“I wouldn’t go that far,” Riga said. But she still caught herself awed by their perfection, counting their fingers and toes, half-disbelieving the digits were all accounted for.
Pen grasped Emma’s hand between her fingers. “They’ve even got their own language.”
Brigitte snorted. “Senseless babble. Those babies are rotting your brains.”
“So why do you want me to watch them?” Pen asked the gargoyle.
“A truly great magician must be able to focus in spite of ze chaos around her. And not even Riga is more chaotic than those two.”
“Wait until they learn to crawl,” Pen said.
Riga’s heart sank. Two crawlers. How would she corral them both?
A door clicked open and shut. Donovan strode into the kitchen and unbuttoned the jacket of his black Armani suit. “Hello ladies.” Loosening his red tie, he kissed Riga’s cheek.
Oz barked once.
“And gentlemen.” Donovan scooped Emma from her rocker. “How’s my baby girl?”
She kicked her feet in the air.
He smiled. “Ready for your dancing shoes, I see.”
“What are you doing home at this hour?” Riga asked. An early riser, Donovan should just be hitting his swing at the casino.
“I got us an appointment with Turk,” he said.
“This morning?” Riga glanced down at her standard uniform — white blouse, wide-legged khakis. It would do.
“He said he could fit us in in an hour. Under the circumstances, I thought we should talk to him sooner rather than later.” Emma grabbed a fistful of his dark hair and pulled herself closer to his head. She opened her mouth wide, aiming to take a bite out of his ear.
“I guess I’m up.” Pen lifted Jack from his bouncer.
“Let me get my things.” Riga hopped off the counter stool and hurried upstairs to her bedroom. In the reading area, the fireplace was cold. A faded kilim on the hardwood floor provided a jolt of color against the soft, white furniture. Through the balcony windows, the sun had risen completely over the lake, snowcapped mountains glittering in the bright of day.
Knotting a Hermès scarf around her neck, she surveyed her oversized leather satchel, lumped atop the king-size bed. In the past, she’d kept her bag full of the magical and detective tools of her trade. Now she pulled out diapers and powder and wipes.
Could she even call herself a metaphysical detective anymore? Where had she put her Tarot deck? And the salt… Was probably in the kitchen.
She removed a fistful of latex gloves from a pocket in her satchel, thought better of it, and stuffed them back where she’d found them. At least she hadn’t misplaced the gloves, but she used them for both her roles – mother and detective. She slipped them on whenever one of the twins had a particularly disastrous mess in their diapers. The gloves had garnered her a few startled looks in the changing rooms, but she was past caring.
She dug further into her bag. Her fingers touched metal, and she smiled. Her mini magic kit, jammed inside an empty mint tin.
Walking to one of the bookshelves, she pressed the hidden latch. The shelf swung open. She hurried through it to her hidden library, a gift from Donovan. The Tarot cards lay upon her desk, and she snatched them up, leaving a dusty, rectangular imprint on the wood. She gazed at the rows of books on magic, her brow wrinkling. Outside the window, a chipmunk scurried up the trunk of a pine tree. When had she been in here last?
Shaking her head, she emerged from the secret room and swung the bookshelf closed.
A child in each arm, Donovan stood, staring at her purse on the bed, the scattered diapers. “You have everything you need?” he asked.
“Maybe I should stay home with them,” she said, experiencing a sudden attack of guilt.
“They’ll be fine with Pen and Brigitte. If someone did manage to get past the legion of security guards outside, I’m sure Brigitte would wing the twins to safety.”
“I’m not. She’s Pen’s familiar now, not mine.”
He quirked a brow. “When did that happen?”
“Five months ago, apparently.”
“When the twins were born? Is she that jealous?”
“No, it’s not… Brigitte doesn’t get to choose her master. I’ll admit, I felt betrayed when I found out, but Pen is the right choice. The fact is, I haven’t been paying much attention to my magic since I became a mother. It isn’t fair to Brigitte. She needs someone to work with. Pen’s a good fit.”
