by Dennis, Pat
Betty maneuvered her way around tables while inhaling deeply in an effort to smell signs of an actual fire. The only smoky scent she could detect came from Mama Bear’s Barbecue. The aroma of smoked hickory and burnt pork was wonderful, but hardly threatening.
When she reached Ogawa, she placed one hand on his shoulder. “We need you to leave now. Will all of you follow me, please?” she asked, and motioned for those at the next table to them to follow as well.
“Is something wrong?” shouted an elderly gentleman seated to the left of Ogawa. He began fiddling with his hearing aide.
“For Pete’s sake,” a woman next to him screamed into his ear as she scooped up another chunk of Pecan Pie ala Mode. “Turn up your hearing aide, Alfred. Can’t you hear the sirens?”
“Sirens? What sirens?” he asked in a panic. “Are the Germans dropping bombs again? Damn Hitler!”
“Yes, damn Hitler, Mr. Yoder,” Betty shouted over the continuing whir, giving him her hand as she helped him stand up. “Now let’s go.”
Mr. Ogawa stood as well. He folded his napkin and placed it carefully on the table before he spoke. “Thank you, Miss Betty. Thank you!”
“There’s no need to thank me, Mr. Ogawa,” Betty shouted over the continuing noise.
“But there is, Miss Betty. There is. You’ve helped me cross another thing off my list of things to do before I die.”
“What’s that?” She asked as she tried to get the elderly group to pick up their pace.
Mr. Ogawa beamed, “Why, number eighty-seven on my list, Miss Betty—to experience a natural disaster. There’s nothing unnatural about fire, is there?”
Unless it’s arson, Betty thought.
**
Thirty minutes later the all-clear notice was given. Betty and Tillie stood in the far corner of the hotel lobby packed with fidgeting gamblers and hotel guests. Betty had no idea where Lori was.
Unfortunately, Hannah was easy to spot. She was walking toward them. Hannah’s eyes were frozen slits of pettiness as stopped in front of them. She announced, “That was a complete waste of time. This place isn’t burning down. I’m starting to believe you’re in cahoots with the casino to stop me from winning my jackpot!”
Betty reminded her, “Hannah, you were at the buffet when the alarm sounded, not sitting at a slot.”
“And just where do you think I’d be right now if the alarm hadn’t sounded? Probably hitting the big one at the Double Diamonds machine, that’s where!” Hannah crooked an index finger pointing directly at Betty. She turned and pushed her way through the crowd in what Betty could only think of as the ultimate hissy fit.
Tillie asked, “Do you think that woman’s ever happy?”
“Only when she’s telling everyone how unhappy she is,” Betty explained. “Did you know Hannah only travels with Take A Chance Tours? I think we’re the only people Hannah has left, besides her son. Maybe that’s why she’s so crabby.”
“Or maybe she’s so crabby because she has no family willing to travel with her,” Tillie retorted.
A voice came over the intercom. “Moose Bay would like to apologize to its guests for any inconvenience. We assure you it is completely safe to return to what you were doing. The alarm turned out to be false.”
Betty heard a few utterances of Thank god, or I told you so as the rabble dispersed. She did notice a couple of dollars being passed between men. Even the chance of the casino burning to the crowd was an opportunity for the most die-hard of gamblers.
A round of applause broke out in the hotel corridor. A parade of young fireman with axes on their shoulders and sporting fireman’s helmets jauntily walked through the crowd.
“M-hmm,” Tillie said, fluttering her eyelids as she used her hand to fan her face. “If there isn’t a fire, then why am I feeling so hot and sweaty, like I should be taking off my clothes?”
Betty agreed. “Firemen are very sexy.”
“You got that right. I mean there are men and then there are—fire men.” Tillie let out a quick wolf whistle. One of the hunkiest men turned around and gave Tillie a quick wink in return. “I can’t believe a real, live firefighter flirted back at me,” Tillie said in a breathless whisper. “Maybe I can convince him to rescue me before I melt from desire.”
