Sin City Mysteries

Gross, but I'd loved every humiliating and heated second of his possession of my body.

I dried off and winced when I looked in the mirror. I looked like I'd been hit by a bus. Dark circles ringed my eyes and I was so damned pale. Food, coffee, maybe some fresh air. That was all I needed.

Pulling a t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants from my suitcase, I got dressed and wandered into the kitchen. I grabbed a bottled iced coffee from the fridge, along with a few eggs and some cheese. In short order, I was devouring an omelet. My stomach cramped on the food and I slowed down. Shit, when had I last eaten?

When I finished, I dropped my plate and silverware in the sink and walked back to the bedroom. It was time to face the music and start returning calls.

My feet stalled in the doorway and ice trickled into my veins as the scent of roses filled my nose. The bed had been turned down and strewn with red petals. I gritted my teeth and stalked toward my phone.

"Luke! If you're still fucking with me, you need to leave right now!"

Even as I yelled, I knew it was useless. Whoever had done this was long gone, and I didn't think it had been Luke. He'd been a onetime thing. Though he'd been an earth-shattering lay, we had nothing going on.

My phone chimed with an incoming call from an unknown number. I answered, knowing that Lisette's friends didn't often reveal their details.

"Have you found any secrets, Miss Archer?"

I knew that low, raspy voice even if I didn't know his name. "What secrets are you talking about?"

"Your new house can delight your senses, give you pleasures such as you've never known. You had but a taste of its gifts. If you want more, look for them. But take care. There are those who would prefer you didn't find them."

With a soft click, the line went dead. Secrets. Lisette had had them. I knew it and gave her privacy enough to keep them. She'd been mistress to prominent men. Dangerous men. Her pillow talk conversations probably filled cabinets in the bowels of the CIA and the Kremlin. Lisette had been the woman Bond girls aspired to. What other secrets had she held?

I needed answers, not euphemistic clues. I tapped the screen to call Clarice. She answered on the first ring.

"Anais! For fuck's sake, girl, we've been worried! Where have you been?"

"Passed out on my bathroom floor, apparently," I muttered. "Did you see who I left with after Lisette's wake?"

"You left by yourself, dear. Why?"

"No reason."

Lisette's best friend talked some more, and I made noises in all the right places. My mind wasn't on the conversation.

If I left alone, where did I hook up with Luke? And when? I remembered him from the wake. He'd danced in a leopard print thong. And who had fucked with my bed?

"Clarice, thanks for checking in with me. I'm going to get some sleep now."

She was silent for a moment. "All right. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"You got it."

I swiped to end the call and brushed rose petals away so I could perch on the edge of the bed. Too many questions and zero answers. I knew two things. I knew that I'd lost two days, and my body ached from sex.

The breeze from the open window sent a strand of hair across my face and I tucked it behind my ear as I stood up. The silver fox from the wake told me to look for secrets, and I decided to get started. First things first, though. I shut and locked all the windows.

Lisette's mahogany desk rested in the spare bedroom she'd set aside as a study. I hadn't gone through it yet, but it seemed as good a place to start as any. I rifled through the drawers, finding nothing but neatly filed bills, long paid and settled. The lap drawer held a collection of pens collected from dozens of hotels around the world.

Some people collected postcards. I guess my grandmother collected pens. She had an old-fashioned appointment book, kept with the military precision of an experienced secretary. I would have to go through it at some point, though the last several months of her life were filled with doctor's appointments, eventually leading to in home hospice care.

Pens, bills, an unopened package of caramels... Maybe the candy was a secret. I don't remember a carb ever passing Lisette's lips. I didn't find a damned thing. I reached for the lowest drawer on the left and found it locked.

I'd seen enough Scooby Doo to know that a locked drawer always contained a secret. I hadn't found a key, but I wasn't about to let that stop me. Using a letter opener, I jimmied the lock and tugged the drawer open.

There was a sheet of paper laying on top of the contents, concealing them from me. Lisette's sprawling cursive spelled out my name in loopy letters.

Congratulations, Anais! I'm sure you were careful enough to avoid damaging my desk. Now that you've found the first of your birthright, go check the bench seat next to the large planter on the deck.