“It still seems a bit churlish.” He bounced the children in his arms.
“The laws of Brigitte’s magic don’t take my feelings into account.” Her shoulders lifted, fell. “It’s fine. Pen needs her more than I. And I’ve got you and the twins.”
“Strange. I’ll actually be sorry to lose her, in spite of all the breakage.”
“We haven’t yet. Not as long as Pen stays.” She swung the bag over her shoulder and grabbed a linen blazer off the back of the sofa.
They said extended goodbyes to the twins, Pen assuring them everything was under control. Donovan drove, piloting the black SUV out of the garage.
Riga glanced behind her at the receding lake house and twisted her wedding band.
“They’ll be fine,” Donovan said.
“Your confidence—”
“Is the secret to my success. Well, one of the secrets.”
“You mean I have more to discover?”
He flashed a smile, his green eyes glinting. “I get the sense you’ve been feeling like a prisoner of the twins.”
“No, not a prisoner.” But it wasn’t a bad analogy, and her mouth twisted. What kind of mother was she? “I love being with them. But sometimes…”
“You get stir-crazy. They’re a lot to manage on your own.”
“Thank God Pen’s here to help, but she won’t be around forever.” What would she do when the twins started crawling? The infant twins were a challenge. The thought of managing two toddlers chilled her heart.
“I’ve asked Ellen to vet a list of part-time nannies.”
She sagged in the leather seat, relief flooding her system. “Thanks. I want you and I to be the ones to raise our children. But a little help right now would be wonderful.” Perhaps she’d had the twins too late in life. If she were younger, maybe the lack of sleep wouldn’t make her want to snap at everyone, to crack.
“Twins would be rough on anyone. But you do know you’re doing a wonderful job with them, don’t you?” He laid a hand on her knee, and a cocoon of warmth descended.
“I have it comparatively easy. I’ve got you.”
His expression flickered, and he stared at the winding road ahead.
How had her sister done it? Rebecca and her husband had somehow raised Pen, and both had worked full time. Living in high-cost San Francisco, the family had needed the dual income. Riga had the luxury to stay at home. With Donovan’s chain of casinos, money wasn’t an issue. But she wondered how single mothers managed.
“What’s wrong?” Donovan asked.
“I was just marveling at my good fortune. Would you mind if we stopped by the Towers later? I’d like to see Mrs. Norton today, make sure she’s all right.”
“The mysterious Mrs. Norton. No one’s been able to provide a convincing explanation about how she got onto our property.” He turned off the highway, down a looping paved road toward the lake.
“If she’s well today, perhaps we can ask her.”
They pulled into a parking lot in front of a chic, wood-timbered two-story office complex. A crow hopped across its sloped green roof. It swiveled its head toward their SUV and cawed.
“I didn’t know this place existed,” Riga said.
Donovan swung into a parking spot in front of the building and stepped out of the SUV. “It’s one of the more expensive office properties in Tahoe.”
“That explains my ignorance.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her satchel.
Donovan opened the passenger door for her and bowed. “My lady.”
/>
She stroked his jaw and leaned against him, touched her lips to his. “Ever the gentleman.”
“You inspire me.” He grinned, lopsided. “With you around, I can count on life never being dull.”
“Yes, managing a casino empire must be such a yawn.” She tucked her arm in his. “How is the Macau property, by the way?”
They walked into an open atrium area, past a manmade creek and low pines.
He grunted. “Don’t get me started. One bribery scandal at an industrial firm, and the Chinese government is lopping off heads. The business community is petrified of taking any action at all. Business has come to a standstill.”
“How rampant is the bribery?”
“It’s everywhere.” He grunted and pointed to a set of stairs. “I can’t afford for our gaming operations to be anything but clean. But it wouldn’t surprise me if there were payoffs happening at the lower levels that we haven’t uncovered.”
