“That’s your mama?” he gasps, taking the card.
“Yeah,” I grumble. “A little-known fact that she’s mostly embarrassed about.”
“Whoa,” he says, and now both his Elvis eyebrows are reaching for his big black pouf of hair.
“Please don’t tell me you watch Lords.”
“As long as you don’t tell anyone I do!” he says with a laugh.
I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”
“But addicting!” Now I see a little mental shift happen under his pouffy ’do as he checks out both sides of the photo card. “If ambition’s a dream with a V-8 engine, she sure is revvin’ hers.”
“Huh?”
He zooms in on me. “She has you sneakin’ in and out of the Highrise while she’s livin’ large as Jewel?” He snorts. “That’s just wrong.”
And now I’m seeing that this was a bad idea.
A very bad idea.
“Uh … who told you that?”
“Nobody. I just pieced it together.” He eyes me through his shades. “And don’t worry. Elvis always plays it close to the vest.”
That didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.
Actually, I felt worse.
All this time I thought I’d been so stealthy, and Elvis had figured it out?
“Look, Sammy,” he says. “Don’t worry about that. The more I think about this, the more I don’t like your situation. Or that you’re here. Especially that you’re here alone.” He studies me. “So how can I help you?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him, taking the card back. “It was probably stupid. I thought maybe you had some kind of connection with the wedding chapels. You know—since Elvises marry people around here? And I thought you might be able to contact them for me to see if my mom’s getting married at any of them. There’s a hundred chapels in this stupid city, and I called, like, a third of them tonight and got nowhere.”
“So the mission is to stop the wedding?”
I nod, then kind of take it back. “Mostly I’m here to find out who my dad is. And if she won’t tell me, then, yeah, I’m gonna be a major monkey wrench in her wedding party.”
He thinks a minute, then says, “Her name’s Lana Keyes and his is …?”
“Warren Acosta.”
“Acosta?”
“Right.”
He takes a picture of the picture of my mom with his phone and says, “Since she’s a diva, she won’t be tyin’ the knot in some second-class chapel, right?”
I nod ’cause that sure seems right to me. “But I couldn’t really tell the difference from the phone book. Some have big ads but—”
He shakes his head like, No-no-no, then says, “I got this. What’s your cell number?”
“I don’t have one.”
“What?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I know. Stupid.”
“Well, how am I supposed to reach you?”
“Can I call you?”
“Sure.” He frowns. “But not every ten minutes! And what if we have a sighting?”
“A sighting?”
“Of your mother!”
“Oh.”
He shakes his head. “This is no good. I need a number.”
“I’m at the MGM. In room fourteen eighty.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So you’re gonna be hangin’ around a hotel room waitin’ on a call? I think I know you better’n that.”
“Well … can I get back to you with a number? I’ll figure something out.”
“Sure, sure, no problem,” he says, stepping away. “I’ll do what I can, but right now I’ve got to get back to work if I’m gonna make rent.” He gives me one last eyebrow lift as he goes back to full-on Elvis. “Take good care and be safe, little mama.”
“Thanks,” I call, then head up the Strip.
It was after midnight when I got back to the hotel room, and the minute I came through the door, Marissa pounced. “Where have you been?”
“Getting food!” I said, showing her what was left of the pizza slice that I’d bought on the way back. “Didn’t you get my note?”
She eyes me suspiciously. “I’m not your grandmother, you know. Why’d you take all your stuff?” Then her eyes pop. “Don’t tell me you rode your skateboard around the hotel!”
I grin at her and say, “Much quicker than walking,” but now I’m closer and can tell she’s been crying. So I put down my stuff and ask, “Was it awful?”
She nods and flops into one of the cushy chairs. “A nightmare. We only got back ten minutes ago.”
I can hear the shower start up in the bathroom, but I still drop my voice because if I know Mrs. McKenze, she does not want Marissa talking about it. “You couldn’t get him out?”
She sits up a little. “The jail is huge. They kept sending us around to different places, and we had to go through tons of security and lock up our stuff ’cause you’re not allowed to bring in a cell phone or food or water or anything. And we couldn’t just go in and see him. First we had to register, then we had to schedule a ‘visit,’ then we paid his bail and waited around for the ‘visit’—”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“I thought a visit would be like in the movies. You know, where the sheriff takes you back and you can talk to people through metal bars? But it wasn’t anything like that. We went into this big room with a bunch of open booths where we finally got to do a virtual visit.”
“You mean like on a computer?”
“Yes! He could see us and we could see him—Sammy, he looked terrible.”
“Could you talk to him, or did you have to type, or what?”
“No, you talk over a phone while you look at a computer screen. But everyone can hear what you’re saying! And Mom and Dad got in a big fight over the fact that Mom brought me and … and”—her face crinkles up—“it was awful!”
I shake my head. “Maybe your mom didn’t know what she was getting you into?”
“She didn’t. She said if she had known, she would never have brought me.”
