Page 7

Chapter Six

–––

Gaslight

So dinner was awkward, to say the least. We were seated at a long table in the garden of a Michelin-starred restaurant. I really shouldn’t have been surprised by the lengths that people went to for Dot; hell, I’d certainly done it myself on occasion. But the fact that someone had reserved the entire outdoor patio of a top Vegas eatery exclusively for her and her friends was impressive. At one point during dinner, a legendary Vegas crooner stopped by to serenade Dot with “Strangers in the Night.” I wouldn’t have been all that surprised to see the real Elvis waltz in.

I’m sure the food was delicious, but I barely even registered it. I was distracted by Marcella loudly regaling one end of the table with stories about all the bizarre things that had happened since she started managing the Getaway, Dot’s other motel. And at the other end, Grace was delicately picking at each course, her manners impeccable.

Meanwhile, I was having a hard time scraping my jaw off the floor. It felt like one of those bizarre dreams. At any moment, I expected someone to jump up and announce that we were being pranked. The fact that Grace was even here was staggering enough. But to see her in a normal environment, interacting with regular people, not a cattle prod in sight?

That was hard to wrap my head around.

So I made stilted conversation with Portia, the Fatal Femme who nattered away at my elbow throughout the meal. Apparently she was some sort of fancy lawyer who kept alluding to her “extracurricular activities,” as if I’d know what she was talking about.

“Love the Rolex,” she said, pointing to my wrist. “Is it real?”

I reflexively covered it with my hand. Kat was always giving me extravagant things I never would have bought for myself; wearing it still made me self-conscious. “Um, yeah. My girlfriend gave it to me.”

Portia’s eyebrows shot up and she issued a low whistle. “Damn. Well, she’s a keeper. But back to the big stuff: I still can’t believe you were captured by an actual goddamn serial killer!” The wine had stained her teeth red. She polished off the glass and waved to the waiter for a refill. “And then got chased by another one? I mean, how many people can say that? You are going to tell me all about it.”

“Um…” I shifted uncomfortably. “There’s not a lot to tell.”

“That’s not what Dottie said.” Portia leaned in conspiratorially. “She told the Femmes you were in the room when Gunnar Grimes was shot. And you saved Marcella’s life, right?”

“Kind of, I guess.”

“Poor Jessie, though. Terrible tragedy. We all loved her.” Portia raised her glass in a salute.

“Yeah, that was terrible,” I agreed, squirming. Talking about all this was kicking up my nerves, and between that and the alcohol, I was starting to feel nauseous and faint. I’d gotten the sense that the Fatal Femmes was a pretty big group; did they all know the details of that night? Because that would be downright alarming. Breathe , I told myself. “Honestly, Portia, I really don’t like talking about it.”

“Shouldn’t say that,” she said, downing another half a glass.

“Say what?”

“Honestly.” Leaning in too close again, she said, “Makes people think you’re usually lying. They teach us that in law school.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I muttered.

Across the table, Kat was eyeing me questioningly, so I clearly wasn’t doing a fantastic job of concealing my agitation. I couldn’t help it, though. All this was just too stressful and weird. When I saw Grace get up to use the bathroom, I tossed down my napkin and followed.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as the door closed behind us.

Grace regarded me coolly in the mirror. “What do you mean? Dot invited me.”

“And you came?”

“Of course I came. It would have been rude to refuse.” Grace leaned in and reapplied her lipstick. “And how are you, Amber?”

I goggled at her. Grace Cabot Grimes was standing in the bathroom with me, (apparently) unarmed, wearing a dress, and putting on makeup? It felt like my head might explode. “I, uh, I’m okay, I guess.”

“Enjoying San Francisco?”

“Are you seriously making small talk right now?”

Grace looked bemused. “Is there something you’d prefer to discuss?”

“So many things, it’s hard to know where to begin,” I said. “For starters, how did Dot even get in touch with you?”

“I sent a thank you note for her assistance last spring. She responded with a wedding invitation.”

“Wait, so…she has your address?”

Grace scoffed. “I use a PO box and obviously take all necessary precautions.”

“Obviously,” I said, feeling somewhat mollified. Still. They’re pen pals now?

