Sleepless in Las Vegas (25 page)

“Gumbo ya-ya, indeed.” Dorothy turned to Grams. “You first, Mom.”

Her face etched with a fierce tenderness, she touched Val’s hand. “This darling girl already shared a little about her city with me. As much as I would love to bore everyone again with that trip Jack and I took to New Orleans in eighty-four, I will save it for another time.”

Dorothy, her eyes glimmering with emotion, spoke up. “I need to apologize to my son.”

“Ma—”

“I do.” She rolled back her shoulders. “It’s true, I didn’t like Laura. That night, son, while you were marinating the steaks, I overheard her talking on her cell to some man…they were obviously more than friends.” Catching her breath, she fussed absently with her hair. “I acted badly, I know, but I didn’t want to see you hurt again.”

His mouth crooked into a half smile. “You didn’t act badly, you acted like a mama bear. I had my suspicions she was dating somebody else, but to be fair, we hadn’t had the exclusivity talk.”

“Even so,” Grams piped up, “Maxine didn’t like her.”

Dorothy huffed. “Like Maxine’s preferences are an indicator of human character.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Grams muttered, handing the shaker to Drake. “Mind filling it with more ice, dear? I think another martini is in order.”

Drake crossed to the fridge and filled it, the ice clattering into the container.

“Plus,” Grams added, “I was following Laura on Twitter, and she was flirting with Vegas-ace-high.”

Dorothy frowned. “What’s that?”

“His Twitter handle,” Grams explained, swirling the toothpick in her martini glass. “I’ve since blocked both of them.”

Val raised her hand. “May I apologize, too?”

“The more, the merrier,” Drake muttered, carrying the shaker to the table.

Nervously readjusting the sash on her dress, Val said to Dorothy, “I said I had a boyfriend named Heath because I thought it was better to have a cover story than for you to find out that Drake lied.”

His mother intently studied Val’s face. “Is there someone else you’re seeing?”

Drake leaned against the stove and watched Val. It was a personal question, but he had to admit, his mom had the right to ask after what they’d put her through.

Plus, he had wondered, too, if there was anyone in Val’s life. Not a boyfriend—she wasn’t the type to cheat on someone—but she was too damn cute to be spending Friday nights alone.

“No, ma’am.”

Good. He didn’t have to annihilate the competition.

“But you are from New Orleans,” his mother said.

Val grinned wide, flashing that disarming crooked front tooth. “Who Dat Nation, f’sure!”

“Which means,” Drake explained to his mom’s confused look, “she’s from New Orleans, no question about it.”

Dorothy looked back at Val. “Are you also a vegetarian?”

“No, ma’am. Said I was because—”

“Heath was.” She made an exasperated sound. “Is there really a Heath? Because if there is, we should invite this poor man over so he can tell
his
side of the story.”

Val bit back a smile. “There’s no Heath. I made him up.”

Dorothy rolled her eyes to Grams. “Did you know all this?”

“One moment, dear, I’m splashing the vermouth.” After setting down the bottle, she looked at her daughter. “I figured out there was no Heath, and when she told me she couldn’t wait to taste Dorothy’s world-famous meat loaf, well…” She motioned to Val. “Let’s light that candle again, darling.”

Val poured in gin, secured the lid and shook the canister.

As the ice and liquid slushed and rattled, Dorothy leaned against the refrigerator, flicking a look between Val and Drake.

“Are you two dating?”

“Whoops!” Val missed the glass, sloshing some martini onto the table. “Sor-ree!” She righted the shaker.

Drake grabbed a paper towel. “I’ll get it.”

As he blotted the spill, Val looked sheepishly at his mother. “No, we’re not dating.”

He took the shaker and finished pouring the drinks. There hadn’t been an official date yet, so technically Val was right. “I’m mentoring her.”

Dorothy’s brow wrinkled. “Is
that
what they call what you two were doing on the couch?
Mentoring?
”

“Dear,” Grams murmured, “you’ve learned that Val is single, she’s from the Big Easy and she’s a carnivore. But whatever was going on when we walked in is none of our business.”

Dorothy gave a grudging nod. “One more question. You and Hearsay are staying at Li’l Bit’s, correct?”

