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Death by Devil's Breath Page 15


  “You look like you had a hard day.”

  I’d been so absorbed in my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed anyone sit down next to me. I glanced to my right and into the most glorious set of hazel eyes I’d seen in a month of Sundays.

  The face that belonged to those eyes was just as delicious. Square jaw lightly dusted with honey-colored whiskers, a nose with a bump on the bridge of it that made me think its owner had been in a fight or two, and a smile . . .

  A few minutes earlier, I wouldn’t have thought I was capable, what with having survived a murder attempt, learning the Chick was missing, and being annoyed past all reason by Nick, but I found myself smiling back.

  “That’s better.” The guy next to me stuck out a hand. “Noah,” he said.

  I could have kicked myself for the breathiness of my voice. “Maxie.”

  Those astounding eyes traveled to the bandage on my arm. “You’ve been hurt. And just recently. If I buy you a drink, will it make you feel better?”

  I was pretty sure it would, but before I had a chance to tell him, Osborn oozed over. “Pick a card, any card,” he said, ruffling the deck right under my nose.

  Since I was pretty sure he wouldn’t get the subtle message of a not-so-subtle look, I threw Osborn a smile that would have frozen any man with half a brain. “I’m a little busy here, Osborn,” I said.

  “But it’s a new trick.” He rippled the cards another time. “And I need to practice before my show tomorrow. Besides, there’s a photographer here from the Review-Journal.” Osborn looked down the bar out of the corner of his eye toward a shaggy-haired guy in jeans and a T-shirt. “If I make the trick really showy and you pretend you’re really impressed, maybe he’ll take a few shots and that will get me some free PR. Come on, Maxie—”

  “You know this guy?” I’d seen similar scenarios played out so many times in so many bars, that the way Noah asked it, I knew what was coming. If I said Osborn was a stranger and he was bugging me, there would be a fight. Sure, Osborn was a little strange (and he might actually be a murderer), but he was old enough to be my father and he wouldn’t stand a chance against fit-and-trim-looking Noah. If I said Osborn was a friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance, Noah would get all huffy the way guys do when it comes to things like this and find someone else to spend his time and his money and that great smile of his on.

  I gave Noah what I hoped was a reassuring look before I turned back to Osborn. “Get lost,” I said.

  The Great Osborn got lost.

  I spent the next fifteen minutes in pleasant conversation with Noah. He was in town for a convention, a tax accountant from Portland, and so all right, I knew from the start that things would never work out between us, what with me not even knowing what a tax accountant did, but hey, who am I to question it when sparks fly? Fly they did, and even before I finished my drink and started in on the one Noah ordered for me, I knew where things were headed. Since I also knew Sylvia was back at the RV, I hoped Noah didn’t have a roomie.

  “So . . .” He sat back, and even though I knew what was coming, I tensed just a little. That was fine. Anticipation was part of the game. “If you’re not busy for the rest of the night, how about if we—”

  “Poison!” As Hermosa had proven onstage, she could hit the high notes when she wanted to even if they weren’t always on key. The way she screamed this single word nearly shattered the glass in my hand. Like everyone else in the bar including that photographer, who sat not too far away, I looked her way and found her crumpled against the faux cowhide bench, her jaw slack and her eyes shooting daggers at The Great Osborn, who stood near her table.

  “You!” Hermosa pointed an accusatory and very shaky finger in Osborn’s direction. “You dare to approach Hermosa . . .” Was it my imagination, or did she really make sure she got her name in there just a little louder than she said the rest of her piece? “You dare to come over here and offer to buy me a drink? You don’t think I know what you are really trying to do?” She put the back of one hand to her forehead.

  “Poison! Poison! Poison! You’re trying to poison me the same way you poisoned Dickie, my dearly beloved Dickie. You are trying to take advantage of a woman with a”—her voice clutched and she pressed her hands to her chest—“broken heart whose soul has been ripped in two by the terrible tragedy that has befallen her.”

  The Great Osborn stood with his arms hanging at his sides. “But, Hermosa, I was just—”

  “You are jealous! You are seething with anger as only a man who has been rejected can be. You know that Hermosa . . .” She sat up a little straighter and, while she was at it, smoothed a hand over her hair and shot a look in the direction of the bar. Believe me, I didn’t think she was looking at me. “You know that Hermosa has turned her back on your love, that she has left you for another man. You can no longer live with the terrible truth or with the heartache that haunts you day and night. This is why you poisoned my beloved!”

  Her say-so said, Hermosa topped it off by tossing her drink in Osborn’s face. She swept out of the bar but not—it should be noted—before she stopped long enough at the door (one hand on the jamb and the other resting over her heaving bosom) and had a photo snapped.

  Damn, how I hate it when investigations get in the way of my real life!

  Knowing it might be my only chance to seize the opportunity, I told Noah I’d be right back and scooted over to where The Great Osborn stared down at his wet suit coat and pants.

  “Looks like you could use some help.” I plucked a pile of paper napkins off a nearby table and handed them to the magician, who didn’t bother to thank me.

  The Great Osborn blotted. “She’s out of her head.”

  “Well, you did say you and Hermosa were once an item.”

