A Dead Sister (Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery) (29 page)

“Yeah, I’m with you on that. I’m sorry Graciela got spooked. I would have liked to ask her more questions. She’s got a good memory for faces. I bet she could tell us about the doc, too. Maybe I should go get some Benjamins and come back.” Jessica took a peek at her watch. “I guess it’ll have to wait until after dinner because it’s...” Her sentence was cut off by a sudden surge of noise in the place. Bells and whistles were going off; the lights in the place were flashing along with a lot of hooting and hollering from somewhere behind them. Jessica caught one of the young women servers heading their way. “What’s going on?”

“Well, some itty bitty granny just hit a jackpot—a big one. Why don’t I have that kind of luck?” She rolled her eyes as she whisked on by.

Jessica and Laura looked at each other. “You don’t think?” Laura asked.

“Nah, what are the odds?” Jessica responded.

“What’s going on?” Jessica and Laura both started, turning to find Tommy and Jerry standing there with drinks in their hands. Behind them lumbered the giant Peter, with Brien in tow, hanging on to him by the scruff of the neck.

“Somebody just won a big jackpot. I should ask you the same thing, though. What’s up with Peter and Brien?”

“We’ll let them tell you.”

Peter and Brien caught up to them at the bar. Peter released Brien, who looked less like a rag doll without Peter hanging onto him.

“Hey, man, was that really necessary?” Brien asked Peter, as he rearranged the Aloha shirt he wore with a pair of board shorts and closed toe sandals. He smoothed the collar on the shirt and ran his hands through his hair to get his blond surfer boy locks under control.

Peter fixed him with a flinty gaze. “Uh oh,” Jessica thought, “Peter’s got a nasty nun look, too, and Brien was about to get that rap on the knuckles.”

As they stood there, an entourage of Spa Casino big shots swept into the building and paraded by, heading in the direction of the jackpot hoopla. The noise had died down but had not stopped. The group was led by a well-groomed man, with a dark pony tail, in an expensive suit. With him was the hotel manager who had greeted Jessica and her party during their arrival. A young woman in hotel reception-desk garb carried a super-sized check, followed by a photographer with his camera at the ready. Two men in the light brown jackets worn by security on the casino floor and elsewhere in the resort brought up the rear. One of the security men elbowed his companion as they passed. They both cast a grim look in their direction, nodding to Peter, who acknowledged them by returning the constrained gesture.

“What on earth is that about, Peter?” Jessica asked, as they all gathered around Jessica and Laura still seated at the bar.

“Our friend here set off the alarms a while ago, over at the hotel. Brien went out a back exit clearly marked as monitored and alarmed. The security guys on duty picked him up roaming around in the parking lot. He told them he was looking for clues. They figured him for some kind of a nut until they found out he was a hotel guest. Instead of calling the police, they called me.”

“It was surfendipity, Jessica. I got turned around and went out the wrong door, but it turned out to be the right door, you know? I was in the parking lot where your friend got nailed. The pool guys showed me from up on the pool deck. When I looked up, they waved to me. That’s how I knew it was the right place.”

“More like surf-stupidity, if you ask me. What was your plan once the alarm went off?” Peter asked, gruffly.

Brien was about to answer when they saw Bernadette scurrying toward them holding the enormous check. She was being escorted by the two security officers, who were hustling to keep up with her. They did not look happy when they realized where she was headed.

“Hold this, por favor,” Bernadette said, shoving the check into the hands of one of the gentlemen on her heels as she stepped close to Jessica. “Mira! See! I won a jackpot. T
his undercover work is muy bueno, chica.” She lowered her voice as she spoke that last sentence. “I told them I wanted a picture with the manada de gatos—the cat pack.” A photographer stepped out from behind the security men, who were glowering at all of them. Behind him stood the dark-haired manager with a grin on his face and the assistant at his elbow.

“Is this the rest of your party?” the photographer asked Bernadette, who smiled and nodded enthusiastically. In a couple seconds, he had them all arranged for a group photo, with the “itty bitty granny” standing between Laura and Jessica still seated on their bar stools. Jerry and Tommy stood on one side, Peter and Brien on the other. Bernadette held her check in front of her as they all smiled. Even Peter managed something more than a grimace.

