by Rayna Morgan
"I don't think she could admit to herself she'd made a mistake," Lea said. "Since he was married when she met him, she suspected if he cheated on his first wife to be with her, he'd probably cheat on her if they got married. That’s exactly what he did six years into their marriage. But it was a classic case of someone following their heart instead of following their head."
"Is she in a relationship now?" Warren asked.
"No, but she's got two men friends she spends time with. You know one of them, Dad," she added. "Tom Elliott."
"Well, if friendship is enough for her, it's enough for me. I just want her to be happy. It's all your mother and I have ever hoped for either of you," he concluded, carrying his dishes to the kitchen. “Time for me to hit the road. Great dinner, Lea. Thanks for making my favorite. Let me know how Maddy's play goes. If she's willing, we'll stop to see it on our way home on Sunday."
"Great idea, Dad. I'm sure she'd like that. I'll pick up tickets for you. You can stay the night with us."
CHAPTER FOUR
Maddy followed Eddie out of the Harbor onto the freeway. His green Camaro wasn't difficult to keep in sight. Taking the last exit before the city limits, he turned into the Fairgrounds.
At this time of night, there was only one building open: the Finish Line, the spectacular luxury watch-and-wager center offering the latest in sports viewing and pari-mutuel wagering. For years, it had been providing patrons easy access to the top tracks across the country and hassle-free wagering at track odds.
She parked at a discreet distance and followed Eddie into the main room where she was met by the din of a large crowd talking and milling about.
The interior of the building was divided into a variety of comfortable viewing and wagering spaces. One area featured tables where groups or individuals could eat and drink while watching simulcast races. Another was comprised of rows of seats facing a wall featuring state of the art electronic technology with over ninety monitors and six giant screens. Patrons huddled together studying racing forms and programs, sharing whispered bits of gossip, or scanning the displays for changing odds. Others stood in lines waiting to place their bets. Young men in white jackets circulated through the crowd offering food and beverage service.
As Maddy surveyed the room, a roar went up. She looked at the monitors in time to see a horse racing across the finish line. Some people raised their arms and shouted; others tore up their tickets and threw them on the ground in disgust.
She walked up the circular staircase to the clubhouse level featuring full restaurant service and a plush bar. Seeing no trace of the man she was pursuing, she continued to the top level which was divided into several private meeting rooms, an outdoor deck, and a panoramic ocean view. Leaning over the balcony for a clear view of the rooms below, the sound of a familiar voice made her jump. "I run into you in the darndest places."
"Criminy, Scott, you scared the daylights out of me."
"You wouldn't be so skittish unless you're up to no good. You slumming or feeding your gambler's instincts?"
"More like betting on my instincts."
"Those instincts got you in a pretty pickle last time you followed them." Scott Miller was the local rancher who had saved her from the clutches of a dangerous criminal. Since then, sparks had been flying between them, but she had yet to figure out where they stood with each other.
"So why are you here? Secret vices you haven't told me about?" she fired back.
"I'm here for a meeting of the Cattlemen's Association. Are you by your lonesome or are you with someone?"
At that instant, she saw the person she was looking for. "Gotta run, Scott. Tell you about it some other time."
• • •
She flew down the stairs toward the back lot hoping Eddie hadn't reached his car and driven away. Slamming through the metal door, she found herself in a dead-end alley, almost colliding into a large dumpster. Hearing moaning at the end of the alley, she ducked behind the trash bin.
"Don't say I didn't warn you. I told you less than full payment wouldn't crack it."
There was no mistaking the low, gravelly voice from the parking lot at the Theatre. Maddy peered around the edge of the dumpster. The hair on her arms spiked and her body shivered as she watched the hooded figure throw a metal crowbar on the ground, turn his back, and start walking casually out of the alley.
A sharp trill cut through the silence. Maddy looked at her hand in horror. Her cell phone rang again. The thug stopped dead in his tracks, glaring in the direction of the sound. Maddy muted the incoming call, but it was too late. She looked into a face so terrifying it made her flesh crawl. She muffled a cry. He took two steps toward her.