“I think it’s a little too late for that,” Betty teased.
Tom Songbird made his way over to the two women. He looked concerned.
“Where’s Lori?” he asked, glancing around.
Betty answered, “We separated earlier to gather up clients. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Do you need to speak with her?”
He hesitated. “I’ll call her on her cell. But first, I’ve something to tell you.”
Tom’s hand gripped Betty’s shoulders. Her stomach did a flip-flop, as if warning her of the turbulence that lay ahead.
Visions of a second victim with a knife sticking out of its back flashed before her eyes. Finally she asked, “Was someone hurt again?”
Before he could answer, Tillie interrupted. “You’ve found another body in a locked room, didn’t you? Just like Farsi?”
Tom shook his head. “We didn’t find a body, but there’s something almost as terrifying.”
“What?” Betty asked, her stomach deciding to do one more cartwheel.
“Another bloody bathroom crime scene. And your business card was lying smack dab in the middle of it.”
“Was her card covered in blood?” Tillie asked, wide-eyed.
“Like red icing on a devil’s food cake.”
**
Lori watched as Slevitch slouched away from her. Like her aunt suggested, she’d guided him out of the buffet when the alarms sounded. He followed her lead, but didn’t say a word. He only grumbled incoherently and acted as if he were irritated at her insistence to flee. As soon as the all clear was given, Slevitch left without saying a goodbye or thanks. She accepted his demeanor as normal for a gambler whose moods probably depended on the status of their bankroll. Lori began looking for Betty and Tillie as she gazed out over the dispersing crowd.
She felt a strong grip at her elbow. Without looking at who was behind her, she allowed herself to be led out of the lobby. The scent of cologne told her all she needed to know. Her guide was Mr. Gorgeous.
“You’re not worried the casino might be wrong, and the fire may actually be real?” she teased as he led her toward the high stakes poker room.
He stepped in front of her and stopped. His face registered a mock frown. “A little extra heat is the least of my concerns. What I’m worried about is luck.”
“As in bad?” she asked coyly, her eyes taking on a look of interest.
“Exactly,” he admitted. “Usually, I don’t give luck a second thought. Poker is a game of skill. But, nothing’s gone well for me since you shot me down at the airport. I can’t afford to act like a teenage boy suffering his first crush. I’m at Moose Bay on business. I play for a living. My name is Tony.”
For the first time it registered with Lori who the man was. She suddenly realized she’d read about him while thumbing through the gaming industry magazines at the office.
“You’re Tony Gillette?” she asked. Gillette was regarded as one of the best poker players in the world.
He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yes.”
“You’ve been on the Galactic Series of Poker. How many championships have you won? Three?” she asked, finally understanding why the legendary player was in northern Minnesota. Songbird had told her that a nationally televised championship poker game was scheduled at Moose Bay within a few days.
“Four,” Gillette corrected and led her into the high limits room where, according to one review she’d read, the “big boys played at big games”. Though she’d been at Moose Bay often, she’d never ventured inside the room. She stayed at the five-dollar tables in the middle of a thousand machines. The noise surrounding those tables was energizing, fun, and deafening. The penny players at the machines would hoot and holler eve
ry time they won fifty cents. The high rollers in this room, however, where the minimum play was often three digits, earned the right to both privacy and a display of opulence that honestly took her breath away.
Brass scones lit up the thirty-foot walls made of imported walnut. A stained glass dome of ebony hand-cup pieces, framed in pewter, resembled a map of the stars. The big dipper was directly above her head. The black shards were embedded with tens of thousands of tiny, flashing fiber optics that were so bright Lori thought she was actually looking at a star-studded sky. It was only an illusion. But, if she wanted to see the real thing? Well, that could happen at a flick of a switch. The dome ceiling would slide open, allowing the high rollers the pleasure of the night sky.