“So … now what? When does he get out?”
“Sometime after ten tomorrow morning.” She sits up a little and says, “Sammy, once he’s out, we’re leaving. And Mom says there’s no way she’s letting you stay here alone.”
“Like in this room? Or in Las Vegas.”
“Either.” She gives me a pinchy little look. “I take it you didn’t get anywhere?”
“Actually, I might have a lead,” I tell her, racking my brains about what in the world I’m going to do.
Her eyebrows go flying. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Elvis is helping out.”
“Wait, Elvis is? You mean the Elvis who used to work at Maynard’s? You actually found him?”
“Mm-hmm. And guess what? He’s got connections all over town and thinks he’ll be able to track her down.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup!”
To me I sound way too enthused, but Marissa’s so wiped out she doesn’t notice. “Wow. So … how long will that take?”
“He’s on it now. I’m supposed to check in in a few hours.”
She squints at me. “Like, at three in the morning?”
“Uh-huh. He’s doing his Elvis thing down on the Strip. Said he’d be up all night.”
I guess I’d woven in enough truth, because she just says, “Wow.”
“So I should probably set an alarm, huh?” And as I’m checking out the clock next to the couch, I add, “Man, I’m wiped out. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life.”
Just then Mrs. McKenze comes into the room with a towel wrapped around her hair. She’s got puffy eyes, too, but tries to smile when she sees me. “Oh, hi, Sammy. You had us worried.”
“I’m sorry. I did leave a note. I just went to get some food.” Then I add, “Thanks again for letting me crash on your couch.”
She looks from me to Marissa and back again. “You being here is a
ctually a blessing.” She comes over and gives Marissa a kiss on the forehead. “I’m so sorry I put you through this. It was a horrible idea.”
“You didn’t know, Mom.”
She stands there a minute, then says, “Well, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” we tell her, and after Marissa hangs out for a few more minutes, she finds me a blanket and a pillow and drags herself to bed, too.
Now, the truth is, I am wiped out. And I really don’t know what to do, but I’m sure not ready to leave Las Vegas yet. I mean, I found Elvis, right? He was out there connecting with … connections for me, right? And if Marissa’s mom was going to make me go home with them in the morning, it would be a total waste of everything I’d gone through!
So I pretend to go to bed, but my head’s whirring around for some way to not get dragged home. It crosses my mind to call Casey—more because I want to let him know what’s going on than because I think his mom’s told him anything new—but all of a sudden an idea whacks me upside the head.
I sit there for a minute just stunned because I know it’s crazy.
Scratch that—it’s certifiably insane!
And I know it’s risky.
Make that treacherously dangerous!
It’s also an enormous gamble.
But really, what have I got to lose?
And the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.
Besides, I still have Marissa’s room key, and I can always come back.…
So when I’m sure Marissa and her mom are asleep, I write a note that says, Found her! See you back at home! Thanks for everything! Love, Sammy.
Then I slip out the door and head for the elevators.
TEN
Yeah, it was almost one in the morning, and, no, I didn’t care.
I knocked hard on the door.
Now, normally I would never wake someone up like this, but a knock on the door at one in the morning didn’t come close to payback for the things they’d done to me.
No one answered, though, so I knocked again.
And again.
And finally a sleepy voice on the other end goes, “Who is it?”
“Urgent message,” I call through the door. “About the wedding.”
The chain slides off and the door flies open, and there I am, face to face with Heather, who’s wearing shiny pink shorts, a white tank top, and a pained squint.
Before she can even register that it’s me, I step in and head for the sitting room, which is a lot smaller than the one in Marissa’s suite. The whole place is. It’s basically one room with a half wall dividing the sleeping area from a small sitting area.
“Mom!” Heather cries like she’s in the middle of a horrible nightmare.
Candi clicks on a lamp and sits up in bed, so I know I’ve got to talk fast. “Look, Heather, I don’t want my mom marrying your dad any more than you do. I’ve met with a guy who has contacts all over Las Vegas. He’s going to get in touch with me the minute he finds out where they’re getting married.” I look her right in the eye. “Once I get the call, I’m thinking you and I should crash the wedding and stop them.”
Heather’s wide-awake now, and her Eternal Fire of Hate has sparked back to life. “We don’t need you to help us stop this stupid wedding!”
Which brings me to the moment of the Enormous Gamble.
“Oh … so you already know where and when they’re getting married?” I ask as I head back toward the door. “What a relief! Obviously I was worried about nothing.” I give her a little smile. “I know you’ll do a dandy job of messing the whole thing up all by yourself, so … see ya!”
“Wait!” Candi cries, hurrying toward me.
I stop and turn and casually raise an eyebrow.
Candi clicks on another light. Her copper hair’s sticking out in spots, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her with no makeup on. She looks really different. Really pale.
“So you’re not here with your mother?” she asks.
“Actually, I’m here against her. I want to stop the wedding as much as you do.” I give Heather a cheesy smile. “Weird to be on the same side, huh?”
