Ultimate Concealer, A Toni Diamond Mystery: A Toni Diamond Mystery (Toni Diamond Mysteries) (17 page)

She tried to look as dumb as this woman obviously believed her to be. “About a week ago?”

“And yet I’ve never seen you before. I see everyone who goes in and out of Mr. Forstman’s office.”

Toni took a breath designed to show off her impressive cleavage. “He let me up in his private elevator.”

The woman’s gaze was so piercing she felt holes ripping in her skin. Soon her blood and organs would spill out. Finally, she said, “The cleaners come in every night. If they’d found jewelry they’d have turned it in. I haven’t seen anything.”

She tried to look coy and embarrassed. “I think the earring might have fallen down the back of the leather couch when Mr. Forstman and me were, um, meeting.”

“Uh, huh? Why don’t you give me your name and phone number? I’ll take a look for you.”

“Please, it will only take five minutes. Could I just run in there and look? The earrings were a gift.” She did her best to look teary and forlorn. “My last gift from Grant.”

She could see the denial forming when suddenly a voice yelled, “Myrna, the guys are here about the buyout. Can you come down here?”

“Leave your information on my desk,” the woman snapped and then ran down the hall and disappeared into one of the doors further down.

And before you could say “No Trespassing,” Toni was easing open the door to Grant Forstman’s office and slipping inside.

She closed the door softly behind her then took a moment to simply stand still and take in all her impressions. She could still smell cigar smoke but it was growing fainter. The chemical smells deposited by the CSI team were sharper, newer scents, and there was the low note of death hanging like the aroma of rot.

She wasn’t like one of those psychics on TV who could tell you what happened by communing with spirits or anything, but she found, if she stood very still and let herself take a moment that she could take in an atmosphere. In this case, what she felt was a profound stillness. It was like being closed inside an airless cellar or something. Then she realized there was no window in the office. All the opulence of expensive furniture and décor and yet no window to let in fresh air or light or the outside world.

If Grant Forstman had shuttled between his home, his office and his casino, she wondered if he ever went outside.

She could not see an elevator door, but she was certain it was here. She ran her fingers along the wall beside the door and felt smooth drywall. The wall beside it housed the couch and was similarly elevator free. Behind the desk was wooden paneling that extended to two walls. It was dark, rich, expensive and seamed. How would you know if one of the seams was the opening for an elevator?

She didn’t know how much time she had but felt it wouldn’t be long. When Myrna didn’t find a name and address on her desk, Toni had a gut feeling she’d be in here making sure the shrine of her dead employer remained undisturbed.

The third wall contained the safe. It was behind the desk but not hidden in any way. It looked heavy and mean as though daring anyone to be foolish enough to try and get in. Of course, she knew one man who’d been foolish enough to do exactly that.

She headed for the fourth wall. It featured the same wooden paneling. Did one of the seams appear slightly darker? Yes, she thought it did. Okay, if this was the elevator, where was the call button? She scooted over to the desk and ran her hands over all the surfaces. Nothing.

She began scanning the walls looking for irregularities, anything sticking out. She found it in a fake knot. So cleverly disguised she’d have missed it had she not been certain it was there. When she pushed that button there was no sound, but in ten seconds the door opened.

She stepped inside the elevator and pressed 2. Nothing happened. So you must need some kind of code. She imagined that Grant Forstman had been very careful when he had this elevator designed. He didn’t want his women running into each other. And a man who didn’t have the most savory of associates would always want a back door. A place to disappear from if he needed to escape.

She heard voices outside the door. She was reaching for the panel when the office door opened and Myrna stood there with her eyes bugging out. Before she could say a word, Toni flashed the earring along with her biggest smile. “Found it.” At the same moment, Myrna turned her head and yelled, “Milo!”

When she pushed the button for lobby, the elevator doors closed and she slid down without a hitch.

As she headed out of the elevator door she remembered what her mother had said about the abundance of security cameras and glanced around her.

“Bingo.”

And then she figured she’d better move fast because she had a feeling that Milo was going to be looking for her.

Chapter Sixteen

“There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them.
”

— Sylvia Plath

Toni sped out of the casino as fast as, oh, say a gorilla who hurt people for a living was after her.

She was breathless when she hit the street. Of course, this being the Double Nugget and not the Wentworth, there were no cabs or plush limos lining the entrance courtyard. There was no lovely Vernon dressed like a Janeite’s wet dream to leap into action and call up a carriage.

What she spotted, after a minute of scanning the streets, was an actual carriage. A horse-drawn buggy that no doubt hauled brides and grooms back and forth to the many chapels. However, it was the only transport and the horse was plodding so slowly, its head down and hay on its mind, that she sprinted across the street and leapt into the passenger seat before the driver even saw her coming.

“Hey,” he said in surprise, turning. “Whatcha doin’?”

He sounded like Brooklyn and like he might pull over and dump her off unceremoniously at the curb. “I was waving,” she panted, “but you didn’t see me.” While she was wheezing, she dug out her wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. She pushed it at the guy. “Please, it’s always been my dream to ride in a horse-drawn carriage.”

“Lyin’ down?”

He turned to regard her. She had assumed the fetal position, hoping Milo might not notice her if she made herself very small.

But that wasn’t going to work if the driver turned to stare at her and dropped the reins.

“Please,” she said, figuring some version of the truth was her best bet at getting the guy’s cooperation. “I need to get out of here.”

