Deadly. Set. Vegas., page 6
“Would anyone like to share?” Betty looked from one person to the next with a sweet, welcoming smile. Her attention moved to Kennedy.
Kennedy held her breath. She didn’t move or smile. Nothing that would imply she wanted to share. She wasn’t a sharer.
“I’ll go first.” Red spandex waved her powdered sugar-covered hand. “I’m Diandra and I’m an alcoholic.” She licked her fingertips clean.
“Hi, Diandra,” everyone said in unison.
“So, you all remember Zeke.”
Kennedy could’ve sworn that Joanna groaned. But since AA held no judgement, she might have misheard it.
“So, Zeke told me he loved me again. And I don’t know, maybe I should give him another chance. He’s got a job over at Caesar’s. He’s not drinking no more.” Diandra had a dreamy look in her eyes. “We used to drink all the time, but we can totally find other things to do.”
Kennedy didn’t know this woman or the whole situation, but two alcoholics who’d drank together, planning to not drink anymore? That was a recipe for disaster.
Kennedy had tried that. Kennedy had tried to keep her relationship with Steve alive after she’d hit rock bottom. Funny thing. When one person in a relationship hits rock bottom and the other does not, they can’t move on together because they’re in different places.
So now she was sober, and he was doing a five-month stint in county for multiple DUIs. It was one of the main reasons she was here, in this meeting—besides the whole court-ordered thing. She was only a couple DUIs from being in the cell next to his—well, in the women’s facility. Cops didn’t do well in jail.
“Zeke and I went to the gym together last night. It was so romantic.”
“You know he’s just going to suck you into his bullshit again.” Joanna got it.
“Joanna!” Betty did not. Her smile had fallen from her face. “This is a safe space.”
Joanna sighed. “It’s a safe space, but someone has to speak up. We’re enabling her to make poor choices. The last time she went out with Zeke they ended up passed-out, half-naked on a party bus.”
Now that sounded like a story that would land a person in an AA meeting. Not that Kennedy was judging. She had a few of those in her back pocket. Maybe next time she’d pull a few out. But right now she was counting the minutes to ice cream.
CHAPTER 11
Kennedy couldn’t find ice cream. Or maybe it was that she found frozen custard first. She pulled the Jaguar into Darcy’s driveway and got out, flipping the plastic cover off her cup of pineapple cashew heaven before she hip-checked the car door closed.
She licked the side of the bowl to catch a drip, careful not to waste a bit. Only her terror of getting melted ice cream on the leather upholstery had kept her from eating while driving.
She walked through the grandiose outside entryway, flowers and palm trees lining the path to an oversized double front door. The unlocked front door. That was strange. Kennedy closed it behind her and listened. Silence. “Hello?”
Nothing. Eerily quiet. Which was weird since it was early evening. This was prime time in the Perrault household.
“Anyone home?” She shoved her spoon into the ice cream and scooped up a spoonful. Ate it. Still silent. Someone had to be home. The front door was practically hanging open, inviting thieves to steal stuff. Okay it wasn’t hanging open, but it wasn’t locked. And one would think they’d want to protect their stuff from walking out said front door.
She leaned up the stairs. “Hellooo.” The sound bounced off the walls and vibrated back to her. “I’m king of the world…” orld, orld, orld.
“Excuse me.” A woman with tied-back gray hair walked in the room, her feather duster held out like a weapon. Her jeans hugged ample curves and her T-shirt clung to more ample. She’d make a killing in a wet T-shirt competition.
Kennedy wasn’t afraid of getting feather-dustered to death, but better safe than sorry. “I’m a friend of Darcy’s.”
“You’re Kennedy?” The woman’s face lit up as she barreled forward. She wrapped her arms around Kennedy and squeezed. “I’m Selma. I’m so glad to finally meet you. Miss Darcy told me all about you.”
