Lucas nodded. "She was Jaime's paternal grandmother. Vegas is Jaime's stage name."
"I thought it might be. She doesn't look Hispanic."
"She isn't. Her mother chose the name when she started Jaime in show business, as a child. As Jaime tells it, her mother was a flaming racist, and had no idea Vegas was Spanish. To her, 'Vegas' meant 'Las Vegas,' a good omen for a child with a stage career. Years later, when she found out the name's origin, she almost had a heart attack. Demanded Jaime change it. But, by then, Jaime was eighteen, and could do as she liked. The more her mother hated the name, she more determined she was to keep it."
"There's a story there," I said softly.
"Yes, I imagine there is."
We sipped our coffee.
"I thought you were in Chicago," said a voice above my head.
I turned to see Jaime pulling an empty chair from a table behind us. The trio at the table looked up in surprise, but she ignored them and clattered the chair down beside me, then dropped into it. She was wearing a silk wrapper and, I suspected, little else.
"Isn't this romantic," she said, snarling a yawn. "The happy couple, all brushed, scrubbed, and chipper." She dropped her head onto the table. "Someone get me a coffee. Stat."
Lucas swept a lock of her hair off his muffin plate, then gestured to the server, who stopped mid-order and hurried over with the pot. Jaime stayed facedown on the table.
"Is your, uh, guest joining us?" I asked Jaime.
She rolled onto her cheek to look up at me. "Guest?"
"The guy? From last night?"
"Guy?"
"The one you took back to your room."
She lifted her head. "I took a--?" She groaned. "Oh, shit. Hold on. I'll be right back."
She stood, took three steps, then turned.
"Uh, Paige? Did I get a name?"
"Mark--no, Mike. Oh, wait. That was the blonde. Craig...or Greg. The music was pretty loud."
She pressed her fingers to her temples. "It still is. Greg, then. I'll mumble."
She staggered across the atrium.
I turned to Lucas. "Interesting lady."
"That's one way of putting it."
Jaime got rid of her "guest," and joined us for the rest of her coffee, then went back to her room for more sleep. She had a show in Orlando that night, so, in case we didn't see her again, we thanked her for her help.
Lucas unpacked while I phoned Robert about the "Nasha" connection. After four rings, the machine picked up.
"That's probably one clue that's not going to help us much anyway," I said once I'd left a message. "I'd really hoped to get more from Dana."
"She's probably blocked what little she did see. We may want to shift our focus to ascertaining how the killer selected his victims."
"Damn, of course. He obviously targeted runaways with Cabal parents, but how would he find out something like that? Maybe the parents had a connection, because of their shared circumstances. Like a support group. Do the Cabals offer stuff like that?"
"They do, but separately. They strongly discourage interaction with the employees of other Cabals."
"What about therapists or social workers? Would they share them?"