He glanced up and down the street, then turned back and said something to the horse. Whatever it was, the horse picked up the pace. Her driver didn’t turn again, but said, as though he were talking to his horse, but loud enough that she could hear, “Would the guy looking for you be Eastern European? About two hundred fifty pounds, wearing a dark suit and sweating?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Keep your head down. I haven’t lost a passenger yet.” And with those fateful words, he clicked his tongue and the horse broke into a trot. Her ride was far from comfortable but a hell of a lot better, she suspected, than whatever Milo would have done to her.

About ten minutes later he said, “You can sit up now. Guy’s long gone.”

“Thanks,” she said, sitting up. She tried to right the mess of her hair, but in a jolting carriage she suspected she was making things worse.

“Where do I let you off?”

She’d been wondering that herself. They passed a bridal chapel and a wedding dress store and a stationery store that promised
invitations, keepsakes, albums and more
. “Could you pull over here?”

“Sure thing.” He pulled over to the side of the road and she jumped out.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Stay out of trouble.” And with a wave, he was gone with a faint clip clop of hooves.

She smoothed down her skirt, buttoned the top of her blouse and slipped her jacket back on. Then she walked into the Hearts Aflame Stationery Store.

“Hi,” she said to the thin, older man wearing a button-up sweater and a Hitler mustache. “Do you do business cards?”

“Could do. Mostly we print wedding stuff. But you can have anything you want.”

She purchased the smallest quantity of business cards the guy would sell her. One hundred. She designed the business cards right on a computer in the store. Not wanting anyone to clue in that she shared a name with the guy currently charged with Forstman’s murder, she typed Toni Plotnik, Private Investigator, and she added her cell phone number. She toyed with adding a cute logo, like a deerstalker cap and a little magnifying glass, but she decided a simple card would look more professional and also be easier to forget about than something eye catching.

She called a cab from the stationery store and headed back to the hotel, deciding to leave her car where it was at the Double Nugget. She’d retrieve it later.

She returned to the hotel, found her mother and daughter sprawled happily in front of the TV watching a movie.

“How’d you make out?” Linda asked her.

For a second she wondered how on earth her mother had divined that she’d been snooping then she realized she was referring to the makeover. How long ago that seemed now. And damn, her makeup case was still in the dressing room. She’d have to remember to retrieve it.

“The makeover was fabulous. She bought everything I put on her face. Everything!”

“Hah!” Her mother was so delighted she jumped up and high-fived her daughter.

Tiffany said, “If my husband just got killed, I wouldn’t rush out and buy a bunch of makeup. That is so cold.”

She was glad she hadn’t mentioned Eric, the Viking god. She smiled at her daughter. “We all grieve in different ways, honey. Sitting around crying all day won’t bring her husband back.”

In fact, Toni had tried that with Dwayne, who wasn’t even dead, and it certainly hadn’t brought him back.

“But I understand what you’re saying.” She stretched her arms over her head. “I’m going to have a bath and then how about we go out for dinner? I missed lunch and I’m starving.” After they’d both agreed, she said, “Oh, and I booked a couple of tickets to Cirque du Soleil. As good as the Double Nugget’s show is, it would be nice for you two to see some of the other Vegas offerings.”

“Two of us? Aren’t you coming?” her daughter wanted to know.

“I have to work tonight. But I’ll meet you after the show and maybe you and me can get pizza or something while we let grandma hit the slot machines. What do you think?”

Linda shuddered. “I am never going near a casino again.”

“You gotta get back on the horse that threw you, Mom.”

Linda was pretty easy to convince. “But this time I’ll use my own money.”

Toni used one of the French mud relaxation masks, grabbed a large glass of water and retreated to the tub. She’d always found that a hot bath was not only relaxing but also a good place to think.

While the facial mask rejuvenated her complexion, and the water rehydrated her, she lay back in the tub and let the facts she knew, the impressions she’d gained, roll around like the little balls on the roulette tables.

She felt as though her results were as random.

One thing she was certain of, though. That elevator was the missing piece of the puzzle.

She got out of the bath with renewed determination. She redid her makeup, going with a light evening look. Then she did her hair in a completely different style using some of her mother’s clip-in hair extensions. She wore black slacks, a black stretchy top, with just a little glitter woven through the fabric, and heels. She looked as different from the woman who had entered Forstman’s office as it was possible for her to look.

The Cirque du Soleil show was in one of the big hotels near theirs, so she was able to walk her mom and daughter over without anyone noticing she didn’t have her car. They found an Italian restaurant and pigged out on pasta and bread and salad. Then she walked the other two women to the entrance to the Cirque Theater and left them in the store browsing everything from CDs to Christmas ornaments. They promised to meet up after the show, and she was happy to see that her daughter was looking brighter and happier. Also, without any discussion, they seemed to assume Tiffany would be spending the night with them in the hotel.

Tiffany was learning the hard way that her father was a charmer, but not someone you could count on.

Before grabbing a cab back to the Double Nugget, she found a relatively quiet spot in a marble alcove near a bar that hadn’t opened yet and called Luke.

“Marciano.” It wasn’t even a bark, more a half-assed growl, so she knew Luke was tired. It was early evening on a weekday when she wasn’t in town, so she suspected he’d hit the gym on his way home, probably picked up something easy for dinner.

She didn’t waste time. “How do I get to see footage from the security cameras at the Double Nugget?”

“The police already have the footage, Toni. That’s how they caught your ex-husband coming out of Grant Forstman’s office around the time of the murder.”

“Well, guess what? There’s a secret elevator to his office.”

She heard the sound of a beer can opening. “A secret elevator?” He did not sound convinced.

“Yep. I don’t think the police here even know about it. They arrested Dwayne faster ‘n spit dries in the desert. Nobody ever did a proper investigation.”