“Well, after the—.”
“The late Mr. Heffernon?”
“Yes. After Mr. Heffernon quipped about the man, the man gave him a dirty look.”
“Did the man have time to run to Mr. Fischer’s booth, put on the costume, grab the crossbow, and run back up to the Creative Confection display to shoot a bolt into the late Mr. Heffernan’s chest?”
“Well, he might have. Once the samples were passed out, I wasn’t really paying attention where he went.”
“You have a description on this man?”
“Around five-six, about two hundred pounds. Balding. Bad comb-over.”
D’Angelo wrote it all down. “Was he here as a client?”
“Probably.” Fischer spoke up. “Tickets are sold to people outside of the market, but they’re kind of expensive.”
“Any reason to think there was a history between these two men?” D’Angelo pointed at Judy with his nearly depleted sucker.
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Hard to say. Of all the people in the room, Mr. Heffernon seemed to find him the quickest, like he had been watching him all along.”
“Why would that be?”
“Mr. Heffernan’s joke was about the DeLange truffle being better than sex and that after we had it, we’d want more, like sex. He said that was impossible. Except for the man he pointed at.”
“So there was an open invitation for more sex?” D’Angelo asked. “Or chocolate?”
“I got the impression whatever the man wanted, Mr. Heffernon was going to give him.”
“Can I go, detective?” Fischer asked. “I have to call Mr. White. Let him know what’s happened with the antiquities.”
“Yeah. Go ahead. You can go too, Ms. Schell.” D’Angelo walked over to Officer Baker. He showed the policeman his notebook and pointed to the front desk.
Fischer offered Judy a polite smile. “Well. Back to work.”
Judy smiled at Fischer. She watched him go over to his display table. There was something in his eyes, she thought, but not anything dangerous. The excitement over, Judy let out a sig. She left the exhibit room and made her way to the elevators. The afternoon had gone on longer than she had anticipated. What she wanted now was a shower and a nap. It was still Vegas, after all, and it was known for its night life. She thought about giving Fischer a call then realized the detective had taken Fischer’s card. Judy shrugged and pressed the up button outside the elevator doors. As she stepped inside and made the turn to press the button to her floor, she heard someone call out, “Hold please!”
Judy looked up to see the man from the earlier demonstration at the Creative Confections booth. His face was a little doughier than she remembered and his eyes a little sadder. He stepped in and stepped off to his left standing almost against the wall. “Seventeen, please.” Judy gave him a sideways smile and pressed his button. The doors slid closed. The man’s breathing quickened.
“Are you okay?” Judy asked.
“I hate elevators. I always ask for the lowest floor possible and I always get stuck near the top.”
“Oh.” She smiled at the man. He returned a nervous grin then looked at the floor. “I’m sorry. Weren’t you at the exhibit this afternoon?”
The man looked up. His eyes were large and round and dark like the insides of the DeLange truffle. “Yes. I was. Horrible.”
“Yes. It was.” Judy paused for a second. “Did you know the man?”
“Who?” He responded quickly. His voice was shrill.
“The man who was killed. Did you know him?”
“How would I know him?” He pressed back against the wall. His pudgy little hands slid along the brass railing.
“The way he was kidding with you. I just thought--.”
“I didn’t know him!” He looked up at the numbers. Twelve blinked. Then thirteen. Judy decided not to press her luck with any more questions. At seventeen the doors opened and the man darted from the elevator. She absently reached over and pressed twenty-two, even though it was already lit.
Later that evening, as she strolled along the strip in her to-die-for red dress, Judy decided the Vegas nightlife was overrated. At least as a single. It was beautiful to look at, the lights and the fountains and the myriad of people, but not having anyone to share it with made her feel alone. She wandered back from the Venetian, passing the flowing pink lights of the Flamingo and the red and gold tones of the Barbary Coast before stopping at the fountain outside of Paris. The basin was littered with coins and tokens. Judy dug in her purse for a coin to make a wish upon but found only a chocolate medallion wrapped in gold foil. It would have to do. She clutched her palm around it, closed her eyes, and made her wish. With a flick of her thumb, the candy flipped in the air and hit the water where it floated.
“That wasn’t one of my chocolates, was it?”
Judy opened her eyes. Ben Fischer stood next to her. She laughed. “No. I grabbed it from a table before I got to yours.”
“Good thing. I don’t think Quest could afford the loss. What did you wish for?”
Judy felt her cheeks grow warm. “Would you like to get a drink?” she asked. She heard the awkwardness in her voice.
“I’m in,” Fischer said. “Only you know not to drink at the casino bars, right? If you’re not gambling, I mean. It’s free if you’re gambling but if just sit down and get a beer—I’m rambling. I’m a little nervous. I was hoping to run into you again. We didn’t really get a chance to meet.”
“Well, I did accuse you of murder.” Judy rolled her eyes in a playful manner.
“Yeah. There was that. But you’re over that, ri
“Did they find your assistant?”
Fischer shrugged and shook his head. They talked a bit more about the afternoon’s events then hailed a cab. They told the cabby to take them somewhere tourists liked to go. They found themselves at the Freemont Street Experience. A large fiber-optic canopy stretched over the old strip and every fifteen minutes an animated light show took place. They found a ninety-nine cent daiquiri bar where they ordered frozen drinks in a barbell shaped plastic tube that proclaimed to hold a yard of booze.
It was midway through the second viewing of the light show, when they each had about a foot and a half of daiquiri inside them, that Judy heard the playful giggle of a drunken young woman. Judy took a sip of her drink and turned her head to look at the girl. She was hanging on the arm of a rugged looking man and she was tracing a finger over the candy bar tattoo on his upper arm.
“So do you like sweet things, sugar?” the young woman said.
The man clapped his hand over the girl’s. He looked around, saw Judy looking at him. His eyes narrowed. Even in the alternating lights and shadows Judy knew those eyes and this time she knew they were the eyes of a killer. Jason White pushed the girl into Judy and Ben, knocking the three of them over. He ran for the end of Freemont.
“What the hell was that?” Ben asked. He helped up Judy. The girl held out her hand. He helped her up as well. They were covered in slushy globs of pink and blue.
“Your assistant.” Judy said.
“Jason White?” Ben looked around.
“Yes. He’s getting away. Come on.” Judy began running, a tad difficult in her heels. She stopped long enough to pull them off. As she did, Ben shot past her, practically flying over the concrete. The crowd began to turn and part. A human tunnel opened up and Judy took off after the two men. They were nearing the edge, where the Experience ended and real Vegas returned. Judy saw a delivery truck backing up at the edge of the closed off street. She wasn’t close enough to grab Ben but she was close enough to hurl her shoe at him. It spun through the air and whacked him on the back of the skull.
Ben stopped.
Jason White didn’t, but he did turn to look over his shoulder. Fatal mistake. The truck struck White knocking him into the street. A limo swerving to go around the truck met Jason’s torso.
When D’Angelo arrived on the scene, it was like déjà vu all over again. Only this time, Judy and Ben didn’t go their separate ways when he was done.
End