The Monk chose that moment to cross to the patio. He slid back the glass slider, stepped inside, and immediately looked for the security system. He found the panel box to the left of the door. The green light glowed. Deactivated, just as he’d figured. In all his years as a cop and more recently as a security guard, he’d learned that many private alarm systems were used at night or when the property was unattended. Mrs. King had no reason to expect an intruder. And with the housekeeper inside, why bother?
The Monk knew about the housekeeper. The stout, Teutonic, middle-aged woman came at 9:00 and left at 7:00. He knew her habits as well as the habits of each member of the household. Dianne King, when at home, took a daily swim before lunch and sometimes again before dinner. Cocktail hour was at 6:00, and she drank alone if no one were there to join her. After the housekeeper left for the day, she was usually alone in the house for several hours before her husband and nephew arrived. When his majesty got tied up, which was often, the nephew kept her company in the marble-and-glass mausoleum.
The Monk turned back to the door and nearly had it closed when Dianne King shot up out of the water, her eyes closed, her mouth open as she sucked air into her lungs. He stepped out of view. The vertical blinds rattled.
“Mrs. King?”
A female voice from the kitchen. The housekeeper.
He backed behind a linen screen painted with an elaborate Grecian design.
“Mrs. King?”
From between the joints of the screen, the Monk watched the woman march across the room to the slider. He saw the puzzlement on her face as she looked at the partially open door, the swaying blinds, and then beyond to her employer who was still in the pool. She opened the door wider. A gust of wind rattled the blinds.
Seemingly satisfied that the wind had rattled the blinds, she closed the door and returned to the kitchen.
The Monk made his way to the rear of the house.
Several minutes later, after allowing himself a brief tour of the east wing, he entered the master bedroom. The room, in his opinion, was decorated like a fancy cathouse boudoir and was big enough to swallow entirely the rundown shanty he rented north of town.
He circled the room, closely examining anything that piqued his interest. He studied the photographs. A wedding picture of the bride and groom; a studio portrait of Dianne King; photos of the handsome couple on a cruise liner; a vast assortment of headliner celebrities, each posing with J. G. King at the velvet-curtained entrance of the hotel’s main showroom.
“Nice. Helluva nice life you got here, Your Highness,” he said with contempt. “Y’know what? I think I want some of this for myself. Yeah, I definitely want some of this.” With gloved fingers, he stroked the jaw and throat of Dianne King’s portrait. “How ‘bout it. Sweetheart? Getting lonely enough for me yet?”
With the box still under his arm, he roamed aimlessly from the sitting room to the deep walk-in closets to the vanity with its two adjoining bathrooms of gray marble, black porcelain, and gold fixtures. He examined everything at his leisure. Inside the medicine cabinet, he found two prescription vials—one a painkiller and the other an antibiotic. He opened the second vial, poured the antibiotics into his pants pocket, capped the vial, and replaced it on the shelf.
At the highboy dresser, he opened a drawer filled with female under things. He lifted a pair of flesh-colored thong panties, released them to remove the thin leather glove on his right hand. These he had to feel firsthand, to experience the sleek fabric against his rough hands. As he caressed the silky smooth material, an image of the sexy woman on the inflated raft, her body shiny with oil, came into his mind’s eye.
He pocketed the panties, slipped the glove back on, closed the drawer, crossed the room to the enormous bed and laid the box on top of the black-satin bedspread, placing it just so. He took one last look around and left the room.
From the hall doorway he could see across the living room and beyond to the patio and pool. Outside, the housekeeper was arranging a place setting on the patio table. Dianne King was just emerging from the pool, water beaded like shimmering jewels on her golden skin.
As she stood drying off, he thought again what a great body she had and what a lucky man J. G. was. King had everything. A beautiful wife, money, status. So maybe the Monk couldn’t have it all like J. G., but he sure as hell could have some of it, even if it were only a taste.
With the housekeeper outside, he detoured to the kitchen. A prepared luncheon plate of skinless chicken, kiwi fruit, a wedge of gouda on a bed of lettuce, sat on the counter alongside an open bottle of fume blanc. The Monk tore a piece of the chicken away and popped it into his mouth, chewed twice, then took a swig from the bottle of wine to wash it down. He heard the sound of the slider opening as he eased out the side door.
*
In the rich, gracious atmosphere of an old English Tudor dining room, the hotel Steak House kept a large booth reserved in the back for Jay, Brad, the senior executives, and their guests. Today Cummings, Yanick, Epson, and Brad occupied the booth. Knowing there would be a barrage of questions and not ready to bring the others in just yet, Jay had steered Kasey to a smaller booth across the room with only a cursory nod to the four men.
Kasey felt the curious stares from the booth, and from other booths around the room. Tongues would be wagging this afternoon. Have you heard? The boss and that attractive new host that he hired out of the blue, they left the club together earlier in the day, returned to dine in private at a small, intimate table, openly snubbing the good ol’ boys. Stay tuned for updates.