“Congratulations on completing your degree, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks.” I’d managed to earn a BA in psychology from East Tennessee State University a few months ago. Which was a pretty big deal for me, especially since my final semester had been interrupted by multiple serial killers. But over the summer I’d finished the coursework online and received my diploma in the mail. I promptly went out to celebrate by buying a round for everyone at my local lesbian bar.

Coincidentally, that was also the night I’d met Kat. I flushed at the memory and cleared my throat. “So what have you been up to?”

Grace shrugged. “The usual.”

“Really?” I felt a twinge of panic. Grace had spent her entire adult life pursuing serial killers; well, she was mainly chasing her twin brother and stumbled across the others along the way. And whenever that happened, she zapped them with a cattle prod and left them tied up with a bow for the cops to find.

Now that her brother was dead, I’d assumed she’d stopped her side hustle. The possibility that she might still be on the clock was worrisome. Lowering my voice, I asked, “You’re not after someone here in Vegas, are you? I thought you were done with all that.”

Grace clicked shut her clutch and said, “We should get back.”

“That wasn’t an answer,” I said, hurrying to follow. As always, it was a challenge to match her long strides.

“I’m officially retired,” Grace said. “Have you started applying to graduate programs yet?”

“Not yet. I’m thinking of going to a UC, but I have a better shot at getting in if I establish California residency first. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you said ‘officially.’ Unofficially , are you after someone here?”

Grace glanced over at me. “Why? Is another killer after you?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” I said. “But based on past experience, I’m usually the last to find out.”

Grace laughed. “Fair point. Well, as far as I know, your life isn’t in danger at the moment. No more than anyone else’s, existentially speaking.”

“Well, that’s a relief, I guess.” At the restaurant’s threshold I grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. “You’re really only here for the wedding?”

Grace sighed. “Why is that so hard to believe? I told you before, Amber, I have always had a life outside of chasing my brother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe dessert is about to be served. The meal has been lovely so far, hasn’t it? Much better than I was expecting.”

Blithely, she headed back toward the patio. I watched her go, unable to shake the sense that she wasn’t telling me everything. But of course she wasn’t—it was Grace, after all.

My real fear was that whatever she was actually here for had something to do with me.

———

The guy hadn’t said a word during the two-minute drive to the motel, which made Gina even more anxious. She prattled away to fill the silence, going on about the wildfire and the cold and anything else that popped into her mind. She hardly even knew what she was saying; the whole time she was doing her damnedest to ignore the small voice that was shrieking at her to Get the fuck out! This guy is creepy, it’s not worth the money …

Easy for the voice to say. It didn’t have to pony up another week’s rent tomorrow.

Still, she was wary. A couple girls had had bad experiences recently, and she definitely didn’t want to join them. Don’t let him get between you and the exit , Marcella was always saying. So after unlocking the motel room door, Gina waved him past. “After you, sexy.”

He grumbled something that might’ve been “thank you”; it was hard to tell. She flicked the light switch, finally providing her with a good look at him, and he winced in the glare. He was an older white dude with a bit of a paunch. Beard, mustache, and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. He had on a giant parka and sunglasses even though it was dark outside, which was odd, but she’d seen weirder. He looked clean, at least, and didn’t seem to have a weapon.

“So what do you want, sugar?” she asked, the quaver in her voice betraying the fact that she was still freaking freezing and the room wasn’t much warmer than outside.

“Drink?” he asked, pulling a split of champagne from his parka.

Gina hesitated. She wouldn’t mind a nip, but as a rule she didn’t take food or drink from a john. Too many freaks out there, it wasn’t worth the risk. “That’s so sweet! But I’m good,” she said. “So it’s twenty-five for a hand job, fifty if I go down on you, a hundred for sex, but I’m on top. Which do you want?”

He frowned at her and waved the bottle, growling, “I want you to take a drink.”

Shit. There was something in his tone that she definitely didn’t like. Feebly, she said, “I don’t really drink, but thanks. So how about—”

Before she could finish the sentence, he slammed her back against the door, knocking the wind out of her. Gina struggled, clawing at his arms and face and kicking at his knees…but he was strong, much stronger than he’d looked. He’d produced a cloth out of nowhere and pressed it to her nose. It smelled off, sickly sweet, like it had been doused with something.

