Page 35 of Bishop's Flight
Savannah wasa statuesque young woman nearly as tall as Miguel. She had thrown on a robe and was wearing something glittery underneath. She sat across from Miguel and Carwyn, holding her robe closed at the neck. “I don’t know. I see a lot of people when I bartend.”
“We have a picture.” Miguel showed her the picture of Alina.
“Oh my God, I do remember her.” She tapped a short pink nail on the picture. “She was something else. Just a guy magnet, you know? She had that sexy baby thing going on but with a Russian accent.” Savannah rolled her eyes. “Probably fake, but whatever.”
“She is Russian, and she’s been making the rounds of the casinos. She was seen at the Del Marco a few days before a young man went missing from the casino,” Carwyn said. “Sierra said there was a particular man this girl was flirting with.”
“Hard-core, yeah. He’s usually one of my best tippers, which is why I always schedule work on nights when San Diego State is playing.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I remember his credit card. Gary Preston, Summit Mountain Development. Pretty sure he was a real estate guy, that kind of development, you know?”
“That’s helpful,” Miguel said. “Thank you so much.”
“She was flirting with a couple of guys, but Gary was the only one I remember clearly.” She narrowed her eyes. “But there were so many guys in there that night, and then there was the weirdo.”
Carwyn leaned forward. “Weirdo?”
“I mean, you see a lot working in a casino, so not much fazes me, but this guy had to be six foot, flaming red hair down to his shoulders, and he was wearing something that looked like an oversized bathrobe. He just appears out of the convention area, barks something at the blond girl when she was practically in Gary’s lap one night, and she runs after him like he’s her dad or something.” She wrinkled her nose. “Was he her dad? I have this vivid impression of this guy, but I could not have told you how old he was, you know? He seemed really old somehow, but his face was young. And pretty. Like, ridiculously pretty.”
So Zasha was at the casino? Carwyn hadn’t been expecting that.
“Was anyone with the redhead?”
Savannah’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, you have red hair too. Are you like, related? He wasn’t as tall or as built as you, but—”
“Not related,” Carwyn said. “Not Russian. But we are interested if anyone was with them.”
“Uh…” She huffed out a breath. “I don’t think so, but like, he was really striking, so I might not have noticed. It was the March Madness finals and the bar was crazy busy.”
“Thank you so much, Savannah.” Miguel handed over a card. “This card has my personal cell phone number on it, so if you remember anything else, just call me. Or if you see either of these two people again, please call.”
“Yeah sure.” She smiled. “The girl had been hanging out for a few days, but I haven’t seen her recently. She kind of disappeared after the car show, so she was maybe working with one of the vendors or something.”
“That’s possible.”
Carwyn smiled. “Thank you. Can I ask, are you going to school or does working take all your time? You’re quite young.”
“I’m trying to do online classes right now, but it’s hard. The good thing is, I’m a saver, so I figure about three more years here, then I can just do bartending and go to school-full-time.”
“Brilliant. What do you want to study?”
“I’ve been thinking about teaching, but I also really love history. I don’t know. Maybe archaeology or something, but I don’t know how practical that is.”
Carwyn’s eyes lit up. “I think you’d be a brilliant archaeologist.”
A broad smile spread across her face. “Thanks!”
They walked backout to the car, Miguel smirking at Carwyn. “So when she gets her archaeology degree, you going to come back and convince Cheryl to change the format of the club?”
“If you think there isn’t a market for beautiful women lecturing men, you clearly haven’t spent much time on the internet. Then again, I could be biased, coming from Great Britain.”
Miguel shook his head. “I do not understand you, but hey, at least we got a name.”
“Indeed.”
Miguel got behind the wheel of the car. “Where to?”