I chuckled and set the note aside. Picking up the first leather bound book, I opened it and another sheet of Lisette's stationery fell out, followed by a silvery padlock key.

Go to the deck, darling. Come back to these later.

I laughed. Lisette certainly loved her mysteries. Clue had been her favorite game to play when I'd been a kid, and she'd created little treasure hunts for me all the time. "Okay, Granny. I'm going."

She didn't answer, of course, but I could feel waves of approval. That seemed silly, though. The only thing left of her was this one last game of hide and seek and the fading scent of her perfume. I walked across the hall to the kitchen and out through the French door leading to the covered deck. Lisette used to spend a lot of time out here amongst her desert garden oasis.

I knelt in front of the bench and tried to lift the lid, but it didn't move. I couldn't see any way to open it, either. I'd always thought the built-in seats were solid pieces of furniture. I ran my hands along the exposed edges and around the corner where a droopy palm sat in a pot. There was a lock hidden by the foliage.

With some effort, I tugged the planter aside to give me room and got the key into the lock. It turned easily, allowing me to open the seat.

Towels? She'd locked up towels? I snorted and started digging through the terry cloth. There had to be something else in there. I pulled one aside and found a plastic tub filled with bottles of sunscreen and a blue velvet bag one normally finds around bottles of cheap whiskey. I'd loved those bags when I was a kid, and she often brought them home from work for me. I'd had quite a collection back in the day.

I rummaged through the towels shaking each one out and refolding it but found nothing else. Just for good measure, and because I knew my Granny, I checked the other benches for secret locks. None of the others appeared to open. Oh well, it was worth a try.

Picking up the plastic storage box, I went back inside and set it down on the kitchen table. Sunscreen, hair ties, and miscellaneous supplies for sitting outside or swimming, along with a bottle opener and corkscrew. I was pretty sure the only carb Lisette ever consumed came out of a bottle.

My hand sagged when I picked up the velvet bag. Shit, the thing weighed a ton! And it jingled. I thought for a moment she'd filled it with rocks, but the noise was metallic. I unknotted the drawstring and gaped. The thing was filled with gold coins. They had to be fake, but when I picked one up I could see the antelope on the back.

Where had Lisette come across a sack full of Krugerrands? There were dozens of them, and I could only guess at their worth. It was certainly enough to keep me in art supplies for a very long time. And Lisette had kept them outside in a bench seat. I couldn't wrap my mind around that.

I packed everything back into the tub and carried the bag into her office. She had a small safe tucked in the wall behind her desk and concealed by a credenza. She kept most of her expensive jewelry in there when it wasn't being worn. Maybe she'd set the coins aside for me, knowing I wouldn't be able to part with her jewelry unless it was absolutely necessary.

When I got the safe open, it looked just like I remembered. Velvet bags and boxes containing her jewelry were stacked neatly inside. An inventory was in an envelope at the bottom, but another copy would be in her desk somewhere, and on file with her insurance company. Lisette had been careful about stuff like that, which made it even more out of character for her to have stored valuables outside.

Though in her defense, I hadn't known they were there, or even considered looking. If someone broke in, the safe would be the first place they'd look; not outside in deck seating.

I set the liquor bag inside and shut the safe, spinning the combination lock for good measure before I pushed the credenza back into place. Turning, I settled on my knees in front of the drawer I'd jimmied open and retrieved the first book off the stack.

Flipping through the first few pages, I realized it was her personal journal. I hadn't known she kept one, but it didn't surprise me. I wasn't sure I should read them, though. The public part of her life was fascinating, and would have made an outstanding movie, but I wasn't sure that her private thoughts should be given to anyone. I slipped the book back into the drawer and closed it.

It was getting late, and I was exhausted. After sleeping for two days, I wasn't sure why I was so tired, but I needed a good night's sleep. In a bed instead of on the bathroom floor. I needed a decent meal, too, but that could wait until tomorrow. I settled for crackers, cheese, and a tall glass of milk.

After washing up, I cleaned up the rose petals and crawled between the crisp sheets. Rolling over, I sniffed the pillow, expecting Luke's scent of spice. All I smelled was detergent and dryer sheets.

