Deadly Shuffle

by Norma Lehr

  Heath sat up and pulled the napkin from his neck. “Whadya want to know here?” He looked over at Blade. “What’s she need? My life history?”

  Blade’s voice took on a warning tone. “You said it. Family’s important. I have information from a very reliable source that your family means everything to you. So give Abby a break and tell her what you know.”

  No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Blade’s eyes never left Heath’s face.

  Though the evening remained incredibly warm, a chill ran through Abby. She turned from the men, stood and left them sitting while she strolled the perimeter of the lighted pool. She wanted to prepare herself for whatever Heath chose to reveal. At one point, she glanced back over her shoulder at him. A kid his age driving a limo? For whom? Some gangster? The name Heath didn’t sound Italian. Could be Irish, or Jewish. Even German. Or an alias. What if he had known a couple of mobsters in the sixties? Back then, at least in the movies, they hung out and worked the hotels in Atlantic City.

  As she passed the bamboo fence, soothing island music came across from the bar. She absentmindedly ran her fingers over the sturdy bamboo poles. Heath said he was a teenager when he met Trish. Suppose he heard or saw something incriminating and told her about it? Blade said this agent warned her mother to be careful of what she revealed in her memoir. Abby had to laugh. As if a warning could stop Trish.

  On her way back, she stopped at the pool gate and leaned against the metal post. She hesitated, seeing the two men engrossed in conversation. Blade sat on the end of the recliner speaking intently and using his hands for dramatic effect. A couple of times, Heath drew in his chin, folded his arms, and shook his head hard. Could Blade be insisting Heath tell her all he knew? Or warning how much he should divulge? She truly believed Blade looked out for her best interests, but she’d let them both know she could handle the bad stuff if it helped find her mother. If Heath knew something that might put Trish’s life in danger, Abby needed to hear it. Tonight she felt more strongly than ever—call it intuition—that one of her mother’s cronies had the key to this mystery. Which one? Earlier, she’d bombed out at the villa. Now she had this chance with Michael Heath, and she’d stay right here and dig to find out all he knew. Abby sucked in a deep breath, squared her shoulders and picked up her pace.

  “Feel better?” Blade pulled his blue shirt over his head. “Everyone’s left. The pool’s empty. I’m diving in for a couple of laps. Elvis swam here, did I tell you?” He stepped out of his pants, revealing purple swim trunks patterned with surfboards and seagulls. “You two go ahead and converse. Don’t wait for me.” He splash-dived into the deep end of the pool and swam off with smooth strokes. When he reached the far end, he surfaced, paddled and shook the water from his face and hair. He held up an arm and waved before he submerged again and headed back across.

  Abby was impressed. Not only did he have a smooth, athletic body, but he also swam like a pro. She lingered at the edge of the water, mesmerized by the underwater lights and the stars appearing in the dark sky. How romantic this place could be for her and Blade if only Trish would call and let everyone know she was safe! Tears of exhaustion welled up. She quickly brushed them away.

  Heath’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. “I saw you dance with the Toppettes in Vegas.”

  Abby turned. “You did?” She moved toward him. “Had to be in the eighties.”

  “Yep. Trish called to ask me to join her, so I flew over.”

  “We did two Christmas shows at the Flamingo. Seems like ages ago.”

  “Yeah, it does, but you haven’t changed.” He did a quick scan. “Still got that dancer’s figure.”

  Abby shoved her tiredness aside and sat next to him. “Thank you. I needed that. Nice compliment.” She ran her fingers through her messed-up hair. “This has been one hell of a day.”

  Feeling a bit more at ease, she studied his profile as he sipped his drink. Add an inch to his flat boxer nose, and he could double for Eric Roberts, Julia’s brother. Those wide, long-lashed eyes and generous lips. Dear Lord. She was beginning to think like Trish and Ginny, comparing good-looking men to actors. He did look like Eric as the Casino Pit Boss in the movie Fatal Desire. If the occasion arose, she might mention the resemblance.

  Heath set his drink down. “My day hasn’t been too hot, either. I’ll be glad to tell you what I can, if it makes tomorrow any better.”

