Betting on Grace

by Salonen, Debra

  Grace sighed. “Something happened to Liz when she was in Bosnia. She won’t talk about it. Most of the time she’s either working or holed up at her house in Henderson. Definitely not the Romani way, but Mom says Liz has always been a loner even as a child. The only person Liz is really close to is Alex.”

  “So she’s taking this pretty hard,” he said.

  “Exactly.” She rolled her shoulders as if the tension was getting to her. “Plus, I think she’s struggling a bit financially. After Dad died, Liz went to India to study Ayurveda, a kind of holistic medicine. She came back suddenly after less than a year and bought a house. Now she works for a private hospital, but I know her heart isn’t in it.”

  “Then why work there?”

  “Good question. Last time I asked it, she told me to mind my own business.”

  She looked at him. “Did you own your own place before you…um…went to jail?”

  He made a noncommittal grunt. Lying to Grace was starting to bother him. “I thought I heard someone say Charles’s company refers a lot of clients to the hospital where Liz works.”

  Grace shrugged. “Maybe. All I know is she seems constantly strapped for cash.”

  Motive for playing ball with Chuck? He hoped not.

  Grace stood up and started to pace. Her name suited her, he decided, watching her move.

  She stopped suddenly and looked at him so intently he almost squirmed. “What if your aversion to dancing is really because you’re afraid dancing well would make you seem too Romani?”

  “I think you think too much.”

  She didn’t smile. Instead, she sighed and said, “I had a dream a couple of weeks ago. In it, I was walking down the sidewalk when I met a wolf—the four-legged kind—at the intersection, waiting for the streetlight to change. At first, I was afraid, but he seemed very polite, almost human. When the light turned green, he trotted off. My mother, who was standing beside me, said, ‘That wolf was raised by humans. He doesn’t know he’s a wolf.’”

  Nick rose and walked to where she was standing. “You think I’m a wolf?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. “I think you’re a Gypsy who doesn’t know he’s a Gypsy.”

  When she looked into his eyes, he could see that she wasn’t making idle chatter. She really cared about him. “What was it like growing up in a gaujo world?”

  Zeke had left it up to Nick to share as much or as little of his history as needed to create a successful cover. “Ordinary, I guess. The family that adopted me had a daughter and wanted a son to make a complete package,” he said. “We made the perfect little family. End of story.”

  “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Judy. She’s married and lives in Oregon.”

  “Are you close?”

  “What is this? A police interrogation?”

  She blushed so prettily, he answered her question. “Judy was nine when I went to live with them. I was five. She was an only child who suddenly had to share her parents with another kid. A boy, no less. So she pretty much hated me when we were kids, but now barely resents me at all.”

  Nick could tell she had more questions—ones he might not be able to answer, so he told her about Judy’s version of how he’d landed up as her brother.

  A look of outrageous indignation crossed her face. “That’s horrible. And mean. And…and bigoted.”

  Nick laughed. “She was a kid protecting her turf.”

  “Humph,” she snorted, crossing her arms at her chest. “We used to have cousins pop in and stay for weeks. I never terrorized another kid just because he moved into my territory. In fact, my cousin Rickie lived with us for two years when his parents were going through a rough time.”

  “Was he younger than you?”

  “I was fourteen. He was twelve. Still is, if you ask his wife,” she said with a grin. “My grandmother was living with us at the time, and she had to move into my room because Rickie, the only boy, needed a room to himself.”

  “You weren’t jealous?”

  “Heck, no. I was glad he came, because that meant I could go to sleep every night listening to Granny tell me stories. I still cherish the gift of my time with her.”

  “She passed away?”

  Grace nodded. “Alzheimer’s. She had to go into a facility at the end. That was real hard on my mom. Some of the family criticized her for not taking care of Granny at home.” She paused a moment then added, “Which might be why Mom was so adamant about keeping Dad at home after his stroke. Liz came every day to give him his physiotherapy.”

  “Did he improve?”

  “Some. Not enough to return to work, though. Which, in my opinion, is what killed his spirit.”