“Don’t concern yourself with them,” Jay said. “Sometimes they can be as bad as a bunch of old women, gossiping and whining.”
“Or a bunch of old men?”
A touch of a smile. “Yes, old men. Isn’t that what I said?”
She smiled.
“I understand my father made that mistake a few years back. Only it was no simple slip of the tongue.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Dianne told me you worked for us years ago. She said you and another cocktail waitress were being sexually harassed and my father sided with your accusers. But instead of quitting, you hung in there, eventually getting enough on them to convince my old man to toss them out. Is that the way it went?”
“Close enough. He then offered me the manager’s job.”
“But you didn’t take it?”
“No.”
He waited, not pushing, but obviously curious.
“I didn’t turn it down because of a sense of moral injustice, Jay. I had nothing against your father or the club. Eleven years ago the expression ‘sexual harassment’ hadn’t even been coined yet. It was just time to move on. The men were fired. That much was accomplished. And if it made your father listen to the next person who came to him, then my speaking up and fighting back served its purpose.”
The waiter brought their lunch, a steak sandwich for Jay and seafood bisque for her. The waiter twisted the tall pepper mill, sprinkling ground pepper over the top of her pale-pink soup. Kasey cut the end from a round of freshly baked Dutch-crunch bread and buttered it.
“Is that how you got interested in the spying business?” Jay asked. “By nailing those two?”
“I was interested long before that. We—my folks, that is— owned and operated a resort and I learned very quickly that the employees were making out better than the owners.”
He nodded; it wasn’t necessary for her to explain. “Which resort?”
“The River Lodge.”
“The River Lodge! You’re kidding? Jesus, I loved that place. That was yours? Your folks ran that place?”
She nodded.
“When I was in high school, I hung out there all the time—for the natural spa. There was this bartender who served me beer, whiskey, whatever. Never carded me. He also sold me chances on a punchboard and always gave me a freebie for good measure. I must have blown a couple of hundred bucks trying to win that pump-model Remington shotgun.”
>
Kasey couldn’t help herself; she grinned behind her napkin.
“What?”
“That was Stu. He ran a scam on that punchboard. That was another thing I learned real quick.”
“You’re saying he continued to sell chances after the shotgun had been won?”
“That’s right. Mostly to underage kids like you who couldn’t complain even if they caught on.”
He seemed to reflect for a moment. “Was your father aware of this scam?”
Kasey looked down, busied herself buttering another chunk of bread. “If it weren’t eighty-six proof, my father wasn’t aware of it”
She felt Jay’s eyes on her. A moment later he was cutting into his steak sandwich.
“You must have been around seven or eight when I started going out there,” Jay said, shifting the subject. “I probably saw you.”
She met his gaze, nodded.
“Your folks sold the place about ten years later. I remember, because the new owners closed it for renovation. I had to go out to Steamboat Springs until it reopened.”
“You must like hot mineral baths.”
“Best way to relieve tension. Well, second best way.” He grinned. “Last year I had the two Jacuzzis put in the hotel pool. When I stay here, I try to get in a few laps before turning in. I save the Jacuzzi for last. Helps me sleep.”
Brad appeared at the table. Kasey saw the other men moving toward the foyer. “Jay, I tried to reach you this morning. Gail said you were away from the casino.”
“Kasey and I were at the police station. Detective Loweman thought I might know something about the suspect.”
“I see.” He stood uncertainly.
“The Hamiltons are due in today. Have they registered yet?” Jay asked.
“I was just about to check.” Brad hesitated. “I thought Kasey and I could meet them togeth—”
“Kasey has more important things to do right now.”
“But—”
“We’ll talk about it later, Brad. For now just go about your regular duties. Take good care of the Hamiltons. The Peppermill and Harrah’s have been courting them, so give them the best. Red carpet all the way.”
Brad looked from his uncle to Kasey and back to his uncle. He nodded stiffly and strode off.
Both were silent. It was obvious to Kasey, and probably to Jay, that Brad was not happy to be excluded from the more important things. Jay was the boss. He would handle it. Brad was not her problem.
Jay opened his mouth to speak, closed it. He looked over his shoulder as though making sure no one else was about to intrude. “What’s this about security? Last night you asked me to get a list of all security personnel. Does it have anything to do with the incident on the sixth floor? That business about one of our guards hassling a guest?”
“That’s part of it. It’s only a gut feeling, Jay. Probably doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Juan Ruiz may have killed that maid, but I don’t believe he’s behind the other things going on here. There’s a security guard, a specific one—I don’t know who he is, not yet, anyway—but I have this strong feeling he’s involved. He keeps popping up like the zonker in a game show.”
“The one in the parking garage?”
“That’s him.” She told him about her conversation with Paula Volger. “And remember the complaint—or whatever it was—from the woman on the sixth floor who thought she saw a security guard harassing another guest? That guest was none other than Mr. Nicker in room six-thirty-four. From the very beginning I suspected someone who works here. Someone with more access to the hotel and casino than a dishwasher or maid.”