Twelve dark wooden, oval tables were meticulously arranged around the luxurious room, each one with padded leather armrests. High swivel, plush leather swivel-chairs promised comfort for as long as a player could afford to remain in the game. Throughout the room, stunning cocktail waitresses provided impeccable service, retrieving top shelf drinks or anything else the player wanted from the room’s private, s-shaped, solid brass bar.
Tony guided her to the center table where the dealer waited patiently. For now it appeared to be his private table, a fringe benefit available only to the highest of rollers.
“What was it like to win your first tournament?” Lori asked, remembering how thrilled she felt the first time she played for fun.
He smiled. “It felt good, but not as good as when I played poker for the first time, twenty some years ago. I walked away with a thousand bucks in my pocket. I only had twenty bucks to my name when I started playing.”
A cocktail waitress, dressed in a black and red silk bustier edged next to them.
“Beverages?” she asked.
Tony declined. Lori ordered Perrier on the rocks.
“You won a thousand dollars the first time you played poker? That’s pretty impressive,” Lori said, knowing that he must have been very young at the time. Perhaps he’d even been the same age as she was when she discovered the game.
“Not really,” he laughed, sliding three stacks of poker chips in front of her. “I had an edge. I was the only sober player at the table.”
Lori laughed. She stared at the black chips in front of her. A shiver danced up her spine as she fingered one of the stacks.
“Do you know how to play?” Tony asked.
“A little,” she lied as her heart raced. Each chip was worth one hundred dollars.
“I keep half your winnings,” he grinned.
“No problem,” she answered, forgetting momentarily about Take A Chance Tours, her clients, and everything else in her life. “And if I lose?” Lori asked, gently stroking her chips. “What will I owe you then?”
He grinned. “Something other than money.”
“Pray tell,” she teased while pushing three chips out in front of her. “What could I possibly give you?”
His grin disappeared. He answered solemnly, “I’m not sure, yet.”
Chapter 13
As soon as Tom pressed the elevator button Tillie commanded: “Hold this.” The doors closed.
She shoved a make-up bag and a can of hairspray into Tom’s hands as the elevator rose upward. Tillie continued searching her purse. Finally, she yanked a tattered paperback novel from deep inside her bag. Tom dropped the items he was holding back into her purse.
She handed him the book and said, “This is why I thought you found another body in another locked room. Murder is my hobby, or at least reading about it is.”
Betty interjected, “You probably know this Tom, but in a locked room mystery there’s no apparent way for the killer to enter the crime scene, or leave it.”
“Kind of like what happened to Farsi in your bus,” Tom said as the elevator reached the tenth floor. As the brass doors opened, the three stepped out onto the hotel’s multi-colored carpeting and headed down the corridor.
Tillie gestured toward the vintage tome Tom still carried in his hand. He was reading the back cover, or what was left of it, while they walked. She said, “You can borrow Murder in Mesopotamia if you want.”
“Was this copy discovered in Mesopotamia?” Tom said, holding up the well-worn item barely held together by decades of taping—and re-taping.
“Agatha Christie is fun,” Betty assured him as the three headed toward the Penthouse Suite. She’d read the book three times herself. Next to the sweetness of anything remotely chocolate, reading was Betty’s most treasured addiction.
The security chief shook his head and handed the book back to Tillie. “I don’t think I want to read about murder right now. It would be too much like going to work.”
Tom’s comment brought Betty back to the moment. “I’ve never been on this floor before,” she said.
“Few people have. There are only four suites. Each about twenty-four hundred square-feet. And each features a living room, kitchen, three bedrooms and four baths.”
“The suites are bigger than my house,” Betty gasped, knowing the first thing she’d do if she won the lottery would be to reserve a penthouse. As they reached the last suite Betty asked, “You said no one is registered for the suite?”
Tom answered, “That’s what makes this even odder than it already is. The front desk received a complaint of screams coming from inside the suite. That call was made from a wireless cell phone, so we have no idea who called. When we asked security to check on it they discovered … well, you’ll see.”
