“Uh huh,” I said into the phone, my entire being focused on the Dodge.

“What do you mean, ‘uh huh’?”

I was vaguely aware of Ramirez starting up with the Spanish again, but I was too focused on the Neon to care. I watched the car park in front of the valet station. I couldn’t be sure it was the same phantom I’d seen stalking me but after last night, my belief in coincidences was about as great as my belief in finding an authentic Louis Vuitton on eBay. Nada.

A sandy-haired man emerged from the Neon. He was average height, wore a pair of khaki pants with Skechers and a wrinkled white button-down that looked like he’d slept in it. He didn’t look particularly dangerous. But as I’d learned last summer, looks can be deceiving.

He gave the valet his key and handed him some money. Probably not enough, as the valet made a rude hand gesture behind the guy’s back as he walked away.

“Maddie?” Ramirez yelled.

“Right. Sure,” I said absently into the phone.

Ramirez made a growling sort of sound and I could picture that vein starting to bulge in his neck. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course. Leave it alone. Go home. Yada, yada, yada.”

Neon Guy started walking toward the front door. I quickly skulked into a row of slots out of sight.

“Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later,” I said into the phone.

“Maddie? Maddie, I swear to god if you hang up on me-” But I didn’t hear any more as I quickly snapped my Motorola shut and shoved it back in my purse.

I watched Neon Guy make his way to the registration desk. I crouched down and duck-walked closer, peeking out between two Lucky Seven machines. Slim Jim was on duty again. He and Neon Guy exchanged a few words. Then Neon traded his credit card for a room key. Whoever he was, apparently he could afford more than a “low rent” room.

“Hey, you gonna play or what?”

I turned around to find a blue-haired woman in polyester with a players card dangling from her bony wrist. She glared down at me from behind thick bifocals.

“Oh sorry. I was just, uh, kind of watching.”

“Well, then move over, honey. This machine’s giving me nothing but zeros today.”

She edged me aside and planted her butt on the vinyl stool, then promptly fed her card into the machine.

“Right. Sorry.”

I moved over to the next machine, then glanced back up at the front desk. Empty.

Shit. I’d lost him.

I tried to shake off the creepy feeling as I wondered whether I should mention to Ramirez that I had my very own stalker.

By the time I got back up to the room, Sleeping Beauty and Dana were both awake. Dana was rubbing her shin and Marco was just emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of post-shower steam.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he sang, folding his pajamas into a tiny square.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know, you snore like a lumberjack.”

Marco whipped around, his mouth dropping open into a neat little “o”. “I do not!”

I turned to Dana for confirmation, but she just shrugged. Apparently years of spending nights in unfamiliar beds had trained her to be a heavy sleeper.

“You okay?” I asked, gesturing to her leg. I could see a purple bruise starting to form on her shin.

“Yeah. I think I fell off the bed. This thing’s made for midgets.”

“I’ll take the rollaway tonight,” I selflessly offered. At least it was farther from the snoring wonder.

“Well, I slept like a baby last night,” Marco said, slipping his pajamas into a drawer.

I narrowed my eyes at him again, making a mental note to check the gift shop for some of those Breathe Right strips. Or a muzzle.

Marco informed us he’d done New York to the fullest last night and today was going to do Gay Paree! (Or at least it would be once he got there.) He planned to spend the day at the Paris hotel’s La Boutique using his la credit card. Dana was up twenty bucks from a productive evening of video poker and was ready to move on to the blackjack tables this morning. And, for lack of a better plan, I decided to go try Lola’s house in Henderson again.

How Lola and the deceased Hank slash Harriet tied in to my dad, I wasn’t sure. But they were the closest thing I had to a lead at the moment.

Half an hour later I was parked in front of the house on Sand Hill Lane again. Only this time a white Ford Taurus and a beat-up green Volvo were parked in the driveway. A good sign.

I took a deep breath and willed myself out of the car and up the front pathway. I rang the bell. I waited. Then rang again. Nothing. I peeked in the windows. Same suburban living room, no sign of anyone inside. I glanced around the neighborhood. Unfortunately, there was no helpful neighbor watering the lawn today. No sign of life at all, with everyone either at work or inside watching Regis and Kelly.

