Betting on Grace

by Salonen, Debra

  He looked at Yetta. “I put the paycheck he gave me in the bank. I didn’t know he’d stopped payment on it. I swear I thought the check I wrote was good. But with my record, the cops didn’t have any choice but to haul me in.”

  Yetta believed him. “Jurek, did you point me to Nikolai because you believed his helping my family would even some old score you think there is between us?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I thought so. Well, you were wrong.”

  “What?” Jurek started visibly.

  “First off, there is no score to settle. But even if there was, bringing Nikolai here only made things worse. There’s an ugly rumor going around that one of Alexandra’s employees is a child molester. Kate and Grace’s restaurant still isn’t open, even though the health people can’t find a drop of contaminated food. Liz is out of work. And Claude has moved back to the ranch, so the house next to me is empty. But worst of all, my youngest daughter is wasting away from a broken heart,” she said. “Thanks to you and your son, my family is falling apart.”

  Jurek almost smiled. A part of him knew he was being played, but he still asked, “What can I do about it?”

  “Come home and help me get things back in order. You can rent Claude’s house.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because I’ve lost enough. My daughters miss Ernst. They could use a father figure in their lives, and this would be a good way for you to stay in touch with your son. He’s in love, too, you know.”

  Jurek realized she was right. He’d let fear and self-pity control his life for too long. Lucy would have been furious with him. He opened the car door and got out. The pain was there, but he’d dealt with worse.

  “When do you want to leave?” he asked when she joined him to walk to his door.

  “We could have left days ago if you hadn’t convinced yourself you were going to die.”

  “I am going to die.”

  “We all are, but this isn’t your time,” she said, squeezing his arm.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  She tapped her temple and smiled. “I’m a Gypsy fortune-teller, remember?”

  Jurek tried hard not to smile, but once the dam cracked, a loud guffaw followed. “You’re a persistent old dame.”

  “I know. Are you ready to start packing?”

  He paused to let the truth sink in. He was going home. After all these years, he was rejoining his family. It’s what he’d always wanted but hadn’t dared ask for.

  Blinking at the tears in his eyes, he fumbled with his key and said, his voice gruff with emotion, “Yes, I think I am.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  GRACE ENTERED the room slowly, looking around to see if she and Charles were alone. She hadn’t spoken to him since the day of his arrest. He looked…older, but still very much Charles. His suite, however, bore little resemblance to the apartment she’d visited that fateful day just a couple of weeks earlier. Moving boxes were stacked everywhere.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “A condo that belongs to a friend,” he said. “My assets were frozen by the IRS—nice touch, by the way.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said truthfully.

  “Don’t be modest, Grace. You not only got Metro, the Clark County D.A. and the National Insurance Crime Board involved in my case, but the Mounties and Uncle Sam, too. Quite impressive.”

  Although outwardly he acted as pleasant and amicable as ever, Grace felt his fury like a pulse of red-hot electricity in the air. “I had nothing to do with any of that, Charles. The police used me, too. Nikolai—Nick—whatever his name is—was a plant. I didn’t know he was a cop,” she said, walking past him into the middle of the room. “Which is why I don’t understand why you’re attacking me and my sisters.”

  Charles appeared surprised by her directness. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She set her purse down and crossed her arms. “I suppose you’re telling me it’s just a coincidence that the health department descended on Romantique’s kitchen after someone phoned in an anonymous tip about E. coli.”

  He didn’t react.

  “And Liz can’t get hired anywhere, and The Dancing Hippo is under investigation. All in a week’s time. How is that possible?”

  He put out his hands and shrugged. “Seems like we’ve all had a run of bad luck.”

  Grace stepped toward him. “Don’t play games with me, Charles. I thought we were friends. I thought you liked my family. My God, you came to our Christmas parties and graduations and birthdays. How could you betray us like this?”

  His eyes narrowed and he closed the distance between them. “Don’t talk to me about betrayal, Grace. Not when you’re the reason I might lose my license to practice law, not to mention everything I’ve worked my entire life for.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, but anger trumped fear. “Me?” she cried. “I’m not the one who imported prostitutes and scammed the insurance companies out of millions.”

  His hand came up but he made a point of relaxing his fist. “Alleged,” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “Fine. Great. You’re innocent. This was all a big mistake. None of that matters to me, Charles. What I do care about is my family, and what you’re doing to them.”

  He laughed. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, but she refused to be intimidated. “Oh, Grace, you’re a fool if you think I’m going to admit to collusion or bribery or anything else for the benefit of your wire.”

  She wasn’t an actress, but if Nikolai could pretend to be a hit man, she could pull this off. She shrugged off her leather jacket. “You think I’m here to get your confession and feed information to the cops?” His gaze went to her chest, where she unbuttoned the top button of her starched white blouse. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m here to make a deal.”

  His upper lip curled back. “What kind of deal?”

  “My trust money in return for your stopping this assault on my family.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I figured you’d show up sooner or later once you got my message.”

  He strode past her, knocking her purse, which had been strategically placed on the arm of the sofa, to the floor. The latch came open and the contents looked ready to spill out. She snatched it up, praying he hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

  Fortunately, Charles was facing the window, focused on something in the distance.