He opened the door and the three stepped inside a small corridor. At the end of the hallway, Betty saw Severson standing in the center of the living room. Three other policemen were in the room, as well as two security guards. The sheriff nodded to Tom in recognition but continued speaking into his phone.
Tom paused in front of a small door and waited.
Tillie leaned against the wall and whispered, “I get nauseous at the sight of blood. Catch me if I pass out.”
Tom asked, “Are you sure you can do this, Tillie?”
She nodded. “Probably. But, for the first time in my life, I wish was wearing Depends instead of a thong.”
Betty mumbled, “Trust me. You’ll wish that more and more as you get older.”
After clicking off his phone, Severson walked over to the three.
“I’m assuming Tom told you why I wanted you here,” he said.
Tillie chuckled nervously before adding, “Well, you know what happens when you assume, Sheriff? It makes an asshole out of you and …”
Betty jabbed her elbow into Tillie’s side.
“Ouch,” Tillie cried.
“Tom told us, Sheriff,” Betty offered.
Severson opened the door to the hallway bathroom but gave Betty instructions. “Make sure you don’t touch anything.”
She stepped gingerly inside the doorway. If it weren’t for the blood splattered across the white marble tile, mirrors and shiny fixtures, the room was stunning. It included a walk-in shower, a whirlpool for four, and a European styled bidet sitting next to what Betty knew was a remote controlled toilet. She’d seen the commodes at high-end home shows. She couldn’t imagine that they had actually been installed anywhere. Still, it was a brilliant idea, undoubtedly invented by a woman. A married woman.
She noticed the mirror over the double sinks had the most blood on it. The copper red stains only heightened the fact that a portion of the mirror also served as a trendy television monitor that could be turned on or off. Whoever left the blood also left the television blaring inside the mirror, the channel ironically turned to CNN.
Betty’s business card sat in the middle of the vanity, inside what looked like a bloody Rorschach test. Someone had scribbled on the card in ink as well. Even without her glasses, Betty could recognize the name. It was Tillie’s.
Sitting next to the splotch of blood was something else that was familiar: A knife that looked exactly like the one that killed Farsi. Betty stepped backward out of the room.
Tillie leaned her head in, briefly, managing to keep her eyes mostly shut. She pulled back and shivered.
The sheriff led the two women to the living room. “Take a seat,” he said, pointing to the oversized tan leather sectional that seemed to circle half the room. They sat down but Tom remained standing.
Meanwhile, the sheriff walked over to grab his clipboard. As he did, one of the policemen cordoned off the bathroom by placing a big yellow X made from crime scene tape across its doorway.
Tillie muttered, “Shouldn’t we grab some of that crime scene ribbon and start wearing it across our chests?”
Betty gave a nervous laugh.
Tillie added, “Like some psycho beauty pageant?”
“This is all so weird,” Betty added. “One actual murder and the suggestion of another, both connected to Take A Chance.”
“Both of them connected to me, you mean—the felon,” Tillie sighed.
“Not to you,” Betty reminded her. “Everything’s pointing at Take A Chance Tours. You’re not even an employee. You come with the bus we rent.”
Tillie looked up to see if Severson was listening. He wasn’t. She whispered, “When you’re an ex-con, you’re connected to any crime within spitting distance. A lot of cops like to take the easy way out and finger the usual suspect.”
Betty reached over and squeezed her hand. “Everything will be fine.”
Tillie took a deep breath and rested her head on Betty’s shoulder. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
“Hear what?” Severson asked, sitting down on the sofa perpendicular to the women.
Betty let go of Tillie’s hand and answered curtly, “That the Cubs will win the World Series.”
Severson answered sarcastically, “Well, I’m glad to see you’re not taking the possibility of a second murder too seriously.”
Betty bit her lip.
Severson looked at her severely. “You have any idea why your business card was in the bathroom? Or why someone wrote Tillie’s name on it?”