Cashed In

by Jackie Chance

  After he found a home for his last alfalfa sprout, I let him lead us to a table that was uncomfortably close to the flow of dining traffic. I considered asking him to move but dismissed the thought as paranoid.

  “Did you talk to Paul?” I asked between bites of some awesome bleu cheese and pesto lobster cream pasta salad.

  He paused, chewing on a mouthful of lentils. “He was nervous and, frankly, quite disturbed. We met at the coffee bar, and he drank five double espressos.”

  That was enough to make me pause between a garlic breadstick and the cheese souffle. “In what time period?

  “A half hour.”

  Ack. “Poor kid. He’s really messed up.”

  “He may be,” Ian admitted. “He is an addict. No doubt about that. He has himself in complete financial disarray. Apparently his parents are type-As who expect a lot and forgive little. Home pressure is high for this guy.”

  “But do you see Paul as a potential murderer?”

  That seemed to take him aback for a moment. “I have to say that everyone is a potential killer. Not everyone is a likely killer. Love and money are common motivators. A mother may kill without any other psychological pathology on her part when her offspring’s threatened. That doesn’t make her a psychopath.”

  “Okay, you’ve muted it all to an acceptable level. Anyone can kill with a proper motivation.”

  “That’s a simplification, so I offer a qualified yes.”

  Geez, Professor. “So do you know how far in the hole this kid is?” I asked.

  “Almost two hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Whoa! That’s a lot for a teenager. Where is he getting all this money?”

  “For a while from his student loans, now from credit card advances.”

  “That’s scary, that a kid can get that much money so easily. What are these card companies thinking? So now Paul is not only addicted to gambling, he’s addicted to credit cards as well.”

  Ian nodded and dove a fork into his dry grilled salmon. I’d lost my appetite thinking about the mess Paul was in. “But,” I mused aloud, “I doubt Paul went on all those other cruises where they say poker players disappeared. If someone was really after poker players with the intent to rob them, it wouldn’t be this kid.”

  Ian shrugged, wiping the corners of his superclean mouth with a napkin, then leaned over to dab at my left lapel where I’d dribbled some cream sauce. I knew I should consider it a sweet gesture, but it bothered me. “Copycat crime,” he said, placing the napkin on the table, apparently satisfied that this was as clean as he was going to get me. “Happens all the time. Besides, no one knows that these events are connected. They might be nothing more than disturbing coincidence.”

  That word again. “You’re a scientist and you believe in coincidence?”

  “Of course. I gamble don’t I? What’s luck other than fortunate coincidence? Many scientific findings are the result of properly interpreting coincidence. Many seemingly random things actually have been proven to have a purpose.”

  “Then that would make them the antithesis of coincidental, wouldn’t it?”

  Ian cocked his head and smiled. “It all depends on from what direction you look at life. One man’s coincidence is another’s expectation.”

  Ack. This discussion was beginning to give me a headache. I knew less than I did when we started. Perhaps that was Ian’s strategy, dazzle me with his brilliance until I was blinded by the bullshit. I sighed. That wasn’t fair. I was just restless and cranky. Perhaps chocolate would help. “Shall we get some dessert?”

  Ian put a stilling hand on my forearm. That current of sexual awareness rippled through me as it did whenever he touched me. I wondered how I could simultaneously find him intellectually irritating and physically attractive. Weird. “You seem a little wiped out from last night. Stay here and let me get it for you. What would you like?”

  “Whatever you choose,” I answered, distracted by a tall, broad middle-aged Asian man, graying at the temples, who protected his plate of food like locusts were descending. He glanced around furtively before he hurried to a corner table and sat down alone with his back to the room.

  Could this be Sam the Man?

  I glanced from Ian, who was scoping out the dessert options thoroughly enough for it to be the Last Supper, back to the maybe-Sam. I couldn’t resist. I jumped up and tiptoed over to his table, sliding into the seat opposite him. He had his head tucked low, shoveling food in faster than he could possibly chew and swallow.

  “Hi,” I chirped, trying to sound like an airhead. “Are you famous?”

  “Are you stupid?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Exactly.”