I walked along the edge of the rock garden to a wooden gate at the side of the house. With a quick glance around, I tried the latch. It opened right up. Feeling just the teeny tiniest bit intrusive, I slipped through the gate and walked around the side of the house. Two more windows faced this side, both with the blinds shut tight. Staying close to the wall, I rounded the corner into the backyard. More rock gardens, a small patio and a kidney-shaped pool lay beyond. A few dog toys were scattered across the patio. Nothing that screamed suicide. Or gunshot.

The back wall of the house was rimmed in green hedges, beyond which stood a sliding glass door. There I hit the jackpot. No curtains. The back door looked into a kitchen and family room, both immaculate and filled with more typical suburban-issue furniture. Flowers, chintz and lots of honey-oak wood. I wondered again if I had the right house. It hardly looked like a showgirl and a suicidal drag queen lived here. I was just about to try the latch to see if suburbanites kept their back doors locked when a man walked into the family room. (Scaring the bejesus out of me, I’m not ashamed to add.)

I quickly ducked down behind the hedge, hoping the meager leaves gave me cover.

The man was short, with a closely clipped crown of brown hair surrounding a bald palette. He wore a turtleneck, cords, and loafers with little tassels on them. He was either gay or needed to stop allowing his mother to dress him. I was too far away to actually see his eyes, but he seemed to be crying, the backs of his hands swiping at his cheeks as his chest heaved in and out.

Not two seconds later a tall redhead walked into the room. My heart sped up. Lola.

I scuttled a little closer, leaning into the hedge as the man walked into the kitchen. Lola followed, her back to me. I still hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, but she was wearing the same go-go outfit from last night. And she was waving her arms around at Turtleneck Guy. He buried his head in his hands and started crying again. Then he did a few arm waves back.

It looked like they were arguing about something, and I’d be hard pressed to say who was winning. Turtleneck Guy had stopped crying and was now yelling in earnest at Lola. I inched closer to the glass door, straining to hear what they were saying. No such luck. The thick glass not only insulated from the Vegas heat, but also from snoopy long-lost daughters. All I could hear was the muffled sound of raised voices.

I moved along the back of the house, hoping to at least get a better look at Lola’s face. Only I was watching the argument so intently, I didn’t see the dog toy lying behind the hedge until my foot came down on it. The loud squeak of my heel hitting a fake squirrel echoed through the yard. Both Turtleneck and Lola froze.

Uh oh.

Turtleneck made for the back door with Lola close behind him. I turned to make a run for it…then caught my heel in a garden hose.

“Uhn.” I did a face plant into the hedge. I scrambled to stand up, but not fast enough.

“Who are you?”

I sheepishly turned around. Caught red handed.

Turtleneck’s face was all purple and blotchy, his eyes swollen and rimmed with dark circles like he hadn’t slept. Lola was still inside, though I could see her red hair hovering at the sliding door.

“Me? Oh, uh, I’m the…meter reader?” You would think that with all my years growing up in Catholic school I would have learned to lie a little better than that.

Turtleneck narrowed his bloodshot eyes at me. “Did Monaldo send you?”

“Uh…” I searched his eyes, wondering if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. “Yes?”

Ahnt. Wrong answer. Turtleneck shot a look back at Lola, which I could have sworn held something close to terror. But before I could ponder it more, the barrel of a gun was shoved in my face.

“Whoa, holy crap!” I took an involuntary step back.

“You tell Monaldo we’re through,” Turtleneck said, waving the gun. “Hank’s gone and we’ve had enough of him. We’re done, you hear me?”

“Hey, I don’t even know Monaldo,” I said, throwing my hands up in surrender. Why I had to pick that particular moment to become a convincing liar, I will never know. “I lied. I swear I have no idea who you’re talking about. I’m just here looking for Larry Springer. I, uh…” I paused, watching the gun barrel waver unsteadily at my head. “I think he might be my father.”

Turtleneck Guy blinked, obviously taken aback at this. The gun lowered. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he had a chance, Lola stepped out onto the patio.

“Maddie?”

I looked up, really seeing her face for the first time. Strong jaw, long straight nose, face that seemed just a little too wide, framed by her long red hair.

Then I felt my eyes widen as I looked at hers. Round, soft, and a distinct hazel color that could go golden brown or emerald green depending on how much purple eyeliner you applied.

Just like mine.