Time Without End (The Black Rose Chronicles) by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

graying man of medium height, with twenty-eight years on the force to his credit, sighed loudly and stretched to his feet. His eyes were either pale blue or pale green, depending on the weather and how things were going at home. This was a blue day. “What’s the matter, Chandler—you suffering from PMS or something? Well, take a pill. I got enough problems without you flashing an attitude.”
    Daisy didn’t apologize, though she knew O’Halloran was right. She was off track—her meeting with the magician had occupied her every waking thought since she’d left his dressing room the night before. When she had managed to sleep, she’d been plagued by strange, vivid dreams of a medieval courtyard and two men fighting with swords . . .
    “Chandler,” O’Halloran prompted, poking her with an elbow.
    Daisy jumped and shook her head once in an effort to clear her head. “Yeah, I’m with you. Sorry. What’s her name?”
    “Jillie Fairfield,” O’Halloran answered, consulting his notes. “She was nineteen and worked with that hotshot magician over at the Venetian. What’s his name—?” He began flipping pages.
    “Valerian,” Daisy said, feeling jolted.
    “Yeah,” O’Halloran agreed, tapping his pocket-sized notepad with the end of his stubby pencil. ‘That’s him. You ever catch his show?”
    “Last night,” Daisy managed.
    “I’ve heard it’s really something. According to the papers, there are magicians flying in from all over the world just to see the act and try to figure out how he pulls it off. And he won’t let anybody take his picture, either.” “He’s good, all right,” Daisy said, glancing at the body again. She remembered the dancers coming out of the coach while it was suspended in midair, then sitting underneath, smiling and posing. She wondered if Jillie had been the one who’d brought out the umbrella and gotten a chuckle from the audience. Even to Daisy’s trained eye, the performers had looked very much alike.
    The older cop led the way toward the gaping front door of the apartment, and Daisy went along gratefully. She’d never gotten used to the smell of death, or the clammy feeling it gave her.
    “You look a little peaked,” O’Halloran remarked. “You have a bad night?”
    She drew in a deep draft of desert air as they descended the wooden stairs outside. The Las Vegas sun was bright, and for Daisy it dispelled some of the chill that had settled into her spirit. “Me? I never have a bad night, O’Halloran,” she said with a manufactured smile. “And I never get PMS, either. What’s your take on this? What happened to the Fairfield woman?”
    O’Halloran shrugged. “I don’t know. The coroner will fill us in, though.” He paused beside his car, a battered sixty-seven Mustang on its fourth engine, and scratched the back of his head. “This one’s different, I can tell you that much. There ought to be blood, and we didn’t find a drop. No blow to the head, no visible wounds except for those punctures on her throat. You’d better haul it over to the Venetian and see if you can track down that magician character. See what he can tell you.”
    Daisy had hoped to encounter Valerian again, though certainly not under those circumstances. “I’m off to see the wizard,” she said, heading for her own car, a sporty blue convertible. “Meet you back at the office later.”
    When Daisy reached the Venetian, Las Vegas’s newest and most elaborate hotel-casino, she left her car in the outer lot and stood looking at the place for a few moments, marveling. It was a spectacle in and of itself, bigger and gaudier than the Mirage or Excalibur or even Caesar’s, an elegant palace with pillars and fountains. There was a maze of canals in front, traversed by sleek gondolas with costumed attendants.
    With a shake of her head Daisy went to the quay and allowed herself to be helped into one of the boats, along with several tourists. Sunlight flashed on the water, dazzling her,