They froze simultaneously, turning toward the doorway where a young man in waiter's garb appeared. "How many contacts did you make today?" he called back over his shoulder. Hurling a black plastic bag over the top of the dumpster, he turned back inside without stepping further into the alley. "Me, too. I'll make more in contacts than I did in tips."
The assailant pointed toward Maddy raising his thumb above his fist and extending two fingers to mimic a handgun. His mouth turned into an ugly snarl. He pressed his thumb down. The message was clear. The cruel laugh etched itself into her brain forever. He turned and limped away.
From the groaning emanating from the end of the alley, she knew she needed to get help. She ran inside, but the waiter was nowhere to be seen. Racing breathlessly back to the third floor, her eyes scanned the room like headlights. Scott was talking to a small group of men near the bar area. She gestured frantically, forming words with her lips. "Help, help, come."
As soon as he was within hearing distance, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down the stairs. "Someone's been hurt badly."
Maddy identified the fallen figure from several feet away by the blood-soaked plaid shirt. Scott kneeled beside the body to check for a heartbeat. Seeing a dislocated arm and blood running from the man's head, he shouted over his shoulder, "He's unconscious but alive. Call emergency services; get an ambulance. Tell them we're in the alley behind the Finish Line." He ripped off his jacket, placing it on the man.
"You better call your Detective friend, too, unless that's who you're here with. This doesn't look like a mugging. It looks like attempted murder."
• • •
When Detective Tom Elliot arrived on the scene, Maddy's heart skipped a beat as it always did when she laid eyes on him. His sun-bleached blond hair, gray eyes, and buffed physique gave him the kind of good looks featured in fashion magazines.
Unfortunately, he looked none too happy. His tone was stiff and surly. "Don't tell me he's rescued you again, Maddy." He jerked his head toward Scott, deep in conversation with the ambulance driver.
"I didn't need rescuing this time, but if the waiter hadn't appeared when he did, I might have been beaten to a pulp myself," she exclaimed, nibbling at a fingernail.
"Quite a coincidence, both of you being at the Finish Line at this time of night." His voice made it clear he thought it was anything but a coincidence. "You two here on a date or something?"
"Back off. We weren't here together. He came to help when I found this guy injured."
"What business did you have here at this late hour? Not the usual kind of place you hang out."
"If you'll listen to me for two seconds, I'll tell you exactly what I was doing and who those men are."
Creases at the corner of Tom's eyes signaled his displeasure. "I don't know how you manage to insert yourself into the middle of dangerous situations, but you seem to be developing a real knack for it."
He turned to his associate, a man with five o'clock shadow and a smirk on his face. "Sergeant Jones, you remember Maddy Conley?"
"As I recall," Jones said baring white teeth, "she's one of the sisters with a propensity for solving crimes."
"More like getting in the middle of our investigations," Tom grumbled.
After instructing the sergeant to take a statement from Scott, he turned b
ack to Maddy. "Alright, you know the drill; give me all the gruesome details."
"First, tell me why you responded to the call. A mugging is a little below your pay grade, isn't it?"
"It's not the douche bag who did the beating I'm after. It's the bookie I think gave him the orders to do it. So what information can you give me about the man that hooligan was roughing up?"
Maddy told Tom about the confrontation she had seen in the parking lot and explained how she ended up in the alley.
"What were you thinking following him from the Theatre? Didn't you learn anything from getting yourself kidnapped and possibly killed during your last caper? Now you've put yourself in the crossfire of a brutal monster."
"Give me a break. It's not like I …"
Scott walked over, tipping his hat to Tom. "Detective, nice to see you. Unfortunately, once again, under less than the best circumstances."
"Would you mind not making this a habit?" Tom answered, making little effort to smile.
"Maddy sort of attracts situations and people, like a bee attracts honey."
