Luck Be a Lady

by Gemma Halliday

  "Murder." There it was. It was one thing to suspect it, but to hear it confirmed by Mr. Fed created an aching sensation in my chest that I hadn't expected.

  "The routine tox-screen came back with elevated levels of several chemical compounds. They're running a more intensive test now to narrow down the exact cause of death."

  "Compounds?" I asked. "You mean, poison?" I felt myself going lightheaded.

  Ryder placed a hand on my arm. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you need to sit down?"

  I shook my head emphatically. "DynoDrink."

  "Excuse me?" Detective Ryder took a step back, his eyebrows drawn downward.

  "Britton is positive someone poisoned my dad's health shake mix. DynoDrink." I pointed to Rafe's poster on the side of the slot machine closest to us. He was smiling brightly, holding a can of the powder in one arm and popping a massive bicep with the other.

  "Why does she think that?" he asked.

  "She saved it. Says it even smells different." I paused. "But anyone had access to it, not just Britton," I added.

  "Right." He didn't sound convinced. "In any case, it shouldn't be too hard to get a warrant for testing," he said, maybe more to himself than me as he pulled out his cell and began dialing numbers.

  Almost as an afterthought he looked back at me as he lifted the phone to his ear. "You okay?" he asked again.

  I nodded. "Just peachy." I was really going to have to work on that sarcasm thing.

  But Ryder didn't seem to notice, turning his attention to whomever was on the other end of his call.

  I watched his retreating back, telling myself the revelation that Britton was, in fact, right about my dad's death didn't change anything. He was still gone, Britton was still alone, and I was still counting down the days until I could get back to my real life and out of this ridiculous casino.

  Speaking of which...there was still the matter of Mr. Price.

  Shoving my emotions down, I turned my attention back to the tables. I held nothing back as I grilled each dealer between hands, but no one remembered anything about Mr. Carvell's companion. Nothing specific, anyway. Average height, average looks. He was blond to a couple of dealers, brunette to the next. He hadn't won big, hadn't lost big. No reason for anyone to remember him among the sea of faces they saw each day. No one had seen anything.

  I leaned back against an empty table, completely ready to admit defeat and go drown my sorrows in that hot tub Britton had mentioned.

  But when I tilted my head back for an overly dramatic sigh, I spied the cameras. The same cameras I had just pointed out to Suit Man that were dedicated to each table. And I felt my defeat giving way to a glimpse of hope.

  Someone had seen something.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The elevator opened on the second floor, and I was immediately greeted by two very large guys in dark suits with quite distinct bulges at their sides. The larger of the two stepped forward as the doors shut behind me.

  "This isn't a floor for patrons, ma'am." He reached around me and pushed the down arrow.

  "I'm not a patron, I'm—"

  But he didn't give me a chance to finish, instead gently nudging me back into the elevator and adding, "Have a nice stay at the Royal Palace Casino."

  I opened my mouth to protest, but the doors slid shut before I could get out more than a squeak. I rode back down to the lobby feeling my face flush and exited to regroup. After giving myself a good mental pep-talk, I pushed the up button again.

  When the doors opened again, the guard rolled his eyes. "Ma'am," he started.

  But this time I was not letting him run the conversation.

  I stepped out and stood directly in front of him, tilting my head back to make eye contact instead of addressing his belly button. "Do you know who I am?"

  "Yes, Ms. King. Mr. Malone told us you'd be coming and to direct you back to the floor or to your room. Shall I push the up arrow instead?" He reached around me again, but I swatted his hand away.

  I snapped my hands to my hips and narrowed my gaze. "Did he also tell you that I am currently the owner of this casino?" I huffed, channeling my inner bitch with all my might. "Which makes me your boss."

  His eyes widened a bit, but little else changed. "I'll see if Mr. Malone is available to speak with you." He lifted a hand to his ear and spoke into his sleeve like I'd seen Secret Service do in TV. A moment later, Alfie filled the hallway behind him.