  “Then you’ll do it? You’ll call your contacts at the health department and get them out of Romantique’s kitchen?”

  He turned and looked at her. “It was amazingly easy to close down your precious restaurant.” His grin turned malicious. “This is the age of litigation. A complaint doesn’t have to be real to ruin your reputation. Rumors alone will do that. Consumers are a fickle lot, Grace.”

  She stood up, purse in hand. “I knew it was you.”

  He shrugged. “Then you know I can undo it—for a price.”

  Grace took a breath to steady her nerves. “I’ll give you the money on one condition. You sign a paper absolving my father of any involvement in the union bribes.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “For my mother’s sake. I don’t want her memory of my father tainted in any way.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Saint Ernst. Is that it? Rewriting history the Romani way. Forget it. That’s my money and I want it back. Once it’s in my bank account, I’ll think about calling off the hounds of hell I’ve got lined up to piss on your family tree from now until the end of eternity.” He snickered. “I had plenty of time in lockup to plot and plan, Grace. You’d be surprised at what a fertile mind can come up with when revenge is the motive.”

  Distress pulsed through her. Her fingers gripped her purse tighter. “Haven’t you done enough? You pushed my father. You let everyone believe that the stroke caused him to fall, but it was really you. You killed my father.”

  Charles snickered softly. “Again, my dear, prove it. And as satisfying as
it was to watch your dad lying there, slipping away…” He paused as if picturing the actual event. “I knew I couldn’t let him die or I’d never get my money. That’s why I called the paramedics. How was I supposed to know the stroke would make it impossible for him to conduct business?”

  Grace flew at him, pummeling him with her purse. “You sick bastard. I hope you rot in jail.”

  He grabbed her arms and held her back. “Sorry, princess, but you’re not going to get your wish. Even if the D.A. can prove that I masterminded the insurance fraud, the most I’d be looking at as a first-time offender is a suspended sentence and fifty-thousand-dollar fine.”

  He smiled smugly. “Your trust fund ought to cover that nicely. The rest will buy me a ticket to a lovely island that is renowned for its offshore banking.”

  Zeke had been right. Charles was the kind of man who had to brag to someone about his coup. Grace just had to nudge him a little further. “Offshore banking? What are you talking about? If you’re so damn rich that you have offshore accounts, then why do you need my money?”

  He sighed. “That’s my nest egg. Money I skimmed off the casino when my doddering partners decided they wanted to play rather than work for their share. I ran a double set of books that even MaryAnn didn’t know about.”

  Grace didn’t say anything.

  “Once I beat this rap—and I will—I plan to join my money on a sun-soaked beach.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were a decent person.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Grace, admit it. When you wanted Xanadu’s restaurant space, you thought I was a prince. Life is full of people using people. Love is make-believe.”

  She put her hand on the doorknob. “Goodbye, Charles.” She turned to give him one last look. “You know, you’re a decent-looking guy. You should have no trouble finding all the make-believe love you’ve missed in your life in prison. Ta-ta.”

  She walked to the elevator on shaky legs. The door was open. Inside, she slumped against the wall and let out a long, heartfelt sigh of relief. Then, she handed her purse to the man who was smiling at her.

  “How’d I do?” she asked.

  “We could have used his offshore account number, but other than that, I do believe the D.A. will be very happy with this tape,” Zeke Martini said. He opened the clasp and pulled out a tiny tape recorder—backup in case something happened to the wire she was wearing.

  “Pretty gutsy. Now, let’s see how brave you are when you get to Detroit.”

  Grace’s extremities were starting to shake from the letdown. Tears clustered in her eyes. She sniffled. To her surprise, Zeke reached out and touched her chin. “You’ve got your ticket, right?”

  She nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  “Good girl.”

  The elevator came to a stop and Grace stepped back. She looked at Zeke and gave him a watery smile. “By the way, in case you need to get hold of me, Mom will be around. She brought Nikolai’s birth father to live in Claude’s house.”

  “I know.”

  She frowned. “Are you still having us followed?”

  His coloring changed enough for her to tell that he was blushing. “Just Yetta. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  So Zeke did like her mother. Whether Yetta shared those feelings, Grace couldn’t say. She’d spent at least two hours that should have been devoted to packing on testing her “gift.” Not only could she not predict what would happen to her loved ones while she was away, but she had no sense of whether or not Nikolai would welcome her arrival or close the door in her face. Which was why she’d decided not to call ahead and warn him of her plans. She wanted to see his reaction when he opened his door and found her standing there.

  “YOU’RE A PAIN in the butt. You know that, right?” Nick bent over to pick up the ball Rip had just deposited at his feet, then sliced a grounder in the general direction of the blue spruce in his parents’ backyard. Most of the snow was gone, but the temperature was only in the thirties.

  He’d been home for two weeks. He and Rip had returned to their predictable schedule, except for the extra hours Nick had spent at the station. Work was therapeutic. It took his mind off Grace.

  Helping his parents pack up their belongings was not therapeutic, but he was here to do just that. At least, that’s what he assumed his mother’s call had been about. He’d dashed home after work to pick up Rip and change clothes, but when he arrived at their house nobody was home.

