I was also sure now that this couldn’t be Ainsley, since her red hair was for real and not a wig. I’d seen her just out of the shower, after all. But somehow, thinking that my impostor was Ainsley hadn’t bothered me quite as much as knowing that a total stranger was pretending to be me.
I had another new dilemma, too. I needed to get Tim over here and make sure no one moved that bag. Which meant I was going to have to camp out in here. Fun.
The women who’d come in left, laughing and looking back at me once or twice because surely I was a little nutty to be hanging in the ladies’ room. No kidding.
Since there was no one else in here, I poked my head out the door and saw Jeff standing sentry not too far away.
“Hey, there,” I said, not too loud, but loud enough so he turned around.
A smirk crossed his face. “What are you doing?” he asked.
I beckoned him to come closer. “I found something. I need to call Tim and have him come over here. Get the stuff.”
“What is it?” He took a step closer to the door, looked like he was going to come in.
I put my hand up. “You can’t come in here.”
“Anyone else in there?”
“Not right now.”
“Then why not?” He pushed the door in farther and stepped inside. “Wow,” he said, surveying the environs. “Fancier than a men’s room—that’s for sure.”
I didn’t want to get into it.
“So where is it?” he asked,
He was here; I figured that I might as well show him, then get him out as soon as possible. I pushed open the stall door.
“Behind the door,” I said.
Jeff Coleman stepped inside, and the outside door swung open. I reached for the stall handle and slammed it shut.
Two girls probably no more than twenty-five sauntered in. They wore tight jeans, shirts that rose up above their bellies to show off their belly rings, and flip-flops. They had been chattering to each other but fell silent when they saw me.
“Are you okay in there?” I asked through the door.
“Mmmm.” His tone was deep, but there were women who had low voices, and as long as he didn’t actually say anything, we’d be okay. And then he made some sort of sound like he was getting sick. Great. He was totally getting into his role.
The girls were staring, and I shrugged sheepishly. “Too many cocktails,” I felt compelled to explain.
One of them, the one with the long brunette tresses that had to be extensions and way too much makeup for this time of day, grinned. “Don’t we know about it,” she said conspiratorially. “We’ve been up all night partying at that Cleopatra’s Barge and then some other party over at a nightclub at the Flamingo. We love Vegas. We’re from Arizona. We go to Arizona State. Where are you from?”
I totally did not want to become BFFs with these two girls. I had more pressing things to worry about, like Jeff Coleman pretending to have the dry heaves in the stall and needing to call Tim to come over and shut this place down to look for clues.
But I didn’t have to actually have a conversation, it turned out, because they were doing just fine on their own and didn’t much care whether I answered or not. The second girl, a blonde with brown eyes and the longest lashes I’d ever seen, starting going on about some cool guy they met at “the Barge.”
I pulled my cell out, not caring if I was being rude. I don’t think they noticed.
“Kavanaugh,” I heard my brother say.
“You have to come over to Caesars,” I said. “It’s really important.”
“Everything’s important to you, Brett.”
The girls had gone into stalls now, and I stepped outside, leaving Jeff Coleman alone in there. He was just going to have to deal.
“Listen, Tim, Jeff met a woman at Cleopatra’s Barge last night after we all left. She had red hair and a fake dragon tattoo on her chest and she said her name was Brett Kavanaugh.”
“I already talked to him about that.”
Right. He did. “I’m outside the ladies’ room now, near the bar, where she ditched a wig and shoes, and it looks like that dragon was just makeup she removed with paper towels. The bag with this stuff is hanging on the back of a stall door.”
“You say you’re there now?”
“Jeff’s in there watching it.” As soon as I said it, I realized I should’ve lied and said, yes, Tim, I’m in there now. But it was too late.
“Coleman’s in the ladies’ room?”
“Please, Tim, I didn’t want to move the bag. There might be fingerprints.”
“You’re watching way too much
CSI
these days, Brett.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you get here?”
“I’m on my way. Tell me which ladies’ room.”
