Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City by Wendelin Van Draanen Page B

gazebo with Elvis playing an acoustic guitar. “Can you see your mom getting married by Elvis?”
    “No! I can’t see my mom doing any of this stuff! I can’t even believe she’d get married here! It’s so tacky!”
    Marissa takes a huge bite of her sandwich but still manages to say, “She’s never had a wedding, right? So maybe because you and your grandmother are against her marrying Casey’s dad, this is the closest she can get to a dream wedding.”
    “Getting married in Las Vegas is not even
close
to a dream wedding!”
    Marissa shrugs. “Maybe getting married here has just been stigmatized.”
    “Stigmatized?
Stigmatized?
”
    “Sure. Here, look at this,” she says, pointing to another ad. “This one offers limousine transportation, a fresh floral bouquet, professional photographs.… And the wedding parties I’ve seen at the chapel downstairs are always decked out.” She shrugs. “They look classy.”
    “Classy,” I say, staring at her like she’s lost her very last marble.
    She gets up and goes to the sink for a glass of water. “I’m just saying, if there are a hundred chapels, not
all
of them are going to be tacky!”
    “Well, great,” I say, getting up for a glass of my own. “If there are a hundred potentially untacky chapels, how will I ever find the one she’s going to? And since my mom’s
not
staying at this hotel after all, how will I ever find her?”
    “That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!”
    “I didn’t know there were a hundred chapels! That changes everything!”
    For a while we both focus on eating instead of talking. And then Marissa tosses her sandwich wrapper in the trash and says, “Maybe you should call and ask your grandmother?”
    “No! And she wouldn’t tell me anyway. She’s weird about my mother.” I toss my wrapper, too. “I think she’s afraid of her.”
    “She’s … but why? Your mother may be full of herself, but she’s not someone I’d be
afraid
of.”
    I think about this a minute and then kind of shake my head. “It’s more like she’s afraid of her reaction to things. Maybe when you don’t have much family, you’re afraid to lose what you do have?”
    We sit around some more, and finally Marissa grabs the phone book and says, “Well, let’s start at the top and work our way down.”
    “You’re serious?”
    “You got a better idea?”
    Just then Mrs. McKenze comes out of the bedroom and says, “The CCDC is open until midnight.”
    Marissa looks up. “The CCDC?”
    “Listen to me,” Mrs. McKenze mutters. “I sound like apro.” She takes a deep breath and says, “The Clark County Detention Center, also known as the jail.”
    “Oh.”
    “And I won’t be able to visit or even talk to your father”—she looks at her pad of paper—“also known as inmate zero-one-zero-seven-two-nine-zero-one … until we go down to the CCDC in person to register.”
    “But when’s he getting out?” Marissa asks.
    “I don’t think that’s going to happen tonight.” She checks her notes. “We can post bail until midnight, but I don’t think they’ll just release him. I think there’s a whole procedure they follow.”
    “How far away is the jail?”
    “Only a few miles.” She looks back at her notes. “On South Casino Center Boulevard.”
    Marissa mutters, “How appropriate.”
    Mrs. McKenze turns to me. “So I’m sorry, Sammy, but we have to go. You’re welcome to stay here, but honestly, I can’t take on worrying about you. I’ve got too much to deal with as it is.”
    “I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here.”
    She grabs her blazer and purse. “Someday I want to hear about your mother, but not now.”
    Marissa follows her mom toward the door, but at the last minute she runs back and slips me her room key. “If you want more than that lousy sandwich, there’s a McDonald’s downstairs in the food court. Pizza, too. Just turn right at the fountain, and then stay to