“Darcy talks about you as well.” The words might have squeaked out of Kennedy’s throat because Selma was currently trying to squeeze all the custard out of her. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
“You too. You too.” Selma pulled away, letting blood flow through Kennedy’s body. From what Darcy had said, Selma was an amazing housekeeper and an amazing margarita maker. Oh, and she drank Darcy under the table a few times. “I really love her.”
The smile on Kennedy’s lips lit up her chest. “I love Darcy, too.” How could she not? How could anyone not love her? She was a great person. “Where did everyone go?”
“They went to talk to the funeral home people.”
Every time Kennedy felt normal, like eating frozen custard or meeting someone else in Darcy’s life, Chuck’s death smacked the normal right down. No matter what a crappy husband he was, he didn’t deserve to be murdered. No one did.
“Why don’t I make you something to eat?” Selma said.
“I have food.” Kennedy held up her cup.
“You have junk food.” Selma took the cup and spoon from Kennedy’s hand. “Let me get you a sandwich. I have some honey turkey and ham.”
A sandwich sounded pretty good about now. “That sounds delicious.” Her stomach growled. Did she say both of those things out loud?
Selma laughed. “Follow me.”
Kennedy followed Selma into the kitchen and sat on one of the stools at the counter while Selma gathered cold cuts, bread and a plate.
“So, do you miss having Chuck around here?” Kennedy tried to make small talk. Although bringing up Chuck wasn’t exactly small.
“Not really.”
“You didn’t like him?” They should have started a club…
“Oh, I liked him fine. I just didn’t like how he treated Miss Darcy.”
Kennedy could relate. After Darcy found out she was pregnant, he would just disappear. He claimed it was to clear his head, but who actually left and went no-contact for a week at a time? “What did he do to her?”
“He had the redhead over way too much,” Selma whispered, shaking her head. “He said they were working late, but it’s impossible to work that late all the time.” She wasn’t the first one to mention he’d cheated.
“Did Darcy know?”
“Oh yes. Miss Darcy knows everything. But she was too busy with the bearded man.” Selma layered meat on the bread.
“The bearded man?”
“Miss Darcy wouldn’t tell me his name. Just said he was a friend.” Selma rolled her eyes on the word “friend”.
“If she said he was a friend, why don’t you believe her?”
“Friends don’t rub each other’s back at the pool.”
“Well to be fair, they do if they’re putting sunscreen on each other.” Kennedy had rubbed a few backs in her day. Hell, she’d rubbed Darcy’s back many times.
“I saw her rubbing his front too. He was wearing pants over that part, so I’m thinking it didn’t need sunscreen.” Selma giggled. “When those kids weren’t here, this place became a regular hotel.”
“Was there anything else about the bearded man?” Since a name wasn’t available, she’d settle for any distinct characteristic. “Hair color? Height? Anything that might stick out?”
Selma stopped, and Kennedy practically saw the wheels turning as she thought. “No hair on his head. But brown hair on his face.”
“And Chuck was okay with this guy coming into his house.”
“Eh, I don’t think he noticed. They slept in separate bedrooms.”
“And the kids didn’t notice?”
“They only had sleepovers when the kids were at school.” Selma took a knife out of a drawer.
“It must have been hard for them to share a bedroom all summer.”
“Not really. Chuck spent more time at work and Darcy spent more time in the pool house.”
“Why the pool house?” Please don’t say she was doing the pool boy. That was so cliché. And so far this whole story was sounding more and more cliché.
Selma cut the sandwich in triangles, like Kennedy’s grandma used to do, and then laughed. “Miss Darcy can get little loud when she’s with her friend. If you get my drift.”
Everyone got her drift. Darcy had always been a screamer. When there was a scrunchie on their college dorm room door, that meant she was entertaining a gentleman caller. And she’d be calling out his name for the dorm to hear. To be fair, though, it had usually been Chuck. Once she met him, the screaming was all for him.
“The pool house is sound-proofed.” Selma pushed the plate with Kennedy’s sandwich across the counter.
“Why?”
Selma shrugged. “Chuck tried his hand at rock and roll. He was taping in there for a while, but thankfully he realized he wasn’t any good.”