“Yes,” Drake said, getting the intent of her question. She wanted to know if he was living at Val’s place. He’d only accepted a few minutes ago that Val fit into his life, was open to exploring that, but living together? As much as he wanted closeness, he wasn’t ready to be that close.

“I’ve always wondered what Li’l Bit’s place looks like,” Grams said.

“Probably exactly what you’d imagine,” Drake answered, “although there are no lava lamps.”

“I’m glad we’re not making cheese enchiladas,” Dorothy said to Val, “because I have no idea how to make them. Bought the ingredients for my bowling league’s Mexican fiesta potluck, but at the last minute, brought chips and salsa instead.” She gave a halfhearted shrug. “Sometimes I’m not in the mood to cook alone.”

“I know how that feels.” Val paused. “Don’t know what else you’ve planned for dinner, but if you’ve got some lettuce and, as we call ‘em in New Orleans, some
vedgetibbles,
I can dress up a salad.”

Dorothy’s face brightened. “Yes, I have some lettuce and vedgetibbles.” She gestured at the shaker. “Is there enough in there for a third martini?”

“Let me do the honors,” Drake said. “I’d join you but I’m driving, and one beer is my limit.”

As he retrieved another martini glass from Grams’s cabinet, his mom asked, “A beer man would drink a martini?”

He set the glass on the table, poured some gin and vermouth into the container. “Not right now, but maybe sometime,” he said, securing the lid. “I’ve decided to branch out.”

With a grin, he gave the canister a hearty shake.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A
LITTLE
AFTER
eight that night, Drake and Val left his mom’s. Before driving off, Drake checked the tracking app on his phone, which flashed an error message that it was unable to locate the GPS device in Marta’s car. He explained to Val that the car was likely parked in a garage, which blocked the satellite signals.

Fifteen minutes later, Drake drove the Honda down West Charleston Boulevard. Val sat in the passenger seat, bobbing her head along to Lady Gaga’s song “Poker Face,” which was playing on the radio.

“At my last job, I was thinking about lipping this song. I think I coulda pulled off one hot ya-ya Lady Gaga.” She caught Drake’s perplexed look. “I was a celebrity dealer at the Shamrock.”

“The Shamrock,” he mused. “That place is a Vegas classic. Haven’t been there in years.”

After several martinis, she felt a buzz. And less inhibited to ask point-blank, “You were a gambling addict?”

“
Am
a gambling addict. I’m in recovery.”

She reached over and turned off the radio. Listening to a song about poker and talking about gambling addiction felt hypocritical.

“This money you borrowed from Yuri,” she asked, “was it to pay off a gambling debt?”

“Yes.”

She strung the pieces of the story together. “Is that why he has your family’s ring? As a payment?”

“Yes.”

“Must be a very nice ring.”

“Five marriages going back to 1854. Grams knows all the stories. One is called the Breckenridge Diamond, named after the Colorado mountain town that my great-great-grandmother and her husband helped found. During the winters, they cross-country skied everywhere. Not long after her husband died, she found an ailing owl on a skiing trip and nursed it back to health. It stayed with her after that. When she died, it was always seen near her gravesite. Family legend claims it was her husband, who promised he’d never leave her side.”

“What a touching story. And how horrible that Yuri has it. He’ll never know its significance.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I would never have given him that ring. Just learned a few weeks ago that my father gave it to him as partial payment, twenty grand, for my debt. After I paid that back to Mom, she handed it all to me in a savings account, which had been Dad’s wish. When I heard about the ring, I offered the cash to Yuri. He wouldn’t give up the ring. Instead, he jacked up the price to thirty, refused a penny less.”

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, they broke the mold with him.” He took a right at South Jones Boulevard.

“Where are we going?”

“Wanted to drive by my old place—it’s not far out of the way. Since I’m meeting the arson investigator on Monday, I want to get an idea of the damage before the monsoons hit.”

“Think they’re coming that soon?” Craning her neck, she checked out the rear window. “Looks like those clouds are staying in the mountains.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

She studied his profile. So strong, so hard. Not a flicker of what he was feeling inside. One thing she’d noticed tonight was how his mother and grandmother, for all their independence and strength, relied on him. Yet he didn’t seem to rely on anyone else.

