She headed toward the Golden Pyramid, where she had an office, and where work was waiting to be done.
After she had driven only a block, she was forced to pull to the side of the road. She couldn’t see where she was going, because hot tears streamed down her face. She put the car in park. Surprising herself, she sobbed loudly.
At first she wasn’t sure what she was crying about. She just surrendered to the racking grief that swept through her and did not question it.
After a while she decided that she was crying for Danny. Poor, sweet Danny. He’d hardly begun to live. It wasn’t fair. And she was crying for herself too, and for Michael. She was crying for all the things that might have been, and for what could never be again.
In a few minutes she got control of herself. She dried her eyes and blew her nose.
She had to stop being so gloomy. She’d had enough gloom in her life. A whole hell of a lot of gloom.
“Think positive,” she said aloud. “Maybe the past wasn’t so great, but the future seems pretty damn good.”
She inspected her face in the rearview mirror to see how much damage the crying jag had done. She looked better than she expected. Her eyes were red, but she wouldn’t pass for Dracula. She opened her purse, found her makeup, and covered the tear stains as best she could.
She pulled the Honda back into traffic and headed for the Pyramid again.
A block farther, as she waited at a red light, she realized that she still had a mystery on her hands. She was positive that Michael had not done the damage in Danny’s bedroom. But then, who had done it? No one else had a key. Only a skilled burglar could have broken in without leaving a trace. And why would a first-rate burglar leave without taking anything? Why break in merely to write on Danny’s chalkboard and to wreck the dead boy’s things?
Weird.
When she had suspected Michael of doing the dirty work, she had been disturbed and distressed, but she hadn’t been frightened. If some stranger wanted her to feel more pain over the loss of her child, however, that was definitely unsettling. That was scary because it didn’t make sense. A stranger? It must be. Michael was the only person who had ever blamed her for Danny’s death. Not one other relative or acquaintance had ever suggested that she was even indirectly responsible. Yet the taunting words on the chalkboard and the destruction in the bedroom seemed to be the work of someone who felt that she should be held accountable for the accident. Which meant it had to be someone she didn’t even know. Why would a stranger harbor such passionate feelings about Danny’s death?
The red traffic light changed.
A horn tooted behind her.
As she drove across the intersection and into the entrance drive that led to the Golden Pyramid Hotel, Tina couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that she was being watched by someone who meant to harm her. She checked the rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. As far as she could tell, no one was tailing her.
Chapter Twelve
The third floor of the Golden Pyramid Hotel was occupied by management and clerical personnel. Here, there was no flash, no Vegas glamour. This was where the work got done. The third floor housed the machinery that supported the walls of fantasy, beyond which the tourists gamboled.
Tina’s office was large, paneled in whitewashed pine, with comfortable contemporary upholstery. One wall was covered by heavy drapes that blocked out the fierce desert sun. The windows behind the drapes faced the Las Vegas Strip.
At night the fabled Strip was a dazzling sight, a surging river of light: red, blue, green, yellow, purple, pink, turquoise — every color within the visual spectrum of the human eye; incandescent and neon, fiberoptics and lasers, flashing and rippling. Hundred-foot-long signs—five-hundred-foot-long signs — towered five or even ten stories above the street, glittering, winking, thousands of miles of bright glass tubing filled with glowing gas, blinking, swirling, hundreds of thousands of bulbs, spelling out hotel names, forming pictures with light. Computer-controlled designs ebbed and flowed, a riotous and mad — but curiously beautiful — excess of energy consumption.
During the day, however, the merciless sun was unkind to the Strip. In the hard light the enormous architectural confections were not always appealing; at times, in spite of the billions of dollars of value that it represented, the Strip looked grubby.
The view of the legendary boulevard was wasted on Tina; she didn’t often make use of it. Because she was seldom in her office at night, the drapes were rarely open. This afternoon, as usual, the drapes were closed. The office was shadowy, and she was at her desk in a pool of soft light.
As Tina pored over a final bill for carpentry work on some of the Magyck! sets, Angela, her secretary, stepped in from the outer office. “Is there anything more you need before I leave?”
Tina glanced at her watch. “It’s only a quarter to four.”
“I know. But we get off at four today — New Year’s Eve.”
“Oh, of course,” Tina said. “I completely forgot about the holiday.”
“If you want me to, I could stay a little longer.”
“No, no, no,” Tina said. “You go home at four with the others.”
“So is there anything more you need?”
Leaning back in her chair, Tina said, “Yes. In fact, there is something. A lot of our regular junketeers and high rollers couldn’t make it to the VIP opening of Magyck! I’d like you to get their names from the computer, plus a list of the wedding anniversaries of those who’re married.”
“Can do,” Angela said. “What’ve you got in mind?”
“During the year, I’m going to send special invitations to the married ones, asking them to spend their anniversaries here, with everything comped for three days. We’ll sell it this way: ‘Spend the magic night of your anniversary in the magic world of Magyck!’ Something like that. We’ll make it very romantic. We’ll serve them champagne at the show. It’ll be a great promotion, don’t you think?” She raised her hands, as if framing her next words, “The Golden Pyramid — a Magyck! place for lovers.”
“The hotel ought to be happy,” Angela said. “We’ll get lots of favorable media coverage.”
“The casino bosses will like it too, ’cause a lot of our high rollers will probably make an extra trip this year. The average gambler won’t cancel other planned trips to Vegas. He’ll just add on an extra trip for his anniversary. And I’ll be happy because the whole stunt will generate more talk about the show.”
“It’s a great idea,” Angela said. “I’ll get the list.”
Tina returned to her inspection of the carpenter’s bill, and Angela was back at five minutes past four with thirty pages of data.
“Thank you,” Tina said.
“No trouble.”
“Are you shivering?”
“Yeah,” Angela said, hugging herself. “Must be a problem with the air-conditioning. The last few minutes — my office got chilly.”
“It’s warm enough in here,” Tina said.
“Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I sure hope not. I’ve got big plans tonight.”
“Party?”
“Yeah. Big bash over on Rancho Circle.”
“Millionaire’s Row?”
“My boyfriend’s boss lives over there. Anyway… happy new year, Tina.”
“Happy new year.”
“See you Monday.”
“Oh? Oh, yeah, that’s right. It’s a four-day weekend. Well, just watch out for that hangover.”
Angela grinned. “There’s at least one out there with my name on it.”