  Talk about a non sequitur conversation. I decided to cut to the chase. I wasn’t much for the indirect, I wasn’t patient enough.

  “You’re Sam Hyun.”

  “You’re Belinda Cooley.” He never looked up, never stopped chewing. Talk about a poker face.

  A cold sliver of fear snaked down my spine. “How do you know who I am?”

  “Exactly.”

  I swallowed hard. “You are a legend of Texas Hold ’Em. Winner of eight bracelets, you made the game a household word.”

  “That’s not how you know me. Someone told you who I was.”

  “You and Rawhide, you’ve been playing the game longer than many of today’s stars have been alive.”

  “Rawhide is a con artist. I am a card player.” His words cut the air between us. He clenched his fists, but still looked down at his plate as he bit out the rest. “You wouldn’t recognize the difference because you are like millions today who play Hold ’Em on the damned Internet, drop into some luck and think you know it all.”

  His animosity should have cautioned me. “Actually, there you are wrong. I know I don’t know much about the game. Never claimed to.”

  Finally, Sam the Man raised his head and narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you up to?”

  “Exactly.”

  The corners of his mouth might have twitched. Or I might have imagined it. “I’m on vacation.”

  “No ulterior motive?” I asked.

  “Yes. One.”

  “That is?” I asked, trying not to hold my breath as I waited for the answer.

  “To play cards and win.”

  My mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re going low profile in the tournament?”

  “I figure I eliminate enough of you stars and I might, finally, win one,” he said, ducking his head and concentrating back on his meal like I’d never interrupted.

  After two solid minutes of watching Sam shovel chicken mole into his mouth without a breath, I returned to our table to find a steaming plate of bread pudding bathed in chocolate sauce at my place, a plate of fruit in front of the other chair and no Ian. As I pulled the pudding closer to me, I noticed a bit of cruise line stationery peeking from the bottom of the plate. I slid it out. On the sheet, written in small block print, in ballpoint ink were the words: Play cards, not detective. Stay out of trouble or you could be gone too.

  I looked up in alarm just as a tall man strode by my table. Without meeting my gaze, the Marlboro Man from the line yesterday nodded in acknowledgement and kept walking. Denton Ferris scurried by on the other side. Ian was nowhere to be found.

  Thirteen

  My head was so full of the mystery note, Sam’s possibly incriminating statement, Marlboro Man’s nod and Ian’s disappearance that I almost ran over my mother in the hallway outside the restaurant.

  Not a good move.

  “Belinda Elizabeth Cooley!” she shouted, staring at the stain on my lapel. I suddenly thought she and Ian would get along great. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. What if I were an old decrepit woman who you nearly mowed down?”

  “Versus a semiold, almost-decrepit woman?”

  My dad threw me a wink.

  “Don’t be cheeky,” Elva snapped. “You are already on my bad list for not checking on us during the play last night
. Just go on and play poker like no one else matters in your life. Like it doesn’t matter to you that your poor father and I come on this cruise to spend time with our only daughter and we never see her and she lets us get eliminated from the tournament in the first hour, then when we finally find something to occupy us, your friend has to interrupt.” Deep sigh. Rolling of eyes.

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at Howard. He shrugged.

  “Didn’t catch any cards, huh, Dad?” I asked sympathetically.

  “Not a one, girlie. When you’re dealt a Dolly Parton and the guy next to you gets pocket rockets, you know it’s going to be a bad night.”

  I flashed him a thumbs-up, impressed with his lingo on a 9/5 deal for a pocket.

  “I wanted to play in some hot ring games anyway. I’ll do much better in those. I know when to fold ’em.” He paused and threw me another wink. “I heard about a secret big money ring game with some of the pros. Might talk myself into that one.”

  I froze. Uh-oh. That was the one I’d heard about. The one that might be reason enough to commit murder. “Dad,” I admonished. “You don’t carry that kind of cash around with you.”

  “What do you know about what I carry around with me, girlie?” He leaned over and pinched Elva on the rump. She giggled.

