Free Diva Las Vegas by Eileen Davidson Page A

sleep, so a few hours after I went to bed, I got up, made a cup of tea and carried it into the living room. The laptop was still on the coffee table, so I got on the Web. I did a search for Dr. Eugene Reynolds in Las Vegas, Nevada, and found his Web site. There are two kinds of plastic surgery: aesthetic and reconstructive. His specialty, aesthetic, comprised plastic and cosmetic surgery. That meant noses and breasts, butts, lipo. Since we were dealing with a former Playmate and an actor, that seemed logical.
    I seemed to have gone as far as I could, so I turned off the computer, finished my tea, put the cup in the sink and went back to bed.
    After thinking of all the ways Randy should die, and then feeling guilty for my not-so-enlightened fantasies, I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Chapter 19
    I woke up early, ready to take on anything that came my way. Since I had done scenes from three different episodes yesterday, I was off work for a whole week. I made Sarah breakfast and took her to school. I promised I’d be the one picking her up later.
    As she ran into school with the other kids, I told my Bluetooth, “Jakes!” Amazingly, it got it right the first time.
    “Jakes,” he said.
    “Did you check with the pharmacy yet?”
    “Not yet,” he said. “I haven’t had time.”
    “What about the gift basket the stalker gave Shana? Any news?”
    “Not yet. They’re still processing it. Slow down. These things take time.”
    “Sorry. I guess I’m feeling kind of antsy. I found out last night that Dr. Reynolds is an aesthetic plastic surgeon—you know boobs, nose jobs, et cetera. He’s got to be the one.”
    “I’ll check with the pharmacist and let you know what happens.”
    “But what do I do now?” Silence. “Oh, c’mon! Jakes! Sarah’s at school; I’m not working. Give me something to do!”
    He took pity on me and agreed to meet for lunch.
     
    Jakes was waiting at a table when I arrived. I have to say one thing about him: He rarely, if ever, keeps me waiting. Nine times out of ten he’s the first to arrive, which I appreciate. There’s nothing worse than having a waiter or waitress try to entertain you while you sit and wait.
    He stood up as I approached the table and kissed me quickly on the mouth.
    “How was your morning?” he asked as I sat.
    “Uneventful,” I said. “What did you find out from the pharmacy?”
    “Just what you thought,” he said. “The doctor who prescribed the medicine is your guy. He called the prescriptions in for Shana.”
    “So she went to him for plastic surgery. For what—new breasts?”
    “That we don’t know,” he said. “I have to go and see the ME later today. Hopefully, he’ll have more information for us.”
    “Us?”
    He smiled and said, “Len and me.”
    “Oh.”
    “Don’t tell me you want to go to the morgue with me, Alex!” he said. “You don’t want to see Shana that way, do you?”
    “No.” Did I? Maybe a teensy-weensy bit. But I decided against that sensorial nightmare, and said, “I don’t. But I’ll be interested in what you find out.”
    “And I’ll tell you,” he said. “Now let’s order, huh?”
     
    Over dessert, Jakes asked, “What’s wrong? You look low.”
    “I’m just feeling . . .”
    “What?”
    “Well, I spent last night on the computer and yesterday with Riley trying to find out what you got by talking to a pharmacist.”
    “So?”
    “So I wasted my time.”
    “What else would you have done with that time?”
    I hesitated, then said, “I don’t know.”
    “Why’d you do the computer research last night?”
    “I couldn’t sleep.”
    “So that means you found out about the doctor before I did.”
    “Yeah, but you got it confirmed by a licensed pharmacist.”
    “I’m a cop, remember. And this is not a competition, Alex,” he said. “We both got the same information in a different way. That’s all.”
    “Well, I wasted my time with Riley.”
    “Why?”
    “She couldn’t tell me who