"Are you referring to yourself, or to the criminal types she seems to keep running into?"
Both Maddy and Tom waited for Scott's response. His smile widened into dimples. "If you're finished with me, I've got to run. My daughter will be worried. I should have been home to help with her homework hours ago."
"Go ahead. I'll call if I need more information." Seeing the cowboy wink at Maddy, Tom added, "You might want to consider keeping away from this lady. She's a magnet for trouble."
"I think I can handle myself … and her, too." Scott said, loping casually out of the alley.
Color rose in Maddy's cheeks. "I'll thank you, Tom Elliott, to not be telling people to stay away from me, especially someone as easy on the eyes as that cowboy."
"Oh, don't get your hackles up. Someone needs to warn people about what a menace you are."
"If I'm such a bother and a worry, what's kept you hanging around so long?"
"Someone's gotta keep an eye on you to keep you out of trouble."
"Well, you aren't doing such a bang-up job of it lately." She shuddered at the unintentional pun, recalling the image of the thug pointing his fingers at her.
Tom watched her eyes moving back and forth as though reliving unpleasant images. He turned the conversation. "By the way, what's all this Paul tells me about you becoming a hot new starlet?"
Maddy's eyes twinkled. Her mouth turned up in a deep throaty laugh which tugged at Tom's heartstrings. He couldn't imagine what he would have done if it had been Maddy he'd found in the alley, beaten within an inch of her life.
"You're coming, aren't you, Tom?"
"Wouldn't think of missing it. I'll even take you out for a drink Opening Night to hold off all the fans clamoring for an autograph."
She leaned into him, brushing her knuckle against his chin. "You aren't teasing me are you, Detective? You'll be sorry someday when I'm famous with my name in lights."
"Don't let visions of grandeur fill that cocky little head of yours. Besides, I'd never let you run off to Hollywood."
"What makes you think you could stop me?"
For one brief instant, he lost himself in her dazzling hazel eyes, holding her against his chest. "Because I don't think you could imagine your life without me either."
His feelings were written all over his face. Tongue-tied, she returned his gaze, allowing herself to feel the unspoken connection. He let her go, tousling her hair. "Go home, Maddy. You've had enough adventure for one night, and I've got work to do."
• • •
After escorting her to the front door, he signaled his backup. Hoping there might be a second witness to the alley scene, they went to the kitchen to interview the servers. When they located one fitting Maddy's description, Tom got basic contact information and asked about his job.
The young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It helps pay tuition. I enrolled at the junior college for the fall semester. I'm hoping to transfer to the state university in two years."
"Tell me exactly what you saw or heard in the alley tonight."
"Nothing, sir." Beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip. "I wasn't actually in the alley. I pitched the trash from the doorway."
The young man's nervous reaction puzzled Tom, but he had no further questions to ask. He dismissed the young man to return to work and turned to his associate.
"Let's try the betting area, Sergeant. That's where we'll find most of the regulars. I'll start at one end; you go to the other side. Try to keep it casual and discreet. We're looking for anyone who knows the thug. I'm sure he's a familiar face if he's running bets for the bookie."
They spent the next hour trying to identify Eddie King's assailant. Even though pari-mutuel betting was legal in the state, people were wary of the officers' motives and less than forthcoming. They had no way of knowing Tom's interest was in the independent off-track bookmakers themselves, not the people placing bets with them.
One bookie, in particular, had been on his radar for months, a bookie Tom believed worked for a racketeer labeled around the precinct as the Kingpin.
The Kingpin had first become a person of interest to Tom in a case labeled as an accidental drug overdose, a case in which Tom felt a witness had been tampered with. Since that incident, Tom's department had linked the racketeer to illegal gambling, drugs, and prostitution. To the department's great frustration, all previous attempts to identify and indict the racketeer had failed due to lack of evidence.
But Tom was patient. He bided his time, waiting to get one of the bookies or pimps who ran illegal activities for the racketeer in a good, clean arrest.