  He rehashed Friday night and the poker game. Heath pretty much told the same story as Logan, adding he hadn’t met the radioman from Reno before. “Some new acquaintance of your mother’s. Kinda young for her, but I never put anything past Trish. Maybe she’s one of those talented, successful cougars I read about.” He snickered and lightly pinched the tip of his nose. “They pass up older guys like me. Lucky for me, though, there are plenty more out there. Widows and some married ones who look for more experienced men.” He shifted in his chair, sat up straight and sniffed. “If you get my drift.”

  Yeah, she got his drift. But his experience with women didn’t interest her. And she had no intention of discussing Logan Stamm’s relationship with her mother. Abby needed to know about Trish’s past.

  “So what did Dr. Reynolds have to say?” Heath asked. “I suspect he’s the first player you grilled. Right?”

  “Missed out on that one,” she confided. “That’s what I meant when I said this has been one hell of a day.” She went on to explain in detail what happened when she tried to reach the dentist to find out what he knew, ending with the fact that he hadn’t been there. For no reason she could put her finger on, she left out the part about the crime tape across the door. She wondered if Heath already knew. If he did, would he say so?

  Heath guffawed when she mentioned the banner and the visor. He bent and pounded his knees with his hands. “Sounds like a sitcom.”

  Abby agreed, but failed to see that much humor in her well-thought-out plan.

  “Hey, with an imagination like yours, you should be writing fiction.”

  “I am, as a matter of fact. I’ve been working on a mystery.” She waited for his reaction.

  “That right?” He stroked his chin. “If you ever decide to write a comedy about an amateur sleuth who’s maybe a cougar, send me a synopsis. A few pages I can work with. You’ve already got a great scene at the florist and the villa. What did you call it? The Bud and Bloom? You couldn’t make that one up. I have personal contact with a producer and maybe a publisher who’d grab your plot up in a New York minute.”

  Abby frowned. Maybe she should let go of the unfinished novel. Take his advice. “Thanks. I will certainly think about it.”

  He laughed and shot her a sidelong glance. “You wanna get in that villa tomorrow?”

  “Sure, but I’m not using the same charade again.”

  “No problem.” Heath wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Now that’s something I can help with. I’ve got a client—a dancer—who lives there.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Here’s her card with her phone number. Before you get there, make sure she’s home. Tell her you’re a client friend of mine doing research. Call her again when you reach the gate and she’ll buzz you in.”

  Blade’s head popped up over the side of the pool. “Heard you laughing, man. What’s so funny?” Heath glanced over at Abby and snickered, making her feel uncomfortable. She frowned and gave him a dark look.

  He wiped the smile from his face. “Abby told me a funny joke, that’s all.”

  Why in the world had she blurted out her story to this man she barely knew? That wasn’t her usual style. She could only figure there must be some sort of energy around Michael Heath that allowed her to confide in him. In some uncanny way, she felt he’d keep her secret. Now she needed him to confide in her, and she didn’t plan on leaving the Tropic Caliente until he did. Somewhere down the line she’d tell Blade about the villa. But not tonight. She was in no mood for more of his jokes. Plus, he might try to discourage her from going back there
alone. Something she was seriously planning to do. Though it was taped off, there had to be a way to get into Preston’s place. She had to give it a try now that Heath had made it possible for her to get inside the gate.

  Blade climbed the pool steps and grabbed a towel with the gold and red Caliente monogram. “I’m going in to shower.” He turned to Abby. “Cabin Room 64. Drop by before you leave, okay? We’ve got things to go over. Plans for tomorrow.” He padded off, leaving wet footprints behind.

  When Blade was out the gate, she put her full attention back on Heath. “What’s your take on the death of the surgeon? Police think it might be murder. Does that surprise you? How well did you know him?”

  Heath held up a hand and lowered his chin. “Whoa. Slow down. Let’s just say the doc’s reputation preceded him.” He raised an eyebrow. “He did facial work, reconstruction on guys I used to know.”

  “Work? You’re suggesting it was illegal?”