  "Ms. King, is there something I can help you with?" He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  I opened my mouth, but he didn't even give me a chance to finish inhaling, let alone speak.

  "If this is about the dispute near the poker tables, I can assure you that we are taking care of the matter. We thank you for your assistance. Take the day to explore the amenities we have to offer. There is a wonderful spa and fitness center on site. My guys will take care of…"

  "I'm not here on vacation," I interrupted. "And, as you very well know, this isn't my first visit. I know where the amenities are."

  "Wonderful. Then why are you here?" he asked, leveling his gaze at me.

  "I need to see the video footage from the day Mr. Carvell said he met Mr. Price."

  Alfie's jaw clenched. I watched as his chest rose slowly. He let out a deliberate breath before speaking. "We are handling that as well. Might I suggest you busy yourself browsing some of the local craft shows for pieces for your shop back home?"

  "I curate a fine art gallery," I said, hearing the defensive tone in my own voice. "I acquire high-end—"

  "Same thing," he cut me off. "Mind your own business, and we'll mind ours." He waved a dismissive hand toward me and turned to go back into the bowels of the security floor.

  I pushed past the guards easily now that the fight wasn't theirs, and grabbed Alfie's arm. "For the next nine days, the casino is my business. I'm not going off on some souvenir hunt, and I'm not leaving this floor, either."

  Alfie growled. "You've always been a stubborn broad."

  "That's it. You're fired for gender insensitivity."

  Alfie smirked, knowing as well as I did it was a hollow threat. But it got the point across.

  "Fine. Always a pleasure to work with such a determined woman," he amended. Then he pointed to a chair and barked, "Sit. I'll cue up the footage."

  I flopped into the cushy leather desk chair and absorbed my surroundings as Alfie marched down the hallway. The security floor was cordoned off only by glass partitions, giving it an open, almost never-ending feel. Dark furnishings spotted each office space. Enormous screens were mounted at eye level throughout the area with random shots of the casino floor and hallway footage playing on each one. Men and women shuffled by me with arms full of files, the occasional person smiling or nodding. The whole area had a choreographed chaos feel to it.

  Alfie cleared his throat, standing in the hall to my left. Nothing else, just a cough. And a pair of blank eyes that could have been plotting my death or envisioning the tall scotch he'd be downing after work.

  I followed him to the end of the corridor. A cinderblock wall lined one end of the room, the other walls made of glass. Instead of the posh furnishings, like the offices we'd passed, this one had only a tiny metal desk and an old upholstered chair. I almost had to squint to see the tiny twelve inch screen in front of me as I sat down.

  "Really?" I probed. "This is the best you can offer me?"

  "Our resources are limited, Ms. King. All of my people are busy," he said. Though, true to his word, Alfie had queued up the poker tables on the day before Carvell's cash went missing.

  "I'm not sure what you think you'll find," he said, reluctantly showing me how to fast-forward and pause. "We've already been through this footage. Obviously," he added, rubbing in the fact that he was a professional and I was not.

  I shrugged. "Maybe I'll see something you missed."

  He snorted, but didn't comment, instead leaving me alone in my makeshift office with the small TV. I settled in,
watching for Mr. Carvell and hopefully getting a glance at the elusive Mr. Price. Minutes of mind numbing footage of casino tables, cards, and players, all covered in a smoky haze, quickly turned into hours. I forced myself to concentrate on the computer screen, but my mind kept wandering to the conversation I'd had with Agent Ryder.

  If I was moving down his suspect list any it was only because he was realizing the same thing I was—that what I knew about my father could barely fill a Post-it. Never mind the fact that I'd been miles away when my father had been poisoned; I'd been in the small minority of people who didn't even know about his health kick.

  Lost in what-ifs, regret, and endless poker games, I was almost relieved to see my mom's number pop up on my cell phone.

  Almost.

  "Hi, Mom, I was just about to call you."

  "It's not nice to lie to your mother," she told me.

  "Well, I was planning to call you soon. I know you were expecting me home yesterday."

  "Please tell me you've at least had enough common sense to stay at a quaint rental cabin, since you obviously don't have enough sense to just walk away from that awful town."

