All Bets Are Off: A Samantha True Novel

by Rose, Kristi

  But this no one was scary. This no one seemed to show up where I was. This no one was a step or two ahead of me.

  Because I was paranoid and afraid I was being followed, I moved my car from around the side of Ralph’s where the employees park to the front. I found a spot under a light near the front and sat idling there.

  No other cars moved. I wasn’t sure if I found that comforting or not. I was a complete dumb-dumb when it came to technology. Maybe no one had to follow me because there was a GPS tracker on my car. If the gadgets from Mission Impossible were to be believed…well, I wasn’t going to go there.

  I sat with the backpack on my lap, my notebook open and resting on top. I gave Mrs. Wright a call. Carson’s note on the case read Possible infidelity. Maurice is not coming home when called. Goodwill case.

  My two other cases were about the character of two men. I wasn’t surprised this one was any different. This work didn’t leave me feeling warm and fuzzy toward the male species. I wasn’t sure what “goodwill case” meant and made a note to ask Toby.

  Mrs. Wright answered on the second ring. I introduced myself and reminded her that she had sought services from Holmes Security.

  “It’s about time someone from your business called,” she said with a clipped New Jersey tone. Mrs. Wright sounded older, my guess maybe in her sixties.

  “I apologize for the delay. There have been some private issues—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard about Mr. Holmes. I’m sorry he died. He was a nice man.”

  I winced. “I’m not sure if you’re still interested in retaining our services or not,” I said.

  She paused. The only sound coming through was the tinny click of aluminum blinds being bent down and her huffy breathing.

  “You think you can prove my Maurice is being unfaithful?” The tinny click came again, and I assumed she was no longer looking out the window.

  “I can do my best. Yours wouldn’t be the first case of infidelity I’ve worked on.” So, I stretched the truth a little. Seems like people everywhere were doing it, so I figured it couldn’t hurt.

  “All I want is proof that he’s going over to that woman’s house. She’s probably feeding him and cuddling him. Vindictive, that woman is.”

  I arched a brow, even though she couldn’t see me. Did Mrs. Wright not feed Maurice to the extent he set out to find another woman who would? Of course, if that was the case, Maurice should just leave. Not play both women.

  “You don’t want a shot of them together?” A money shot would be the clincher.

  “Nope, don’t need it. If you see Maurice going into her house, that’s enough for me. She has been warned to stay away from him. He has been warned as well.”

  I sighed. It wasn’t my place to make judgments. “Okay, what’s the address?”

  She rolled off the information. “Lazy, that’s what he is. She only lives two blocks away. I tried following him once, but he jumped a fence and gave me the slip.”

  Maybe I was wrong about Mrs. Wright’s age. Or maybe she was a cougar.

  She continued, “I changed my mind. I want a picture. And when you get that shot of Maurice slinking into her house, I’m going to march up to Mrs. Long’s door and ‘a-ha’ her so loud the entire neighborhood will hear. It’ll get Jersey over there real fast.” She dropped her voice to a hushed tone. “You might want to stick around for that. You might have to break up a fight.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said. I’d never broken up a fight before, much less a catfight. Never even been in one. “Can you describe Maurice?”

  “Sure, I have a picture if you want to come by and get it. Your husband asked me to get one. I’m surprised he didn’t leave notes or something so I didn’t have to repeat all this. Embarrassing, it is.”

  “I apologize for that. He left me a bit of a mess.” The words tumbled out before I could think about what I was saying, and I cringed at my lapse in professionalism. Precious would be horrified.

  “Oh, honey, they all do,” she said. “Now, Maurice is a ginger. His throat, ears, and underbelly are white. He’s got the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  I tried to picture a man with that description and couldn’t. I scratched my head as I tried to figure out how to ask my next question and not sound stupid. But I had nothing. So I skipped it.

  “Okay, how about I come over tomorrow at ten and get that picture? Then I’ll stake out Mrs. Long’s for a bit. Is there a specific time you notice Maurice slipping away each day?”