This could be the break he was waiting for. An assault like the one in question had all the earmarks of the Kingpin’s operation. Most likely, the thug was carrying out the orders of one of the racketeer’s bookies. With Maddy's identification, he should be able to arrest the hired muscle on charges which would stick. Then all he needed to do was to offer a plea bargain in exchange for turning on his boss. Nailing the bookie would bring Tom a big step closer to the Kingpin.
Unfortunately, he wasn't getting anywhere that night. No one was able or willing to help them out by placing a name tag on the thug. The crowd was thinning. He waved to Jones. "Okay, let's wrap things up for tonight. It looks like we've got two remaining chances of identifying him. Either the Stage Manager regains consciousness and is willing to finger him, or the thug has previous arrests and Maddy will be able to identify his mug shot."
Tom hated to think of putting Maddy in peril by involving her further in the case but his desire to bring down the Kingpin outweighed his inclination for a conservative approach. He and Maddy both would have to trust his ability to protect her.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next night, Lea drove to the Harbor which was close enough to their home that she went to sleep many nights to the deep, comforting sound of foghorns.
The Harbor was enclosed by natural land and reef formations. Additional artificial seawalls had been built along the jetty to protect the natural shelter from infrequent high surf created by perilous storms.
Within the Harbor, two marinas had been constructed: Harborwalk Marina where sailboats, cabin cruisers, and yachts were docked. On the other side of the jetty was the Fishing Fleet Marina where commercial fishing and sport fishing vessels were anchored.
The Landing was a major tourist attraction in the Harborwalk Marina featuring a sports bar, wine and dessert Shoppe, sunglass hut, ice cream store, surf shop, and swimwear boutique. Restaurants with ocean views offered menus to satisfy every palate: fine dining, seafood, pizza, Mexican, and Italian. Weekend crowds were entertained by three piece bands, magic acts, jugglers, and dog agility contests.
Lea pulled into the parking lot of the Players Theatre, ideally located at the end of the road into the Harbor. Tourists, people going boating or fishing and restaurant patrons couldn't miss seeing the Theatre. The Landing's p
arking lot exited onto the street passing directly in front of it. A colorful, lighted marquee announced current productions and artists appearing at the venue. Lea knew that ticket sales had increased greatly since the Theatre had moved from its original location on an obscure side street close to the downtown area.
Entering the foyer, she paused to view a gallery of pictures depicting its origin, framed photos of well-known actors appearing in its fourteen-year history, and a display case of awards.
"The old girl has quite a history, doesn't she?" Even before she turned, she recognized the deep, baritone voice familiar to fans all over the world. "So nice to see you again, Lea, and this time, in a less fractious environment."
"I'm pleased to see you too, Mr. Patton." She placed both her hands in his upturned palms. She had met Art Patton, a retired actor and City Councilwoman Margaret Patton's husband, during her involvement in a murder at the Pier.
"Please, call me Art." He pointed to one of the pictures on the wall. “This building was originally a church in the 1800s. The founders redecorated the interior with fittings from a closed theatre in New York.
Unlike most community theatres which are non-profit, the Players was started as a for-profit business. The quality of the productions under the leadership of Barrett and Julia Mason has been responsible for the wide popularity and outstanding reputation the Theatre enjoys. Under Barrett's artistic vision and Julia's astute business guidance, the Theatre has thrived, gaining statewide and even national attention.”
Lea turned to Art. "Why do you think theatre has always been so popular? It's almost magnetizing."
"For patrons or participants?"
"Both."
"Perhaps it gives people a place where they can think and feel in a deeply, personal way. A chance, if only for a few hours, to become lost in a fantasy world, away from a real world which has become more and more a stressful place to be.
As for the actors, some act because it affords them the lifestyle of fame and wealth they desire. But those who participate in community theatre come for different reasons. I think many come to get back in touch with their creative, artistic side."