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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12

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.”

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