  “Nope, sometimes he’ll leave at night and not come home until the next morning. I think that woman locks him in her house. But other times, he’ll leave in the morning and will come home around dinnertime. I always make sure he has a good dinner.”

  I had a sneaky suspicion we were talking about a cat or a dog and not a man. “Is Maurice there now?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve locked him in his room. He is not happy with me.”

  Either that or I had my first hostage situation. Confident that wasn’t the case, I confirmed that ten would work for tomorrow and ended the call. A straying cat I could handle. In fact, the case came with some relief. Hearing others’ problems wasn’t easy.

  Particularly when my problems seemed insurmountable. I stared at Carson’s backpack in my lap.

  This backpack was likely the key to getting answers, and tonight I was going to find out why.

  18

  Friday night

  But first, I needed to get the money shot on Sean Kleppner. Not that I was looking forward to telling Shannon her suspicions were true. Easily, it was my least favorite part of the job, and I hadn’t had to do it yet.

  I swung by the casino, hoping to meet this Kimmie person. What I found were the same players at Jessica’s table that were there Saturday.

  “Fellas,” I said, sliding onto the chair between them, flipping a chip between my fingers. “How’s it going?”

  Lanky grunted his annoyance.

  Bushy Bob smiled. “Back to try your luck?”

  I shrugged. “It’s only a dollar. What are the odds?”

  “Are you going to play or are you two going to chat?” Jessica asked with a faux smile. Her tone was definitely not one of a happy person.

  I raised my brows at Bushy Bob and grimaced. “Yikes, bad mood?” I whispered.

  He nodded toward the table next to us. “Kimmie’s out again.”

  “It’s not her night off?” I asked Jessica.

  Her lip curled up ever so slightly. “Place your bets.”

  I did the same as last time. Double-ohs. “Big money!” I said, rubbing my hands together.

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “The most you’ll get is thirty-six dollars.”

  “I know,” I said excitedly. “That’s a lot for me these days. I’ll take it.”

  Bushy Bob chuckled. I think even Lanky had a laugh. Jessica spun the wheel.

  “I sure wish I could find Sean,” I said, watching the wheel go around. “I’m getting worried about him. I told my dad about Sean winning—Dad owns the paper in Wind River—and he can’t get a hold of him either.”

  No one said anything. The wheel stopped on double-ohs, and my mouth dropped open.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Lanky said and sat back in his chair. Bushy Bob clapped me on the back in congratulations.

  “I think it’s because you’re next to me,” I told Lanky. “Like a good-luck charm.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  Jessica pushed my chips to me. “Are you done now?”

  Hm, was I? The lure to place another bet and win was powerful. I could see how quickly this could become a fun hobby. I didn’t have any information about Sean so I used that as my reason to stay.

  “One more, for old time’s sake.” I placed my bet.

  The others did the same.

  “You know, if my dad finds Sean before I do and Sean is in a compromising position, I don’t think he’ll write an article solely about Sean being a big winner. Nope. I bet the story angle wi
ll be about the fall of instant big money winners. Dad’ll want to interview people here. He’ll find out about Sean’s extracurricular activities. Sean’s wife will read the article. The whole thing will become a bad scene,” I said. I was confident Dad wouldn’t write such an article. Dad wasn’t a clickbait kinda guy, but I took a gamble Jessica didn’t know that. She didn’t strike me as the newspaper-reading type.

  Jessica surveyed me, then turned back to the wheel and gave it a spin. Not looking at me, she said, “You know that older hotel off the interstate between Wind River and Woodhaven? They have a card room. Who knew? I guess because they’re on the tip of the reservation and owned by the local tribe, they’re allowed.” She gave me a pointed look. “Maybe you should take your gambling to that establishment.” She was talking about Graycloud’s place.

  “Card rooms are allowed off reservations.” Working in a casino, shouldn’t she know that?

  “Hey, hey,” Bushy Bob said to Jessica in a jovial, cautionary voice. “We can’t be mean to the winners. Because one day they’ll be the losers and spending their hard-earned cash at your table. I’m a prime example.”