Colored dots crowded the edges of Gina’s vision, and her eyes drifted shut. She wanted to keep fighting, but it was as if something had shut down the part of her brain that sent messages to her hands and feet. Well, crap , Gina thought. Her gut had been right after all.

———

It proved impossible to shake my suspicions. While everyone else was having a grand old time during the rest of dinner, and afterward at the burlesque show (okay, I might have found that a little distracting), I was watching Grace like a hawk.

We were ending the night at the Bellagio, indulging in Vegas’s number-one pastime: gambling. At least, the rest of the bachelorette party was. I didn’t gamble. As a former grifter, I’d never understand the appeal of handing over your money to the house; it just made me feel like a mark. So Kat and I had grabbed seats at the bar instead. As I sipped my drink, I scanned the room.

“Should I be jealous?” Kat asked.

“What?” I asked with a frown, turning to face her.

Kat was perched on the next barstool, brandishing a martini and a look of annoyance. She nodded toward the craps table, where Grace was sipping what looked like seltzer while the rest of the bachelorette party chortled and took turns throwing dice.

“You cannot take your eyes off that woman,” Kat complained. “And you followed her to the bathroom. Is she another former girlfriend?”

“Grace?” I laughed out loud. “God, no. She’s just—” I hesitated. How to explain our relationship without going into all the gritty details? “Um, she’s sort of a frenemy, I guess. That’s, like—”

“I know what a frenemy is,” Kat said, cutting me off. I raised an eyebrow at her. “Sorry,” she continued. “I just was not prepared to meet so many people from your life. It’s been a bit overwhelming.”

“Hey, c’mere.” I pulled her in for a kiss. “I’m crazy about you, you know that?”

Some of the tension left her body as I nuzzled her. “I am crazy about you, too.”

“You better be.” I leaned my forehead against hers and said, “Otter or dolphin?”

“Dolphin, definitely. Otters cannot surf.”

“Wait, what? Dolphins can surf?”

“Absolutely. We should drive to Carmel after this,” she purred in my ear. “I know a darling little bed-and-breakfast near a white sand beach where the dolphins ride the waves this time of year.”

“That sounds amazing,” I agreed with a sigh. Why was I letting Grace get under my skin? I was here to enjoy myself with my amazing girlfriend and to celebrate with Dot. Everything else was superfluous.

“I was wondering if you gave it any more thought,” Kat murmured.

“What, the alien zombie thing?”

She cracked a smile. “That too, obviously, but I meant the money thing. I was speaking to my financial adviser the other day, and he offered a free consultation.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe when we get back.”

“We should book it soon, though. He only works with people referred by current clients,” she said. “I was lucky he agreed. Last time I referred someone, he was too busy to take them on.”

“Uh-huh. That is lucky.” Over Kat’s shoulder, I saw that Dot and Marcella had joined Grace. They huddled together, engaged in what looked like an intense discussion. Then, abruptly, all three turned and hurried toward the exit.

“Huh,” I said. “That’s weird.”

“Seriously?” Kat protested, following my gaze. “Are you even listening?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, all night I’ve had this weird feeling that my friends are keeping something from me. And it’s driving me a little crazy.”

Kat shook her head and sighed. “Then I guess we had better find out if it is true.”

“Yeah?” I asked hopefully.

Kat drained the rest of her martini and made a show of pulling on her jacket. “Will it make you less distracted?”

“Definitely,” I said. “And it’s probably nothing. I just want to know for sure.”

“Then let us go.” She grabbed hold of my hand. “Which way?”

“They headed toward the main entrance,” I said, pointing.

“All right. Auf geht’s! ” Kat marched toward the door, blazing a path.

“I don’t deserve you, you know that?” I said, hustling to keep up.

Over her shoulder, Kat said, “Yes, you are very fortunate. Now maybe take off your heels so we can run.”

———

We arrived at the front entrance out of breath and barefoot, toting our heels by their straps.

“There they are!” Kat gasped, pointing to the valet stand, where Grace was handing over her ticket.

“Okay, let’s grab a cab.” I motioned toward the taxi stand at the other end of the portico; thankfully, there was no line. We slipped our shoes back on and hobbled toward the cab idling at the curb, keeping our heads down. I glanced back; a valet had just pulled up with Grace’s car (a sensible, nondescript sedan, natch), and the three of them climbed in.

