“It wasn’t in the brothers’ Bellissimo room,” Fantasy said. “The crime scene people ripped that room apart.”
“And he didn’t leave it in the Leno suite,” I said. “They went over every square inch there too.”
“Now we have three things to do here,” she said. “Launder the money, get it in the ATM, and take down Rod J.”
“God is great. God is good. Let us thank him for our food.”
“We can’t get in the ATM, Fantasy.”
“Why not?”
“We forgot to nab an ATM key.”
“Amen.”
* * *
Once we were out of the terrifying parking lot, our burdens lifted a little. Which could have been the praying. We parked behind a dumpster near the side entrance to the casino. The paint above the door was long gone, but I could see where it used to say Curb Service for Take Home Dining. There were no cameras. One flickering yellow street light half a block away, no cameras. Clicking away on Rod J.’s laptop, thankfully, I found cameras inside. When I finally hacked my way into the Resort’s archaic surveillance feed, I said, “Okay, Vree. You’re on.”
“Gooch is going to kill me if I get killed in here.”
“You’re not going to get killed in there. Fantasy will be right behind you with a gun and I’ll be watching you on the computer the whole time. The casino banking center is the old salad bar, right inside this door. You’re going to be fine.”
I believed about half of those words. The salad-bar part, I believed.
“Just roll your suitcase up to the salad bar and tell the cashier you need to trade your money,” I said. “She’s going to ask why you want to trade the money, and you’re going to say—” I hadn’t gotten that far.
“Tell her your ex-husband gave you the money and it has bad juju,” Fantasy said.
“Good one,” I said. “Tell her that, Vree.”
“Why would someone’s ex-husband give them a million dollars? I mean—”
Fantasy said, “Now is not the time for details.”
“What do I do if she doesn’t believe me?” Vree asked.
“You tip her the four thousand dollars,” I said. “That’ll make a believer out of her.”
“Then what?” Vree asked.
“Bring the suitcase with the new money back to the car.”
Twenty excruciating minutes later, we had Resort cash.
Popping the hatch again, I played the part of the parking lot armed guard while Fantasy, working out of the back of Vree’s car, transferred the money from the pink suitcase to the plumber bag. She passed the loose change, which was all the cash I had in the world, the money from my cookie jar, to me. We piled back in the car and locked the doors.
“Guess where their vault is, Davis?” Fantasy asked.
I saw it on surveillance before I disconnected it—the walk-in refrigerator. The old Shoney’s walk-in refrigerator was the Last Resort’s vault. How were the doors still open?
“What now?” Vree asked.
“We’re going in,” Fantasy said.
“And leaving me alone?”
“You’re our getaway driver, Vree. The getaway driver stays with the car. Don’t you watch Blue Bloods?”
She broke into song. “This little light of mine.”
I wondered what people who lived in Nashville were doing.
“Are you ready?” I asked Fantasy.
“I’m ready.”
“I’m going to let it shine.”
Fantasy was just about to open the car door when she stopped. “What about the ATM key?”
“This little light of mine.”
The entire time I watched Vree at the salad bar, wondering why in the world Resort cashiers were so willing to exchange what could very well be counterfeit cash—they didn’t know Vree—for what could very well be more counterfeit cash—I doubted the Resort followed federal banking laws—I hadn’t once remembered we’d forgotten to nab an ATM key.
“Davis, do we want to go back to the Bellissimo for a key or keep going?”
I bet Nashville mothers were home with their Nashville babies. Doing Nashville mother things. Or maybe—a novel idea—Nashville sleeping.
I said, “We keep going. Plan B.”
“I’m going to let it shine.”
“What’s Plan B, Davis?”
“Give me a minute.”
“Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”
* * *
We drove to the front entrance and backed into a handicap space where Vree would be safer alone. There was an operable street light and we could see Beach Boulevard in the distance, a comforting glimpse of the real world. Now that we’d gone to Plan B, the problem was how we were dressed. The good news was we fit right in. No one would blink an eye. The bad news was, without an ATM key, our plumbing gig was up, and we didn’t have a change of clothes. A million dollars, yes. Change of clothes? No. Vree was the only one who’d grabbed her purse on the way out—we’d grabbed firearms—and the only thing in it close to makeup was a tube of MAC Lipglass in Peach Blossom Pink.
“Not my color.” Fantasy dotted the gloss on her cheeks, smeared it in, then slathered it on her lips. She passed it to me and I did the same. We tossed our bras and unbuttoned our plumber shirts as far as we could get away with. “Pop your collar, Davis.” I popped my collar. “Knot your shirt.” I tied the tail of my plumber shirt into a front knot. “Fluff your hair.”
Vree watched us in the rearview mirror. “In a way, you guys look really cute.”
Fantasy slung the money bag over her shoulder like it was a sack of potatoes, then we moseyed to the front desk of the Last Resort Casino like it was just another night at the casino. There was a girl behind what used to be Shoney’s hostess stand.
“Excuse me.” Fantasy knocked on the hostess stand. The girl looked up from her phone. “We have a date. We need his room number and we need a key.”
I pushed Rod J.’s picture at her.