  My mother, God love her, was not a fan of anything even remotely associated with my father, least of all the casino. If I hadn't watched the wedding video my dad had kept tucked away, I'd probably have a hard time believing they'd ever really been in love. Mom and Dad were polar opposites who had been co-existing under the delusion they could ground one another in their perspective worlds. Mom was the tree hugging, earth saving, nature lover, spending any free time in the mountains; Dad was the luxury living, indoor dwelling, excess lover, obviously spending his spare time in the lounge. The harmony lasted until I was about two years old and couldn't fall asleep without the curtains open, the flashing neon of the strip as my night light. According to my mother, that's when I was officially corrupted. She'd been fighting the good fight with me ever since.

  "Mom, I've got some things to tend to before I can come home." I swallowed past the lie I really wanted to tell and blurted, "Dad left me the casino, and I have to wait until the board of directors' meeting in a week and a half. Then I can split my shares between the other members and come home. Please feed Jack." I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, so glad to have that out in the open with her.

  Gasping and sputtering was the only reply I got. I waited for a few minutes in case she suddenly became able to form a sentence. No dice.

  I continued, "It's not like I'm staying, Mom. I can't leave right now or the casino might fold."

  "Good riddance to bad rubbish," she spat.

  "Dad spent his whole life building this…"

  "Your father is dead," she interjected, her tone dismissive, as though she were telling a stranger.

  "This is the least I can do for him," I murmured. "And please don't let my cat starve."

  Mom heaved a sigh into the phone. "I'm sorry. You are doing the right thing. I'm proud of you. And you know I'd never let anything happen to Captain Jack."

  Yes, I named my cat after one of super-hot Johnny Depp's characters. Doesn't everyone? I really did miss that little fur ball.

  "Thanks, Mom. Love you."

  "I love you, too, sweetheart. Please keep me updated and be careful."

  "Always."

  After exchanging good-byes, I put the phone in my pocket, turning my attention back to the monotony. The organized turmoil on the security floor kicked up a notch with the afternoon shift change. The smells of hot pockets and lean cuisine replaced the scent of coffee coming from the break room. Extra bodies appeared in the office to watch the casino floor as the gambling crowd multiplied.

  One of the new shift appeared in my doorway, offering a smile. "Hi." His face was tinged red as he stared at his finger tracing the rim of the coffee mug clenched in his hand.

  I gave him a wave. "Hi."

  "Tessie King, right?" he asked.

  I nodded. "The one and only."

  He stuck a hand out. "Maverick."

  I shook it, raising an eyebrow his way. "Really?"

  His cheeks went a shade redder. "No, but we all go by nicknames up here. Breaks up the monotony."

  I nodded, knowing firsthand how important that could become after days of this. "Nice idea." I paused. "I have to ask, what's Alfie's nickname?"

  Maverick's face broke into a wicked grin. "The guys call him Napoleon."

  I covered a very unladylike snort.

  "But, shhh," he told me, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't tell Alfie."

  I made a zipping-my-lips-shut-and-throwing-away-the-key motion.

  "Any luck?" he asked, gesturing to my screen.

  I rubbed my temples and exhaled slowly. "Nope, I'm afraid not."

  "Well, we have the latest in facial recognition software, so if you didn't find him, he wasn't here," he replied confidently as he turned to leave.

  "Wait, facial recognition?" Adrenaline flooded my body along with anger and a few thoughts of revenge. Alfie could have mentioned that.

  "Sure." He set his cup on my desk and walked around beside me. After giving him Mr. Carvell's room number, Maverick was able to catch a clear image of him leaving his room the morning he checked in. The program then sped into action and popped up a picture every time he was recognized anywhere in the casino. Ten minutes later, we got a hit on a very nice looking younger guy in an Armani suit who spent a lot of time chatting up Mr. Carvell at the tables.

  "Bingo!" I shouted.

  Maverick straightened beside me, partly at my words and partly because Alfie was suddenly filling my doorway, glaring at me.

