Deadly Disco in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Mysteries Book 6) by A.R. Winters
Authors: A.R. Winters
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case,” I said quickly, not wanting to get her into trouble. “Are you able to get us her home address?”
Gary nodded and made a quick phone call before looking back at us. “Got it for ya. D’you have a pen and paper handy?”
I took down Chloe’s address, thanked Gary and left the dark club, dragging Ian with me.
“A few more minutes,” I said. “And then we finally get to meet this mysterious girlfriend of Josh’s.”
Chapter Ten
But first, I had to call my mom back. I sat in the parking lot and dialed the number. My mother answered after half a ring.
“Tiffany,” she said. “I just heard. What’re you doing at the Peacock Club? I’m sure you can get a better job somewhere else. Not that exotic dancing doesn’t pay very well, it’s just that—”
I interrupted her before she could go any further. “I’m not here for a job, Mom. I’m here to talk to a suspect.”
There was a split second of silence and then my mom said, “My friend Wendy’s husband—well, her husband’s friend’s brother, actually—he said he saw you walking into the club wearing nothing but a string bikini.”
My mother sounded affronted, as though I didn’t even have the good taste to put on a jacket first.
I looked down at my modest shorts and t-shirt. “I’m not wearing a string bikini,” I assured her.
“You’re not wearing an outfit of some kind?” Mom sounded even more shocked than before. “Your Nanna told me that’s the ‘in’ thing now, dressing up like video game characters without enough clothes on.”
I burst out laughing. “Mom,” I said, between gasps, “you need to stop listening to Nanna. I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and I’m not here to dance. Ian and I were just leaving.”
“Oh.”
I felt a pang of nostalgia as I remembered Nanna telling me about how she and some of her octogenarian friends would come to the Peacock Club for their free Friday lunch buffet. “The girls know to leave us alone,” Nanna had told me. “My girlfriends would rather look at fried shrimp than big tatas.”
“How’s Nanna doing?” I asked Mom.
“Come over for lunch,” she said, “and I’ll tell you.”
“I’m working a case with Ian. We’re really busy.”
“We’re going to have chocolate pudding for dessert.”
That sealed the deal. I hung up, filled Ian in on our lunch plans, and drove over to Chloe’s apartment.
***
Chloe lived on Balzar Avenue, in one of the least reputable areas in Las Vegas. The folks on this street tend to bar their windows with thick, heavy grilles, and arm themselves before opening their doors. I knew that Chloe must make good money as a stripper, so I was a little surprised by her choice of residence.
Chloe lived in a fifties-style brick building, and when Ian and I knocked on the door, a petite blonde wearing a fluffy blue bathrobe answered. Her eyes were watery, her nose red, and she carried a bunch of tissues in one hand. “Who’re you?” she snuffled, peering at Ian and me. Her voice was stuffy, and she looked like she’d rather be in bed.
I explained that we were looking into Josh’s death, and she nodded and invited us in.
The place was a mess inside. The door opened onto the living room, which only had a small love seat and some hard plastic chairs. There was the obligatory small kitchen, with dishes piled up in the sink. Through the open doorway, I could make out the bedroom, and a door that must’ve led to the bathroom. There were used tissues strewn about the living room, and I could see at least two empty tissue boxes lying in the trash.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Chloe said, settling down on the sofa and blowing her nose. “I’ve been too sick to do anything. It’s horrible being sick when you live by yourself. You never feel lonelier.”
Ian and I made sympathetic noises and stood around awkwardly, staring at her.
“You can sit down,” Chloe said, indicating towards the hard plastic chairs.
“Um,” said
Gary nodded and made a quick phone call before looking back at us. “Got it for ya. D’you have a pen and paper handy?”
I took down Chloe’s address, thanked Gary and left the dark club, dragging Ian with me.
“A few more minutes,” I said. “And then we finally get to meet this mysterious girlfriend of Josh’s.”
Chapter Ten
But first, I had to call my mom back. I sat in the parking lot and dialed the number. My mother answered after half a ring.
“Tiffany,” she said. “I just heard. What’re you doing at the Peacock Club? I’m sure you can get a better job somewhere else. Not that exotic dancing doesn’t pay very well, it’s just that—”
I interrupted her before she could go any further. “I’m not here for a job, Mom. I’m here to talk to a suspect.”
There was a split second of silence and then my mom said, “My friend Wendy’s husband—well, her husband’s friend’s brother, actually—he said he saw you walking into the club wearing nothing but a string bikini.”
My mother sounded affronted, as though I didn’t even have the good taste to put on a jacket first.
I looked down at my modest shorts and t-shirt. “I’m not wearing a string bikini,” I assured her.
“You’re not wearing an outfit of some kind?” Mom sounded even more shocked than before. “Your Nanna told me that’s the ‘in’ thing now, dressing up like video game characters without enough clothes on.”
I burst out laughing. “Mom,” I said, between gasps, “you need to stop listening to Nanna. I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and I’m not here to dance. Ian and I were just leaving.”
“Oh.”
I felt a pang of nostalgia as I remembered Nanna telling me about how she and some of her octogenarian friends would come to the Peacock Club for their free Friday lunch buffet. “The girls know to leave us alone,” Nanna had told me. “My girlfriends would rather look at fried shrimp than big tatas.”
“How’s Nanna doing?” I asked Mom.
“Come over for lunch,” she said, “and I’ll tell you.”
“I’m working a case with Ian. We’re really busy.”
“We’re going to have chocolate pudding for dessert.”
That sealed the deal. I hung up, filled Ian in on our lunch plans, and drove over to Chloe’s apartment.
***
Chloe lived on Balzar Avenue, in one of the least reputable areas in Las Vegas. The folks on this street tend to bar their windows with thick, heavy grilles, and arm themselves before opening their doors. I knew that Chloe must make good money as a stripper, so I was a little surprised by her choice of residence.
Chloe lived in a fifties-style brick building, and when Ian and I knocked on the door, a petite blonde wearing a fluffy blue bathrobe answered. Her eyes were watery, her nose red, and she carried a bunch of tissues in one hand. “Who’re you?” she snuffled, peering at Ian and me. Her voice was stuffy, and she looked like she’d rather be in bed.
I explained that we were looking into Josh’s death, and she nodded and invited us in.
The place was a mess inside. The door opened onto the living room, which only had a small love seat and some hard plastic chairs. There was the obligatory small kitchen, with dishes piled up in the sink. Through the open doorway, I could make out the bedroom, and a door that must’ve led to the bathroom. There were used tissues strewn about the living room, and I could see at least two empty tissue boxes lying in the trash.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Chloe said, settling down on the sofa and blowing her nose. “I’ve been too sick to do anything. It’s horrible being sick when you live by yourself. You never feel lonelier.”
Ian and I made sympathetic noises and stood around awkwardly, staring at her.
“You can sit down,” Chloe said, indicating towards the hard plastic chairs.
“Um,” said
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