  Nick understood. For many men their sense of identity was closely linked to their job. Suddenly take that away and… He didn’t want to think about the possibility. Nick was glad that Pete had decided to slow down a bit, but the idea of his father sitting on his butt doing nothing in Oregon scared him. And because he probably hadn’t expressed his fears clearly, Judy assumed Nick was being selfish, trying to keep their parents from moving closer to her.

  Grace, who still seemed lost in the past, went on. “Dad was with Charles when the stroke happened. They were walking through a parking lot to their separate cars. Unfortunately, Charles wasn’t close enough to keep Dad from falling and hitting his head on a curb. At least, Charles called for an ambulance right away.”

  “Charles was the hero, huh?”

  “Not in Dad’s eyes,” she said with a certain fatality. “After he came home from the hospital, I could tell his feelings for Charles had changed. I don’t think the two ever spoke again. I believe Daddy would have preferred it if Charles hadn’t called for help.”

  “But you don’t feel that way?”

  “Not at all. None of us were ready to let go. Dad might not have appreciated living what he considered half a life, but that time between his first stroke and the one that finally took him helped us prepare for our loss, emotionally.”

  She turned to face the window. “Mom would probably disagree. She was completely devastated when Dad passed on. For months, she barely connected with the world. She made some rash decisions without consulting any of us.” She sighed and was silent.

  “Were you living here when all this happened?”

  She nodded. “Thank God. I don’t think any of us would have survived if we hadn’t had each other. That’s what family is all about, right?”

  “You really buy that, don’t you?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. “Because you’re Romani.”

  “That’s part of it,” she said, turning to face him. “As a group, we’ve survived unbelievable adversity. Slavery. Genocide. Horrible atrocities. Instead of tearing us apart, it drove us closer. We share a unique bond. My father believed this was something to be proud of.”

  The look in her eyes told him she understood his unvoiced skepticism.

  “You don’t appreciate it because you didn’t grow up hearing the stories and legends. My sisters and I weren’t just little girls with Romani blood, we were Gypsy princesses.” Her face took on a dreamy, wistful look. “Our great-great-grandmother was so beautiful a young prince fell in love with her. His parents wouldn’t let them marry, but they had a child before her family was driven out of the country.”

  When she noticed his scrutiny, she blushed and made an offhand gesture. “My sisters call me gullible. A romantic. Maybe I am, but knowing I was descended from royalty helped shore up my self-esteem when other kids teased me.”

  “About being a Gypsy?”

  “About my teeth.” She gave him an artificial smile. “I had braces from the day my permanent teeth came in—sideways.” She grimaced. “Something like that can scar you for life, but I had faith in my father’s story and my mother’s premonition, so I just ignored the teasing.”

  “What premonition?”

 
A flash of red colored her cheeks. “Oh, nothing.”

  “Grace,” he said. “I told you about my sister.”

  She looked toward the ceiling and sighed. “Mom had a prophesy for each of her daughters. Mine was that I’d marry a prince.”

  That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “A prince, huh? The kind with a castle and a moat?”

  She snickered. “I don’t think so. In fact, according to Mom, he won’t find out he’s a prince until after he marries me.” Her blush intensified. “Boy, I just realized how egotistical that sounds. ‘Marry me, buddy, and I’ll make you a prince.’”

  She shook her head. “Well, it’s my mother’s dream, not mine.”

  Nick wondered if his mother ever had any dreams about his future.

  Grace moved away, walking to the door to peer into the hallway. “I’m really worried that we haven’t heard anything yet.”

  “I thought she looked pretty healthy,” he said, although he had to admit Alex didn’t always possess the same vivaciousness as her sisters. He’d assumed she was just more laid-back.

  Grace let out a heavy sigh. “She’s had…female troubles, as my aunt used to say, for a long time. Shortly after opening The Dancing Hippo, her doctor found a large cyst on her ovary. He removed it, but the incision became infected and Alex had to spend nearly two weeks in the hospital. It was really scary. And expensive.”