“Have you seen him?” Fantasy asked.
She nodded.
“He’s here?” Fantasy asked.
She nodded again.
“We need his room number and key.”
The girl shook her head. “I can’t do that. I’ll get fired.”
I pulled my cookie jar money out of my Dungaree pocket. Six hundred and seventy dollars. I slid it across the hostess stand. “How about now?”
“Fifteen.” She landed a box of loose keys on the hostess stand and dug around until she found a rusty key on a diamond-shaped plastic fob for guest room fifteen.
Fantasy took the key, then leaned in. “If you see our date, don’t tell him we’re here. It’s a surprise. If you tell him, I’ll hunt you down. Do you hear me?”
The wide-eyed girl nodded.
“Don’t make me hunt you down.”
She shook her head.
* * *
The room was easy enough to find.
Looking both ways, we pulled on latex gloves. I put an ear as close to the door as I could without actually putting my ear to the door. Fantasy raised an eyebrow. I shook my head in a quick no. If Rod J. was in the room, I couldn’t hear him. Weapons at the ready, plumber hammer bag full of money between us, we went in dark and quiet. The bedroom was (filthy) clear. She took the closet; I took the bathroom. Rod J. wasn’t in his room. He’d been there. By the looks of the half-eaten Chinese takeout containers, he’d been there for days. The ashtrays were overflowing, empty beer bottles littered every flat surface, the bed was a tangled mess, and on the nightstand, Doyle Brunson’s Super System, A Course in Power Poker. Rod J. was probably in the Resort’s poker room.
Fantasy dumped the million on the bed, then dropped the plumber bag in the shower stall. She emptied out a mini shampoo on the bag, then turned on the shower, full blast,
to send any traces of us down the Resort drain, while I wiped Rod J.’s laptop clean of my fingerprints, then placed it on top of the money. After, I picked up the house phone on the desk. No dial tone.
“Try zero,” Fantasy said.
“Last Resort. May I help you?”
It was the check-in girl.
“I need an outside line.”
“Here you go.”
I listened to the outside line.
“What?” Fantasy said. “Call them already.”
“Fantasy, I don’t have GameCorp’s phone number.”
“Get the computer.” She pointed. “Look it up.”
“I shut down the wi-fi when I shut down surveillance. I can’t look it up.”
We flipped. I lost.
The next seven minutes were the worst seven minutes of my life. Fantasy stayed in room fifteen while I went to the very occupied men’s room in the lobby to find GameCorp’s toll-free service number on the ATM.
She let me back in. “Well?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Fantasy. I don’t ever want to talk about it. We will never ever ever speak of it. Ever.”
From room fifteen, I called GameCorp. A service rep answered. “Listen carefully. I’m only going to say this once.” I sucked in stale Chinese hotel air. “A million dollars was stolen from your company by siphoning convenience fees from four hundred of your ATMs. You need to see a man named Rod J. Sebastian about it. He’s in the poker room of the Last Resort Casino in Biloxi, Mississippi. The money is in on the bed in room fifteen along with the computer used to set it up. It’s all there.” I hung up, then dialed No Hair from my cell phone.
“This had better be good, Davis.”
“It is. We have the man who tried to drown my neighbor. The secretary. The deadbeat dad. The animal abuser. Rod J. Sebastian.”
“Where are you?”
I told him.
“You can’t be serious, Davis. Hold on.”
I held for the two seconds it took him to call it in.
“Hey,” he said. “One, get out of there. And two, don’t get the salad bar.”
“What?”
“Don’t go near the salad bar. Those are feds. They’re giving it another week or so with a money-laundering net. Steer clear of the salad bar.”
We watched from the cracked fire-exit door at the end of the hall until we saw Biloxi’s finest boys in blue turn the corner. We ran.
Boy, did we run.
We piled into Vree’s car. “Drive, Vree.”
TWENTY-SIX
If Meredith hadn’t woken me Friday morning to say goodbye I might have slept through Bradley coming home. My eyes flew to the video monitor on the nightstand. Bex and Quinn were still asleep. Meredith climbed into bed with me and passed me a cup of coffee.
“Why are you leaving so early, Mer?”
“I’m ready to go home,” she said. “See my girl. See Mother and Daddy. Sleep in my own bed. Let you have your life back.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Great.”
“How’s Greene this morning?”
“He’s good.” She reached for my hand. “Thanks to you.”
“No, Mer. Thanks to you.”
“We both helped Greene, Davis.”
Vree knocked on the open door. “Is three a crowd? I know if I had a sister and I was saying bye, I might not want someone to barge in on my sister party. I mean—”
I waved her in. She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Davis, I packed Princess’s things. Bubbles is saying bye to her.”