  “Yeah, everybody knows that.” When one pile of napkins was soaked, he took the second pile I offered him. “But that doesn’t mean I killed Dickie. And it sure doesn’t mean I tried to poison Hermosa’s drink just now. I didn’t go anywhere near her drink, did I?”

  The Great Osborn looked toward the guy in the khakis who’d sat down with Hermosa only a little while earlier. The poor guy was as pale as a corpse and couldn’t catch his breath. “You people . . .” He shoved out of the booth and headed for the door. “You theater people are all crazy!”

  “Is that what it was?” I asked Osborn. “Just Hermosa being crazy?”

  His gaze slid toward the bar. “And making sure she got a few inches’ worth of coverage in tomorrow’s paper. That had to be it, because I’ll tell you what, I didn’t try and slip poison in her drink. How could I?”

  How could he, indeed, but don’t think that I forgot that The Great Osborn, for all his stumbling and bumbling, was a magician.

  And magicians are all about sleight of hand.

  I pushed the thought away and decided to concentrate on better things. More interesting things. More exciting things.

  Like Noah.

  “Noah.” The name fell from my lips with a proverbial thwack when I got back to the bar and realized that some guys don’t like to play second fiddle, especially when first fiddle is a woman’s investigation.

  Noah was already long gone.

  CHAPTER 13

  Without the Chick, I was condemned to working behind the counter at the Palace. First thing Saturday morning, I rang up a bunch of sales for a ladies’ group before they got on a bus and headed home to Albuquerque. I’d just finished up when I heard a familiar tap, tap, tap.

  The ladies, just trooping out the door, stepped aside to let Yancy in, and a couple of them shook their heads as if to say poor, blind man. I wondered how much he saw of that, and how much it annoyed him.

  Yancy waited until the ladies left, then he scooted over to the counter. He had a copy of the day’s newspaper in his hands, and with a look over his shoulder to make sure there was no one around to see, he spread it ope
n and pointed.

  “Lookee here! Hermosa got herself some major publicity this morning!”

  The picture showed our resident diva just as I remembered her from the bar the night before, leaning back in the doorway, one hand on the jamb and the other pressed to her broken heart.

  “I was there,” I told Yancy. “I saw the whole thing. She accused Osborn of trying to poison her.”

  “So it says here.” Yancy inched his dark glasses down the bridge of his nose so he could look at me over them. “You think he really did it?”

  “I think he’s way too bad of a magician to pull that off right in front of Hermosa. And I think Hermosa worked a little magic of her own to get her picture in the paper.”

  Yancy chuckled. “You got that right. But I’m the one who sold out my show last night!”

  “I know. I heard part of it.” A customer came in and I gathered up the newspaper and tucked it behind the counter, then waited while the man decided what kinds of spices he wanted to take home to Buffalo. Since I’ve never been that far east, I can’t say for sure, but something told me New Yorkers in general aren’t anywhere near as adventurous as Texans, say, when it comes to chili; I recommended our mildest mixes. He made his purchases and left and I turned back to Yancy.

  “You’re really good,” I told him. “You should be a star.”

  He waved a hand like it was no big deal, but I didn’t fail to catch Yancy’s smile. “I wouldn’t have the job at all if folks around here knew I could—”

  Another customer walked in and Yancy didn’t say another word. By the time I was done taking care of that lady, Yancy had gone over to sit on the red velvet fainting couch against the far wall of the bordello.

  “I don’t know,” he said when I went over there. “I mean about Osborn and how he’s not skilled enough to slip something in Hermosa’s drink. Maybe he’s just playing at being a bad magician.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And he was plenty steamed when Dickie stole his girl.”

  “Plenty steamed at Dickie, maybe, but now that he’s out of the picture, maybe Osborn’s going to try to get Hermosa back.”

  Yancy nodded. “Maybe.”

  “So he wouldn’t be trying to poison her.”

  “Unless she needs to be taught a lesson.”

  The comment brought me up short and made me think that the blues song I’d heard Yancy sing the night before wasn’t full of heartbreak and longing for nothin’.

  “You think the fight wasn’t just for publicity? That it could have been the real thing?”

  “I think anytime you get more than one performer in the room, there’s bound to be drama.” Yancy laughed. “Except if one of those folks is me, of course. I’m the most laid-back cat in the city!”

  “I agree with you there!” I plunked down next to Yancy. “Is it like that all over the hotel?” I asked. “What I mean is, could there be other performers around here we haven’t looked at yet? Somebody else who might have had it in for Dickie?”

  “Everybody who ever met the man had it in for him. But I see what you’re getting at. Sure. It’s true. It could have been anybody. Most of the waitstaff here are performers of some kind just waiting for their big break as dancers or singers or comedians. And most of the folks behind the bar, too. Why, I remember back in the day when they didn’t use Deadeye to host things like this Chili Showdown. It was sort of a carnival midway. You know, with a Western theme. And Reverend Love, one day when she was working—”

  “Reverend Love used to work here at Creosote Cal’s?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Yancy nodded and I told him to hold that thought when another group of shoppers came in. They were a demanding bunch, but I wasn’t complaining. By the time they left, they had enough spices with them to ignite their little hometown back in Iowa.