  I stood and broke into an exaggerated smile. "Hey, Alfie, did you know you have facial recognition software here? I really would have thought the head of security would know about this kind of stuff."

  Alfie just grunted.

  I turned to Maverick. "Can you be a peach and print that picture for me?"

  He looked back and forth between us until Alfie finally flinched in the direction of the office next door, and Maverick took off. Within a few minutes he was back, placing the picture of the infamous Mr. Price in my hand.

  Beaming, and feeling extremely pleased with myself, I announced, "Thank you so much," as I pranced up the hall toward the exit.

  But Alfie was a step behind me. "Just what do you plan to do with that?"

  "I plan to catch Mr. Price."

  "I don't know who you think you are—" he started. But he was cut off as his phone jingled to life. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the speaker, barking out a, "Malone."

  I watched as his features morphed from frustration at having me invade his personal domain to shock to an absolute stone poker face. Which scared me even more than any emotion he might have displayed.

  "What?" I asked, dread building in my stomach as he hung up.

  "That was the concierge desk," he ground out, leveling his stony gaze directly at me. "Seems something you might be interested in has been stolen from the safe."

  CHAPTER NINE

  One floor. The damned supersonic elevator was only going down one floor, but it seemed to take an hour. Alfie, along with one of the guards in suits and three other security personnel had shoved me into the elevator, the same matching blank expression on all five faces. Alfie would neither confirm nor deny my suspicions of what was missing from the safe. I'd already asked him three times, and all I got in return was a clenched jaw and squinty eyes. When the elevator stopped, I squeezed through the partially opened doors and darted to the front desk. I had really hoped Tate would be working, so I'd have an ally. No such luck.

  "Thank you for choosing The Royal Palace for your Lake Tahoe stay. My name is Alicia, and I'll be checking you in today," an energetic brunette bubbled in his place. Though her expression turned from pert to one of fear and concern as she spied our little group approaching.

  "Buzz us through," Alfie barked as he walked up beside me.

  Her rounded eyes never left his narrowed ones as her shaky ha
nd slid under the counter. The door creaked open, and Alfie stepped in front of the group, taking the lead. I felt as though I was being led to my last meal as the security team corralled me through the door. My worst fears were confirmed when I saw Mrs. Ditmeyer standing there, arms crossed firmly over her bedazzled, leopard-print bosom.

  Her arm shot out, an accusatory finger pointed mere inches from my nose. "You."

  "But, I… he," I sputtered, pointing my finger at the very guard who'd helped me lock up the necklace.

  Mrs. Ditmeyer gave me the same up and down scan she had when we'd first met, punctuating it with a quiet snort of disgust. "I don't need excuses or passing the blame. I need my necklace. Now!"

  I glanced around the room at the inquisitive faces, all looking at me for answers.

  "I put it in the safe." My words sounded shaky even to my own ears.

  "You closed the door?" Alfie asked.

  "Yes, of course."

  "You locked it?" He took a step toward me, his eyes scanning my face.

  "Yes," I repeated.

  "And you're sure it latched? And it was secure?" He now stood directly in front of me.

  "Yes?"

  Alfie narrowed his gaze.

  "I mean, yes, definitely sure. Very." And I was. "At least ninety-five percent." I tilted my chin, nodding to add confidence to my statement.

  Alfie waved an arm toward his minions, and they scattered from the vault, including the guard. I attempted to follow suit, but he caught my collar in his iron grip.

  "Mrs. Ditmeyer," Alfie implored, "Please allow my team a chance to look into this travesty. In the meantime, your room and all of your meals are on the house." He pulled her chubby fingers into his free hand and planted a light kiss on her knuckles.

  With eyelashes fluttering fast enough to stir a breeze, she purred, "Alfonso, you sweet talker, I'll look forward to your call."

  After releasing my shirt, he escorted her to the exit of the vault, filling the door, undoubtedly to prevent my escape. "Schedule yourself a massage and have them bill me," he cooed in her direction, as he watched her disappear into the crowd.