I knew I shouldn’t move it. There might be fingerprints or something. Granted, since I’d touched the door, my fingerprints were there, too. And probably not the only ones that didn’t belong to the woman who’d changed her appearance to get away from Jeff.
I wondered if she’d realized after talking to him that maybe he knew me, maybe he was on to her, and that’s why she skedaddled.
I was also sure now that this couldn’t be Ainsley, since her red hair was for real and not a wig. I’d seen her just out of the shower, after all. But somehow, thinking that my impostor was Ainsley hadn’t bothered me quite as much as knowing that a total stranger was pretending to be me.
I had another new dilemma, too. I needed to get Tim over here and make sure no one moved that bag. Which meant I was going to have to camp out in here. Fun.
The women who’d come in left, laughing and looking back at me once or twice because surely I was a little nutty to be hanging in the ladies’ room. No kidding.
Since there was no one else in here, I poked my head out the door and saw Jeff standing sentry not too far away.
“Hey, there,” I said, not too loud, but loud enough so he turned around.
A smirk crossed his face. “What are you doing?” he asked.
I beckoned him to come closer. “I found something. I need to call Tim and have him come over here. Get the stuff.”
“What is it?” He took a step closer to the door, looked like he was going to come in.
I put my hand up. “You can’t come in here.”
“Anyone else in there?”
“Not right now.”
“Then why not?” He pushed the door in farther and stepped inside. “Wow,” he said, surveying the environs. “Fancier than a men’s room-that’s for sure.”
I didn’t want to get into it.
“So where is it?” he asked,
He was here; I figured that I might as well show him, then get him out as soon as possible. I pushed open the stall door.
“Behind the door,” I said.
Jeff Coleman stepped inside, and the outside door swung open. I reached for the stall handle and slammed it shut.
Two girls probably no more than twenty-five sauntered in. They wore tight jeans, shirts that rose up above their bellies to show off their belly rings, and flip-flops. They had been chattering to each other but fell silent when they saw me.
“Are you okay in there?” I asked through the door.
“Mmmm.” His tone was deep, but there were women who had low voices, and as long as he didn’t actually say anything, we’d be okay. And then he made some sort of sound like he was getting sick. Great. He was totally getting into his role.
The girls were staring, and I shrugged sheepishly. “Too many cocktails,” I felt compelled to explain.
One of them, the one with the long brunette tresses that had to be extensions and way too much makeup for this time of day, grinned. “Don’t we know about it,” she said conspiratorially. “We’ve been up all night partying at that Cleopatra’s Barge and then some other party over at a nightclub at the Flamingo. We love Vegas. We’re from Arizona. We go to Arizona State. Where are you from?”
I totally did not want to become BFFs with these two girls. I had more pressing things to worry about, like Jeff Coleman pretending to have the dry heaves in the stall and needing to call Tim to come over and shut this place down to look for clues.
But I didn’t have to actually have a conversation, it turned out, because they were doing just fine on their own and didn’t much care whether I answered or not. The second girl, a blonde with brown eyes and the longest lashes I’d ever seen, starting going on about some cool guy they met at “the Barge.”
I pulled my cell out, not caring if I was being rude. I don’t think they noticed.
“Kavanaugh,” I heard my brother say.
“You have to come over to Caesars,” I said. “It’s really important.”
“Everything’s important to you, Brett.”
The girls had gone into stalls now, and I stepped outside, leaving Jeff Coleman alone in there. He was just going to have to deal.
“Listen, Tim, Jeff met a woman at Cleopatra’s Barge last night after we all left. She had red hair and a fake dragon tattoo on her chest and she said her name was Brett Kavanaugh.”
“I already talked to him about that.”
Right. He did. “I’m outside the ladies’ room now, near the bar, where she ditched a wig and shoes, and it looks like that dragon was just makeup she removed with paper towels. The bag with this stuff is hanging on the back of a stall door.”
“You say you’re there now?”
“Jeff’s in there watching it.” As soon as I said it, I realized I should’ve lied and said, yes, Tim, I’m in there now. But it was too late.
“Coleman’s in the ladies’ room?”
“Please, Tim, I didn’t want to move the bag. There might be fingerprints.”
“You’re watching way too much CSI these days, Brett.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you get here?”
“I’m on my way. Tell me which ladies’ room.”
I gave him directions to the one closest to Cleopatra’s Barge and said I’d wait.
The two girls had not emerged from the ladies’ room. Neither had Jeff. Since they thought I had a sick friend in there, I probably should show some empathy and go back to check on “her.”
The girls were at the sinks, primping in front of the mirrors. They both looked up when I came in.
“Your friend is still in there,” the brunette whispered.
I nodded. “It was a rough night.” I went over to the stall and knocked. Jeff grunted. I turned back around. “You said you were in Cleopatra’s Barge?”
“Cool place,” the blonde said. “Met a great guy. He said he could get us into the music business.”
Didn’t they all? But something about that piqued my curiosity. Sherman Potter was supposed to be there last night, and as far as any of us knew, he’d never shown up. But what if he had and we just hadn’t waited long enough? We were expecting Ainsley to sing, but when we found out she wasn’t going to, we’d all taken off.
Except Jeff, who’d met my impostor. And when she ditched him, he left, too.
Turns out, these two girls were more than happy to tell me about their night without any prodding.
“He’s the manager for the Flamingos!” the blond girl squealed.
“He said he was looking for a new lead singer for the band.” The brunette picked right up where the blonde left off, and then they exchanged what I assumed was supposed to be a sad expression. “You know, Dee Carmichael died yesterday.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to tell them that I knew Sherman Potter. Or Dee Carmichael.
It was the blonde’s turn now. “Anyway, he said he needed a new singer to take over, so he gave us his card and said we should call and audition.”
Interesting. Especially since Potter had said Ainsley would be taking over for Daisy.
The brunette pulled a business card from her bag and started waving it around. “I’m going to call this morning. I mean, this could be my big break.”
“Our big break,” the blonde reminded her.
“Oh, right,” the brunette assented, although I could tell she had no intention of sharing.
I wanted to tell them that Sherman Potter was using them, that he didn’t want any more than a roll in the hay with these two girls, but it wasn’t my place. They wouldn’t believe me, anyway.
“It’s awfully quiet in that stall,” the blonde whispered to me.
I looked over, but before I could say anything, the door slammed open and Tim bounded in with two uniforms, a crime scene investigator, and a casino security guard right behind him.