by Dennis, Pat
The scent of Tom’s aftershave drifted toward Betty. She recognized it as Burberry Sport for Men, a pricey little item that her ex-husband started wearing after he met his sugar-mommy. Before that, the only fragrance Larry wore was Old Spice.
Betty leaned over and asked, “Is this the first murder at Moose Bay?”
Tom nodded. “There’s been a few deaths before, but they’ve all been natural.”
Betty asked, “Describe natural.”
Tom sipped the last bit of coffee in his cup before answering. “The usual. Heart attacks, strokes, the sort of thing that happens when seventy percent of your clientele is older. We’ve never even had a suicide here.”
“That’s pretty amazing,” Betty said, remembering the frightening statistics of towns that allow legalized gambling. Las Vegas alone boosts twice the national average for suicide. And these days there were mini Las Vegas’s popping up all over the country.
Tom added, “My staff is trained to keep an eye out for anything suspicious or disturbing. We take suicide prevention very seriously. There’s nothing worse than gambling gone bad.”
“With your clean history, having a murder delivered to your front door must have been shocking,” Betty admitted.
Tom answered honestly. “Not just me, but to our employees as well. Everyone’s concerned about the effect it will have on business. Even when a ninety-nine-year-old dies in their sleep in one of our hotel rooms, it makes the papers. A drop in business always follows, at least for a couple of days.”
“Well, I would have to think that someone winning thirteen million is bound to help the casino. That big of a jackpot will receive nationwide publicity.”
Tom said, “The progressive win is my other problem. The news about it could turn out to be bad. There’s something not right about that win.”
She understood his anguish. A suspicious win could be just the spoiled icing on the cake the casino didn’t need. Like any gaming establishment, Moose Bay wouldn’t pay a large sum of money until the win was validated. If the win turned out to be a malfunction or—high-tech robbery—not a penny would change hands.
“Of course, the winner’s already threatened us with a lawsuit,” he said.
Betty grabbed the black carafe and refilled both of their cups with coffee. It was going to be a very long day. She asked, “What do you think happened—a malfunction? Did someone hack into the system?”
“No idea. It’s just … something’s off.” Songbird slowly scratched his head. “The win registered but the system’s microchip set off a warning at the same time. That’s very odd.”
The suspected tampering wasn’t good news, especially if other players found out about Moose Bay’s hesitation to hand over a check. Gamblers wouldn’t care about the legalities of the win. The only thing they’d remember was that Moose Bay refused to pay.
Betty stirred a stream of cream into her cup and asked, “Have you let the press know what’s going on?”
“Not yet,” Songbird replies, “not until we can say one way or the other what we’re going to do.”
“You can bet the alleged winner will definitely let them now,” Betty said before advising, “It will look better if it came from you first.”
Songbird nodded his head in agreement. “We have our guys working on it, as well as at the other end, in Nevada. We’ve notified the gaming company that developed the software to look into possible tampering.”
He fiddled nervously with his watch and continued, “And if it gets out, every wise-guy with a computer will decide they can figure out a way to cheat Moose Bay out of millions. Eventually, one of them will.”
Betty nodded. One bad act usually led to another. “Speaking of news, either good or bad. I haven’t seen any media types poking around.” If the crime had occurred in Chicago, Betty knew dozens of camera crews would be following their every move by now.
Tom said, “Oh they’re here, all right. They started arriving twenty minutes after the I-Reporter put it on You Tube. Since it’s tribal land. I can keep them from coming onto the casino’s campus. But half a dozen news trucks are currently parked outside the entrance, which is off reservation.”
It crossed Betty’s mind that the two incidences—the homicide and an alleged mega jackpot malfunction—might be connected. Having two major crimes linked to the same place, and occurring in such a short time span, could hardly be considered coincidental.
“Did you tell Severson’s there’s something’s wrong with the progressive win?” Betty asked.
Tom shook his head. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Let’s keep him focused on Farsi’s death until I have more facts.”
The subject seemed to be finished for the moment, so Betty asked a question about which she’d been very curious. “How did Severson become the town sheriff at such a young age?”
“The same way everything is done in this town—connections. His father was the sheriff before him. His dad was killed by a sixteen year-old punk during an attempted robbery at a convenience store.”
“That’s horrible,” Betty responded. Her heart ached every time she heard of one of the good guys being killed by one of the bad. It reminded her that every single law enforcement officer’s life was on the line daily, including her son’s. Yet, the fact that Severson’s father was killed easily explained his contempt for Tillie’s convenience store escapade.
Tom continued, “I guess most people felt sorry for the kid, so they voted for him. None of us thought he would actually get elected. He was only twenty-three years old at the time.”
“What kind of Sheriff has he been?” Betty asked, suspecting once the kid was sworn in it would have been next to impossible to get rid of him, even if he was inept.
Tom’s answer surprised her. “Not that bad, but don’t forget where we’re located. Usually the biggest thing that happens is someone steals an outboard motor.”
The door to the conference room opened and a casino worker entered, pushing a cart filled with trays of pastries.