And those damned rose petals. I wondered if I should have called the cops, but what was I going to say?

Hey, officer, someone broke into my house, oh yeah, the windows were open. Anyway, they turned down my bed and scattered rose petals everywhere. No, this isn't a joke.

If I hadn't swept up the petals myself, I wouldn't have believed me either. Lisette's property was gated. Even if the windows were open, how had the jokester got in? The wall wasn't topped with razor wire or anything, but the stucco was eight feet tall and too smooth to climb. Turning back over, I yawned and closed my eyes. I was so damned tired. Everything else would just have to wait until morning when I could think.

###

The scent of Luke's spicy aftershave tickled my nose and I smiled as he stroked his hand down the middle of my back. His soft lips touched the back of my neck as he palmed my ass, squeezing the generous flesh. I was in that half aware state of lucid dreaming that always brought sexy fantasy. Even though Luke had been a one-night stand, he'd been a generous and talented bed partner, and I was more than happy to let him into my dreams.

"Such a sweet girl, so lush and beautiful. You look just like her, but generous and soft, as a woman should be. Such a shame, but I'll make sure you enjoy it."

His voice was scratchy and low, not the voice I remembered him having. The room was too dark and I couldn't see, but his scent was the same. And who else but Luke would have come back to surprise me with another romp in the sheets? I wanted to ask him what he'd meant, but the stab of delight as he stroked me cut off my speech.

Normally, I hated being compared to Lisette, but I didn't mind so much from Luke. He said the things I'd always wanted to hear about myself. In his eyes, under his hands, I was lush beautiful instead of a little too plump to be fashionable.

The bed shifted as he moved. He didn't say a word as he pushed his hand between my thighs and caressed my pussy. His long fingers petted my folds, making me gasp in pleasure as I spread my legs to give him better access. Turning my head, I could see his profile.

"No peeking, Anais. Just feel and let me give you pleasure."

He pressed harder on my head, pushing my face into the bedding until I couldn't breathe. His fingers curled inside me, stroking my g-spot as I struggled for air. I tried to fight against his grip on my hair, but he wouldn't let go. Instead, he shoved harder against my head and threw a leg over mine when I tried to kick.

I heard a crash and a scatter of broken glass behind me and wanted to scream, but I had no air for it. The lights flickered off and on, and Lisette's old turntable started blaring Aretha Franklin.

Luke cursed and let go. I choked and inhaled, my ribs aching from the lack of air. I turned to find him, catching sight of him as he escaped through one of the windows. The lights went out and the music died. The only sound left in the room was my tortured breathing.

I reached over to turn on the bedside lamp and stared in the vanity mirror on the other side of the bedroom. Pale blue eyes stared back at me in a bearded face. Not silvery, but russet gold. I screamed and scuttled back against the headboard and the face vanished.

The face in the mirror had been the old man I'd met at Lisette's wake, but at least twenty years younger. I shivered in the stuffy air of the bedroom. He hadn't looked malicious. He'd seemed, I don't know, concerned maybe. More importantly, where had he gone and why didn't he stop Luke?

Even more importantly than that, why had Luke tried to kill me? The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if he'd tried to drown me in that half full tub the night of Lisette's wake. Why hadn't he stayed to make sure of me?

There was a more important question. Why did he want me dead? Lisette's house must hold the clue. I just had to find it. Her bedroom held nothing. Despite the crash of an object falling to the floor, I could see nothing broken from my perch on the bed.

But tomorrow, in the light of day. I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and sat against the headboard with the lights on and my phone clutched to my chest while I waited for dawn.

###

The next morning, I sat on the floor in Lisette's study, stacks of paper and books surrounding me. I'd taken every drawer out, looking carefully behind each one with a flashlight.

I'd found a cough drop, a fur mouse from Lisette's last cat, cigar bands, a lighter, and other detritus that comes from one person using the same desk for almost fifty years. I smiled to myself, imagining one of her lovers smoking a cigar in this room. Maybe she kept them as mementoes, like the pens.

There was also a bundle of letters tied with red ribbon. The most recent postmark was from 1962. Whatever scent they'd held had long faded. My hand hovered over the bound envelopes, curiosity warring with leaving Lisette her privacy.

