If my father had women blowing on his dice, that meant he was at the craps table. I proceeded there and found the scene Owen Johnson had described.
“Dad!” I exclaimed loudly. I gave him a hug and squeezed in between him and a lady in a tight sweater. I said to the woman, “You don’t mind if I stand here next to my father, do you?”
“Not at all,” she said with a shrug. The man on the other side of her gave me a grateful look then selected two dice and prepared to roll. The table hushed.
I turned to my father and whispered, “How goes? I bumped into Owen Johnson on the way in, and he says you’re hot tonight.”
“Owen’s got a funny definition of hot. I just rolled a big red, but at least I’m having fun.” He handed me a roll of quarters. “Here. Go check out Canuso’s new one-armed bandits.”
“Really?” I accepted the roll of coins.
He looked me steadily in the eyes. “The machine on the far end is bound to pay out soon.” He blinked slowly. “Trust me.”
I took the quarters and made my way over to the slot machines. The Canuso Lake Casino had a cornucopia of brand-new machines, with high-definition screens and comfy bucket seats, but they’d recently added a dozen classic slots, vintage one-armed bandits. Over the cacophony of computerized sound effects, I heard the clinking and pinging of coins on metal.
The old machine at the end was unoccupied, so I took a seat on a wooden chair, plugged in a quarter, and pulled the lever. My father must have sent me to that particular spot for a reason, so I scanned the casino while the symbols whirled in front of me. The whirling stopped, and I felt a twinge of something. Hopes dashed. I wasn’t a winner. I plunked in another quarter and promptly lost it. I put in more quarters, quickly forgetting my original purpose.
The machine ate my final quarter, hadn’t paid out once, and showed absolutely no remorse. I called it some choice words and left in search of more quarters. I changed forty of my fifty dollars, which seemed reasonable, and got back to my machine, whom I had nicknamed Jerkface.
I was running low on funds when noise at one of the blackjack tables drew me out of my hypnotic daze.
Finally, I saw what my father had called me out to the casino to see. Tim Barber, the sixty-something employee from the Koenig Estate, was making a fuss at a blackjack table. I couldn’t tell if he was celebrating or complaining, but his stacks of colored chips exceeded the amount I’d expect to see in front of someone on a handyman’s salary.
Was he spending the cash he’d earned on the side as a hit man? Jackpot! I started taking pictures with my phone.
A man in a suit with a bolo tie blocked my view.
“Has someone at the blackjack table caught your eye?” he asked.
I plugged another quarter into my vintage machine. “Ginger ale, please,” I said without looking up.
“Stormy, I thought you were a root beer gal.” The man leaned against the money muncher I’d named Jerkface. “Root beer floats in particular,” he said. “I cherish the memories of the few times you let me buy you one, anyway.”
I looked up into the face of Colt Canuso. I hadn’t talked to him since high school, but his name came to me instantly, along with a flood of memories that gave me a teenage flutter.
“Colt Canuso, you never bought me one single root beer float,” I said.
He flicked his lanky black hair off his forehead and turned on his megawatt grin. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“You bought yourself one, with two straws, and you went around trying to get girls to share with you.”
He chuckled and turned his brown eyes down to his pointed, western-style boots. “I regret my youthful ways,” he said. “My intentions were good, but I didn’t understand generosity the way I do now.” He flicked his eyes up to mine and said huskily, “Let me buy you a root beer float, and you’ll see.”
“Another time,” I said as I turned toward the slot machine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to feed the rest of my pocket change to Jerkface here.”
He remained leaning against the machine, moving only to adjust his bolo string tie. “You want me to leave so you can keep taking pictures inside my casino. I know all about your new career as a detective, and I’m sure you’re not here just to get grime on your fingers from a bucket of coins. You’re watching someone. But why bother with your little phone when you can get footage from my eyes in the sky?”
I looked him in the eyes. “You’d give me footage?”
He shrugged. “Would it hurt to ask? You might find me very generous.”