  Ack. “Okay, Dad.” He was probably just talking big, but just in case, I added, “Check with me before you go so I can give you some tips.” And talk you out of it.

  “You got it!”

  As they turned to go, Mom looked askance at my outfit. “Really, Belinda, you shouldn’t try so hard to recapture your youth.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it, realizing arguing or even clarifying was futile. Instead, I used a foolproof distraction technique. “How’s Ben?”

  “Oh Benjamin,” Elva took on that dreamy proud momma look she always got when she thought about her favorite child. “He and those cute girlfriends of his went for a dip in the pool. He’s still in the tournament, you know. He’ll be sure to qualify for that Main Event. He promises he’ll take us to watch him in Las Vegas. At least someone cares about including his parents in his life.”

  I think I was the one who paid for their cruise but in fairness to Mom, I did it reluctantly, and I am sure Ben made it sound like he’d orchestrated the whole thing. Ben was like that. I sighed, figuring for the millionth time in my life that the facts weren’t worth clarifying. Dad patted me on the shoulder, probably figuring the same thing. Elva heard what Elva wanted to believe. When she retold the story of what happened in Las Vegas, I’d gotten Ben kidnapped and somehow he’d managed, doped up and comatose, to save my life. Humph.

  Shaking my head, I smiled and gave Howard a squeeze. “Having a good time, Dad?”

  “The best! Key West here we come. Your mom and I are going kayaking on a manatee hunt.”

  “I wouldn’t count on docking there, Dad, because of that storm. They’ll probably just cruise on toward our next port.”

  “Well, if we do, we promise to come back with pictures of the big critters.”

  “Just promise to come back in one piece!”

  Dad winked at me just as someone slid an arm around my waist. “There you are. I was worried about you. And here you just found better company.”

  I turned to Ian and smiled apologetically. “This is my family.” I introduced Ian around to Dad and Mom, who was giving her best thousand-degree once-over, head to toe and back again, pausing at his ring finger, as Dad made small talk. Ian put his hand at the small of my back, and I got the message he wanted out of there.

  While I didn’t blame him, I also couldn’t extract myself just yet. I eased out of his reach.

  As Dad wound down about his research into manatees and began talking to Mom about hiking the ruins in Cozumel, I turned to Ian. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” I asked.

  “I was hoping you were free this afternoon.” he whispered.

  “Um, my, uh, fash—friend made an appointment at the spa for me to have a Dead Sea mud facial and sea kelp body wrap,” I told him quietly, knowing if Mom heard about it, she would insist on a two for one offer.

  “Too bad. I guess I’ll have to drag out my stack of Psychology Todays and get caught up on professional reading while you pamper yourself.”

  Mom sure heard that. Her head snapped around, leaving her conversation with Dad. “You are a psychologist?”

  “Indeed.” Ian made a half bow. “An associate psychology professor at University of New Mexico.”

  “Good for you, my boy,” Dad said heartily.

  I looked at my watch. “I need to run.”

  “We’ll meet then for a drink at the Betcha Club before dinner?” Ian asked, or really assumed, although I’d rather think he asked.

  I nodded and he said good-bye to my parents. Elva leaned in, as we watched him go, to say, “Don’t you know, Belinda, all shrinks are crazy and Roswell is the alien capital of the world. Two strikes against him.”

  “The university is in Albuquerque,” I pointed out.

  “You don’t know where he grew up, now, do you?” Elva demanded.

  “Handsome boy,” Dad said helpfully in a complete non sequitur.

  “Boy being the operative term there, Howard. I think he’s quite a bit younger than you, Belinda.”

  “I don’t know why Ben can run around with girls barely out of diapers, and I have a drink with a man a few years younger and it’s an unpardonable sin.”

  Elva sighed and looked to the skies for divine intervention. “Belinda, you shouldn’t get so worked up about things. I was just giving you some motherly advice. You don’t have to take it, certainly. You’re a grown woman, after all. I just love you and care about you, pookie.” Sniff.

  She won on redirect as always, not addressing my question, yet simultaneously shutting me up and making me feel guilty. My mother would have made an excellent defense trial attorney. I swear she could have gotten Ted Bundy off scot-free.