  “Wow. Did she have insurance?”

  “Yes, but even the co-pay was a lot. And the worst part was her doctor couldn’t guarantee the cysts wouldn’t return. Alex vowed never to let them open her up again, but she’s in pain every month.”

  Nick had never seen Grace look so bleak, but she tried to put on a brave face. “I offered her the money in my trust to pay any further hospital expenses, but she says money’s not the reason she won’t have the procedure done again.”

  “Then what is the reason?”

  “I don’t know. It may have something to do with Mark. Her ex-fiancé…uh…married someone else.”

  “Is your sister’s bad luck with romance the reason you’d rather invest your money in a risky business venture than save it for a wedding?”

  She frowned. “You’ve been talking to my mother, haven’t you?”

  Nick couldn’t tell her that Yetta had asked him to investigate Charles. Nor could he tell her that any money she handed over to Chuck was sure to become frozen once the National Insurance Crime Bureau and the D.A.’s office got their hands on Charles’s assets. But she was an innocent. He owed it to her to warn her. Right?

  “Grace, you should think twice before you invest with Charles.”

  She gave him an odd look. “Why?”

  “Because…” Nick wasn’t sure what he planned to say, but he stopped speaking when a man walked into the room. A man dressed in a drab brown leisure suit that Nick had seen several times that week. Zeke.

  Grace glanced at Zeke briefly without interest. Nick knew she was exhausted. She’d told him earlier that she’d worked her noon shift at the restaurant, then covered for Alex at the child-care center before picking him up.

  “Why, Nikolai? I know why my sisters are against this idea, but what have you got against Charles?”

  Nick could feel Zeke’s eyes boring into him. What could he possibly say without blowing his cover? He was saved from answering by Yetta. She hurried into the waiting room. “Alexandra is better,” she said, with a tearful smile. “Fine, actually. A nasty case of the flu, not her ovary. But she’s dehydrated and her potassium is low so they’re insisting she stay overnight—against her wishes, of course.”

  “Can I see her?” Grace asked, after hugging her mother.

  Yetta took her hand then looked around. “Come. I’ll take you. Where’s Elizabeth?”

  “She went for a walk,” Nick said. “I’ll let her know where you are when she gets back.”

  Once the women were gone, Nick looked at Zeke, who appeared to be reading a magazine. “Something you want to say to me?”

  The magazine hit the table. “I guess I want to know what the hell you’re doing? Dinner. Gambling. Dancing. Hey, a cop’s got to do what a cop’s got to do,” he said, his tone sarcastic, “but that doesn’t include warning one of the princesses away from our suspect.”

  Nick knew that. He didn’t need Zeke to reprimand him. “Grace isn’t part of Harmon’s scams.”

  “That may be, but someone in this family is, and she probably talks to that person every day.”

  Nick knew that, too. He was a pro, and instead of acting like a pro he was behaving like an inept fool.

  “You’re here for a reason, Lightner, and you will play this game until—”

  “Game?”

  Both Nick and Zeke turned to find Yetta standing in the doorway. Nick dropped his head to his hands. Zeke rose and walked toward her. “My name is—”

  “I know who you are,” she said dismissively. “You are the police.”

  Nick looked up in time to see Zeke’s complexion turn a ruddy hue.

  “Ma’am, your daughters—”

  “Are not suspects,” Yetta said firmly. She had to lift her chin to look Zeke in the eyes. “I involved my family in this investigation because a person I trust promised me that you could remove Charles from our lives without involving my daughters.”

  “Mrs. Radonovic, thanks to your invitation, we’ve been able to stay on top of Harmon’s activities, but we still don’t have enough proof to arrest him.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine.”

  “Actually, until Harmon is behind bars, he’s both our problem…if your hunch is right. For some reason—we’re not clear why—he’s short of cash at the moment. Whatever he’s got going may hinge on him having access to your daughter’s money.”