I scanned down to his hand, stopping on his wedding band. “Your wife might not like you being so generous,” I said.
He pulled away from the slot machine and fidgeted with the ring. “She’s the one who taught me what it means,” he said. “We had a good six years followed by two bad ones. She’s gone now, free of her pain.”
“Colt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Was that Susan?” I shook my head. “Of course it was, and I knew about her passing. She was friends with my friend Jessica.”
“How is Jessica? She never comes around. You should bring her with you. Are you coming Friday? You won’t believe who we have playing in the lounge.” He continued to tell me about the upcoming weekend’s entertainment, but I wasn’t listening. I’d pushed my chair back enough to afford me a view of the blackjack table.
Tim Barber had been joined by another Koenig employee. The butler, Randy, was tugging on Tim’s arm, trying to get him away from the table. After a flurry of arm waving, Tim gathered his chips and allowed himself to be led away by Randy.
I stood and shocked Colt into silence by giving him a hug. He was no longer the scrawny kid I’d grown up with, but a broad-shouldered man whose athletic physique was barely disguised by his suit.
“Good to see you, Colt. I’ll tell Jessica you said hello.”
He stepped back and glanced over his shoulder. “Your mark is leaving,” he said.
I plugged my last quarter into Jerkface and pulled the handle. “Not at all,” I said. “But I’m out of dough. You know what they say. Eat your gambling money, but don’t gamble your eating money.”
He gave me a slow smile. “Don’t worry so much about eating money. I’ll buy you dinner any time.”
I thanked him and walked away, slowing to let Tim and Randy stay ahead of me. They stopped at the cashier’s cage, cashed Tim’s chips quickly, and went toward the exit. They seemed unaware I was following, but spoke in hushed voices I couldn’t hear.
Once they got outside, away from the clatter of the casino, I could hear snippets of their conversation. They stood near the entrance, not far from the taxi stand.
Tim was saying, “But fun money’s for spending. It was just a bit of cash I got as a bonus.”
Randy growled something in a tone too low for me to catch.
Tim cried, “But I’m supposed to spend it. Fun money’s for spending!”
Randy told him to be quiet and looked around. I pretended to be checking something on my phone.
Tim continued to complain, but his words were drowned out by the engine of a dark vehicle pulling up.
The two men climbed into the vehicle, joining at least one other person, possibly more. The SUV’s windows were tinted, so I couldn’t identify its occupants.
I made certain the flash was turned off before I snapped some images of the truck’s license plate as it drove away.
Chapter 13
Tuesday morning, I awoke to knocking.
That was unusual, because I was used to being woken by either my digital alarm clock or my cat alarm clock, the latter being the more persistent one, with his raspy tongue licking on my forehead.
Because I assumed the knock belonged to Logan, I ran to answer the door clad only in a thin sleeping camisole. I unlatched the door and threw it open.
On my step, in his dark police uniform, stood Captain Tony Milano.
“Good morning, Miss Day,” Tony said stiffly.
As his
eyes roved down my camisole and bare legs, his expression went from surprised to agitated, which was a look I knew well. Ever since my return to Misty Falls nearly a year earlier, he and I had been butting heads and trading threats. He’d always been arrogant, but his promotion to captain had actually made him less agreeable.
It hadn’t always been that way between us. Back when Tony was a twenty-three-year-old rookie with big brown eyes and a dark buzzcut, he’d trained with my father and spent a lot of time at our house. I was just a teen and as impressionable as any girl. Though I pretended my biggest crushes were on singers and actors, if there’d been a magazine poster of Tony Milano, I would have put it on my wall.
My fixation on my father’s partner was why I rebuffed the advances of guys my age, like Colt Canuso, who would have been a great high school sweetheart. My life might have been very different if only I could have viewed the scrawny teen version of Colt in the same fawning light as I saw Tony.