Heather cries, “We’re not on the same side!” and Candi jumps in with, “What makes you so sure we’re here to stop the wedding?”
I give Candi a look like, Du-uh, and then Heather’s back in with, “Why are we even talking to you? You can’t come busting into someone’s room at one in the morning!” She flashes the evil eye at her mother. “I told you not to tell Casey!”
“I didn’t tell him!”
Heather points an angry finger at me. “Then how did she know where to find us?”
Candi cries, “Casey doesn’t know, so how could he tell her?”
I break up their little argument by saying, “I’m not here because of Casey. I’m here because my mother’s marrying your dad and I figured you didn’t want to be stepsisters any more than I do. I also figured you’d be up all night trying to track them down like I’ve been, but you’re not, so obviously you know where they are and when the wedding is.” I start for the door again. “And since you’ve got it under control, I’ll call off my guy and leave you to it. Like I said, I know you’ll do a great job messing up their little plans.”
“Wait!” Candi cries again, cutting me off at the door.
“Mom, no!” Heather shouts, like she’s scolding a dog.
Candi shoots Heather a look, then gives me a really pained smile. Like just the effort might kill her. “Let’s talk,” she says, easing me back toward the sitting area. “So … your mother didn’t include you in her plans, either?”
I shake my head.
“Hurtful, isn’t it?”
I give her a little nod and let her sit me on the couch.
But Heather and I have known each other long enough for her to be onto what I’m doing. “Mom,” she says through her teeth, “she’s working you.”
Her mom gives her a sly look back, and even though I’m pretending to look down, I totally catch it.
No, honey, I’m working her.
“So,” Candi says, sitting beside me, “tell me about your networking contact.”
I give a little shrug. “He lives here. He marries people. I met with him tonight, and he’s put the word out about my mom.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Why would he agree to do that?”
I shrug again. “He’s a friend.”
“A friend,” she says, like I’ve just told her he’s the president.
“Mm-hmm. And he’s into celebrities, so …” I just let that drift off into the air, because I know Candi is green over my mom being on TV.
“Where’s your dad in all of this?” she asks, her eyes sort of whittling me down.
“Oh, well. That’s a whole ’nother story.” I start to stand up, saying, “Anyway, let her have it tomorrow.” I look at Heather. “I mean it. And give her some from me, too, would you?”
“Wait!” Candi says, and actually grabs my arm and pulls me back onto the couch. “Who are you here with?”
I look her straight in the eye. “Nobody.”
“Liar,” Heather sneers.
I shrug like, Whatever.
Candi looks at my backpack and skateboard. “So … where are you staying?”
“I thought I might stay here,” I tell her with a little laugh, “but since you don’t need my help, I’m sure I’m not welcome.”
Heather and her mother have a little tug-of-war of spastic looks, and in the end Heather just comes out and says, “No! You cannot let her stay here!”
“Oh!” I say, jumping up like I’m surprised that’s what they were having their little cross fire about. “No, Heather’s right. It was a very bad idea.”
“Could we get your cell number?” Candi asks. “In case we want to get in touch?”
“I don’t have a cell.”
“You don’t?” She looks at her daughter like she can’t believe I’m telling the truth, but Heather just shrugs l
ike, Yeah, it’s true.
I tell them, “Well, I’ve gotta go find a pay phone and call off my friend. Sorry for waking you up.”
“Wait!” Candi says, yanking me back again. Then she blurts out, “Look, we don’t know where they’re getting married and—”
“Noooooo!” Heather wails, but her mother scolds her with, “Quit it! If we’re going to stop this wedding in time, we need to work together.”
“Oh,” I say, looking like I’ve just found a nasty bruise on my very shiny apple. “You don’t know where they’re getting married? So”—I blink at her a bunch—“what do you know?”
“Not much,” she says with a frown.
“So … why am I working with you?”
It’s her turn to blink at me. “Because I have a couch?”
“Well,” I scoff, like that’s no big deal. “Do you have a car?”
“Yes! We drove here!”
My jaw is in serious danger of clunking to the floor. I mean, it’s no secret that Candi is a maniac behind the wheel, but if they drove from Santa Martina? She must’ve been going, like, a hundred and twenty the whole way.
Still, I do my best to keep it smooth as I ask, “And … what about your cell phone? Since I don’t have one, could my friend call yours when he has something to report?”
“Of course!”
I pull the photo card of my mother out of my backpack. “I’ve been using this.… Do you have a picture of Warren?”
“Of Warren,” she says, like I’ve just crossed the line with that one.
“Well, of your ex.”
She doesn’t seem to like that any better.
“You know—Heather’s dad? My gonna-be dad? The groom-to-be? The—”
“Warren!” she snaps. “Warren is fine.”
“Didn’t mean to offend,” I tell her quietly. “This is just a really weird situation.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“So?” I ask. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a picture?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head.
But Heather’s scrolling through her phone and she says, “I do.”