Samantha’s hands flutter. “That’s what I mean. That’s why we should call the whole thing off.”
“This is about finding the clarity you seek, Samantha,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll feel much more serene once that’s achieved.” And I’m hoping I’ll uncover a useful clue or two about whether this pink-and-white widow is Danny’s unlikely killer.
“But what if I hear something I don’t want to hear?” she asks.
I am intrigued. “Whatever might that be?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She stands up. “I’ll go get the chardonnay.”
“I’ll set up at the dining room table,” Trixie calls. She hands Shanelle the compass. “You find north.”
I wouldn’t want a reading done for myself at this moment. What might I hear about my own future? When I won the Ms. America title, not to mention the prize money, I thought my life would be unalleviated bliss from dawn to dusk. Instead everything from my father to my mother to me seems topsy-turvy.
A few minutes later we’re arrayed around the stately mahogany dining table, Trixie at one head, Samantha at the other with Pucci on her lap. Soft music plays. “Please turn off all electronic devices including cell phones, e-readers, and laptop computers,” Trixie says as if we’re in a plane about to depart the gate. “And allow me a moment of silence to connect with the energy of the universe.”
Trixie closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. I am impressed by her seriousness of purpose. But we queens tend to come through when it counts.
Eventually she lays her right hand atop the cards. “Mrs. St. James, do you have specific questions you would like answered? Or would you rather have the spirits tell you whatever it is you need to know?”
Samantha blanches. “I guess I’ll just listen to what the spirits have to say.”
I lay a quieting hand on my mother’s arm. I can tell she’s this close to spewing something that will ruin the karmic nature of the moment.
Trixie shuffles the deck. “For those of you not familiar with Tarot, the cards can be used for meditation, visualization, divination, fortune-telling, or to help solve problems. Some people think the ancient Egyptians or maybe the gypsies came up with it but in fact it originated in Italy in the fifteenth century.”
I’m betting the Italy connection explains why the art on the cards is so gorgeous.
“We will use a simple 3-card layout tonight.” Trixie rises and walks to Samantha’s head of the table. “Just so you know, there is no right way or wrong way to do a reading. You will learn what you need to so long as the intent is pure.”
Uh oh. I’m not naming names but one of us here present has an ulterior motive.
Samantha cuts the deck. Trixie picks it up and fans the cards. “Select three cards and lay them face down on the table,” she instructs. Samantha is sliding out her first choice when a second card slips from the deck and tumbles onto the carpet.
“We have a jumper!” Trixie’s hazel eyes widen. “That card slipped out for a reason and so I must include it in my interpretation.”
Samantha’s face assumes an expression of horror. What is she so afraid of, I wonder? That Danny will make a return trip from the Great Beyond and scream an accusation in her direction?
Trixie prompts Samantha to select a third card then returns to her place. She lays the cards face down on the white silk fabric covering the dining table. “I am doing the situation, obstacle, and solution layout, which is very good for guidance and direction,” she assures Samantha, who I swear is quivering by now.
We all hold our breath as Trixie turns over the first card. “The situation,” she says. She stares at the card for a long moment during which I really hope she’s done her refresher course. Then, “This is the Seven of Swords card,” she declares, and holds it up for us all to see.
It depicts a man carrying a bunch of swords tiptoeing away from a village and glancing around as if he’s mocking the fools he left behind.
Trixie frowns but makes her voice matter-of-fact. “This card has to do with running away from something or procrastinating over something hard. Sometimes, not always, it can signal a hidden dishonor or betrayal.”
Pucci whimpers. Samantha drains all her chardonnay in one gulp. “What could that card have to do with me?” she croaks.
Running away from a crime scene, I’m thinking? Shooting your gigolo?
“How about we move on to the obstacle card?” Shanelle suggests.
“Our jumper,” Trixie says, and turns the card over. “Oh, this one is reversed. It’s the Ten of Pentacles.” She holds it right side up. It portrays a cheerful family scene over which ten gold coins are arranged.