  “This is very poor form, wouldn’t you say, bud?” he said when the panting dog returned. “Maybe they went for some KFC.” He’d been living on fast food since his return from Vegas. Every time he walked into his kitchen he remembered what it had been like to sit in Romantique surrounded by members of the Radonovic clan and their friends.

  Call her, a voice in his head said.

  He ignored it. Just as he had for a fortnight. He knew that Grace was fine. He knew the case was going as planned. He knew that Yetta had just returned to Vegas with George. Knowing things was part of his job.

  What he didn’t know was whether Grace missed him. Or ever thought of him. Or wanted him to call and tell her he was a complete and utter idiot and that he was ready to quit his job and move to Vegas to be with her.

  But he didn’t call. Because he couldn’t leave. Not now. His name was on the short list for his dad’s job. The continuity appealed to him. He liked being a cop. He loved living in the Midwest. He was entrenched, which probably proved that he wasn’t Romani. He was a civil servant, which meant he’d never be rich. What kind of prince had a mortgage and a truck loan?

  “Nick,” a familiar voice cried from the doorway of his parents’ home. “Sorry we’re late. We were at the airport picking up somebody. Come see who.”

  Grace? His heart rate jacked up to unhealthy. He dropped the slimy ball without throwing it and wiped his hand on his jeans as he dashed to the patio door.

  “Hey, brother dear,” his sister cried, rushing to meet him. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed hard. “I bet this is a surprise.”

  Of course it’s not Grace. Why would she come after the way you turned coward and ran away? He fought to keep his expression neutral. “Hey, Judy, what are you doing here? Where are the girls? And Randy?”

  “At home. I needed a couple of days to myself and I found a cheap flight online, so I figured I’d help our parents make up their minds about this move.”

  “Huh? What do you mean? Mom, what’s she talking about? You sold the house, right?” He took off his leather coat and threw it onto a chair.

  Pete nodded. “Yeah. Escrow closes in a couple of weeks, but your mom and I aren’t sure we’re ready to pull up stakes completely.”

  “But you said you never wanted to live through another Detroit winter.”

  “Exactly,” Judy cried. She was dressed in a comfortable-looking pantsuit, but Nick thought she looked too thin. And more stressed than usual. “I’m afraid one of them is going to slip on the ice and fall,” she said, directing her comment to Nick. “A broken hip could be the beginning of the end.”

  He frowned. “People don’t fall in Oregon? Is it a law?”

  His mother laughed. “Now, children, this isn’t an either-or proposition. Your father and I have decided we’re still young enough to do both. We’re going to be—forgive the cliché—snowbirds. We’ll winter in the west and spend our summers here.”

  “Then why sell the house?” Nick asked.

  “Because it’s too big for two people. We’d been hoping for a while that you might find a girl and settle down and possibly buy it from us but since that hasn’t happened…”

  Nick looked around. He could picture Grace painting the walls. Persimmon. Or purple. Bright colors and exotic plants, instead of white walls and potted ferns.

  His sister let out a little yelp. “Oh, my gosh. Mom, look at him. Nick’s in love.”

  He stepped back and nearly tripped over Rip. “What are you talking ab
out? I’m…I’m…”

  “You may be right, Judy. I noticed something was different when he came back from Vegas, but I let your father convince me it was work related.”

  “Stop. Right now. You are not fortune-tellers. You can’t look at a person’s face and know whether or not he’s in love.”

  His sister and mother exchanged a glance, then Judy said, “But we know you, little brother. I don’t suppose her name is Grace, is it?”

  Nick felt his jaw drop a good foot. He blinked twice and looked from his mother to his father, who appeared completely baffled by the conversation. “How do you know that?”

  Judy crowed in triumph then walked to him and put her hand on his arm. “You don’t remember?”

  He shook his head. “No. We haven’t spoken since I got back from Vegas.”

  She tilted her head and smiled a gentle smile that he associated with her daughters. “On my thirteenth birthday, I had a slumber party and one of the girls brought a Ouija board. You were hanging around being a pest and I was jealous of all the attention you were getting, so I did something mean.” She looked down. “I told my friends that you were adopted and your real parents were Gypsies.”

  “Judy!” their mother exclaimed.

  Judy looked truly repentant. “I was a brat and he was this adorable little boy that everybody loved. But my plan backfired because one of them—Bettina, I think—said, ‘Hey, if he’s got Gypsy blood then he’s probably really good at seeing into the future.’ So they made me invite you to play the game with us. Is any of this coming back?”

  Nick shook his head, but a hazy memory glimmered just beyond reach.

  “So what happened?” Sharon asked.

  “Well, we each asked the board who we were going to marry and when it was Nick’s turn, the board spelled G.R.A.C.E.”

  Nick couldn’t hold in his expletive.

  Judy reached out. “I remember because that was the name of Bettina’s cat. We teased you for weeks about being a cat lover. Every time we’d cross paths, I’d meow and say, ‘Marry me, Grace, I love you, Grace.’ Don’t you remember?”