Page 6

Chapter Five

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Ladies in Retirement

Las Vegas, Nevada

Fortunately, after we’d lugged our bags upstairs, Kat had exclaimed with delight over the room. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. In fact, a year ago I would’ve been floored by the retro light fixtures and high-thread-count bedding; funny how quickly my standards had changed. I was becoming a bit of a snob about stuff like that, which wasn’t something I was proud of.

As promised, when Kat and I came back downstairs a half hour later, a stretch limo awaited. Dot was already ensconced inside, looking gorgeous in a vintage gown that Grace Kelly could’ve worn to the Oscars, topped by a fur stole in a nod to the chill outside. She held a champagne coupe and looked positively giddy. “Welcome, ladies! Can I pour you a glass?”

“Sure,” I said. “I promise not to throw up on your shoes this time.”

“Oh, that was some night, wasn’t it?” Dot tilted her head back to laugh while Kat looked puzzled.

Turning to Kat, I explained, “Last time Dot took me for a big night out, I was overserved.”

“And that’s not the half of it,” Dot said.

“Yeah, I might’ve made a bit of an ass of myself,” I interjected hastily. “Ruined a koi pond, too.”

Dot cocked an eyebrow at me, probably wondering why I wasn’t saying more. Smart cookie that she was, though, she smoothly added, “Don’t you worry, hon. No scorpion bowls on the menu this time.”

“That’s a shame. I wouldn’t mind another trip to the Tiki Hut since I barely remember the last one.”

“Another time. Tonight is strictly top shelf.” Dot winked at us. “Hope you’re ready to experience high-roller Vegas, Kat.”

“Oh, I cannot wait!” Kat said.

“And can I say, the two of you look stunning. Kat, hon, that dress is just the nines.”

Kat beamed. Dot was right: She looked phenomenal. Her long blond hair was swept up into a complicated knot, and her makeup was perfect. She wore a strapless dress that brought out her green eyes and high heels that raised her up to at least five-foot-ten, which to me was basically Amazonian.

“I swear, you’re the spitting image of Rita Hayworth in The Lady from Shanghai ,” she added approvingly.

“Yes? I have not seen this film.”

“Oh, it’s fabulous. You’d love it,” Dot gushed. “Orson Welles directed it. He and Rita had been married, but they were estranged by the time it started shooting…”

As Dot prattled on about the film, I gazed out the window. We were driving through the section of Vegas known as “Naked City,” which, according to Dot, was not generally the safest. The Mayhem did well in spite of that, though. As we cruised past pawn shops and bail bonds offices, I felt an unexpected pang of nostalgia. Six months ago, I couldn’t get away from Vegas fast enough. But even though I liked San Francisco, something about this garish neon landscape oddly felt more like home. That was probably largely thanks to Dot.

As we turned into the parking lot of an apartment complex and two more woman climbed in, Dot clapped her hands with glee. Exchanging air kisses with them, she exclaimed, “Portia and Raquel, you look just gorgeous! Amber and Kat, these are two of my favorite Fatal Femmes!”

I nodded and said hi as the two of them slid in next to me. They exchanged a look, and then Portia said, “Wait, the Amber? As in, Pikachu Amber?”

“Um…” I shifted uncomfortably and threw Dot a look. The “Fatal Femmes” was a group of citizen sleuths who collaborated on unsolved crimes. Dot was one of the cofounders, and clearly, she’d shared more than I would’ve liked. She made a face and mouthed, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I muttered.

“What is Pikachu Amber?” Kat asked, eyes wide.

“Long story,” I said evasively. “I’ll tell you later. So, um, are you folks working on any cool cases right now?”

Weirdly, it was the Femmes’ turn to look discomfited. Avoiding my eyes, Portia said, “Oh, we’re not working on anything right now. Are we, Dot?”

“Too busy, I’m afraid,” Dot said airily. I frowned; she was wringing her hands, which she only did when she was stressed. “But I guess that’s for the best, right?”

“I guess,” I said as we pulled into another parking lot. Before I could press them on it, another round of people crammed inside, squealing and gushing.

It was a good thing Dot had sprung for the stretch option, because by the time we arrived at our destination, the limo more closely resembled a clown car. As we piled out under the portico at the Wynn resort, everyone adjusted hemlines and heels.

“Thanks, Maury, you’re a prince,” Dot said, going up on her toes to give our driver a peck on the cheek.

“Anytime, Dottie.” He tipped his cap.

Kat slipped her hand into mine. As I gave it a squeeze, I looked up at her and smiled, hoping that the tension I felt wasn’t showing in my face. Every time we’d approached another destination to pick up passengers, I’d caught my breath. I hadn’t said anything, and Dot hadn’t mentioned it, but I’d assumed that Marcella would be picked up at one of our many stops. I wasn’t sure how to interpret the fact that she hadn’t been. Was she avoiding me?

