s desk.
The marker currently resided in a side pocket inside her purse, and she kept reaching in to touch it. Whether possessing it would make an actual difference in Annaliese’s case or not, it gave Cleo the sense that everything would turn out right, that her mother wouldn’t have to stand trial for Sebastian’s death. That she’d be home soon.
She wanted to walk into the condo and crow to Alec that her plan had worked, but . . . he wouldn’t be there. She’d really come to appreciate him. He’d proven himself more than the tabloid whore she’d initially taken him for. Capable of good work, but more importantly, always there, ready to back her up. She really wanted to share this victory with him. How was she going to suppress her excitement until he got home?
She pulled into Annaliese’s designated parking space and practically danced up the walk. “Jada?” She called as she closed the door behind her. “I’m home.” Sheesh. Could she sound more chipper?
No answer.
“Jada?”
The kitchen was empty. She pulled the marker out of her purse and tucked it into the front pocket of her jeans before leaving her purse on the breakfast bar.
“Jada?”
The living room was empty, too, but there was a cup half full of cold tea on the coffee table.
“Jada?” Cleo started toward the patio to see if she was out there sunbathing.
“Sh. Jada’s sleeping.”
“Whaaa―?”
She looked up to see Willa leaning over the railing.
“—aat are you doing here?”
“When you said Jada was here alone”—Willa started down the stairs—“I got worried.” She held up a hand to fend off objections. “I know. She didn’t need me, but my mother hen instincts kicked in.”
Cleo pushed down her annoyance. Willa had done so much for them.
“I wanted to talk to you, anyway,” Willa said. “About Jada.”
“What about her?”
“Why don’t we sit down?” Willa perched on the edge of a chair near the couch, her hands clasped in her lap. She refolded them twice after Cleo sat, and Cleo’s annoyance slid into concern. Was there something about Jada she’d missed?
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh no, nothing’s wrong. It’s only . . .” She bit her lip and her face creased into a look of concentration as if trying to figure how to approach what she wanted to say. “What’s going to happen to Jada when your assignment here is over? I mean, if Annaliese is still in jail?”
Cleo took a deep breath. Time to return to reality. Even without the marker to tag Annaliese with a motive, even if they could get them to consider Liz as a suspect, the police might not release Annaliese soon enough to avoid this issue. “I’ve thought about that, too, but I don’t have a solid answer. I could take her back to Denver with me”—or, if she was lucky, Tucson—“but Jada doesn’t handle change very well.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Willa leaned forward eagerly. “What would you think about letting her stay with me? I know my place would be new to her, but she’d still be in Vegas, you know? And with fresh ownership, things could change at the casino. It’s going to be awkward for Liz, going from the boss’s wife to . . . well, just another showgirl. She might leave, and then Jada would still be able to work. That would be good for her. Give her some stability, right?”
It actually wasn’t a bad idea. Cleo was a little ashamed of how appealing it was.
Not that she didn’t like Jada or want to be responsible for her . . . Well, yes, she didn’t want to be responsible for her. Jada was a major commitment, and Cleo wasn’t sure she was up to it. She didn’t even have a fish, not to mention being uncertain about her destination when she left Las Vegas. How was she supposed to be responsible for Jada when her own life was so unsettled? And wherever she went, she wouldn’t have the option of traveling for a story. She’d have to keep regular hours, so Jada could have a routine. Which meant she’d probably end up writing Elvis stories for the tabloid after all or, nearly as bad, local gardening pieces for The Sun.
She slid the tips of her fingers into her pocket and touched the marker. Her talisman. Why was she letting this get her down? Willa was giving her a way out. She felt her mood lift again.
“I think it sounds like a terrific idea. And maybe it won’t be for all that long. They don’t have a motive for Mom.”
Mom? Wow. How long had it been since she’d called Annaliese that?
Willa’s face went soft with sympathy. “Oh, I don’t think you should get your hopes up about that. I mean, this is Sebastian we’re talking about, you know? He was a womanizer. That’s about all the motive they need, you know?”
“But they can’t prove anything about her and Sebastian. I mean, at one time they saw each other, but even then it was off and on―”
“I think it was more on than you realize.”
“But—but she had Jada . . .”
“Yes, well, fidelity isn’t exactly your mom’s middle name.”
She really had hoped that had changed. That the deal with Sebastian had been a one-off.
“And besides”—Willa cocked her head and the sympathetic look deepened—“your mom . . . well, she owed Sebastian all that money.”
“You know about that?”
Willa nodded. “I know you scraped together enough to pay him off, but . . .” She sighed. “I was in the casino the day Jada gambled it away.”
“Oh lord.” Cleo covered her eyes for a moment. When she dropped her hand, she asked, “Who else knows?”
“Some of the people on the floor that night. They saw her gambling. And losing. But I don’t think any of them know where the money came from or what it was for.” She threw a scolding look at Cleo. “In spite of what people think, I can keep my mouth shut when it counts, you know?”
Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. “Then the cops still don’t know about the debt. And they’ll never be able to prove it.”
“Well . . .” Willa drew the word out.
“What?”
“It’s just I’m sure Sebastian had a marker. Lending money without one, that wasn’t him. But there’s a rumor that he forgave all personal debts in his will.”
“He did?” If that was true, then the money in Annaliese’s account was unencumbered. She could pay back the tabloid’s advance. She’d be free. “That’s wonderful.”
“Well, not so much. It means Annaliese had a motive.”
Cleo looked at her blankly.
“She owed Sebastian money,” Willa said then added pointedly, “as long as he was alive.”
“But that shouldn’t matter. She had the money to pay him back. It’s there, in her account. The bank would have released it on Monday.” The universe couldn’t dangle her freedom in front of her then snatch it back. It just couldn’t. But a twinge of impending panic said it was all too likely.
Willa blinked. Twice. “She had the money? Where did it come from?”
Cleo explained about the tabloid’s signing bonus.
“Well, maybe. But I’ve watched those true crime shows. Once the cops decide who did it, they twist the facts to make them fit. They’ll probably say Annaliese wanted to keep the money. Or she didn’t want to be the cause of you taking a job that was so far beneath you.”
Cleo surprised herself by bristling at the slur against The Word.
“That marker―” Willa started.
“They don’t have the marker,” Cleo said.
Willa’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know?”
“Because I have it.”