Betty gave him a quizzical look.
Tom explained. “The sheriff requested we provide treats for the passengers he’s interviewing. Severson said people would open up to him more easily if they’re on a sugar high. But between you and me? I think he just wants free donuts.”
The two laughed like old friends. They both needed to.
Betty pulled away from the table and stood up. She walked to the window that looked out over the casino’s parking lot. As far as she could see, every parking space was taken. Business was always good at a casino and as the economy worsened, business only improved. After all, losing a retirement fund at a casino was way more fun than losing it on Wall Street.
Betty turned around. “Do you think Severson has the skill to discover who killed Farsi?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. This is the first murder investigation he’s led.”
“His first?” Betty whined just as the door burst open.
“Whose first?” the sheriff asked, entering the room. His deputy followed closely behind.
Tom immediately came to her rescue. “I was telling Betty about my nephew’s first date,” he lied.
“Hmmmph,” Severson muttered and then carefully positioned the files he was carrying at the end of the table. Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out a large legal pad and three pens. He laid them neatly in front of him. Next, he removed a small tape recorder from his case and set it on the table. He looked like a schoolboy who had just taken Let’s Investigate! out of the local library.
With his thumb, Tom gestured towards the voice recorder. “Sheriff, you don’t need to use that.”
Severson puffed up his chest, obviously upset at being challenged. “Of course I have to use a tape recorder. Every law enforcement manual insists that I …”
“That’s not what I mean, Sheriff. This is a casino. Look up at the ceiling.”
Severson glanced up. Positioned overhead were several eyes-in-the-sk
ies.
Tom continued, “Our cameras provide digital audio recordings, as well as visual. There’s not one square inch of this facility that isn’t being captured by our security department.”
The sheriff hesitated before responding. “Turn off your surveillance system for this room. I’m not sure of the legalities of having the casino record the interviews. Everything has to be by the book. I can’t take a chance of having this case thrown out on a technicality.”
Tom nodded. He hadn’t thought of that. “The system can certainly pinpoint any camera,” Tom said as he turned for the door. “I’ll have them shut this one off—just let me know when we can turn it back on.” He gave Betty a wave and disappeared through the door.
Betty slid a piece of paper in front of the sheriff. “This is the list of clients I’ve scheduled so far. You asked me to schedule them in ten-minute increments.”
The sheriff scanned the information. “There are only eight listed.”
“I’ll locate more while you’re interviewing the first eight.”
“You didn’t think I was going to interview everyone by myself, did you? I don’t have time for that. Two other officers will be interviewing suspects at the same time I do.”
Betty bristled. There was no reason for the sheriff to refer to her elderly clients as suspects.
“Should I schedule three interviews at one time then? One for each of you?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Severson nodded.
“Okay, I’ll try. But, you should know that most of my clients have purchased an Early Bird Bingo packet, so they’ll be reluctant to ...”
Betty stopped speaking when Severson flung his pen across the room.
He glared at her and said, “Mrs. Chance, I am trying to solve a murder. I don’t care if your passengers are scheduled to play Texas Hold’em with the Pope, my investigation comes first.”
“I understand,” she answered solemnly.
The sheriff turned on the voice recorder before adding, “There’s one more thing. You’re going to have to arrange for transportation back to Chicago for your passengers. The Take A Chance bus is officially a crime scene. It’s staying in Minnesota until the BCA releases it.”
“When will that be?” Betty asked, knowing that any investigation by the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension could take months.
“Last time I checked, there was an eight week backlog.”
Betty sputtered, “Sheriff, I have to pay for the bus every day I have it.”
He smirked. “Don’t you have insurance?”
To be honest, Betty didn’t know if the insurance would cover any of the events of the last twenty-four hours. Lori made all of the decisions when it came to insurance, or any financial matter.
In a stern voice Severson said, “It could be worse.”
“How?” Betty wanted to know.
“I could keep every client of yours locked up in the town’s jail, if I wanted. As far as I’m concerned, everyone on your tour is connected to Farsi’s murder, until proven otherwise. That means everyone, from the eighty-year-olds with sticker-decorated walkers to … well, you.”
Betty knew the sheriff was bluffing but she began to despise the man. If he treated her this rudely, there was no telling how he would treat her clients. He’d more than likely alienate every person he encountered, making it impossible to catch the killer.
It came to her in a flash. If anyone were going to catch the murderer, it would have to be her. And, she needed to do it before someone else was found dead. Or even, thought satisfyingly, arrested for slapping a gun toting, boy toy sheriff.
Chapter 7
Betty pushed open the exit door and stormed out of the conference room in a fury. As she hustled down the hallway, her heels made loud clicking sounds on the highly polished oak floor.
“Betty, wait up,” Tom yelled, following closely behind her.
She kept walking, her breathing labored and her lips tightly pursed. She didn’t have a history of panic attacks, but she felt one could be coming on. An inexperienced rookie was threatening both her and Take A Chance Tours.
Betty finally stopped moving when she felt Tom’s hand on her shoulder.
