Full Service Blonde. Megan Edwards
too late why that particular chair was vacant in a filled-to-capacity room.
I wasn’t sitting next to Julia at the head table, but Michael was, and he introduced us. As soon as he had to leave, I took his place.
“I’m so sorry about Victoria McKimber,” I said.
That really got Julia’s attention. Up to then, she’d been far more interested in chatting with Mirandela, who was sitting on her left.
“You knew Victoria?” she said, and my brain had to work fast. This was my big chance to come off like a real journalist.
“I interviewed her on Monday,” I said, “for a story I’m working on for a—a major magazine. I was supposed to meet her again on Sunday—”
“What magazine?” Julia interrupted.
“Esquire,” I lied. “Victoria gave me an exclusive, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve got all her files, and—”
Julia looked at me hard, and there was lots of activity behind her eyes. When she spoke again, she was much friendlier.
“Copper, we should have lunch sometime,” she said. “I’ve really enjoyed working with your brother, and I’d love to have the chance to get to know you better, too.”
After she gave me her card, and I’d written my phone number on another, Julia took a big drink of merlot and refilled both our glasses from the bottle on the table.
“Victoria didn’t give you any tape recordings by any chance, did she?”
“I haven’t come across any so far,” I said, remembering the tiny recorder Victoria used the first time I met her. “But I think there are things like that in the files I have. I’ll keep an eye out as I work my way through them.”
“Thanks,” Julia said, patting my arm. “I love your dress, Copper,” she added.
“Thanks,” I said. “AmaroDolce at the Caesars Forum Shops.”
“Hey, I got mine there, too,” Julia said. “It’s a great store.”
Meeting Julia made the Alliance dinner well worth the effort, even though my headache was worse than ever by the time I left. Sierra joined me in the limo for the trip home, and another shot of Scotch from the blue-labeled bottle didn’t help.
“So what were you talking to Julia about?” Sierra asked.
“Victoria McKimber.”
“Be careful, Copper,” Sierra said. “It’s really risky to poke around things like that in this town. I’m not joking. Everybody’s connected here, and everybody’s got turf to protect. You could make some dangerous enemies without even knowing it.”
The window behind Adrian’s head was open.
“Where’d you go to high school?” he asked.
Then he and Sierra spent the rest of the trip talking about old prom queens at Bonanza.
:: :: ::
Saturday, December 17
It was past midnight, and I was exhausted, but sleep was out of the question. A cat was yowling outside the window next to my bed, which opens out onto the garage roof. Burying my head under two pillows didn’t succeed in drowning it out, so I finally gave up. I opened the window and stuck my head out, but before I could pull it back in, the cat was on my shoulder.
It was little thing—almost a kitten, really—a gray tabby with the most perfectly symmetrical face and huge green eyes. I was surprised. I’d thought a horny old tomcat was making all the racket.
I didn’t have any milk, but the cat happily gobbled up a whole can of tuna and half a carton of yogurt. After that, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out into the cold again, even though it probably had fleas. I finally made a bed out of a plastic bin and a beach towel, but all it wanted to do was sit in my lap, knead my thigh, and purr.
I finally fell asleep, and when I woke up around eight o’clock, there was a cat on my chest. After I tossed it out onto the garage roof, I threw on some sweats and went into the house to have breakfast with Michael and Sierra. Sierra watches a lot of cooking shows and owns at least fifty thousand cookbooks. She “creates something” most Saturdays, and I was hoping a big serving of something rich and buttery might take the edge off my hangover. She makes good coffee, too.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Sierra asked as she pulled breakfast out of the oven. “I’m surprised you’re up.”
“A cat did it,” I said.
“What cat?”
“One that yowled on the garage roof until I let it in.”
“Did you feed it?”
“A whole can of tuna and half a container of yogurt.”
“It’s yours.”
“What if I don’t want it?”
“Doesn’t have much to do with it,” Sierra said. “If the cat wants you, you don’t have a chance.” She sighed. “I’m jealous. No cat’s tried to adopt me since Sammy. I still miss him.”
Sammy the Siamese disappeared over a year ago, and suspicion hangs heavily over a big German shepherd two blocks over.
“How bad are the stories?” I asked Michael, who was buried in the first section of The Light.
“Oh, we’ll survive. Thanks to Julia. She’s got a backup plan she says is just as good as the original. The worst that can happen is that we’ll build our service center on the north side of Las Vegas instead of downtown.”
“Why hasn’t the deal closed? I thought you had all the zoning issues dealt with a month ago.”
“It’s complicated,” Michael said, “because we’re dealing with two different owners. Most of the land is owned by Paragon Properties, but like a lot of parcels in downtown Las Vegas, a little slice of it is owned by somebody else. Those people still haven’t signed off, but Julia’s getting it straightened out. She’s a real mover and shaker.”
Mover and shaker. I’ve always hated phrases like that, and I was mildly surprised to hear it out of Michael’s mouth. Did it mean I’d soon be hearing him describe people as having juice? Ugh. On the other hand, juice is exactly what Julia Saxon seemed to have. I couldn’t wait to have lunch with her.
Chapter 7
When I checked my email, I found a message from Heather, Victoria’s business partner, whom I’d met at the Sekhmet Temple. Victoria must have given her my email address, or at least mentioned that I work for The Light. Heather asked if I’d be willing to get together to talk about Victoria, which was exactly what I had in mind. Unfortunately, she was in Reno on business, and she wouldn’t be getting back to Las Vegas until Monday.
Heather ended her message with a sentence that made me even more interested in meeting her: “Unless we do something, those bastards at the Beavertail are going to get away with it.”
I called David on his cell phone, hoping I wouldn’t wake him up or disturb the breakfast phase of an overnight date. He was someplace noisy, though, and I asked him for a copy of the police report about Victoria’s death.
“Are you still playing sleuth?” he asked.
“Somebody should be,” I said, and I told him about Heather’s message.
“The police are investigating, Copper,” he said. “Her death really could have been accidental.”
“Sure.”
“Come on, Copper. Give them a chance. It takes time.”
“She had enemies, and she was a prostitute. Cops don’t care about people like her.”
David ignored