Bradley, Meredith, Vree, Bubbles, and Princess were all coming or going home today. Life as I knew it, like Meredith said, may very well resume. I had Bianca to deal with, having not given the dog-show awards ceremony the night before even a passing thought, but I always had Bianca to deal with. If it weren’t me humiliating her by shirking my dog-show duties, it would be something else. I had No Hair to deal with. He sent a two-a.m. message I slept through asking if I had any idea why GameCorp was crawling all over Last Resort fighting with the local authorities, Hiriddhi Al Abbasov’s attorneys, the Atlanta Council for the Blind, Animal Control, and Child Services as to who deserved first swing at Rod J. Sebastian. I had the feds to deal with. I’d need to intervene on Vree’s behalf before they knocked on her Pine Apple door and accused her of laundering money. I had Candy Smucker to deal with, who, according to Facebook, made it to her hotel room six hours earlier and sixteen million dollars lighter in the wallet. I didn’t have her dog’s diamond collar, and she deserved to hear it from me. All of which paled at the thought of my husband coming home to tell me we were leaving Biloxi, the Bellissimo, everyone and everything we knew and loved, and moving to Nashville.
I checked the time. He was on his way.
* * *
I walked Meredith, Vree, and Bubblegum to the door.
Part of me wanted to ask them to stay. Part of me wanted to go with them. Most of me wanted to roll back the clock and start our girls’ week over. With noted exceptions.
Meredith and I had communicated without words our entire lives, and we never said goodbye. Our smiles were sadder that morning, maybe wearier, or maybe just wiser. We held onto each other longer than we usually did.
And then there was Vree.
“Davis.” She looked above me, below me, behind me, and through me. Everywhere but at me. She fidgeted, she tapped a foot, and she cleared her throat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She finally spoke. “I’ve never had more fun in my life.”
I waited.
That was it.
And then they were gone.
Had it not been for my babies, who woke when Aunt Merri kissed them bye, and Madeleine Albright, going on and on in the Pop N’ Play, my house would have felt end-of-the-world empty.
I asked Bex and Quinn, “Who wants to go with Mommy to take Princess home?”
“Me, me, me!”
I loaded the double stroller with Bex, Quinn, Princess, her red satin duffel bag, and Bianca’s nasty horse purse. Inside the horse’s foot, a long note from me. The elevator was too small for the garlic, and the short ride to twenty-seven was too long.
I knocked gently. I knocked with enthusiasm. I knocked long and loud; I knocked slow and steady. I had the Bellissimo operator ring the room phone. Repeatedly. No answer. The last trick I had up my sleeve worked; I sent Candy a Facebook message. This is your Flaming Volcano friend. The boots? I’m at your door. I have something for you.
Three minutes later, the door flew open. Candy, wearing a Bellissimo bedsheet, screamed, “Miss Priss!” Princess catapulted from the stroller and into her arms. Candy and Princess, much like how my sister and I said goodbye, shared a sweet silent hello. If I’d learned anything that week, it was this—people were crazy about their dogs, even if the dogs were crazy, and dogs were crazy about their owners, even if the owners were crazy.
Candy, bedsheet slipping, looked at me over Princess’s head. “Hey, girl!”
“Hi, Candy.”
Bex and Quinn said, “Hi, hi, hi.”
Candy said, “Aren’t you two cute? If I had my phone on me, you better believe I’d post you.” Then to me, “I like your red.”
My hair. I’d forgotten Candy met Bianca blonde me.
“I’d ask you in, but Cleave’s butt naked.”
I passed her the horse foot.
“For real?”
“It’s yours.” To Princess, I said, “Good girl.”
* * *
We rode the elevator home, and for the first time in days, the security guards weren’t waiting. Which could only mean one thing. I said, “Girls! Daddy’s home!”
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”
Except he wasn’t.
Before I could push the stroller out of the e
levator, he called to tell me he was in his office, the doctor was just leaving, where were we?
The girls and I flew past Bradley’s assistant, barely saying hello. Bex and Quinn jumped out of their stroller and into their father’s waiting arms. I wedged myself in the mix.
“Davis? What’s wrong?”
“I’m just so glad to see you,” I said to his chest.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”
“Guess what’s wrong with me?”
There was no telling.
“I have urban allergies,” he said. “I’m allergic to Nashville. Have you ever heard of being allergic to a city? The doctor, Urleen is his name, and I hired him by the way, said I had a negative reaction to the environmental conditions in Nashville. Urban allergies. Can you believe it?”
No.
“He’s an out-of-the-box thinker, Davis.”
He was out all right. To lunch.
“It’s true,” Bradley said. “It has to be. I felt horrible all week, boarded the plane this morning miserable, and stepped off an hour later in perfect health. I could breathe, I could see, and I didn’t have a headache. I’m fine!”
We wouldn’t be moving to Nashville.
“Let’s go home,” he said. “I have a surprise.”
I was done with surprises.
His phone rang before we could get there. I glanced. No Hair. No telling what he was going to tell Bradley before I had the chance to. Bradley listened for a minute, then said, “Good.”
“Good, what?”
Bradley said, “The Smuckers have left the building.”
That fast?
“The woman, wearing a bedsheet, said they were going home and never coming back.”
Then the Cole family went home. With his hand on the doorknob, Bradley said, “Who’s ready for their surprise?”
“Me, me, me!”
(Not me, not me, not me.)
A white wicker basket sat in the middle of the foyer floor. A furry head popped up from it. It was a puppy. A round little puppy with bright dark eyes, gold curls, and a furiously wagging tail.
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