“A customer. One of the guys who gets a lap dance every once in a while. Big guy. Handsome, but gray at the temples. He does all the Cokes and stuff.”

“Big Charley,” Tyler said, then glanced at me. “Vending machine sales, rental, and maintenance. Cole and I contract with him for some of our properties, actually.”

“Yeah.” Caroline smiled. “That’s him. She told me he’d offered her a job. Guess she ended up going with another offer—I figure there was a guy—but maybe she told Big Charley where she was going instead.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s really helpful.”

She nodded, then glanced at Tyler, her expression turning sad. “Emily and Amy were pretty tight,” she said. “They only overlapped for a few weeks, but they totally hit it off.”

“I remember,” he said.

“Any news?” she asked, before I had a chance to ask where I could find Emily.

“None,” Tyler said. He turned to me, his face grave. “Emily’s one of ours. She quit a couple of months ago, and then was found dead not long after.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“What they’re saying is bullshit,” Caroline said. “Emily wouldn’t turn tricks.” She turned to me. “The cops said that a john messed her up. Left her for dead.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“No way.”

Tyler shook his head. “It’s hard to fathom. She was strong-willed and smart. I never thought she’d turn tricks. And if she was down on her luck, she knew she could come to me. But it’s possible she hooked up with the wrong guy. Someone who thought that because she was a dancer he could take what he wanted.” I heard the tight edge of control in his voice. “Bastard.”

He gave Caroline’s hand a squeeze. “If I hear anything more, I’ll tell you. Promise.”

We followed her into the house, where the conversation turned from Emily to advice about how to milk the customers for the best possible tips. When we returned to the car an hour or so later, I was full up on donuts and coffee, and overloaded with information about dancing at Destiny. But despite the passage of time and the many conversations in the interim, my mind was still on Charley.

“Do you want me to call him?” Tyler asked.

“Not yet. Caroline said he was a lunch customer. So if he’s not at the club today, maybe I’ll have you call. But I’d like to chat with him first.”

“Fair enough.”

“In the meantime,” I added, “I’m going to see if I can’t find her in Vegas the old-fashioned way, detective way.”

As he maneuvered the streets and highways of Chicago, I pulled out my phone and hit the only speed dial number I had programmed. Two rings later, my dad answered.

“Hey, daughter o’ mine,” he said, in the kind of gravelly baritone that could be either soothing or scary depending on whether he was helping a victim or interrogating a suspect. “How’s the hip?”

“Hey, yourself. It’s fine. They’re idiots for keeping me off the job.”

“No argument there. To what do I owe this call?” I could hear the clatter of the station behind him, and imagined him in front of a battered desk covered two feet thick in paperwork. “You just wanted to hear your wonderful father’s voice, or do you need something?”

I laughed. “If I said both, would you see right through my ruse?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, then I need something.”

“And I’m happy to help. If you can answer one question.”

“Shoot.”

“What the hell are you doing working when you’re supposed to be recuperating on medical leave?”

I leaned back and rolled my eyes. Beside me, Tyler’s mouth quirked up. I knew he couldn’t hear my dad’s side of the conversation, but I supposed the one-sided version was amusing on its own.

“Saving my sanity,” I said dryly. “And helping out a friend.” I gave him the quick rundown on Candy and Amy.

“What do you need?”

“I’ve already prowled the phone records and I’m getting nowhere. Do you know anyone in the Vegas PD?”

“I’m insulted you have to ask. I know everyone. That’s what makes me invincible.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, Daddy. Seriously, I was hoping you could ask someone for a favor. Maybe she’s been cited for speeding or something. Can you get someone to run a search? See if her driver’s license has come up? Maybe get a current address?”

He promised he would, of course. “But you have to promise not to run yourself ragged. Like it or not, you’re still recovering. And more than that you need to take a step back. You go at this like a bat out of hell, but you’re going to burn out.”

“Daddy …”

“I’m serious. Go find a guy. See a movie. Take two hours off being a detective to be a girl.”

My eyes were on Tyler. “Thanks for the advice, Dad. Believe it or not, I’m working on it.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Wow,” I said as we stood in front of the vibrant purple facade. I tilted my head up to look at Tyler. “There are dresses in there?”

“Many,” he said.

“If you say so.”

We’d walked down Michigan Avenue from The Drake to Tonic, this Gold Coast boutique that, to my mind anyway, more resembled a child’s Lego construct than an actual retail establishment. The building appeared to be made of plastic blocks, though Tyler assured me it was more solid than that. It consisted of multiple levels, like a wedding cake that had gone horribly wrong or, again, like a child’s toy, if that child was trying to use up every Lego he owned.

The doorway was in the shape of a triangle, and various geometric shapes made up the row of windows that lined the second story. It was tucked in tight between two classically ornate buildings, and the contrast only made it look more, well, purple.

About the only thing the purple building had going for it, at least in my opinion, was that it couldn’t be overlooked.

Then again, it had no signage at all. Presumably if you wanted to shop at Tonic, you knew how to find Tonic.

Normally I wouldn’t want to find Tonic, but according to Tyler we were attending an event that night. And apparently jeans and a T-shirt weren’t going to cut it.

I must have been gaping, because Tyler laughed and took my arm. “Come on,” he said. “I promise you this will be fun.”

I’m not entirely sure “fun” was the word, but the trip to Tonic was definitely educational. Whoever designed the place was clearly as passionate about purple as they were about haute couture. Every wall, every tile, every surface was either white or some shade of purple. I presumed the white was supposed to provide contrast, but there wasn’t nearly enough of it. And though the purple was charming at first, after a while I felt a bit like I was engulfed in a giant bruise.

Bizarre sculptures descended from the ceiling, and the mannequins turned out not to be mannequins at all, but instead were live women who spent the day wearing the designs and standing frozen in place.

I really didn’t see the point.

The one thing I couldn’t argue with was the clothes. Everything shined and swirled and was designed to flatter.

Zelda—the sales associate who materialized the moment we entered the store—led Tyler and me to the evening gown section where she proceeded to show us dress after dress. Each was more fabulous than the one before—and each was summarily rejected by Tyler.

“Not even close to worthy of her. And the color—it can’t clash with the fire of her hair.”

“I have just the thing,” Zelda said, in a thick accent that sounded Eastern European, but was probably fake. Just more window-dressing for the clients. “Arrived today. I go look, yes?”

She was gone only a few moments before returning with a simple dress that somehow managed to put all the fancier ones we’d seen to shame. It was a backless sheath, the front piece held in place by a thin strip of material over one shoulder.

The entire dress, including the skirt, was designed to hug a woman’s curves, but the skirt was slit so that the woman could actually walk.