Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

It didn’t matter at all.

“Miss Fortune, the casino manager wants to speak with you.”

Corazon had never cared for the voice of authority, maybe because it had never spoken in her favor. Or maybe it was the way the pit boss, Mr. Shank, always leered at her when he addressed her by her formal name. Like it or not, one always responded to orders.

She knocked the three card poker table twice then spread her fingers wide, palms up, for the security camera before giving way to the replacement dealer. Once clear of the tables, she tried to smooth her heavy curls back from her face. She shouldn’t have had that gyro for lunch. Her mints were in her locker, but Mr. Shank didn’t look like he’d let her make a pit stop.

He escorted her off the casino floor, down a fluorescent-lit employee hallway to the management offices. She shouldn’t feel nervous-she’d done nothing wrong. In fact, maybe she was worrying for nothing. Maybe she was finally up for a promotion. She’d dreamed of becoming Shank’s equal since she first came to the Venetian a year and a half ago.

But one step inside Mr. Leighton’s office put an end to all those dreams of advancement.

“Here’s Cory,” Mr. Leighton said with a smile that even she could tell was pasted on his face. He motioned to another suited man, mature, earnest looking-a plainclothes cop, as clear as day. “Cory, this is Detective Hunter with the LVMPD. He’d like to ask you a few questions.”

She nodded, wondering what the hell she’d done wrong. To her surprise, Mr. Leighton shepherded Shank from the office, leaving her alone with Hunter.

He stood taller than her, with a lean build for a man of…she guessed him at forty years. Lines crinkled the edges of his eyes and lips, and furrows seemed to be permanently creased in his forehead. He didn’t look like a sun-worshipper, so she figured him for a worrier. His hairline had made a small retreat, but there was still plenty of it, dark and curling slightly at the ends. His clean-shaven jaw had a nice angle to it, his nose a little oversized, and his green eyes were tinged with sorrow, as though he’d witnessed way too much tragedy in his job.

It occurred to her that if she’d committed some work-related offense, the Nevada Gaming Control Board would be here, not the local police. And they wouldn’t have the look of apology this guy had on his face. Perspiration tickled her upper lip, but she refrained from swiping at it, just as she bit back the concerned questions that flooded her mind.

The detective motioned to a chair and popped a Tums while she seated herself. “Miss Fortune, I need to ask you some questions about your father.”

“Papa?” She gripped the arm of the chair and turned to look at Hunter. “Is he all right?”

“He’s missing. When did you see him last?”

She answered without hesitation. “Two days ago. We had breakfast here at the buffet after I got off work.”

“What time was that?” He pulled a notepad from his inner jacket pocket and started to scribble notes.

“About six in the morning. He’d just flown back from St. Petersburg the night before.”

“Russia?”

Cory blinked at such a ridiculous notion. “No, Florida. He’s been working on some gig with the Ringling Circus Museum in Sarasota. What do you mean he’s missing?”

“What kind of work?” Hunter asked, staring intently at her. Whether he didn’t understand or didn’t believe her, she wasn’t sure.

She didn’t like that he’d avoided her question. “I don’t know, something to do with his magic act.”

He glanced up. “You sound like you don’t approve.”

Cory hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t approve, she just didn’t understand Papa’s passion for magic. “All the years I was growing up, Papa traveled a lot. I guess I blamed it on his magic act.”

He seemed to accept that without needing further explanation. “We found a man shot dead in your father’s car last night. Do you know anything about that?”

She stumbled to her feet. “Papa wouldn’t kill someone, not anyone. He’s not that kind of man.”

“What kind of man is he?” Hunter asked quietly.

“Papa’s the most honest, God-fearing man I know. He cares about people, always wants to help. He could no more kill a man than he would lie, cheat or steal.” People could say what they wanted about her, but she wasn’t about to sit idly by while someone, even a cop, slandered her father.

The detective blinked at her. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone after his show last night? Any friends, any women he might have gone to see?”

Women? Oh, God… She shook her head, worry pulling her lips into a frown even as she gnawed on a red thumbnail. “No, unless…”

“Unless?”

“Did you look for him downtown around Fremont Street?”

Hunter shook his head while he scribbled a note. “Why there?”

“That’s where Papa started his magic career. He’s still got some old friends who work the casinos there. Sometimes they get up a game.”

“If you want us to find and help your father-”

“Help him?”

He shifted his feet. “It’s possible someone might want to kill him, so don’t be vague.”

“I-I didn’t mean-” Color warmed her face. “Papa likes to play cards, but the hotels down here on the Strip won’t take his bets.”

“Why not, does he cheat?”

She lifted her chin. “He could, but he doesn’t. Like me, he has a sense of honor. He wins and loses fairly. Up at the Golden Gate some men know him, and they’ll sit down to play, sometimes all night.”

“We’ll look into that.” Pocketing his notepad, he rose. “I’ll let you get back to work, but I need for you to come to the precinct at four this afternoon. I’ll clear it with Mr. Leighton.”

“What do you need me for?”

He loosened his tie, and she watched color creep up his neck to his face. He cleared his throat. “Did your father ever mention that you have sisters?”

She wasn’t sure which she hated more-the conviction in his voice that he spoke the truth or the compassionate look in his eyes that told her he was sorry.

Cosmo had always subscribed to the theory that the best place to hide something was in plain sight.

He fearlessly entered the Venetian’s casino, where frigid air conditioning raised gooseflesh on his bare arms and legs. The chino shorts, tennis shoes and Future Jackpot Winner T-shirt shouted “tourist” almost as loudly as the slimy, pungent sunscreen and the camera dangling around his neck. He’d worked for hours on his makeup-the larger nose, bushy eyebrows and the fake moustache to go with his goatee. Disguised as a retired businessman ready to take Vegas by storm, Cosmo prided himself that no one would recognize him.

Not even his own daughter.

Cosmo skirted the craps tables, ignoring the call in his blood to let fly the dice. He had more important matters to attend to today. Hopefully, his Cory would be open-minded.

He spied her, sharp and professional in her dealer’s uniform. Her one rebellion was all that curly dark hair, which made male heads turn to watch her wherever she went. She remained oblivious to the ripple of interest that trailed her as she walked along with a suited fellow. Even from here, Cosmo recognized the cop. At least Hunter was treating Cory with deference as he handed her a business card. They’d probably been discussing Cosmo’s disappearance.

How much did they know?

Hunter departed with a nod and long strides that made it hard, but not impossible, to see his frown. Cosmo’s gaze darted back to Cory. She looked up from the business card, her eyes glittering with moisture, her jaw set in uncompromising anger.