Once I was much older, I did have a secret fling with Tony. It was brief, and while it got him out of my system, it only got me more into his. But then I left town, and he didn’t waste time getting a wife and the first of three kids. Since then, the unsaid things between us had remained mostly unsaid.
Tony said, “Do you always answer the door like this?”
“Just when I’m really excited about early-morning guests waking me from good dreams.”
His eye twitched. “Put some clothes on. I’m here for official police business.”
I put my hand on my hip. “Are you saying clothes would be optional if you were here for unofficial business?”
He made a flustered, irritated noise as he came inside and closed the door behind him.
I excused myself, quickly pulled on some clothes, and poked my head into Jessica’s room to warn her about our guest. She grunted and rolled over. Jeffrey, sprawled on her spare pillow, showed more concern. He walked over Jessica and trotted out, accompanying me back to the kitchen, his sleek gray tail flashing curious question marks.
He paused when he saw Tony seated at the table, gray ears twitching as he sniffed the air. He padded over and jumped onto Tony’s lap without an invitation.
Tony’s expression lightened. “Aren’t you friendly?” He looked up at me. “How long have you had this cat?”
“If you didn’t meet Jeffrey the last time you were over, it’s because he’s afraid of boots. If he hears heavy footsteps, he hides.”
Tony tentatively patted Jeffrey’s head. “Who’s a scaredy cat? Is it you? Are you the scaredy cat?”
“Don’t tease him,” I said defensively. “He’s very brave. Avoiding people wearing boots is good sense for someone with four paws and a tail.”
“The kids are bugging me for a dog,” Tony said with a tired sigh. “They wanted to prove they could take care of one, so we looked after the neighbor’s German shepherd for a few days while they were out of town. Everything was going fine until Harry went missing.”
I measured out some coffee grounds and put on the coffee. “Harry? Don’t tell me your kids lost the dog.”
“Harry Potter is the name of our guinea pig. He’s got a little white streak on his head, like this.” Tony used his fingertip to trace a lightning bolt on his forehead. “You don’t think you’re going to get attached to a furry rodent, but the darn things steal your heart.” He scratched under Jeffrey’s chin and leaned forward to kiss the top of his head.
I was so taken aback by this kinder, gentler, pet-loving version of Tony that I forgot where we kept the coffee mugs and had to search all the cupboards.
Tony continued, “The kids were devastated, and the owners of the German shepherd were horrified. We all thought the dog ate the guinea pig.”
“Did he?” I joined him at the table.
“Tony Junior said his heart was broken, and the only way it could be healed was if we got a dog. He already had one picked out. A Jack Russell terrier.” Tony paused, and much to Jeffrey’s apparent delight, began petting him with both hands. “I suspected things were moving along a little too conveniently,” he said. “So, I went looking for Harry Potter, and I found him.” His expression turned grim.
I gasped and raised my hand to my mouth. “Your kids killed him and buried him in the backyard.”
“God, no,” Tony said. “Harry was in his older, smaller cage, at the back of my daughter’s closet. The two of them were in on it together.”
“The little brats,” I said. “How did you know?”
“You can hide a guinea pig, but you can’t hide the smell.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve never met Harry, but I’m so glad he’s okay.”
“Sometimes everything works out how it ought to,” he said.
“Are you still getting a dog?”
“And reward those two future con artists for what they did? I don’t think so. Would you?”
“Probably,” I said with a laugh. “Jeffrey’s just a cat, but I spoil him rotten. I’d be a lot worse with kids.”
Tony fixed me with his dark-brown eyes, suddenly serious. “You’d be great with kids.”
I swallowed hard and jumped up to fill our mugs. The coffeemaker wasn’t quite finished and spat onto the hotplate with a hiss while I poured.
“What brings you here?” I asked. “You said there was official police business. Don’t tell me I changed out of my pajamas for nothing.”
“What were you doing at the casino last night? Colt told me you were trying to film someone.”
“You’re friends with Colt? Since when?”
“Since his band opened the casino, more or less. We share information and keep tabs on certain people.”
