Page 37 of Murder and Marzipan in Las Vegas
Chuck’s eyes drift toward his glass before swirling the amber liquid with precision. “There were several people Jolene wanted to confront that night.” His voice drops to just above a whisper. “She wasn’t exactly in the business of making friends.”
“Oh?” I lean closer, noting the scent of his expensive cologne is currently mingling with the distinct smell of anxiety. “Anyone in particular come to mind?”
He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as if checking who might be listening. “You didn’t hear this from me, but she was absolutely furious with Pacy Morgan that day.”
“The security director? The one with the teeth that could outshine the Vegas Strip?”
Chuck nods, his expression darkening. “They had history—the romantic kind that ends badly and leaves everyone traumatized. He couldn’t accept that it was over and kept trying to win her back.” He takes another sip of whiskey, wincing slightly like the memory tastes bitter. “I actually caught him going through her room the morning before... before it happened. He claimed he was doing a routine security check, but Jolene was livid about the invasion of privacy.”
Ray-Ray floats between us, his transparent face contorted withindignation. “Half-truth at best, sugar cube! Pacy was sniffing around her stuff alright, but my Jolene gave him plenty of reasons to be suspicious.”
I try not to react to Ray-Ray’s commentary. “That’s quite a coincidence,” I observe. “Security director with access to all areas of the hotel, a former boyfriend with a grudge, and possibly a key to her room...”
“It’s not my place to point fingers,” Chuck says with what looks to be staged humility. “But if I were investigating, I’d be very interested in where Pacy was during those critical minutes when someone was pumping a bullet into my fiancée’s chest.”
“Was there anyone else she was planning to confront?” I press, noting how easily he shifted focus to Pacy. “Because it sounds like she had quite the social calendar that evening.”
Chuck leans even closer, lowering his voice. “Between us? Sherry Smoot isn’t exactly the organic, home-grown angel her brand suggests.”
“The redhead with the recipe theft grudge?” Not to mention the champion pin that could blind aircraft.
“There’s much more to it than recipe theft.” His tone takes on a confidential quality. “Jolene discovered that Sherry’s been using artificial ingredients in everything while marketing her bakery as all-natural and organic. It would destroy her reputation if word got out.”
“And Jolene was planning to expose this?”
“Let’s just say Jolene believed in accountability.” Chuck’s smile is tight as if he regretted it. “She was meeting with Sherry that night to discuss a potential arrangement that would benefit everyone involved.”
Ray-Ray snorts so loudly I’m surprised Chuck doesn’t hear it. “Arrangement is one word for it! Blackmail’s another, and probably more accurate! My baby girl had a file on half the bakers in that competition thicker than a phone book. Turns out, cooking isn’t the only dirt they’re good at digging up on each other.”
I manage to keep my expression neutral despite Ray-Ray’s running commentary that’s more informative than mostnews broadcasts.
“That would certainly give Sherry motive beyond professional jealousy and wounded pride.”
“Like I said—” Chuck finishes his whiskey in one swift motion as if he’s taking medicine. “I’m not pointing fingers. I just want justice for Jolene and whoever’s responsible brought to account.” His voice cracks with what appears to be genuine emotion. “She deserved better than a bullet to the chest while pursuing her passion.”
The band launches into a more upbeat number, causing a ripple of excitement through the crowd that’s been sitting politely through ballads about emotional slot machines. Behind us, I hear Carlotta’s distinctive shriek followed by what sounds like someone climbing onto furniture and possibly attempting aerial maneuvers.
“I think your party might need supervision,” Chuck says, nodding toward the commotion. “Sounds like someone is about to become a liability issue.”
I make a face her way. Someone has been a liability issue since the day we met.
Carlotta attempts to climb onto the table in front of her with one sequined leg already raised, while Mayor Nash and Everett try desperately to talk her down. And oddly enough, Noah is nowhere to be seen—again, which is becoming a disturbing pattern.
“Maybe we can continue this conversation some other time,” I tell Chuck as I slide off my barstool.
“Sounds good to me,” he says, raising his drink my way. “I want to find who did this to my Jolene more than anyone. I’d do anything to make that happen.”
As I turn to deal with Hurricane Carlotta and whatever destruction she’s about to unleash on this upscale establishment, Ray-Ray zooms directly into my path, his ghostly form buzzing with urgency and glowing an electric shade of blue that hurts my eyes to look at directly.
“Sugar cube, that man’s slicker than a greased pig at a county fair!” He starts to break into song mid-sentence, belting out the opening lines of “Suspicious Minds” once again before regaining control of his vocal cords. “Don’t you trust a single word coming out of his mouth! He’s hiding something bigger than all of Graceland, and twice as dangerous!”
I give Ray-Ray a subtle nod as I hurry back toward our table, where Carlotta appears seconds away from performing an impromptu pole dance using a nearby structural column that most likely isn’t designed to support her enthusiasm.
Chuck’s smooth deflection to Pacy and Sherry was almost too perfect and perhaps too rehearsed. And if there’s one thing my years of stumbling over bodies has taught me, it’s that when someone points you in two different directions, the real answer is usually right in front of you.
The question is—what is Chuck Longnecker hiding behind his grief-stricken façade, and how far would he go to keep it buried?
LOTTIE