“Can you go inside your house?”

“No. It’s still a crime scene. Tony might have an idea when I can get back inside, but…”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Hearsay survived, that’s all that really matters. Most everything else is replaceable. I’ve only really missed two things. Connelly’s book
The Lincoln Lawyer
—was halfway through reading it—and my dad’s old suits. At least I still got the one I was wearing that night. Jacket’s a bit of a mess, but it can be cleaned.”

So that retro suit she’d seen him wearing that night had been his dad’s. It fit him so well, Val guessed he’d had it altered. She loved vintage clothes, but she had no idea who had owned them before. But to wear something of a loved one’s was, in a sense, like an embrace. A quiet, tangible way to remain close.

Drake might keep a tough exterior about life, but his feelings ran deep. Indeed, looks could be deceiving.

“You lost everything in fire,” she murmured, “me, in water.” She remembered something. “Nanny once told me about some ancient goddess of fire and water. In winter, she’s the fire that cracks the ice and brings the frozen world alive again.”

She tapped her fingers on the armrest, thinking how, in an oddly similar way, a fire—Grams’s warmth—had cracked the ice of Val’s long-suppressed shame of leaving her nanny on the roof. She felt some relief from her admission, but it would take time to completely release all the guilt and shame. Just as it took time for a frozen world to come fully alive again.

She didn’t know if she’d feel any better admitting this next thing to Drake, but she needed to talk about it.

“I lied to Nanny,” she said softly.

He glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “Val, it’s been a long night. Maybe this isn’t the time.”

She almost smiled. There’d been a lot of venting and confessing and forgiving going on this evening—probably enough to last a lifetime for a man who didn’t like to discuss feelings.

“It’s long past time, actually. I made a promise to Nanny to find my biological mother, who left me when I was two. I broke my promise. I haven’t done even one Google search.”

After a pause, he said, “Maybe you were
late
acting on your promise, but you didn’t break it.” His voice gentled. “I’ll help you find your mother.”

“I wasn’t telling you to reel you in—”

“I know. You’re helping me with my case, so let me help you with yours. Anyway, keeping promises makes people whole.”

She looked out the window at the stream of flashy signs, half-empty parking lots and seedy strip malls. Maybe she’d feel whole, too, after fulfilling the promise to Nanny, but she doubted that finding the mother who’d abandoned her would make her feel much of anything except angry. Granted, she’d given Val life, but a few years later she hadn’t cared if her baby daughter lived or died. What was the meaning in finding someone like that?

“After you get home tonight,” Drake continued, “send me a message with whatever information you know about your birth mother. Which reminds me—I’d like to see that interview you did with Marta right away. Can you attach it to a text message?”

She tugged her phone out of her purse, glad to be concentrating on something else.

“I’ve been thinking about that arson investigator. He probably has access to all kinds of government databases unavailable to private investigators. Maybe he can help you dig up some of that dirt on Yuri.”

“True. But I’m not telling him about Yuri.”

“Wait, I’m finishing sending my interview with Marta…okay, done.” She dropped her phone into her purse. “Why not?”

“One phone call or door knock from a government investigator will send Yuri underground.”

She thought about what Drake had said earlier. “So that’s what you meant when you said things could backfire if you gave too much information, too soon, to Tony.”

He nodded.

“Like a game of chess. You want to help Tony, eventually, but he can’t move
too
fast because you want to blackmail Yuri by showing him evidence you’ve found that he committed the arson—”

“Or some other criminal act—”

“Which forces Yuri to sell the ring to you at twenty thousand.”

“You got it.” He shot her an interested look. “You play chess?”

“Nanny tried to teach me. After a few lessons we agreed we’d both live much happier lives if she played chess with her friends and I took piano lessons.”

He half choked a laugh. “I can only imagine how
that
conversation played out.” He reflected for a moment. “I know you’ll never let me hear the end of this, but I’ve been thinking how something else might play out. Taking that Riviera case isn’t such a bad idea.”

She did a double take. “Well, paint me green and call me a cucumber!”

“It’s decent money. Established client. And it gives me time to work the kinks out of my life. But this isn’t a ghost chase, it’s about collecting evidence through established means such as taking video and setting up motion detectors.”