  As soon as they were gone, I poured a couple cups of coffee and took one over to Yancy. “Milk,” he said, peeking into his mug. I went and got it, fixed it just the way Yancy liked, and when he looked it over a second time and nodded, I handed it to him.

  “Tell me about Reverend Love working here,” I said. “Was there a wedding chapel?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that! It was quite a few years back, but the way I remember it . . .” He tipped back his head, thinking. “Linda Love was Linda Green back then. Or some name like that, a kid fresh in from somewhere or maybe from nowhere like so many of them are. That was long before she married Bill Love. He’s the one who started the wedding chapel, but Linda . . . Linda was the one who made it into the glory it is these days. When Bill died, she inherited, see, but she wasn’t stupid and greedy. She took all his money and sank it back into the business. It’s paid off for her, too.”

  “But back when she worked here at Cal’s . . .”

  “That was long before she’d made a name for herself in this town,” Yancy said. “She was one of those folks over on the midway. You know, the ones who guess at your age or your weight, then give you a prize if they’re wrong.”

  It was hardly the way I’d ever pictured the woman with the neat hair, the trim suits, and the pricey jewelry, and I laughed. “She doesn’t seem the type.”

  “Oh, she was a cagey one. Knew all the tricks! You know there’s a formula for making the right guesses about those things. Still, it takes a slick personality to pull it off and make it look like it’s some kind of magic. The reverend? Oh yes, she was good at what she did.”

  “Funny nobody ever mentioned it before.”

  Yancy pulled himself to his feet. “Didn’t seem to matter. And besides, like I said, it all happened a long time ago. It’s not like it can possibly have anything to do with Dickie’s murder.”

  * * *

  I knew Yancy was right about how Reverend Love’s job years ago couldn’t have anything to do with what happened to Dickie, but later in the day when I took my lunch break and saw Reverend Love outside the Palace, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to question her about what I’d heard. Besides, I knew she was concerned about what had happened to me outside her chapel the day before, and I wanted to prove to her that I was as right as rain.

  Before I could head her off at the pass (that’s Deadeye-speak), though, I ran into Creosote Cal.

  “Hey, what’s the hurry, little lady?” Since Cal stepped directly in front of me, I had to look around him to keep an eye on Reverend Love. I saw her go into the auditorium. “You’re a-movin’ like your boots are on fire!”

  I glanced down at my sneakers, then realized Cal was just playing his Western persona to the hilt, so I ignored the comment. “I just wanted to talk to Reverend Love,” I told him. “I hear she used to work here.”

  “Darn tootin’!” Cal hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and rocked back on his heels. “And aren’t we just proud enough to burst our buttons to say that the little lady got her start right here at Creosote Cal’s Cactus Casino and Hoedown Hotel.”

  “Funny place for a minister to get started.”

  “Maybe.” Cal grinned. “But you know what they say about Vegas. It’s the city of miracles!”

  I’d always thought that was Rome.

  “Anything can happen here,” Cal continued. “To anyone. Why, look at me. Came here back in ’65 with nothing but a couple bucks in my pocket. And now all this . . .” When he glanced around Deadeye—from the painted sky above our heads to the phony street of shops around us and the made-from-recycled-plastic street dusted with just enough real Vegas dirt to make it feel gritty—he practically busted a gut with pride. “Same thing happened to our Linda. She started out here all right, but then she married Bill and became a minister herself and now she’s really something. One of the biggest names in Vegas. And I’ll tell you what, she’s not ashamed of her past, either. Oh, no siree. Not like a lot of people would be. She’s as proud as she can be of what she did here.”

  “Guessing people’s weig
hts?”

  “It ain’t as easy as it looks,” Cal confided, and gave me a wink. “Takes a special talent. Oh yes, it does! And our Linda, she’s got plenty of that.”

  When Cal stepped away, I headed for the auditorium. Both Hermosa and Osborn would be performing in there later in the evening, but for now, it was set up like an assembly line of sorts. Long tables filled the stage, and from where I stood near the doors, I could see that each table was lined with pieces of paper. Reverend Love went from paper to paper to paper, hitting each one lightly with an inked stamper.

  “Hey, Reverend!” I called from the back of the auditorium. “Want to guess my weight?”

  Her stamper poised above a paper, the reverend froze. But only for a second. She set down her stamper and waved me over.

  “I see you survived your ordeal,” the reverend said. “I’m glad Nick was right and you weren’t seriously hurt. Has my insurance company contacted you?”

  I told her they hadn’t, but when they did, I would cooperate fully. I didn’t bother to mention that it wasn’t her fault that Bernadette was a crazy person intent on revenge. There was no use muddying the waters.

  “So . . .” By this time, I was up onstage with the reverend and I looked over the papers she’d already stamped. “What’s up?”

  “The wedding licenses for tomorrow,” she told me. She started stamping again, lightly whacking page after page as she made her way up and down the tables. “I thought it would be easier to stamp them than to sign my name to each one, and my goodness, I’m glad I did.” She glanced at the sea of papers. “You don’t really get a sense of how many people will be involved until you see the licenses like this.”