  Jessica cut her eyes to me. My gut said she was telling me something more than to take a hike.

  I nodded slightly. The wheel stopped.

  “Double-ohs,” Jessica said with surprise.

  Bushy Bob clapped his hands with glee. “Good for you.” He patted his beefy hands against my back. “You should keep going.”

  I sat in stunned silence.

  “Do you plan on coming back on certain days? Let me know so I can avoid them,” Lanky said.

  Jessica pushed my chips to me. I collected them and stood.

  “Thanks everyone,” I said, “but I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

  “You should come back at least one more time,” Bushy Bob said. “Thirds a charm and all that.”

  I glanced toward the exit. I sure hoped today wouldn’t be a repeat of last time. I thanked them again, cashed out, and requested a guard to walk me to my car.

  Even as I drove away, I waited for the boom to drop. At any moment, I expected to be T-boned by another car or someone to jump up from my back seat (No one was there. I’d checked when I got in.).

  Nothing happened, but I sat on the edge of my seat anyway, constantly checking my mirrors.

  The Soaring Eagle was an older two-story motel with ten rooms that faced the interstate with a handful of cottages behind it. The cottages were the moneymakers because they looked at the river, and the views were amazing. At night, with timberland in the background and a full moon, the Windy River looked like a black silk ribbon strung through the trees.

  Though the buildings were old, they were well cared for. Also on the property was a diner called The Chief, a popular hangout for older locals. The large backlit sign of the diner depicted a Native American in full headdress with a scornful expression. In fact, the cook and owner of The Chief, Graycloud, resembled the dude on the sign. Intimidating, even if he did make the best cinnamon buns in the entire world.

  I drove through the parking lot, looking for Sean’s work truck. Truthfully, I’d have been surprised if he parked where anyone driving by could see it. The parking lot could be seen from the interstate. I pulled around the back to the cabins and drove slowly down the gravel drive that divided the cabins from the back of the motel. Alongside the third cabin was Sean’s work truck.

  Bingo!

  Parked next to it was a small beat-up Corolla. I rolled to the next cabin that was empty and pulled into its parking spot, removing me from Sean’s cabin’s sight line. I texted the Corolla’s plate number to Toby for owner confirmation. He got back to me minutes later. Kimberly Mugg. He even sent her driver’s license photo. She looked remarkably like Shannon, and I was a struck by how predictable Sean was by sticking to his “type.” Did I resemble Carson’s wife? Was I his type? Had that been my appeal? Was she, the real wife, older and I was the cliché “newer model”? Thinking about all the what-if’s gave me a stomachache.

  I tucked Carson’s pack under my seat and pulled my camera from the bag stowed on the passenger floorboard where I had prepared it for nighttime photography. Like all true PNWer’s, I kept a Seahawks fleece pullover in my back seat, so I pulled that on then quietly exited the car, making sure to lock it and tuck my keys in my pocket.

  The evening was eerily quiet, even with the trucks and cars speeding down the highway. The space where the cabins were located seemed in a bubble of their own. The quiet river to my right was a murky, winding swath and made me think of the phrase “the tangled webs we weave.”

  Chills in the form of goosebumps ran up my arms. I hung my camera from around my neck and wished I had something other than my key to use as a tool for defense. Worse case? I was prepared to bean someone upside the head with my camera.

  Using the cabin as cover, I crept around the backside, avoiding slashes of light. Not that there were many. Sean had pulled closed the curtains in every room. Only peeks of light crept through minuscule cracks. I crouched low and penguin-walked to the cars and felt their engines. They were cold; Sean and Kimmie had been here for a while. I moved out of sight of the door, placing myself around the corner where I could hear if they came out. I crouched against the cabin, leaning my back onto it for support.

  The chances of getting a money shot were slim unless Sean and Kimmie came out the door and offered it up to me. Perhaps I could catch them in an embrace when they separated for the night?