I gave him directions to the one closest to Cleopatra’s Barge and said I’d wait.
The two girls had not emerged from the ladies’ room. Neither had Jeff. Since they thought I had a sick friend in there, I probably should show some empathy and go back to check on “her.”
The girls were at the sinks, primping in front of the mirrors. They both looked up when I came in.
“Your friend is still in there,” the brunette whispered.
I nodded. “It was a rough night.” I went over to the stall and knocked. Jeff grunted. I turned back around. “You said you were in Cleopatra’s Barge?”
“Cool place,” the blonde said. “Met a great guy. He said he could get us into the music business.”
Didn’t they all? But something about that piqued my curiosity. Sherman Potter was supposed to be there last night, and as far as any of us knew, he’d never shown up. But what if he had and we just hadn’t waited long enough? We were expecting Ainsley to sing, but when we found out she wasn’t going to, we’d all taken off.
Except Jeff, who’d met my impostor. And when she ditched him, he left, too.
Turns out, these two girls were more than happy to tell me about their night without any prodding.
“He’s the manager for the Flamingos!” the blond girl squealed.
“He said he was looking for a new lead singer for the band.” The brunette picked right up where the blonde left off, and then they exchanged what I assumed was supposed to be a sad expression. “You know, Dee Carmichael died yesterday.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to tell them that I knew Sherman Potter. Or Dee Carmichael.
It was the blonde’s turn now. “Anyway, he said he needed a new singer to take over, so he gave us his card and said we should call and audition.”
Interesting. Especially since Potter had said Ainsley would be taking over for Daisy.
The brunette pulled a business card from her bag and started waving it around. “I’m going to call this morning. I mean, this could be my big break.”
“Our big break,” the blonde reminded her.
“Oh, right,” the brunette assented, although I could tell she had no intention of sharing.
I wanted to tell them that Sherman Potter was using them, that he didn’t want any more than a roll in the hay with these two girls, but it wasn’t my place. They wouldn’t believe me, anyway.
“It’s awfully quiet in that stall,” the blonde whispered to me.
I looked over, but before I could say anything, the door slammed open and Tim bounded in with two uniforms, a crime scene investigator, and a casino security guard right behind him.
Chapter 18
T
he girls’ hands moved to their mouths, and the brunette’s eyes moved to her bag. Hmmm. Bet there was something illegal in that bag.
“Where is he?” Tim asked.
I pointed to the stall. Tim sauntered over and was about to knock when the door opened and Jeff Coleman came out. “It’s about time,” he said. “It was a little too close in there.” He winked at the two girls at the sink. “Hey there.”
They stared at him, mouths wide open. Okay, so there was no girl in there getting rid of last night’s cocktails after all. They’d get over it.
Tim indicated the crime scene guys should go into the stall. He turned to me as they did so, and said, “Okay, you need to tell me everything.”
The girls at the sink had gathered up their things and were about to skirt out, but I stopped them by putting my hand out. “You need to talk to these girls, too. They talked to Sherman Potter last night at Cleopatra’s Barge.”
Tim’s expression went from surprised to guilty that he hadn’t stuck around long enough to pleased that maybe he’d have a couple of witnesses after all. He showed them his badge.
“I’d like to ask a few questions, if I might,” he said. “I’m Detective Kavanaugh.”
They giggled as they checked him out. Okay, so even though he’s my brother, I have to admit that he’s a good-looking guy. He looks younger than his thirtyeight years, with his freckles and boyish grin. And he’s buff in all the right places, since he practically lives at the gym when he isn’t working or at home.
We’re actually sort of carbon copies, except I’m a lot skinnier, with more angles, and I don’t have the freckles. I replaced them with the tattoos, instead.
Tim turned from the girls to Jeff. “Can you wait till I talk to them?”
Jeff nodded. “Is it okay if Brett and I get a cup of coffee? There’s a buffet just off the casino.”
Tim nodded. “I’ll be there in a few.”
I was surprised he said okay, especially since I was with Jeff, but I wasn’t going to jinx the moment and tugged on Jeff’s arm so we could go before Tim changed his mind.