  “Poor Frank,” she said sadly as Dad dragged her off, with a wave at me. “Discarded and forgotten.”

  I was still steaming as I stomped to the elevators and reviewed the ship’s map. The spa was up one floor, so I decided to wear off some of my anger by climbing the stairs. Halfway up, I almost ran over Solis, the cruise ship employee who’d helped me the first day. “Hi Solis, how’s it going?”

  “Miss Cooley. I watched you play last night. You’re good.”

  “Mostly just lucky, but thank you,” I answered, putting my hand in my purse and feeling for some bills. “I hope you all with the cruise line are having some luck too, finding my friend Rawhide Jones?”

  Curtains pulled across Solis’ eyes as they narrowed. “I don’t know.”

  I extracted the first bill my fingers found and slipped it into his hand on the staircase railing. He looked down and gasped about the same time I did. A C-note?! I thought it was a twenty. I had to get a little smoother about this detective business or I was going to go broke asking a couple of questions.

  After looking around, Solis leaned in. “They found his hat. Cowboy hat.”

  “Where?” I whispered back.

  “In the railing on the fourth deck. Stuffed there. Before he jumped, or after someone pushed him . . .”

  I shivered, and Solis crossed himself.

  “What about the video cameras on the ship?” I whispered. “Don’t they show what happened?”

  Solis shook his head. “They were all covered up. Where Mr. Rick was. Where the cowboy’s hat was. It’s all black on tape.”

  Whoa. I stifled another shiver. “I guess Rawhide didn’t jump then,” I observed. “Unless he took extra time to prevent an audience.”

  “No worries, Miz Bee. The new security, they’ll catch them.”

  “Who’s the new security?”

  Solis opened his mouth just as a round pink tornado flew down the stairs—Kinkaid in hot pink capris and a matching marabou-collar sleeveless sweater. She threw a look at Solis that sent him back a
bout three strides. He tucked away the hundred and nodded to me as he hurried away. She grabbed my forearm. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We have to have a little discussion about ethics and morals when you are representing the game we are sponsoring on board this ship.”

  “Look, I didn’t do anything—”

  “But you are about to rob the cradle. I just saw your mom and she told me all about your new beau.” Kinkaid paused to giggle, leaning in and whispering, “You go, girl!”

  Okay. Weird. “Um, thanks.”

  “Now off you go. Can’t keep that sea kelp and your masseuse waiting.” Mom and her big mouth. Humph. Could a girl have no secrets?

  I smiled and waved. It wasn’t until I was almost at the spa that I remembered I hadn’t mentioned getting a massage to Mom.

  A lovely brunette of indeterminate age with the most flawless complexion I had ever seen drew me into a room where the sounds of dolphins in conversation reverberated. I must have made a face because Valka cocked her head and asked me if I would rather hear whales, seagulls, waves or sea snails.

  “Sea snails?”

  “It is especially subliminal.”

  “Huh.” I liked dolphins—they were cute—but they were doing a lot of high-pitched squeaking at the moment. “I’ll go for waves.”

  She nodded and, handing me a plush towel, instructed me to disrobe while she went to change the noise theme. She disappeared out the door opposite to the one we’d come in. There was a padded table in the middle of the room and an array of jars of some of the most icky looking muck I’d ever seen. It reminded me a bit of the colors for fall two years ago—baby poo yellow, toad wart green and Oklahoma mud orange. I wondered which jar held the sea kelp. The opposite wall was glass, with a floor-to-ceiling view of the sea and the sky. Liberating really, until I got close and it looked like the sea was really really far down and then it was a bit scary. Dolphins were drowned out by waves. I slipped out of my clothes, feeling self-conscious, especially when Valka returned.

  Valka messed around with a tub in the corner of the room. Then she laid on the table what looked to me like oversize Saran Wrap and ordered me to recline on top of it. Once I was facedown, she whipped the towel off me like an NFL trainer. It was definitely a good thing I couldn’t see the layers of kelp because they felt disgusting. Although they’d been warmed, they were very wet, very gooshy and very slippery.