I set the mugs and creamer on the table and took a seat, pulling my zip-up sweatshirt closed self-consciously. In my rush to get dressed, I hadn’t pulled on a bra, and Tony’s eyes had been trained on my chest. He was still petting Jeffrey on his lap and, despite his police uniform, looked almost gentle and vulnerable.
“You and Colt keep tabs on certain people,” I mused. “Like me?”
Jeffrey reached his limit for cuddles and abruptly jumped off Tony and ran to his food dish. “Now I’m covered in fur,” Tony said. “Do all cats shed so much?” He swiped clumsily at the fur on his dark-blue uniform.
“You’re just spreading it around,” I said. “I’ve got a sticky roller in the bathroom you can use before you go.”
He didn’t say anything, apparently distracted by Jeffrey’s generous gray souvenirs.
I asked, “What else did you and Colt talk about?”
“Mainly about Tim Barber. I saw the footage, courtesy of Colt. The old handyman was throwing around a lot of money at the casino last night.”
“And you think someone paid him off to do something to Dieter Koenig.”
“It does appear that way.” He gave up on the fur and started drinking his coffee. “But I think someone gave him the money as a distraction. We’re supposed to think Tim did something. It’s so obvious that even Tim figured out something was up. He knows he’s in danger. He came into the station early this morning, looking like he hadn’t slept all night, asking to give a statement on the lie detector.”
“Really?”
Tony gave me a playful look. We’d had some fun playing around with the department’s equipment—fun that my father, not to mention the chief, wouldn’t have been pleased about.
I prompted, “And? How’d that go? I thought you guys didn’t use the polygraph anymore.”
“We don’t,” he said. “We had to send Tim home to get some sleep. Once we locate a machine and someone trained to use it, we’ll have Tim come back in. I tried to figure out what else he had on his mind this morning, but he wouldn’t talk. He said he wanted it all recorded while he was on the machine, and nothing less would do. Strange guy.”
I raised my eyebrows and sipped my coffee while everything sunk in. “Dad says Tim Barber has some memory loss from shock therapy a long time ago.”
Tony agreed, “He never was quite right in the head, and he’s got some wild stories about cops and abductions.” He pursed his lips and broke into a grin. “Alien abductions.”
I smirked. “Two questions. When are you interviewing him on the polygraph? And how much are you charging for admission?”
Tony chortled. “I’ll let you know how it goes. In exchange, why don’t you tell me how long your boyfriend, Mr. Beardy Man, has been working for our favorite future pop star?”
“Working for Della? I don’t know how long. Who told you?”
“You did. Just now.”
I held my hands up. “I don’t know anything, and I haven’t told you anything.”
“But you know she’s guilty,” he said.
“Guilty of being tacky,” I said. “What is it you think she did?”
He shrugged. “Not much. Just bashing Dieter Koenig in the back of the head and staging his murder to look like an accident. She was there at the mansion that morning. She claims she slept right through the whole thing. We were doing a sweep of the mansion when Kyle found her, sprawled out on the bed in a guest room, naked except for one of those satin sleep masks.”
“That’s quite the visual,” I commented.
“Kyle may never be the same again.”
“Poor Dimples.”
“He needs to toughen up anyway,” Tony said. “Do you have anything you’d like to share with me?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know anything you don’t, Tony. What we told Kyle at the scene was the whole truth. Logan brought me out there to have breakfast with Dieter Koenig. I swear I had no idea Della was there, or even that the two were dating.”
But now I understood why Logan had held back some details. If I’d known the erratic, prone-to-violence woman was there, I might have brought pepper spray or other weapons of defense to breakfast.
“What about the obvious?” I asked. “Isn’t it possible Dieter Koenig slipped on the diving board and died by a simple accident?”
“People worth a billion dollars don’t die by simple accidents.”
“He wasn’t worth a billion,” I said. “More like thirty million. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Death of a Modern King Page 7