Jeff and I walked in silence to the buffet, where we got a couple cups of coffee and settled in at a table near the door, so Tim could find us easily.
I took a few sips, thinking about Ainsley Wainwright. “The woman you met up with last night couldn’t be the woman I met yesterday in Sherman Potter’s hotel room,” I said.
“Why not?”
“She was just out of the shower,” I said. “Her hair was wet, and it didn’t look like a wig to me.”
“It could’ve been. Those wigs are pretty fancy these days.”
“Maybe,” I said, then remembered something. “You said that dragon wasn’t real. Were you just sitting there, checking out her chest?”
Jeff smirked. “Give me a little credit, won’t you? I could tell right away. I didn’t need to stare at her chest.”
“A lot of guys wouldn’t have a problem with that,” I said.
“Yeah, but maybe I’m not that sort of guy.”
I tightened my hands around my cup and frowned. I had no idea how Jeff Coleman was with women other than me. With me he was always making some sort of smart-aleck comment or teasing. I didn’t remember him ever focusing on my chest or my butt or any other part of my body, except for my tattoos. The ones that weren’t on my chest.
So maybe he
wasn’t
that sort of guy.
But true to the Jeff Coleman that I knew, he leaned toward me and grinned. “You’re never going to figure me out, Kavanaugh. Have to keep you on your toes.”
I rolled my eyes at him, something I did frequently and he no longer paid any attention to. But it made me feel better to do it.
“No coffee for me?”
I looked up to see Tim standing behind me.
“It’s just over there,” I said, indicating the coffee bar. “Help yourself.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes as he went off for his own cup.
“Why do you think my impostor ditched you last night?” I asked Jeff, watching Tim out of the corner of my eye.
“Maybe because I started asking her about her tattoos. Maybe because she thought I’d look too closely. Like you thought I should’ve.” His eyes focused on my face as he drank from his cup.
I mulled that a second. “If she didn’t recognize you, then she can’t know we’re friends, which means if she’s going to impersonate me, she hasn’t done her homework.”
“Or maybe she just decided to start impersonating you. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
True. I’d been unusually busy at work lately and didn’t have time for much except work and sleep.
Work.
It was almost noon. I had to call Bitsy.
Tim slid into the seat next to me as I pulled my cell out of my bag. I held it up. “I have to call the shop.”
“Why don’t you go out where it’s not so loud,” Tim suggested, “and I’ll talk to Jeff first, go over everything again, while you’re gone.”
I regretted my decision to call Bitsy. I wanted to hear what Jeff had to say, but then realized Tim probably wanted us separated so he could get each story without anyone interrupting. Or me interrupting, more likely.
I nodded and got up, going toward the restrooms that were in a quiet corner of the restaurant. There was actually a bank of pay phones here, which surprised me. I hadn’t seen a pay phone in a long time. Since everyone had cell phones now, why would we need them?
Unless you lost your shirt—and cell phone—gambling, and you needed to call home. Or your bookie.
I punched in the number for the shop.
“Where are you, Brett?”
Right. We had caller ID now, with some new package Bitsy had negotiated.
Quickly, I told her about my impostor and how Jeff and I had come over to Caesars and found the impostor’s stuff in the ladies’ room.
I heard a short intake of breath. “For someone who wasn’t going to get involved anymore, you sure are involved again,” she said sharply.
“Hey, this time it’s not my fault. Someone’s wandering around impersonating me and taking pictures of me. It’s creepy.”
“I saw something online this morning,” Bitsy said, her voice going down in volume.
I felt the panic rise in my chest. I specifically hadn’t told her about my night out with Harry.
“It’s that blog,” Bitsy was whispering now. “It had pictures of you. What happened last night?”
I really didn’t want to revisit my absinthe-laced evening.
When she realized I wasn’t going to answer, she continued. “I got an e-mail. From our Web site’s contact page. No indication who it was from. All it had was a link. To that blog. The one we saw yesterday.”