“That one looks good,” my mother pronounces.
“But it’s reversed,” Shanelle points out.
“Which is really too bad because in the upright position it’s all good,” Trixie says. “It signifies wealth, success, and strong family ties.”
Samantha appears stricken. “But when it’s upside down?” she whispers.
Trixie hesitates. “Then, not so much. It has to do with financial worries or being overwhelmed by parental responsibilities. Or maybe inheritance problems.”
Financial worries. Bingo! Did Danny steal from Samantha? Is that how he enriched himself on the sly? Did she shoot him in revenge?
Samantha is frozen in place. We might be in the Nevada desert but she looks like a human ice sculpture. Pucci is gazing up at her mistress’s face with sadness in her little doggie eyes. I wish she could speak because I bet she knows all.
“Why do you think that Ten of Pentacles card jumped out?” I ask.
Samantha doesn’t answer. “I want to see the solution card,” she tells Trixie.
Trixie takes a deep breath before she turns it over. “It’s the Judgment Day card,” she breathes. The picture is of a giant angel in the sky blowing a golden horn. Naked people who are all as pale as Samantha are emerging from their tombs to stretch their skinny arms pleadingly toward heaven.
“Judgment Day,” my mother repeats. “That can be good or that can be bad.”
“Depending,” Shanelle adds.
“This is a serious matter, Mrs. St. James.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Trixie so solemn. “The divine spirit is calling upon you to review your actions. You must ask yourself: Self, is my life going in the correct direction? Or have I made a wrong turn? It’s not too late!” she exclaims, raising her index finger to the sky. “The Divine Spirit is giving you the opportunity to transform!”
“What if she doesn’t want to transform?” my mother wants to know, and from the tortured expression on Samantha’s face, I would guess she doesn’t.
Trixie shakes her head. “As your interpreter, I do not recommend ignoring the Call. If you stay in your old ways and seek your old familiar comforts, Mrs. St. James, I fear you’re headed for trouble.”
My mother pokes me in the thigh. “I hope you’re listening, missy.”
I’m too overwhelmed with the reading’s pertinence for our hostess to consider its implications for me. For what do we have here revealed? Dishonor. Betrayal. Financial worries. Judgment Day. Trixie may not have read Tarot cards since high school but in my opinion she’s done a heck of a job tonight.
“Something occurs to me, Samantha,” I say. “Is there any chance that money ever came between you and Danny?”
“No! Just the opposite. I have more than I need so I was happy to share with him. Compassionate giving fuels inner growth, you know.”
“Just how much dough did you hand over to that shyster?” my mother bellows.
“I have no idea.” Samantha looks confused. “There was cash, of course. And electronics, and clothes ... and we can’t forget the car.” She chuckles, her earlier distress seemingly gone.
“You gave him a car?” Shanelle asks.
“A Cadillac. Just like mine.” My mother harrumphs but Samantha seems not to notice. “Sometimes we’d drive both cars somewhere just for the fun of seeing people react
to them, both the same. Well, except that I have Pucci’s carrier in mine. And the license plates are different, of course. Danny had the silliest license plate. One of those designer ones, you know? It read 1 Hot 1.”
I can too easily imagine Danny taking advantage of this gullible, lonely widow, all in the guise of “fueling her inner growth.” Although maybe at some point—like last Saturday afternoon—she’d had enough.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” My mother slaps the table. “You gave that hoodlum all this and what the heck did he do for you?”
“All kinds of things! Things I couldn’t keep pestering my son with.” Samantha is looking agitated again. Her cheeks are getting as pink as her caftan.
“For example?” I ask. This queen wants details.
“Well …” She hesitates, then, “Money things. I thought it made sense to let Danny manage my money.”
My mother turns sideways in her chair to glare at me. “What did I tell you? She’s as bad as Noreen Dudek!”
“Who’s Noreen Dudek?” Samantha cries.
