Page 31 of Murder and Marzipan in Las Vegas
“Could I interest you in our specials this evening?” the waiter asks, his accent suggesting either European heritage or a really good acting coach who charges extra for condescension. “We have a lovely wagyu ribeye aged for sixty days in a Himalayan salt cave and massaged twice daily by monks who’ve taken vows of silence and celibacy.”
“That sounds excessive,” I say.
“It’s $230,” he adds as if that’s the selling point rather than a warning that we’re about to mortgage our future for a single piece of meat.
“We’ll need a few more minutes,” Everett tells him, and the waiter glides away with a touch of disappointment as if he works on commission and has just realized we’re not going to fund his next vacation. Although with the way Everett tips, he’ll be more than okay in whatever tropical setting he chooses.
“Noah,” I say, leaning forward, “what’s going on? We promised no more secrets after all the emotional carnage we’ve put each other through. We literally pinky swore, which is legally binding in at least twelve states and most preschools.”
He takes a long sip of his whiskey, wincing slightly as it goes down. “It’s not about secrets. It’s about protecting you.”
“From what? The truth? Because last time I checked, I’m a big girl who’s handled worse than whatever you’re hiding in that stubborn head of yours.” I stir my virgin daiquiri with more force than necessary, creating a small strawberry hurricane. “I’ve given birth to three humans, found more bodies than most funeral directors see in a year, and survived Carlotta’s cooking experiments without permanent digestive damage. I think I can handle your dirty laundry, whatever color it happens to be.”
Noah’s expression shifts minutely—a tightening around the eyes,a slight downturn of the mouth that suggests he’s about to change the subject with all the subtlety of a bulldozer.
“How is Carlotta handling her newfound wealth?” he asks, pivoting so hard I’m surprised the table doesn’t tip over from the conversational whiplash.
“Nice deflection,” I say, because I recognize evasive maneuvers when I see them, “but I’ll bite since it’s actually entertaining. She’s gone absolutely berserk with the hotel’s luxury shopping experience like someone gave a toddler unlimited access to a toy store and no adult supervision.” I’m about to tick each purchase off on my fingers as if cataloging evidence. “So far, she’s purchased three crystal-encrusted evening gowns for formal occasions that don’t exist, a gold-plated toilet seat for investment purposes that I’m pretty sure violates several laws of good taste, a diamond-studded dog collar despite not owning a dog or apparently understanding the concept of pets, and a signed Elvis jumpsuit that she’s planning to have altered to fit Mayor Nash for special occasions that I’m afraid to ask about.”
I pause to take a breath and a sip of my daiquiri. “Oh, and she tried to rent a tiger for the suite, but thankfully the concierge drew the line there, probably because their insurance doesn’t cover exotic animal attacks in luxury accommodations.”
“That’s a start,” Everett comments dryly. “I was expecting worse.”
“There’s still time,” I assure him. “She’s currently negotiating for a fountain that dispenses champagne instead of water for her bathroom. Apparently, it’s for bathing emergencies.”
Noah laughs, but it’s forced—a tactical laugh designed to further derail the conversation. “Classic Carlotta. She never does anything halfway.”
“Classic deflection,” I counter, unwilling to be distracted by Carlotta’s spending spree, as entertaining as it might be. “Noah, just tell us what’s going on. We’re supposed to be a team, remember? Teams don’t keep secrets from each other, except in spy movies, and this isn’t a spy movie despite all the mysterious behavior.”
His expression hardens, those green eyes cooling to winter forest temperatures that could freeze water. “I can’t. Not yet. Not until I figuresome things out.”
“Noah—”
“I said not yet.” His tone is final, sharp enough to cut through the ambient chatter around us and a few nearby conversations. “Please, Lot. Trust me on this. I just need you to trust me.”
The waiter materializes at our table like a well-dressed sleuth, pen poised expectantly and probably hoping we’ll order something expensive enough to justify his condescending attitude. “Have we decided?”
We order in a tense silence that could be cut with one of those overpriced steak knives—wagyu steaks for the men because apparently, murder investigations require premium beef, and a steak for me, too, plus a fettuccini pasta dish because between nursing twins and Carlotta’s spending spree, my weight is the only thing I can still control, so I’m choosing not to stress about it anymore.
“Well, this is awkward,” I mutter to Noah as the waiter departs. “I feel like I’m watching a tennis match where both players refuse to hit the ball.”
“Sometimes the better strategy is waiting for your opponent to make the first move,” Everett observes as he glares at Noah.
“Is that what we’re doing now? Strategizing against each other?” I ask, looking between them with the expression of someone who’s just realized her family dinner has turned into a tense diplomatic summit. “Because I thought we were a team working together to solve murders and avoid prison sentences.”
Noah drains his whiskey and stands abruptly. “I need to go.”
“We just ordered,” I protest, gesturing toward the empty space in front of him that will soon hold overpriced food. “The bread basket alone probably cost more than a tank of gas.”
“Something has come up,” he says, not daring to meet my eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, I have less than a week to clear my name before Detective Morrison decides I’m his best option for closing this case. I’ve got a killer to catch, and I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Noah—”
“Let him go,” Everett says quietly as Noah strides away, cutting a path through the dining room like a shark through water.
“What the heck was that?” I demand once Noah is out of earshot.
“That,” Everett says, taking a measured sip of his whiskey, “was aman trying to protect something more important than his reputation.”