She stopped beside a cairn of smooth river rocks piled beside the brick path.
He turned to her.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’ll have to fly out there. But not until this situation is resolved.” His jaw set. He led her up the stairs and into a wide hallway paved with roughened slate tile. “It’s the corner suite.”
They entered without knocking. The decor was National Park Service rustic: dark hardwood floors, geometric rugs, walls of wood and stone. The lake shone behind wide windows.
A dark-haired receptionist looked up from her desk. She smiled, smoothing the front of her flesh-tone dress. “Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Mosse, Mr. Jamison is expecting you.” She motioned toward a hallway lined with oil paintings of the Sierras. “His office is this way.” The receptionist clacked down the hallway in her high heels.
Riga and Donovan followed. He slipped his arm around her waist.
“No PDAs on the job,” Riga murmured, stroking his jaw.
“I have to get them when I can.”
“You can try.” Riga smiled. The twins hadn’t left them much time or energy for lovemaking.
The receptionist knocked on a door and opened it without waiting for a response. “Mr. Jamison, your guests are here.”
A bulky man heaved himself from a leather chair. Papers stacked high atop the desk before him, threatening to slide off.
Riga blinked, unable to place the man. She’d attended one of his parties? She was certain she hadn’t seen him before in her life.
His face was broad, ruddy, his blond hair thinning. “Mosse! Good to see you again.” Walking around the desk, Jamison grasped Donovan’s hand. “How long’s it been? Since Christmas?”
“At least,” Donovan said. “The kids have been keeping me busy.”
Turk Jamison guffawed. “I remember those days. Hello, Riga. We haven’t seen you out and about for a while. You’re looking tired. Are the kids sleeping through the night?”
She forced a smile. Because what mom didn’t want to be reminded her most notable accessory was the circles beneath her eyes? “Sadly, no. But their doctor promises that the day will come.”
“And the sooner the better, eh?” He shook her hand.
His grip ground her knuckles together, and she fought a wince. “I’d say I’m dreaming of the day, but that entails sleep.”
“May I get you and your guests coffee, Mr. Jamison?” the receptionist asked.
“Yes, please. You know how I like it, Mercedes. Riga? Donovan? Would you like coffee? Hot chocolate? Tea? We’ve got an espresso machine.”
“Coffee, black,” Donovan said. “Riga?”
The hot chocolate sounded intriguing, but she shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Keeping pure for the little ones?” Jamison asked. “We’ve got mineral water if you prefer. I remember what it was like when my wife was breast feeding. No this, and no that.”
Riga’s fingers twitched. “No, thanks.” And did he have to talk about her breasts? She rubbed her brow. She was overreacting. Tired. It would be best if she let Donovan do most of the talking. God only knew what would come out of her mouth.
Waving them into leather chairs, he resettled himself behind his broad desk. “So what can I do for you? You’re interested in assisted living investment properties?”
“I’m considering one in Vegas,” Donovan said.
“There are lots of different types.” He snapped the band of his gold watch. “Some say there’s too much inventory, the market’s glutted. You want my opinion, the fears of a contraction are overblown. I’m building a new facility in Reno.”
“The property I’m looking at is similar to yours here in South Shore.”
Jamison nodded, sage, and snapped the watch band. “A mix, you mean, of independent and assisted living?”
“And dementia care,” Riga said.
“We’re proud of that. Our facility can handle just about any senior need. Residents can move from one part of the facility to another as their situation changes.” He droned on about investment options, return on investment, individualized care. “And we’re positioning ourselves as a leader. We’re hosting an Alzheimer’s conference on the twenty-first, exploring alternate treatment options to drugs.”
Riga’s back tightened. “June twenty-first? The solstice?”
Snap. He shrugged. “Is the twenty-first the solstice? I guess so.”
“Managing a senior facility sounds complex, especially when you’re dealing with dementia,” Donovan said. “What are the challenges?”