  Heath pulled in his chin and lowered his brow. “Whaddya think?”

  Thomas Levine? Mother’s friend who read to me as a child? A lump formed in her stomach.

  As upsetting as this new information was, it could be the lead she needed. She sucked in a deep breath. “I need to know if my mother was involved with any shady characters when you met her. I know you warned her to be careful of what she puts in her memoir. Why?”

  Heath slid his chair closer to Abby’s. The darkness around them deepened and the Tiki torches brightened, casting large black shadows across the water. Without moving his head, he let his eyes search the area.

  Abby leaned in. “Whatever Trish was involved in, I can take it. It’s important for her family to know where she ran off to so we can help.” She hesitated and tapped her cheek. “We need to find out who she’s with—or who might have taken her.”

  Heath swallowed and turned pale. He pointed a finger. “You think she was forced from her car?”

  “Well, it’s a possibility, but I’ve also been thinking she could have staged her disappearance for a reason. Maybe she panicked and didn’t want to go over everything with the police. I know it sounds bizarre, but sometimes she does bizarre things. For all anyone knows, she could be right here in town. I’m praying that as soon as she pulls herself together, we’ll hear from her.” Unless she starts drinking. Abby quickly pushed that thought out of her mind. “Did Blade fill you in about where we found her car and what the police think?”

  Heath clenched his fists. “If anybody hurts that gal ….”

  Abby nearly lost her voice. “Hurt her?” She swallowed hard. “You think someone might hurt her?”

  “Buckle up, sweetheart,” Heath said. “It’s time I tell you a little story.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Your memories can kill you if you let them.” Heath paused. “That’s what I told your mother when she started her book.” He rubbed his large hands together, turned one over and studied his polished nails. “I warned her, some things that happened back in the day should never be repeated. You gotta understand. She saw the body. And I was a scared kid.”

  Abby gulped. “The body?”

  Heath nodded slowly. “Hold it. I’m getting ahead of myself. First you have to know who was who back then. I was the driver for a big-time Philly mobster. I won’t name names. It’s enough I know them and can’t forget. My uncle Vito, my mother’s brother, was a gangland boss; he got me the job because I was a high school bookie taking sports bets. I was a big husky kid for my age, so Vito picked me up one night and introduced me to … well, like I said, no names except my uncle and he’s long gone.” Heath stopped, cast a wary glance about the pool area, and took on a tragic face. “Shot and dumped at a site in Jersey over ten years ago.” He sighed deeply. “Tough on my ma. He was her youngest brother.” A long silence followed.

  Abby grew impatient. “I’m sorry about your uncle.” She tried to sound sympathetic while not giving a damn about some murdered mob boss. Whatever it took, she had to keep Heath talking. “So. Getting back to Trish ….”

  “Yeah. Vito got me the job as limo driver for the guy I’m not naming. He fell for Trish the first time the Malones appeared on stage at the Claridge. They sang a song he requested. From then on, we were regulars at Atlantic City. I’d pick him up and take him there twice a week. Most nights he’d go in one door to do business. After the show, Trish would come out the other door and wait for him on the boardwalk. That’s when I’d get out of the limo and walk with her. Trish was miserable with that old gangster and sometimes she cried. We became buddies and talked about a lot of stuff. Even though she was older, she never treated me like a kid. I was crazy about her.”

  Abby searched his eyes to see if the love was still there, but he quickly looked away. “Why did she even go out with this crime boss in the first place? Didn’t she have a clue as to who he was?”

  “Sure. But he took her places she’d never been. Bought her expensive gifts and promised to get her and her sisters a two-year headliner at the Desert Inn, Vegas.”

  “Did Ginny and Dorie know she was seeing him?”

  “Affirmative. No matter what those sisters say now, they encouraged the affair. They used your mother to advance their careers.” He looked down at the water and scowled. “I hated both of them.”

  “Is that what Trish told you?”

  “She didn’t have to. She never bad-mouthed her sisters, but I’ve got eyes and ears, don’t I?”

  “Tell me about the body, Heath. Who was it? Someone my mother knew?”