A few minutes later, they were all seated in the steakhouse perusing menus. Security had accompanied Bernadette to fill out paperwork so they could issue her a real check and report her winnings to the appropriate authorities. After taxes, Bernadette ended up with more than thirty thousand dollars “por mi nietos, for their college fund,” she said, as she went on to explain her strategy for winning the progressive jackpot.

Jessica didn’t get it, nor did she think the rest of the cat pack got it. That is, except for Brien. “We know how you did it Bernadette,” he said, with a knowing nod of his head. “This is way more than surfendipity,” he said, stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk with bites of bread from a basket set on their table.

“Surfen-whatidy?” she asked. “Are you doing that beach talk again, Brien, and with your mouth full?” That shut him up instantly.

When a fresh round of drinks was served, Jessica proposed a toast: “To Bernadette, to good friends and good fortune.” They all scarfed down well-prepared steaks, except for Peter. The chef, knowing a big winner was seated at their table, went out of his way to accommodate Peter. Acorn squash, stuffed with quinoa and topped with toasted pine nuts, finally put the still disgruntled Peter back in a better mood.

Sunday morning, “the girls” were up early, despite the late night. Bernadette was still buzzing about her jackpot, on the phone chattering in Spanish and English to her sister. They all planned to have breakfast at eight. Then Jessica, Laura, Jerry and Tommy were going to meet Uncle Don in the lobby at nine. Peter’s ex-employee in security had arranged for him to speak to someone about the comp program. Wanting to keep an eye on him, Peter decided to take his “not-so-mini-me” Brien along.

Bernadette was going to hang out and talk to the housekeeping crew, accompanying them as they made their rounds. They had already discovered the night before that she was a star. Jessica wasn’t sure if that was the hotel’s doing or just the grapevine. By the time they got back to their room after dinner, there was a steady stream of felicidades and congratulations from staff along the way. The hotel had left a congratulatory gift of spa goodies in Bernadette’s room. News traveled fast. Perhaps
someone did have information of value about Kelly, and might be willing to share it with the newly minted celebrity in their midst.

At breakfast, they had reviewed, once again, what they learned from their eventful evening at the hotel and casino. Laura and Jessica
were not the only ones to discover that Mr. P was a regular. How regular could be determined by checking his premier club comp history. His buddy in security set Peter up to do that on Sunday.

Given his high-roller status, security kept tabs on Mr.
P in a number of ways. They monitored and protected an array of expensive items Mr. P brought with him when he stayed at the resort, such as jewelry, music-industry memorabilia, and, on occasion, film and recording equipment. There were luxury autos, too, of course. A Mercedes sedan was not Mr. P’s only mode of transportation. Sometimes he drove to the hotel in a Bentley, showed up in a fiery red Ferrari, or arrived in a hired limo or town car. The records of autos associated with Mr. P wouldn’t indicate whether he owned them or not.

Tommy and Jerry had spoken to a barkeep, Alex, who also knew who they were talking about when they showed him the picture of Mr. P. More importantly, when asked about a tall, unattractive man called the doc their informant knew him, too. According to the bartender, “Unattractive was putting it mildly.”

It wasn’t his unusual height, which had to be close to seven feet. His hands were enormous, with long fingers and knobby joints. He also had a protruding brow, large cheekbones and a massive jaw. The ridge of brow gave his eyes a hooded quality made more sinister by a raised zigzag scar on one cheek.

A mouthful of jagged teeth, in combination with his other features, conjured up an image of that villain in the Bond films with the metal teeth. That surprised Alex most of all, “You’d think a doctor would have the money and motivation to take care of his teeth.” He also could not understand how the leviathan was often in the company of beautiful young women. His lumbering gait and preference for undertaker-style clothing did nothing to make him seem less malevolent.

To Jerry it sounded like the doc suffered from some sort of metabolic disorder. Like Andre the Giant, Tony Robbins or Richard Kiel, the actor who played that villain in the Bond movie. All three men were well-known figures with acromegaly. That would account for many of the distinctive features their bartender friend had described. Not the scar, though, nor his bad teeth, or the preference for black suits, dark shirts and string ties, like someone out of an old western.