And did I care?

Nope , I thought, taking in my stunning girlfriend. Nothing was going to ruin this. Not even a hot, sort-of ex-girlfriend.

“Well, hello,” a honeyed voice said in my ear.

I jumped and spun to find Marcella grinning at me.

And just like that, I vaulted back six months to the time we’d spent holed up in a hotel room. The memory set my pulse racing, and a flush spread over my entire body. I swallowed hard.

Marcella was wearing stilettos and a slinky red dress that clung to every curve. She had on less makeup than usual, and long, dark curls framed her face.

In short, she looked amazing. I barely managed to croak out, “Oh, uh, hi, Marcella.”

We stared at each other for a long beat, which was interrupted by Kat leaning in and planting a double kiss on Marcella’s cheeks. “Lovely to meet you. I am Kat.” She pulled me close to her side and added, “Amber’s girlfriend.”

“Lucky you,” Marcella said. I couldn’t tell if she was being snide or not.

“Inside, everyone!” Dot ordered from the front of the pack. “Our reservation awaits!”

As she led us through an opulent lobby, I tried to recover. I’d thought I was mentally prepared for Marcella to be here, but seeing her in person had thrown me. Even though we’d only had a few days together, they’d been incredibly intense. And things hadn’t ended well.

The day that we’d set a trap for Gunnar Grimes, Marcella had known that she was supposed to lie low, safe in her room at the Mayhem. But her heroin addiction had proven stronger than her common sense. She’d gone back to the Getaway to score a dime bag from her dealer, even though she knew it was dangerous. And Dot’s friend Jessie went after her, an act of goodwill that she paid for with her life. By the time I arrived, Jessie had been killed by Gunnar and Marcella was his captive.

The last time I’d seen Marcella, she’d been standing beside me in the bathroom of room eleven, staring down at Jessie’s body. It wasn’t a happy memory.

Yet oddly, that wasn’t the worst experience I’d had with a girlfriend. As the memories flashed through my mind, I stumbled and nearly went flying into a potted fern; Kat braced me with her hand. “Are you okay, Amber?” she asked with concern. Lowering her voice and glancing back, she asked, “Is it that woman?”

“Yeah, it’s just…we’ve got history,” I said lamely. How can I even begin to explain without telling her everything? I swallowed hard. Maybe bringing her had been a mistake. I should have come alone, or begged off and stayed in San Francisco. “It’s complicated.”

Kat’s brow was furrowed with concern. Maybe it was time to come clean. I drew a deep breath and got ready to blurt out the whole, horrible story…

“Why are you waiting in the hallway? Is something wrong with the food?”

I froze. It couldn’t be.

Slowly, I turned to find Grace Cabot Grimes frowning at me. I gaped at her and then finally managed to sputter, “What are you doing here?”

She cocked an eyebrow and said, “I’m an invited guest. Frankly, Amber, I’d hoped your manners would improve. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

———

Gina was seriously over it. She’d been walking the track for hours with no luck, and it was fucking freezing. She drew the sleeves of her bolero more tightly around her arms—not that the thin fabric did shit to keep her warm—and took another hit off her vape pen.

The air was thick with smoke from the wildfire; it gave her a sudden, unexpected pang of nostalgia for Tempe. Back before they’d lost the house, there was a firepit in their backyard. On cold, clear nights like this one, her mom would stoke it and let them make s’mores. Gina would always burn her marshmallows. Her brother Mark gave her shit for it, but she loved biting into the charred exterior until the sweetness gushed through…

A car turned the corner and approached. As the headlights caught her, the vehicle slowed. Gina quickly dropped the sleeves of her bolero and thrust her chest forward while cocking a hip to the side and grinning broadly. As the driver eased to the curb, she bent over and pursed her lips seductively. The passenger window lowered a crack. Fighting to keep her teeth from chattering, she asked, “Hey, you looking for a date?”

Gina couldn’t see the driver; his face was cast in shadow. There was a long beat—too long, to the point where something felt off. A shiver shimmied up her spine that had nothing to do with the weather. She was about to straighten and walk away, cutting her losses, when a deep voice said, “Climb in.”

Gina hesitated. Marcella always said you had to listen to your gut. But her own gut was notoriously unreliable—just look at all the losers she’d dated—and besides, it was currently rumbling with hunger. Turning down a date definitely wouldn’t fix that.

“You coming?” the driver rumbled.

Fuck it . Opening the door, she chirped, “Sure, honey. I got a room just down the street.”