  “She knew of him. One night I drove the boss-man into the city for dinner at his regular business meeting place, an Italian restaurant on the east side. He talked Trish into going along. Told her it would be a short meeting and asked her to wait outside in the car. It got late. Trish got sleepy and went inside to leave a message she was going to have me drive her home. That’s when it all turned ugly. The boss, already steaming over the way the meeting was going, saw one of the guys at the table give Trish the once-over, snicker and whisper ‘some broad.’ That set the boss off. His temper flared. He went to the kitchen, picked up a cast iron skillet and whacked the guy to death. Right in front of Trish.”

  All the warmth drained from Abby’s body. “My God!”

  “You can pretty much put two and two together and see how both your mother and me were involved. Need I say more? TV documentaries show how they disposed of bodies back then.”

  Heath popped an antacid and offered one to Abby. “Even now, after all these years, when a black limo drives by, I still see a hearse for some wise-guy who got whacked.”

  “Are any of these mobsters still alive?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But their sons and grandsons are in organized crime syndicates.”

  “And your mob-boss? The one you chauffeured?”

  “Dead or behind bars.”

  Abby jumped up. “Well, Trish is too smart to reveal anything so horrendous in her memoir.” She looked at Heath for confirmation. “Isn’t she?”

  Heath made a face and shrugged. “Let’s hope. Tried to warn her. The working title of her memoir is Forever Believe Me. Title of the trio’s big album in the sixties. Still a big one to their fans. If your mother writes about any of what I’ve told you and her book gets published, someone from the crime family’s gonna put out a contract on her.”

  “You mean …?”

  “She’s dead.”

  Abby grabbed Heath’s arm. “Then please, please, help us find her.”

  “I would if I could.” He gave her hand a pat and removed it. “Don’t get hysterical. Pull yourself together. I can’t get involved in this mess any more than I already have.” He looked away. “I’ve already spilled too much tonight.”

  Abby backed off. “Has our talk put you in danger?”

  “You might say that. Not you personally, but this whole murder scene with the doc isn’t good for my health.” He stood and brushed off his pants. “Should never have gone to that poker party.” He gazed at Abby for a lo
ng moment. “Can’t talk to you about your mother anymore. Have your PI friend keep in touch. If I hear anything, he’ll know.” He shot her a warm smile. “Now, get outta here.”

  Abby watched him drive away. When he was out of sight, she headed across the blacktop for Blade’s room. What she needed now was a warm hug and an understanding heart. Blade had both. Everything Heath told her, all the bad happenings from the past, whirled around in her head, making her dizzy. She stumbled twice and had to stop to get her bearings. Why hadn’t anyone in the family ever told her what happened all those years ago in Atlantic City? Her grandma probably wasn’t aware of what went on with her daughters back then, but her two aunts had some explaining to do.

  Abby took a deep breath and marched on. A quick stop at Blade’s to thank him for bringing Heath, and then on to Ginny’s, where she’d demand explanations from both her and Dorie. She checked her watch. Dorie’s plane should have landed by now. No matter how tired her aunts were, Abby wouldn’t let them relax until she got some answers. A strong feeling told her Ginny knew a lot more than she had been saying. By now, if she’d asked her deputy friend Dawson, she’d know all the names of the poker players last Friday at the villa. In all probability, she wouldn’t recognize the name Michael Heath. He didn’t say, but if he’d been put in protective custody, his name had been changed.

  She stood outside Blade’s cabin and rubbed her brow. How much should she reveal to her aunts if they asked about Logan Stamm? Hopefully he had taken her advice and stayed away from Ginny’s until Abby gave him the go-ahead. She closed her eyes. This crazy family sauce of hers got thicker by the minute.

  She made an attempt to gather her thoughts. Now. Before he let her in, how much of what Heath told her should she tell Blade? One deep breath and she rapped on his door.

  Blade opened the door and peered around the wooden frame. “Hey, Abby. Hoped it was you.” He looked past her. “You alone?”

  “Heath left. Said he’d keep in touch with you.” She waited and raised her eyebrows. “Are you going to invite me in, or what?”