“Enough with Noreen Dudek!” I raise my voice above the ensuing commotion. “Samantha, you gave Danny access to your accounts?”
“Yes. Checking, savings, he paid my bills—”
My mother raises both arms in the air. “What is with these women? I ask you!”
I shush my mother. “Did he ask you if he could manage your money?”
“It was my idea,” Samantha says.
I just bet.
“Because Calvin always handled all that. I didn’t even know how to write a check. Then when Calvin was gone …” She looks to Trixie for support. “Doesn’t your husband do all that?”
“Actually, no,” Trixie says.
“Mine neither,” Shanelle puts in.
“Maybe this is the transformation the Divine Spirit is calling you to make,” Trixie says. “Maybe what you need to do is learn to take care of yourself without a man.”
“We all have to do that eventually,” my mother says. “Whether we want to or not.”
“That’s a good way to look at it!” Trixie cries. “That could be the solution to all your problems!”
Maybe. Or maybe not.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After the Tarot card reading, Trixie decides that what will make our hearts sing is Tex Mex. So she finds us a restaurant with sawdust on the floor, a cowboy at the microphone, and a mechanical bull center stage.
“I’m not getting on that thing,” my mother shouts. This place is noisier than the Strip.
“Maybe after you have a couple of these you will, Mrs. P!” Trixie yells as our pitcher of margaritas is served.
“What kind are these again?” I ask our server, a good-looking guy wearing a cowboy hat and fringed chaps over tight-fitting jeans.
“You ordered Charro Caliente,” he tells me. “The tequila’s infused with jalapeno pepper. It means hot cowboy.”
He winks, Shanelle whoops, and I pour. In short order I hear myself admitting that I wish I were making faster progress figuring out who killed Danny Richter. “It could be Frank or Cassidy or Hans or Samantha or the mystery man who tried to pass counterfeit bills.”
“Or none of the above,” Shanelle says.
“You’ve made progress!” Trixie asserts. “You gave Detective Perelli something to investigate about that Hans guy, whether he was at that dam at the time of the murder. And aren’t you glad you found out that Mrs. St. James let Danny manage her money?”
“These women!” my mother cries. “Are they empty between the ears or what? Who would give some thug they don’t know from Adam control over their money?”
“I’m with you, Mrs. P,” Trixie says. “We beauty queens know how important it is to be knowledgeable about all areas of life. Including finances.”
“Speaking of knowledgeable,” I say, “I never would have guessed tonight was your first Tarot card reading in years, Trixie. You were fabulous!”
We all toast to Trixie. She bows her head modestly. “I spent a lot of time preparing. Isn’t that another thing we’ve all had drilled into us pageant after pageant? The key to success is preparation!”
“Hear, hear,” Shanelle says.
We toast again and order two platters to share—carne asada with black beans and poblano rice, and garlicky shrimp served with sautéed zucchini and chayote, which I guess is a kind of squash.
“I think it was a really bad idea for Samantha to let Danny manage her money,” I say. “But I still find it so hard to believe she killed him, even if she got wind that he was taking advantage of her.”
“And maybe he wasn’t,” Shanelle points out. “Maybe all those expensive things he had were gifts from her. Maybe he didn’t steal a thing.”
“It might have been a good trade for her,” Trixie says. “What she got back from him was companionship. She made it sound like they had a good time together.”
“You know what it’s called when you have to pay for that?” my mother asks.
That shuts us up momentarily. Then I pipe up again. “What I want to know is why Samantha said yesterday that Danny would have been better off never knowing her.”
“She also said she didn’t know how she could live with herself after what she did to him,” Trixie points out.
“None of that jibes with what we know so far. I need to understand what she means when she says those things.” I don’t know if it’s the tequila talking or some insight I’ve gained, but if I’m sure of anything tonight, I’m sure of that.
Trixie tops off our margaritas. “Tonight has renewed my belief in Tarot. I think it’s a very good way to tap into the guiding forces of the universe.”