I untied the ribbon, allowing the letters to fall to the desk in a loose pile. Someone had tried to kill me last night, and I needed every clue and scrap of information I could get my hands on.

The police were still an option, but what would I tell them? I had a one-night stand with someone I didn't know. I'd also been brainless enough to let him into my house. There was no sign of forced entry, and I didn't have a mark on me. Even if they believed me and took a report, there was nothing stopping Luke from coming back.

Letting my head fall to the desk, I sighed. Maybe it was time to put in the security system I'd always begged Lisette to install. Vegas wasn't the safest city in the world, and she'd lived here by herself. She'd always said they were more trouble than they were worth, but I was a sitting duck here without any protection. I pulled up Google on my phone and called the first one that had a five-star rating. Though I scowled at the cost, they could have a security system installed that day. I set a time with the receptionist and ended the call.

Good girl. Now read the letters.

I spun around at the whisper behind me but saw no one. "Who's there?"

My demand fell flat in the empty room and I shivered. Maybe the place was haunted. It wouldn't surprise me, given the number of people who had been in and out over the years. And maybe it was my overactive imagination hearing things that weren't there.

And maybe someone was just fucking with me. Maybe there were cameras, projectors, and speakers hidden in the house. The skin between my shoulder blades itched at the thought someone might be watching. Fuck them. I'd have the security service look for electronic devices and put a stop to this shit.

I sorted the letters by postmark date and picked up the first one, dated April, 1948. Tugging gently on the fragile paper, I extracted the letter. Unsurprisingly, it was a love letter from someone called Henri. It was also graphically frank. I wasn't a prude, but as I continued reading, my face heated into a blush. Lisette had been a busy girl. I felt voyeuristic but I kept reading. Despite the sexual nature of the letters, they were filled with references to famous and powerful people. My mind spun with the realization that Lisette had known all those people.

I got to the last one. The letter and a second, smaller envelope came free. I unfolded the short missive and gasped in surprise at the mention of Clarice's name.

Dearest, your friend Clarice still refuses to accept the arrangement you and I have together. She swears she will go to the press with a tale that I fathered her son. I did not, of course. You know perfectly well I was in Korea at the time. She does not seem to recognize that it is quite impossible for me to have given her a child, even if you and I weren't so deeply in love.

Such a story would be damaging and hurtful to my career. It would not help that everyone who knows us is well aware I love no one but you. I must also say that she has grown erratic in your absence. I fear for her safety, as well as that of her son.

I hope you will consider returning from your Paris tour, at least for a short time. Perhaps seeing us together will set Clarice straight.

All my love, Henri.

Interesting. Clarice had always been a little emotional, but I never thought she'd be the type of person to tell such a hurtful lie, especially about one of her closest friends. I set the letter aside and picked up the small envelope. It was sealed. I considered leaving it alone but picked up the letter opener and slit the envelope. A faded photograph and a news clipping carefully sealed in plastic fell into my hand.

It was a formal portrait of Lisette with the man who had been in my mirror and at Lisette's wake. With shaking hands, I picked up the news clipping. The Las Vegas Sun reported that Henri Desjardins perished in a car accident due to faulty brakes on August 1, 1962, just a few months after that last letter had been written. The police had suspected foul play but could find no evidence. He had no family.

I returned the photo and clipping to their envelope and tied the bundle together with the ribbon. I couldn't decide whether to be furious or terrified.

Settling for furious, I put everything back in the desk the way I'd found it. There was no such thing as ghosts.

"Do you hear me? I don't believe in ghosts, so whoever is fucking with me needs to stop right now." My angry shout was loud in the empty house.

It had been someone else at the wake. Someone who had access to theatrical makeup, Lisette's old photographs, and knew her history with Henri. It was just a nasty trick, and I could only think that it had been set up by one of her friends. But to what purpose?

What would it gain any of them to pretend that Lisette's dead lover was still alive? And more importantly, at least for me, why was Luke trying to kill me? We didn't know each other. I tried to remember what he'd said last night. It was something about it being a shame, but he'd make sure I enjoyed it. Maybe he was a serial killer and I'd come into his radar for whatever reason. Who knew why psychopaths did the things they did?