Read Online Killer in High Heels by Gemma Halliday - Free Book Online
Authors: Gemma Halliday
Tags: General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, cozy mystery, Weddings - Planning, Women fashion designers
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asked.
He shrugged. “Nope. Sorry. But I know they work nights. Like I said, I think they’re both dancers.”
Dana and I thanked Shar-Pei Man and climbed back into the Mustang.
“I guess we’ll come back in the morning?” Dana asked.
I took another long look at the house. I wasn’t sure why, but I had this feeling of urgency brewing in my stomach. Like the more time I let pass, the slimmer my chances of finding Larry alive. Which wasn’t wholly logical, but it didn’t make cooling my heels in faux New York sound all that appealing.
“Maybe we could find out which club they dance at?” I said.
Dana shrugged. “Okay. So where do we start looking for two suburban strippers?”
I shot Dana a look. “ Dancers. ” I’m not sure why I was defending them except that the idea of my possible stepmommy being a stripper didn’t fill me with a whole lot of good feelings.
“What about Jim?” she said. “The hotel clerk. He did say he’d help with anything we needed.”
I didn’t think this was exactly what he had in mind. However, he did look like the kind of guy who knew where to find strip—I mean, dancers.
We flipped the Mustang around and took the 215 back into Vegas. Half an hour later we were in front of Slim Jim again. And he once again tried to grow X-ray vision as his eyes focused in on Dana’s chest.
“We were wondering if you could tell us about a couple of dancers?” I asked. “Harriet and Lola?”
Jim grinned. “Do you have any idea how many strippers there are in Vegas?”
“ Dancers, ” I emphasized.
Slim Jim grinned wider. “Right. Dancers. Look, if you’re into that kind of thing”—he wiggled his eyebrows up and down—“there’s a club up the street. The Kit Kat Bar. Hot chicks. They’ll take real good care of you there,” he promised Dana’s cleavage. “In fact,” he continued, his eyes starting to glaze over at the thought of girl-on-girl action, “I get off in a couple of hours. I wouldn’t mind showing you around.”
I shuddered internally. Even I wasn’t that desperate. “We’re looking for two specific dancers.” I repeated the descriptions Shar-pei had given us. “Any idea where they might work?”
Slim Jim pursed his eyebrows together. “Actually, yeah. I think I know the redhead. Last weekend was my buddy’s birthday and we took him out to this real campy place. The Victoria Club. I don’t remember the blonde, but Lola…” He did a low whistle. “Now she’s hard to forget.”
“The Victoria Club?” I asked.
“Uh huh.” Slim Jim nodded. “I had a lot to drink that night, so I’m not totally clear on the particulars, but I know I had a good time. In fact,” he said, addressing Dana’s cleavage again, “I could show you girls a good time there tonight.”
I’m sorry to say for a half a second Dana seemed to be considering it.
“No thanks.” I jumped in quickly. “We’re kind of in a hurry. Can you tell me where the club is?”
“Fremont Street, downtown,” Jim answered, clearly disappointed. “Near the Neon museum. Not the greatest part of town, but cheap drinks at least.”
“Thanks.”
“Always happy to help the ladies,” he said as we turned away. “And, hey, say hi to Lola for me!”
After we grabbed a quick sandwich at Broadway Burger (mine a double cheeseburger with lots of melted cheddar and Dana’s a soy patty with sprouts that looked like it should be feeding livestock), we hopped back into the Mustang and drove up the 15, past the Strip into the downtown area, the home of Vegas’s first casino; the famous smoking cowboy, Vegas Vic; and the largest number of prostitutes on the West Coast.
When the mega-resorts started to crop up in the early ’nineties, the Strip became the face of the family-friendly Vegas, and all the degenerates were rounded up and corralled north. In recent years, preservationists had started a campaign to restore the historic downtown, adding a touch of glitz and neon to create the
He shrugged. “Nope. Sorry. But I know they work nights. Like I said, I think they’re both dancers.”
Dana and I thanked Shar-Pei Man and climbed back into the Mustang.
“I guess we’ll come back in the morning?” Dana asked.
I took another long look at the house. I wasn’t sure why, but I had this feeling of urgency brewing in my stomach. Like the more time I let pass, the slimmer my chances of finding Larry alive. Which wasn’t wholly logical, but it didn’t make cooling my heels in faux New York sound all that appealing.
“Maybe we could find out which club they dance at?” I said.
Dana shrugged. “Okay. So where do we start looking for two suburban strippers?”
I shot Dana a look. “ Dancers. ” I’m not sure why I was defending them except that the idea of my possible stepmommy being a stripper didn’t fill me with a whole lot of good feelings.
“What about Jim?” she said. “The hotel clerk. He did say he’d help with anything we needed.”
I didn’t think this was exactly what he had in mind. However, he did look like the kind of guy who knew where to find strip—I mean, dancers.
We flipped the Mustang around and took the 215 back into Vegas. Half an hour later we were in front of Slim Jim again. And he once again tried to grow X-ray vision as his eyes focused in on Dana’s chest.
“We were wondering if you could tell us about a couple of dancers?” I asked. “Harriet and Lola?”
Jim grinned. “Do you have any idea how many strippers there are in Vegas?”
“ Dancers, ” I emphasized.
Slim Jim grinned wider. “Right. Dancers. Look, if you’re into that kind of thing”—he wiggled his eyebrows up and down—“there’s a club up the street. The Kit Kat Bar. Hot chicks. They’ll take real good care of you there,” he promised Dana’s cleavage. “In fact,” he continued, his eyes starting to glaze over at the thought of girl-on-girl action, “I get off in a couple of hours. I wouldn’t mind showing you around.”
I shuddered internally. Even I wasn’t that desperate. “We’re looking for two specific dancers.” I repeated the descriptions Shar-pei had given us. “Any idea where they might work?”
Slim Jim pursed his eyebrows together. “Actually, yeah. I think I know the redhead. Last weekend was my buddy’s birthday and we took him out to this real campy place. The Victoria Club. I don’t remember the blonde, but Lola…” He did a low whistle. “Now she’s hard to forget.”
“The Victoria Club?” I asked.
“Uh huh.” Slim Jim nodded. “I had a lot to drink that night, so I’m not totally clear on the particulars, but I know I had a good time. In fact,” he said, addressing Dana’s cleavage again, “I could show you girls a good time there tonight.”
I’m sorry to say for a half a second Dana seemed to be considering it.
“No thanks.” I jumped in quickly. “We’re kind of in a hurry. Can you tell me where the club is?”
“Fremont Street, downtown,” Jim answered, clearly disappointed. “Near the Neon museum. Not the greatest part of town, but cheap drinks at least.”
“Thanks.”
“Always happy to help the ladies,” he said as we turned away. “And, hey, say hi to Lola for me!”
After we grabbed a quick sandwich at Broadway Burger (mine a double cheeseburger with lots of melted cheddar and Dana’s a soy patty with sprouts that looked like it should be feeding livestock), we hopped back into the Mustang and drove up the 15, past the Strip into the downtown area, the home of Vegas’s first casino; the famous smoking cowboy, Vegas Vic; and the largest number of prostitutes on the West Coast.
When the mega-resorts started to crop up in the early ’nineties, the Strip became the face of the family-friendly Vegas, and all the degenerates were rounded up and corralled north. In recent years, preservationists had started a campaign to restore the historic downtown, adding a touch of glitz and neon to create the
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