  I texted Shannon to see if she had an idea of when Sean typically came home.

  She replied: Tomorrow. He’s on a camping trip with friends.

  Me: U know w/who?

  Shannon: Orville and someone called Mug

  I groaned. Cael Orville and Sean had been friends since grade school. I had no doubt Orville knew everything Sean was up to and was the keeper of secrets. The fact that he would lie for Sean didn’t surprise me. The audacity to tell Shannon he was camping with someone named Mug infuriated me. I bet he sold it to himself that this way he wasn’t really lying. I was of a good mind to rap on the door and use my camera to brain him, strictly on principle alone.

  I replied: Is this normal for him? This trip?

  Carson had taken lots of trips, but he’d done that from the beginning, so it was my normal.

  Shannon: No, says he stressed (eye roll emoji)

  Asking her if she knew about the millions he’d won would require a delicate hand. I waved my thumbs over the keyboard unsure of how to broach the subject. If Precious were here, she’d tell me to just ask. She was a rip-the-Band-Aid-off type person. But this didn’t seem like a situation that would benefit from ripping, so I went with the middle line.

  Me: He gambled enough. Any chance he won?

  Shannon: He always won and then he’d lose it the next time. Up and down.

  Me: Word on the street is he won big

  There was a long pause.

  Finally, Shannon: How big?

  Me: Let me find out the facts and get back to you.

  Shannon: Okay.

  So she didn’t know. Darn that Sean Kleppner. He needed his butt kicked. I hated lying to her, but I didn’t want to bring her any more pain until I had the money shot and she could make good on it. I really wanted to nail Sean’s heiney to the wall.

  When a breeze from the river swept across me, I shivered. Then my stomach growled. There began my long debate whether I should go get food or wait. In hindsight, I was woefully unprepared and made a note in my phone to stock stakeout food in my car.

  My end game was to get the shot, and I would stay as long as I needed. Food would be essential. I scampered to my car to get some cash. Then, staying in the shadows, I jogged to the diner. Scorch marks stained the earth, and dark soot spots were along the concrete side of the diner. Graycloud was lucky he’d caught the fire in time. He could have lost the diner and the motel.

  Walter Graycloud was behind the counter reading a paperback. Two truckers were in a boot
h.

  He eyed me when I stepped up to the counter, his gaze lingering on my camera.

  “Hi,” I said. I was hoping his friendship with my dad would be to my benefit. “Can I get a few things to go?”

  “To go where? Back to cabin four that you haven’t paid for?”

  “I…ah…” I scratched my head and glanced at the truckers to see if I recognized them. I didn’t. “Did you happen to hear about my husband dying?” I said quietly.

  He nodded once.

  “And that I inherited his security firm, which also offers PI services? I mean, not that I knew he was a PI… Apparently, some others did, but besides that.”

  He nodded again.

  I whispered, “I’m on a case and need some food and coffee, please.”

  He lowered his book to the counter and picked up a Styrofoam cup. He filled it with coffee. “Do you know, Samantha, that the views from the cabins are stunning? Except the bedrooms. Those are on the side of the cabin and only observe another cabin’s bedroom.” He stuck a lid on the cup.

  His message was loud and clear. My money shot was going to cost me.

  “Do you have any more cinnamon rolls?” Chances were slim considering the late hour.

  “I have two.”

  “I’ll take them.” I beamed at him. At least there was this perk.

  “Your father says that you don’t sleep well in your home,” Graycloud said.

  I shrugged, trying not to commit either way. I hated that Dad was worrying.

  Graycloud put my rolls in a container and set them on the counter, the coffee and a cabin key next to it. “Typically, when the sun comes up, the people in the cabin next to you leave. Not anytime sooner. So you might want to make sure you draw your curtains so they won’t disturb you.”

  I put my wad of cash on the counter. “Is this enough?” He let me keep a few bills.

  “Samantha,” he said as I was about to push open the door. “An eagle cannot hunt or stalk its prey if it is tired. That’s when the eagle becomes prey.”