Hours ago I pooh-poohed Tarot. Now I’m less of a skeptic. All those cards that popped up for Samantha having to do with betrayal and dishonor and money woes have made a semi-believer out of me. They’ve also helped me semi-forget my stairwell tryst with Mario.
Okay. Not really.
“You know who might know more about Danny’s relationship with Samantha?” I ask as we pay our check. “Cassidy.”
“I wonder if she’s working tonight,” Shanelle says.
It’s my lucky night, because she is. My mom, Trixie, and Shanelle all want to take their chances with the slot machines so I’m on my own. I lure Cassidy into a break by offering to treat her to a double fudge doughnut at Starbucks.
I begin by reminding her how helpful I’ve been. “Have you had a chance to put together your material to send to Jennifer, the producer?”
“Not yet.”
I eye her. This last day or two she seems a lot less excited about getting on a reality show. “Jennifer said she’d help and I really think she will.”
“I’ll get around to it.” She chews her doughnut without enthusiasm.
Seeing all those cowboys at the Tex Mex place reminded me of the guy Cassidy ran into as she was leaving the faux volcano. I ask who he is.
“That’s Travis. He was a drinking buddy of Danny’s.”
Interesting. Somebody new in Danny’s orbit.
“He wanted to know how I was holding up,” Cassidy goes on.
Not too well, from the look of it. “Did Danny ever mention a woman named Samantha St. James?”
“Is that the rich old broad he was taking for a ride?”
This characterization fails to surprise me. “So that’s what he was doing?”
“What do you think? It’s not like he was in love with her.”
“Was he stealing from her? Embezzling from her accounts?”
“Maybe. But I think mostly she gave him stuff.”
“Like the car.”
“That was probably the biggest thing. But who the hell knows?” Cassidy’s words are as sassy as ever but her demeanor sure isn’t.
“Are you okay, Cassidy? You seem kind of depressed.” Then I remember. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Danny’s funeral was today. That—”
“It’s not his funeral, okay? I didn’t even go. I’m jus
t sick of talking about him all the time. Danny this, Danny that.” She throws down the rest of her doughnut. “It’s like it’s never gonna end! And in the meanwhile I can’t sleep, I can’t—” She stops.
“Why can’t you sleep?”
“I told you before, I got a bad feeling, okay?”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t feel better if you came clean with Detective Perelli? It might help you turn over a new leaf. Tell her about the trick rolls. Tell her—”
“Are you nuts? Should I tell her about the blackmail, too?” Her eyes fly open, as if she, too, is amazed by what she just let fly.
I lean still closer and lower my voice. “Are you blackmailing somebody?”
“No.” Her chin juts out.
“Was Danny?”
She hesitates. Then, “Maybe.”
“Who was he blackmailing? Samantha?” Then he would have had to know something about her she wanted kept secret. What could that be?
“I don’t know, all right? He didn’t tell me. But I sure as hell am not gonna spill the beans to that detective and have her name me an accessory to the crime.”
I ponder all this. “How long was the blackmailing going on?”
“How should I know? But I don’t think it had to do with the old broad. Because he knew her for a long time before all of a sudden he had mongo cash on his hands. Then he didn’t want to help with the trick rolls anymore and now I’ve got all this crap to fence.” She stands up abruptly. “Okay? You happy now?”
Actually, no. “Do you know anything more about Travis? Like his last name?”
She sets her hands on her hips, wearing an expression of disgust. “I barely know the guy, all right? I don’t think even Danny knew him that well.”
“Think, Cassidy. It really might help.”
She sighs heavily. “Fine. Blakely. Travis Blakely. I’m going back to work.”
I watch her sashay away. It’s interesting how secrets spill out of people in dribs and drabs and often when they’re in a weakened state. Frank confessed his gambling addiction just hours after Danny’s funeral. And Cassidy seemed especially out of sorts tonight, which may be why she dropped this blackmailing bombshell.
Ms America and the Villainy in Vegas (Beauty Queen Mysteries No. 2) Page 13