“Regulation is tightening up.” Lacing his fingers together, he rested his hands on his stomach. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s for the residents’ security and quality of life.”
The receptionist backed into the room, a tray of mugs in her hands. Laying it on the desk, she distributed the coffee to the men. “Can I get you anything else?”
Donovan shook his head.
“That will be all, thanks,” Jamison said.
“What about staff turnover?” Riga asked. “It must be a demanding job. Have you had any issues?”
He snorted. “It’s a job Americans don’t like to do, that’s for sure. But a good manager keeps things running smoothly. Experienced management is key. Too many people are flocking to the business, thinking it’s a quick buck. If you’re serious about investing, partner with someone experienced.”
Someone like Turk Jamison, she thought wryly. And this wasn’t getting her anywhere.
One corner of Donovan’s mouth tipped upward. “I’d say the same to someone considering investing in gaming.”
“Would it be possible to tour your facility to get a better idea of what a well-run institution looks like?” Riga asked. “I visited someone there recently, but I only saw the dementia unit.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. You can meet with the administrator, Morgan Verdun. When would you like to schedule a visit with her?”
Riga smiled. “Now.”
CHAPTER NINE
Riga and Donovan drove past the mini-mall. The liquor store was closed, plywood covering the wrecked front door. Chest constricting, she lowered her gaze to the satchel in her lap. She’d never gotten the name of the clerk who’d tried to save her. Who had he left behind?
Donovan turned down the drive to the Sunset Towers. “What did you think of Turk?”
“I think he’s going to send you an investment prospectus for that Reno property.”
“Interesting about the financials,” he said.
“Was it? I must have faded in that part of the interview.” She rubbed her eyes. Her brain felt clotted, fuzzy. What else had she missed in her achy, sleep-deprived state?
He parked the SUV in the shadow of the multi-story facility. “At five to ten thousand bucks a month to stay at the Towers, getting old isn’t for the poor.”
“That seems like a lot of money given the condition of the building, the parts I saw at least. Though they were repainting the first floor.”
&n
bsp; “If they’re not bothering with upkeep, that might explain his profit margins. They weren’t bad.”
“Are you seriously considering investing?” She scanned the pines encircling the lot. Pushing out her aura, she sensed something small, long-dead, beneath the soft earth. Probably a squirrel.
“My expertise is hotels and gaming. Senior living is out of my wheelhouse. Why? Would it bother you if I did invest?”
“Of course not. It’s just, if we were involved in a facility like that, I’d want it to be a good one, a place where the residents were safe, happy.” Though how happy could one be when one’s independence was chipped away daily?
“And you think the Sunset Towers isn’t one of those places.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. The place felt wrong to me, but that might have nothing to do with ordinary management issues and everything to do with Gold Watch.”
Donovan stepped out of the SUV and walked around the front bumper, opening the door for her. She still hadn’t quite gotten used to the gesture, but it seemed to please him.
“Thanks,” she said.
He craned his neck, squinting at the building. “Get anything?”
She reached out with her senses, imagined eyes and hands on the bubble of her aura. The building pressed upon her, a viscous despair weaving within her own anxiety. Gold Watch couldn’t be bold enough to return here today, not so soon after the police had scoured the place. She twisted her wedding band. “Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing I wouldn’t feel at any hospital. It would help if you watched for ghosts. The place should be full of spirits.”
“Of course,” he said. The ability to see ghosts was a talent they shared.
They strode to the front entry, glass doors sliding open to admit them. Inside, Donovan pushed the cracked doorbell beside the frosted reception window. Riga wrinkled her nose. The smell of paint was fainter, but still strong enough to make her skull pound.
The window slid open, and a gray-haired nurse peered out, smiled. “May I help you?”
“We have an appointment with Ms. Verdun,” Donovan said. “I’m Donovan Mosse. This is my wife, Riga Hayworth.”
The Hermetic Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery Book 7) Page 7