“I saw you bolt out of the room. What happened?” Tom asked.
Betty sighed. “I don’t know, Tom,” she said. “ Maybe everything’s hitting me all at once.”
He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze then let his hand drop to his side. “You’ve had a rough time, no doubt,” he said.
She responded, “First the murder, then the bus being declared a crime scene, not having slept in over 24 hours, and now the sheriff threatening to toss all of my clients into jail …”
Tom burst out laughing. “Have you seen this town’s jail? The holding cell’s the size of a clown car. Your clients would have to take turns.”
Betty smiled. “I guess I just don’t like being bullied, especially by a punk kid.”
Tom nodded in agreement. “Severson can be a jerk, but I think his heart’s in the right place.”
“What place is that?” she asked. “The Senior Prom?”
Tom laughed. Betty reminded him of his own mom, always willing to serve up a wisecrack or a slice of apple pie. He felt a kinship with her since the first day they’d met. Two peas in a crazy pod. “If you need help with getting a bus to take your people back to Chicago, I can make a few calls.”
“Thanks, but I’ll contact Lori. She should be able to get another bus here by the time we need to leave.”
“Say, why don’t I give your people tickets for the mentalist Boris the Baffler tonight?” Tom offered. “The guy’s a great showman; plus, I think he can actually read minds.”
She gave him a grateful thumbs-up. Her clients loved anything free. “That would be wonderful. Thank you,” she said and gently touched his arm.
The duo walked to the end of the hallway together, and reached the entrance to the casino. The electronic-sounding mimic of coins crashing onto metal assaulted Betty from all directions.
She glanced at her wristwatch. “I still have to schedule more clients for interviews.”
“I could have their names called over the intercom,” Tom suggested.
Betty shook her head. “I don’t think they’ll appreciate that. I’ll ask Tillie to give me a hand. Thanks for everything, Tom,” she said. Considering the trouble she brought to his door, she knew the head of security could have taken a very different attitude than that of a friend.
“The tickets will be at the box office,” Tom assured her as he walked away.
Betty headed toward the brown velvet settee that sat against the wall in the hallway. She needed to make a few calls and once she entered the gaming area, it would be too difficult to talk on her cell phone. She sat down and pushed 2 on her speed dial.
Her office phone rang. A high-pitched nasal voice answered, “Good Morning, Take A Chance Tours.”
Surprised, Betty asked, “Isn’t this your day off, Gloria? Is Lori sick again?” The fact that Lori wasn’t in the office again concerned Betty. She’d been taking off more than usual, lately. Betty was afraid there could be something medically wrong with her niece. Something Lori hadn’t shared. If so, that could explain why she’d been acting so secretive.
“Lori’s on her way to Moose Bay,” Gloria answered.
Although her niece was told to stay put in Chicago, Lori usually did what Lori wanted. Now that she knew, she wasn’t all that surprised.
“Is she driving up?” Betty asked.
“She’s decided to fly. She’ll be arriving soon.”
Betty was glad. It would feel good to have Lori around for support.
“Have the phones been busy this morning?” Betty asked.
“I’ve already taken six cancellations,” Gloria told her.
Lori’s theory had proven correct. News was instantaneous, especially if it was bad.
“Any of them give you a reason for canceling?”
“A few mentioned the mu
rder,” Gloria replied, “but the others didn’t offer an explanation.”
“You’ll probably have more calls,” Betty warned.
“Actually, I have two on hold right now, “ Gloria informed her.
Crap!
“After you help them, check with the Minnesota charter companies. See if you can arrange a bus to take us back to Chicago.”
“But, I’ve never …”
“Gloria, it’ll be easy. You’re a smart woman. I’ll call you in a few hours to see what you’ve found out. But take care of the customers on hold first.”
The second she hung up, Betty regretted doing so. She’d forgotten to tell Gloria not to talk to any reporters who might call. Not only was her occasional employee extremely talkative, she excelled in exaggeration. Gloria claimed her flair for creative chatter developed as a result of reading too many books while working as a librarian. There was no telling what would end up on the ten o’clock news if Gloria were involved.
Still, with all her chattiness, Gloria was one of Betty’s favorite people. If it weren’t for Gloria, Betty would never have listened to the audio books on positive thinking that changed her life.
Betty hit 6 on her speed dial. It took ten rings before Tillie answered.
Tillie said, “Sorry, I didn’t call right back. I saw your name on the ID, but I was in the middle of putting out a cigarette.”
At that very moment, Betty noticed Tillie walking toward her while talking on her cell.
Tillie grinned at her, waved, and continued speaking. “I lied earlier about having an appointment, I just wanted to get away from Hannah.”
Tillie clicked off her phone when she was within a foot of the settee.
Betty shrugged. “I can’t say I blame you. By the way, her son’s a lawyer.”
Tillie burst out laughing. “Ain’t that the icing on the pie? Did she threaten to sue?”
“Her son told her she might have a case.”
“A case of Jack Daniels,” Tillie quipped. “He sounds as nutty as she is. Know what really amazes me?”