  “Absolutely not. My husband put me in charge of that trust for a reason, and I will be in my grave beside Ernst before I let Charles Harmon touch a dime of it. That money—”

  “Mom?” Grace rushed in, looking from her mother to Nick then back. “The nurse needed a couple of minutes alone with Alex so I came back here to wait. Tell me you weren’t just talking about my business to Nikolai. A relative stranger.”

  A relative stranger? Nick felt hurt although he had no right to be.

  “And why is everyone suddenly so down on Charles?” She raised her hand to keep Yetta from answering. “Wait, I really don’t care. Because this isn’t about him. It’s about me investing in my future and at the same time doing something good for Kate. Don’t you trust me?”

  Nick pushed aside his bruised feelings to try to salvage the operation. He could tell that Yetta was on the verge of confessing everything to her daughter.

  “It’s my fault, Grace. I heard a couple of rumors this week at work about some kind of takeover. I asked your mother her opinion,” Nick said, walking away from Zeke, even though Grace hadn’t shown any interest in the older man. “I don’t want to see you get burned.”

  Grace stared at him a moment, her brow gathered. “Well, I appreciate the concern, but this really isn’t any of your business.”

  Her tone was haughty. “Sorry. Just trying to help. I knew a guy in the joint who lost his shirt opening up a diner. He told me something like seventy percent of new restaurants fail.”

  Grace let out a tired sigh. “Yeah, well, statistics lie. Kate and I beat the odds with Romantique, and I plan to do the same with our new place.” She took her mother’s shoulders between her hands and said, pleadingly, “Can’t you trust me to do the right thing?”

  “I do trust you, Grace. It’s Charles I’m unsure of.”

  “Why? He was Dad’s friend. If Charles hadn’t been there to call the ambulance, Dad might not have survived the stroke. And Charles helped you recover the money Ian stole. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go into business with him.”

  Yetta looked tormented. Nick sensed he was missing something.

  She lifted her chin and said, “Very well, Grace. Your father hoped that money wou
ld secure your future. If this is—”

  Grace’s hug cut her off midsentence. Nick should have felt relief—the game plan was still in play—but his gut told him something wasn’t right. Yetta was keeping secrets. From her daughter. And from him.

  “JUREK, ARE YOU THERE? Pick up the phone. I need to talk to you. I met the big-shot gaujo detective last night who is working with your son. It’s obvious the man cares nothing about this family. You must talk to Nikolai.”

  Jurek forced himself to wake up. The drugs the visiting nurse had given him when she’d come to change the bandage on his incision had left him groggy. He reached deep for the strength to pick up the receiver. Yetta’s voice must have been on his answering machine, but he hadn’t even heard the phone ring. “Yetta?”

  “Hello? Jurek? Is that you?”

  He blinked against the daylight. The woman had left the blinds open despite his wish to be left in darkness. “I’m here.”

  “What’s wrong? You don’t sound well.”

  “Um…I was asleep. I had a late night.”

  “I tried your cell phone about eleven but there was no answer.”

  “I didn’t have it with me. What’s got you so upset? Something about a gaujo detective?”

  “Zeke Martini. I met him last night. Not a scrap of humanity. Heart of steel.”

  Jurek frowned. He’d met Martini a few years back when Jurek helped the police track down a former business associate who’d taken a contract out on his wife. Zeke had been the first person he’d thought of when Yetta mentioned her concerns.

  “Are you sure? He struck me as a by-the-book kinda guy, but fair.” Had he lost his ability to read people? That was the one skill he’d credited with keeping him alive all these years.

  “Well, he may know his job, but he doesn’t know me or my family. We’re not pawns in his little game.”

  He waited for her to continue. Her anger was evident in her tone, and he needed time to find the energy to respond.

  “Jurek?” Yetta said. “What’s wrong? You’re not telling me something.”

  He closed his eyes. If he took a deep breath, he could still smell the antiseptic cleaner. The scent would follow him to his grave, which seemed to be looming closer every day. He’d returned to the clinic when he’d started passing large globs of blood. An exam had revealed a cut in his bowel wall, which must have happened when the polyps had been removed. The doctors had repaired it and sent him home.