“Maybe he was going for the Doc Holliday thing,” Tommy offered.

“Sounds more like Doc Holliday brought to you by Tim Burton, if you ask me,” Laura countered. “It’s got to be something to see the two of them together, given the difference in their heights. Our bartender, Graciela, took off before we could ask about the doc. Did yours make any kind of link between them?”

“Or did he give you any name other than the doc, from a credit card he used to pay for his drinks or a charge to his room?” Jessica asked, piggybacking on Laura’s question.

“I’m with you, Laura,” Tommy responded. “Seeing the two of them together would stand out, sort of like a carnival act.” Tommy shook his head, trying to clear it of the image that was forming without ever actually having witnessed the circus duo. “We asked Alex if the two men hung out together, and he said no. But a couple times, the same hot-looking woman drinking with the doc was later seen hanging out with Mr. P. And, to answer
your
question, Jessica, the doc paid with cash. He never charged anything on a credit card or to a room at the hotel. He did like to leave ‘Benjamins,’ though, like Mr. P. The doc was always flush, pulling bills from a stash in a money clip shaped like a miniature gold record.”

“Whoa, dude.” Brien, who had been silently stuffing his face with food from the breakfast buffet, suddenly spoke. He even put his fork down. “Mr. P has the same one. The pool guys told me about it. They thought it was sort of advertising his studio.” The short, slightly-built, well-dressed man always carried a wad of bills bound by that money clip. Mostly amiable, and known for his largesse, Mr. P could also fly off the handle when displeased. Of course, the way Brien put it was a little different: “It’s like one minute, everything’s grand. Then for some reason, he’d just get bent, turn into a hater, and go off on you.”

The other thing Brien learned was that Mr. P often had a posse of attractive young men and women with him at the pool or elsewhere on the grounds at the resort. The pool guys figured they were Hollywood newbies or fledgling recording artists. At times, they said they were in town to do a “shoot” or scouting for a location to shoot a music video. Just because Mr. P was accompanied by a bevy of beauties, didn’t mean he wasn’t on the lookout to add to his troupe of pretty people. Pool boy scuttlebutt held that co-workers at the hotel, spa and casino were hit on by the older man, both male and female staff members, according to the gossip. None of Brien’s informants personally witnessed or experienced Mr. P putting the moves on anyone, but “like Bernadette said, Jessica, word gets around.”

Brien had shown Kelly’s picture to the pool boys. She was definitely the old guy’s type, but none of them had been around long enough to have met her. They did know the story about a girl’s body being found in the parking lot. That’s when they took Brien to a maintenance area near the roof. From there he could view the site where the body had been found. That’s also when Brien took it upon himself to check it out, using the back stairs to get down to the lobby floor as she might have done.

“Those guys said, back in the day, it was wacked what you could do using those stairs. I figured Kelly could have gone up and down the stairs, and in and out of the hotel without anybody seeing her.” He looked at Peter, “Not anymore, I guess.” He kind of winced as if Peter might swat him.

Pet
er didn’t take a swing at Brien. He did tell them that there would not be another security breach Don Fontana had already made arrangements with security to accompany them to the parking lot this morning. Security expected them to show up in the lobby on time, and follow protocol.

Spa appointments started at noon. Taking the waters at the spa sounded a whole lot better to Jessica than traipsing around the hotel parking lot with Uncle Don and a cranky security guy.
There seemed little to be gained, at this point, from revisiting the site where Uncle Don found poor Kelly’s dead body in that parking lot. They had learned enough already to shore up Chester Davis’ story. There was, indeed, a Mr. P and a large, skulking character known as the doc. Both had frequented the resort on a regular basis when Kelly was alive. With testimony from Tommy and Bobby Simmons, they could even make the case that Mr. P knew Kelly. That ought to be enough to keep the prosecutor interested. The drug-addicted bastard, Chet Davis, would likely get another round of treatment while they continued to investigate. Uncle Don was as angry as Jessica when he heard what they had learned. They still had too little to get anything in the way of justice for Kelly. So now what?