“Where to, ladies?” our driver asked.

“We need you to follow that car!” Kat said excitedly.

The driver raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I said apologetically. “It’s kind of a prank. I’ll give you an extra fifty on top of the fare.”

“What kind of prank?” he asked suspiciously. “I won’t do nothin’ illegal.”

“It’s okay,” I said weakly. “They’re friends of mine.”

He threw me a look in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t blame him. Most people didn’t tail their friends through the streets of Vegas in the middle of the night.

“It is a scavenger hunt for our friend’s bachelorette party,” Kat piped up. “We do not know where one of the items is, but that team does because they are from here, so they have an unfair advantage. We are just trying to level the playing field.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. The driver chuckled and said, “Sure, I got you. What’s the prize?”

“Tickets to the O show,” Kat said without missing a beat. “I have always wanted to see that one.”

“It’s the best for sure,” the driver agreed, finally putting the car in gear and easing out at what felt like a glacial pace.

I chewed my lower lip, worried that we’d lost them, but at the next light I spotted them two cars ahead. “There they are!”

“Got ’em,” he said. “So where are you ladies from?”

“San Francisco,” Kat said, leaning forward.

“Yeah? One of my kids lives there.”

“Oh, what a lovely coincidence!” Kat exclaimed. As she and the driver chatted about the Bay Area, I tuned them out. Thankfully, Grace didn’t seem to realize we were tailing them because she drove sedately.

Where could they possibly be going? Were they doing something for the wedding? At two a.m.? I couldn’t help but feel a little left out. After all, I was the one who had brought all of them together; well, at least I’d unintentionally introduced Dot and Marcella to Grace. As we followed them off the Strip and into a more dilapidated area, I wondered what the hell was going on.

“Quite the hunt they got you on,” the driver said. “I gotta say, this ain’t the best part of town. You sure about all this?”

“Um, yeah,” I said. “I think it’s fine.”

The sedan abruptly turned into the parking lot of a motel. I frowned; this wasn’t one of Dot’s places. It was definitely one of the sketchier-looking establishments I’d ever seen, and that was saying something. The only letter in the neon sign that remained illuminated was a crooked X , and the lot was nearly empty. Our cab slowed as Grace parked in front of one of the rooms. When the three of them climbed out, I said, “Right here is great, thanks.”

The driver hesitated. “Maybe I should stick around, this isn’t really safe for a couple young ladies. Could your friends have the wrong place? What are you looking for, anyhow?”

“An ashtray from the worst motel in Vegas,” Kat said exuberantly. “So this is perfect!”

I threw her a look; it was truly impressive how she kept coming up with this stuff on the fly. “Do you mind waiting, actually?” I asked. “You can keep the meter running.”

“I was gonna take a break anyway,” he said, shifting into park. “Go get your ashtray. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you so much, Frank.” Kat leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “You are a lovely man. I hope things work out with your son.”

He flushed deep red and mumbled a thanks. As we hurried across the lot, I pulled my jacket tighter around me. Tomorrow I was investing in a parka for sure. “What’s up with his son?”

“Frank did not handle it well when he came out. Hopefully, he can make amends.”

I smiled in spite of myself; Kat had a real gift for seeing the best in people. “An ashtray, huh? That was slick,” I said approvingly. “Where’d you come up with that?”

“It was on the list for our senior scavenger hunt at boarding school,” Kat said. “Now, what next?”

“That’s a great question.” Now that we were here, the cold was cutting through my buzz and suddenly this didn’t seem like such a brilliant plan. Whatever was going on wasn’t really any of my business, right? And obviously they didn’t want me involved.

“We could just return to the Mayhem,” Kat suggested, reading me. “If you have changed your mind.”

“No,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “We’ve come this far. Let’s find out what’s up.”

Kat waved toward the battered row of doors facing the parking lot. “They went into number eight.”

We tiptoed forward and leaned against the plywood door, listening. I frowned; it sounded like someone inside was sobbing. I hesitated, but before I could share my reservations, Kat turned the knob and pushed the door open.

As we gaped at the tableau before us, Grace said, “As always, Amber, your timing is appalling.”