Chapter 4 Lottie #2
“Effie is handling things,” Suze reports with a shrug that suggests she couldn’t care less if my business burns to the ground in her absence, which is pretty much her standard attitude toward most things that don’t directly involve her or the things she deems important—like making sure Noah never ends up in my bed again.
She and Everett are sort of a unified front on that topic.
Lily nods. “We asked Effie to come along, but she said she had things to do and people to kill.”
“Sounds like the Cutie Pie is in good hands.” I sigh. Effie’s murderous hyperbole has always been her most charming quality. Although knowing Honey Hollow, it might be a literal statement.
“Alex and I couldn’t resist a free babysitter,” Lily explains with a Cheshire cat grin. “We’re ready to roll the dice and win our millions, or at least enough to pay for this trip and maybe a nice dinner that doesn’t come from a drive-through window.”
Alex would be Noah’s baby brother, one year younger and romantically attached to Lily in what passes for a stable relationship in our social circle.
He had a baby with a psychotic woman who is currently doing time in some psychiatric facility for the criminally insane, and Lily is helping to raise little Levi.
He’s just a smidge over nine months old and is a cute little Fox through and through—basically Lyla Nell in male skin, assuming Lyla Nell was slightly less likely to see dead people.
Lily nods my way. “I have a feeling Alex and I are going to win big.”
Keelie leans in. “The only thing you’re likely to win with Lottie around is front-row seats to a homicide investigation and possibly a starring role in the eventual true crime documentary.”
“You’re a ray of sunshine,” I deadpan just as the kitchen doors swing open, and Chuck Longnecker emerges, his face arranged in a mask of appropriate corporate concern that I bet took years of customer service training to perfect.
The crowd falls silent, sensing an announcement the way animals sense earthquakes.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Chuck begins, his voice carrying the tone of a hotel worker who’s had to deliver bad news in luxury surroundings before and knows exactly how to package disaster for maximum damage control, “I regret to inform you that there has been an unfortunate incident. A homicide.” He pauses for effect as gasps ripple through the crowd like a wave.
“The sheriff’s department will be taking everyone’s name and contact information.
Please proceed to the nearest exit, where deputies are stationed to ensure your cooperation. ”
The crowd erupts in a chorus of exclamations and the noise amplifies in the enclosed space like thunder trapped in a tin can.
Carlotta slaps her thigh and hoots with laughter that could be heard in three neighboring casinos. “So you got another one, Lot! Who’d you off this time? And please tell me it was someone who deserved it, because I’m running out of alibis for you.”
I glare at her with enough heat to caramelize sugar. “Could you try—just once—not to make me sound like a serial killer with a baking fetish?”
“She has a point, though,” Keelie muses, tapping her chin. “It must have been one of your stiffest competitors.”
“Stiff being the operative word,” Suze adds dryly, because apparently murder brings out her talent for inappropriate comments.
“I give it twenty minutes before they start questioning you,” Lily chimes in with the cheerful tone of someone who may or may not have placed a bet on the inevitable disaster. “What’s your alibi this time? Excessive flour purchasing? Suspicious activity with measuring spoons?”
“You all realize I’m standing right here, right?” I throw my hands up in exasperation that could power a small windmill. “Is this what having supportive friends feels like? Because I’m starting to think I need to reevaluate my social circle.”
But within seconds my irritation dissolves as soon as I spot Noah across the room, engaged in what appears to be a heated argument with an Elvis impersonator in a purple jumpsuit that looks like it was designed by someone who thought subtlety was a foreign language.
Everett stands nearby, arms crossed, judge face in full effect like he’s presiding over a very informal but potentially violent court session.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, drawn to the confrontation like a moth to a particularly disastrous flame that promises to singe off my eyebrows. Noah is just that angry.
Once I get close enough, I catch fragments of Noah’s words, his voice low and dangerous in a way that suggests he’s operating on the edge of his professional restraint and most likely his personal sanity.
“Last warning, Joe. Pay what you owe or I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Purple Elvis sneers. “Kill me? In a room full of cops and witnesses with smartphones?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Noah growls, and it’s then I realize that he means it with every fiber of his being.
Before things can escalate into what would probably become the most documented assault in Las Vegas history, Pacy and Chuck materialize like hospitality ninjas trained in conflict resolution and advanced martial arts.
“Gentlemen,” Chuck says with a forced calm that suggests he’s mentally calculating the hotel’s liability exposure, “this is hardly the time or place for whatever personal business you might have.”
The tension diffuses like air leaking from a balloon, and I feel someone slide next to me with the stealth of a seasoned eavesdropper. Sherry Smoot’s fiery curls enter my peripheral vision before she speaks.
“Looks like Dirty Joe is pushing that handsome steed to his very last nerve.” She giggles, her voice honeyed with Southern charm but laced with something sharper that suggests she’s enjoying the drama more than any decent person should.
She leans closer, her champion pin glittering pink—the exact same shade as the glitter I spotted on Jolene’s apron!
And that’s a coincidence that makes my investigative instincts tingle like they’ve been touched by a live wire.
“If he doesn’t watch his back, he might be the next body in this place.
And honey, I’d pay good money to watch that show. ”
A chill runs down my spine and it has nothing to do with the casino’s aggressive air conditioning. First Jolene, now threats against this Dirty Joe person—and Noah caught in the middle of both.
Las Vegas is supposed to be all about luck, but as I watch Noah’s face darken with a rage that he can hardly control, I can’t help but think that our odds are getting worse by the minute.
And in a town built on stacked decks, loaded dice, and the dreams of people who don’t understand statistics, those are exactly the kind of odds that get people killed.