Kennedy had been privy to some of the music that had come out of those jam sessions. To call it music was insulting to music. Again, not a reason to be killed.
The problem was that Darcy wasn’t looking good, and if the cops started looking at her, they’d find a whole forest of red flags. Which added another layer to why Kennedy needed to solve this. She didn’t want to end up in jail with Darcy. She enjoyed rooming with her in college but had a feeling sharing a room in jail wouldn’t nearly be as much fun.
Kennedy picked up half the sandwich. “How long were they unhappy together?”
“Who said they were unhappy? They loved each other but got to spend time with their little playthings. It was their way.” Selma picked up a towel. “I have to get back to work.”
“Can you tell me if you hear from Darcy?”
Selma nodded, and left Kennedy to eat her sandwich and wrap her mind around Darcy and Chuck’s open relationship. Like it was normal. And according to Selma it was normal for them. But could it have caused Darcy to kill?
CHAPTER 12
Kennedy sat in the backyard, eating the best damn sandwich she’d ever had. Maybe it was the fact that someone else made it, or maybe it was the rhythmic splash of the tiny waterfalls carved into the far end of the swimming pool.
Either way, she was enjoying the heck out of the sandwich as she reclined in the lounge chair and soaked up the sun. Chicago in October was a crapshoot. One day it was warm enough to wear board shorts. The next day it was as dark as a Batman movie and you could feel the cold to your bones. There were very few days where the sun made an appearance, and even fewer days set to eighty degrees.
She dropped her head back and let the rays warm her skin. Soaking in the whole ambience of it all. Chlorine with a hint of eucalyptus tickled her sinuses. It was calming and pleasant. She couldn’t help the smile that flitted at the edges of her lips.
“Miss Kennedy, the police are here.” Selma’s voice cut through the calm. And Kennedy’s eyes flew open to find Detective Lester and her evil sidekick standing in the open doorway.
“Thank you, Ms. Schmidt.” Detective Pagonis might be nice to Selma, but he had a smirk on his face for Kennedy—living up to the evil part of his name.
“Do you need anything before I go back to work?” Selma asked.
“No, thank you.” Again, with the pleasantries. Who knew he even knew how to use the words thank you.
Selma nodded and walked back into the house, closing the sliding glass door and leaving Kennedy alone with Las Vegas’s finest.
“Ms. Romero, do you have time for some questions?” Detective Lester actually seemed to care if Kennedy had time.
“You seem to be settling in.” Pagonis, not so much.
Like a person wasn’t allowed to eat. She stuffed the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. She’d get what little joy she could before Pagonis screwed it all up.
“Why did you come to Las Vegas?” Apparently, Pagonis was playing a game of ask the same questions over and over again to see if he could trip her up. He wasn’t going to win.
“Vacation. Darcy was getting an award for philanthropy.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, she’s also part owner of a soccer team. I wanted to see a game and do the whole MVP thing. Maybe gamble a little. Hit a buffet.” What Kennedy wouldn’t give for some Caesar’s crab legs right about now. It was the one thing on her list. She needed to get her ass to the strip.
“When was the last time you saw Chuck?”
“The night before he passed.” Yeah, she was well aware how guilty that made her look, but if she hadn’t killed Chuck when he made a pass at her sophomore year of college— while his pregnant girlfriend was home sick with after-dinner-morning-sickness— she wasn’t going to do it now.
That was one of the reasons she’d never jumped on the Chuck bandwagon. She didn’t hate him, just thought he made really dumb choices when he drank. And back then he was drinking a lot. Not that she could really throw stones. Her decisions when she drank put her in a rather unstable glass house.
“So, you were the last one to see him alive?”
Kennedy did not roll her eyes, as much as she was tempted to. “No. I’m sure the person who killed him saw him after I did.”
“Where did you see him?” Pagonis growled, face tense.
“At his office.” Kennedy squinted as the sun pierced her eyelids. She’d ask them to move so she wasn’t blinded, but she recognized their fun little interrogation tactic. They wanted to keep their victims off-kilter.
“What happened?”
So not working. She wasn’t going to fall victim to their kiltering. “We talked, and I came back to the house.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Normal stuff.” How Chuck couldn’t be bothered to show up for his wife’s award ceremony because he was banging the help. Normal, right?
“So you raise your voice during normal conversations?”
“That’s just how we talked.” Kennedy and Chuck were like sharks and blood. Put them together and the water became choppy. Not that she’d say that out loud. “It was endearing.”
“Some might say it was motive.”
“Miss Kennedy.” Selma opened the sliding glass door and stood in the opening. “You wanted me to let you know if Miss Darcy called. She’s at the funeral home, and it’s taking longer than expected.”
“Thank you.”
“How long have you been on the Perrault’s staff?” Detective Pagonis moved his laser focus to Selma. Kennedy hated to admit it, but the breath hiding in her lungs evacuated in a large huff.
Selma shifted from one foot to the other. “Seven years.”
“So you get to see the inner workings of the Perrault household regularly.”
“I guess.” Selma’s fingers twirled around themselves. She kept averting her gaze, like she was getting ready to run.
I feel you. Kennedy was used to the police department’s direct interrogation methods, yet this man discombobulated the hell out of her.
“Did they fight?”
“Everyone fights.”
“From what I’ve heard, they fought every day.” Detective Delightful was fishing. He was bobbing in the wrong lake.
“Well, I don’t know about that. They didn’t fight like that here.” From what Selma said earlier it was because they lived completely separate lives at home. “They loved each other.”
“Is that why she’s running the team and not his brother?” The detective might be an ass, but that was a good question. Kennedy had wondered about as well.
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.”
That was a really good idea. She just had to ditch the five-oh. “Are we done here?”
Constable Crabby didn’t seem to like that Kennedy asked that question. Or maybe it was that she asked any questions that chapped his ass. “We’re done when we say we’re done.”
Kennedy stared at him and waited. What she was waiting for, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was waiting for the next question. Or maybe she was waiting for him to say they were done. She could honestly say she was hoping for the latter. This interrogation was exhausting and useless.
She didn’t kill Chuck. Neither did Darcy.
“When did you say Darcy Perrault would be back?” Pagonis asked Selma.
“She didn’t say, but apparently, they’re having trouble with some paperwork at the funeral home.” Selma gulped. “She said to eat dinner without her, so I’m thinking it will be a while.”
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Detective Lester said. Her scowling companion didn’t seem to agree, but he followed her to the sliding glass door.
Pagonis stopped at the open door and turned to Kennedy. Something was hanging on his lips. Could it be another threat about not leaving town? Maybe pointing two fingers at his eyes then at her— I’m watching you. Fortunately, he did neither. He turned around and slid the door closed before disappearing.
Selma grabbed at her heart before leaning toward Kennedy and whispering. “Oh, thank God they left.”
Kennedy agreed. “He’s a bit much.”
“No. I mean yes, but it’s not that. Darcy will be here any moment.”
“Nice work.” Lying to the cops. “Great poker face.”
“I don’t play poker.”
“You should. Where is Darcy?”
“She called to say she was bringing home pizza.” Selma’s face dropped. “What if they bump into each other?” She threw open the sliding glass door and went into the house. Kennedy followed.
“Are they gone?” Kennedy asked, as Selma checked the front windows.
“They’re gone.” Selma’s face lit up in a smile. “She’s bringing deep dish. I’ll get the plates and sodas.”
Kennedy couldn’t help but smile back. Selma’s excitement was contagious. Kennedy doubted Las Vegas pizza was going to compete with Chicago deep dish. But the pizza didn’t matter. She wanted to talk to Darcy, because she needed answers.
CHAPTER 13
Kennedy sat on the couch rubbing her food baby. Surprisingly the Las Vegas version of Chicago-style deep dish tasted like home. And after the amount she ate, she might not need to eat until she got home.