“That makes sense. Then you think Ruiz is being set up?”
“Possibly. Unfortunately, once the police have a solid suspect, they’re not too inclined to look further.”
“Then I guess it’ll have to be up to us to bring them back around. Gail has all the stuff you asked for. Security personnel, surveillance, everything. I can make the eye available to you.”
“No, surveillance needs it for the casino. If it’s all right with you, the monitors in the room in your office should work.”
“The place is yours. Tell me what you need and I’ll have it sent up. Do you have a name for this security officer?”
“No, he wasn’t wearing a name tag.”
“That’s a violation.”
“One of many, I bet.”
“It shouldn’t be too difficult to track him down. Which shift?”
“I’m not sure. It was after five; the two shifts overlap. He could be day or swing.”
“So we’re talking about sixteen to twenty. We’ll find him.”
The waiter approached with a telephone. “Call for you, Mr. King.Your secretary put it through.”
“Thanks, Vince.” He excused himself to take the call. “King here. Dianne?” He listened for several moments, then glanced at Kasey. His brow furrowed. “Where was it? When did you find it? Did Helga put it there? You opened it, looked through it? Dianne, I don’t know anything about it. Someone put it there and it wasn’t me. Now listen to me, and listen carefully. Make sure the house is locked and the alarm is activated. Better yet, lock yourself in the master bath. Take Helga and the cellular phone with you. Call nine-one-one if you hear anythi—I’m sorry if I’m scaring you. Just do what I say, hear me? This is no joke, Dianne. I’ll be right there.”
Jay hit the disconnect lever, dialed. He asked for Det. Loweman. While he waited, he said to Kasey, “Dianne found a box on our bed. She thought it was from me. Some sort of slinky nightgown. There’s a note—Hello, yes. Jay King. If you can reach him, tell him to meet me at my house as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”
Kasey was on her feet and ready to go before he finished giving the police dispatcher his address and phone number.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kasey followed Jay into the foyer of his house. He glanced at the security panel just inside the door and stopped cold.
“I don’t believe this,” he said quietly.
The alarm had not been set.
“Helga?” he called out.
The housekeeper rushed toward them, a dishtowel and crystal wineglass in hand. “Mr. King, it’s you. Is something the matter?”
“Where’s my wife?”
“Your bedroom, I believe.”
Jay took Kasey’s arm. She had to practically run to keep up with him as he propelled her down a long, wide hallway bright with natural light from an overhead skylight. They passed through a circular atrium, the air heavy with humidity, to a pair of double doors which Jay barged through without slowing down.
“Dianne, what the hell—?”
Dianne stood at a window facing the pool, her hands deep in the pockets of a floor-length terrycloth robe. She turned.
“Dianne, I told you to lock yourself in the bathroom. He could be out there watching you right now. Christ, he could still be in the house.”
“Who? For god sakes, Jay, what’s going on?”
He crossed to her, took both her hands in his and gently pulled her away from the window. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “But if you don’t tell me what this is all about, I’m going to scream.”
“The alarm is off. Why is the alarm off? How many times have I told you to keep it on at all times? He just walked right in.”
“Who, Jay? Who are you talking about?”
“The man who put that there.” He nodded toward the box. “Dianne, someone has been in our house, can’t you understand that? And he got in because the alarm was off. Opened a door and walked in. Why do you insist on making things difficult for everyone? Two women have been murdered at the club. This is for real.”
“Jay, you’re overreacting. You’re bringing problems from the club home with you. You said the police have the killer. Besides, what does a murder at the club have to do with me?”
Kasey, standing in the doorway, felt awk
ward and imposing. She knew why Jay was concerned for his wife’s safety. He had every reason to be worried. Kasey thought of the newspaper photograph of Dianne that Jay had received only yesterday in the mail. It hadn’t been the first one, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. She understood Jay’s fear. A threat had been made and acted upon. Yet Kasey couldn’t blame Dianne for her blasé approach to it all. Dianne didn’t have a clue. Jay should have warned her.
As if he read her mind, he glanced at Kasey guiltily before saying, “I’m sorry, Dianne; it’s my fault. I should have let you in on it. It involves more than the club. I didn’t tell you, but the same joker who sent the clipping of the MGM fire also made several other threats, these were directed at you. I kept it from you because I didn’t want you to worry.”
Dianne backed away from her husband. In a cool tone she asked, “Threats? What sort of threats. Jay?”
He looked at Kasey.
“Rape? Mutilation? Death? What?” she demanded, her voice strained.
“I don’t know. Nothing specific. Kasey thought I should tell you, but I wanted to wait.”
Dianne turned away from him, crossed to the bed. “Wait for what, darling? Wait for me to be attacked in my own home?” She flipped the top off the box and, by the slender straps, lifted out a sheer, black teddy. She held it up against her chest, looked down at it with an expression of deep reflection. Suddenly pivoting, she balled the teddy and threw it at Jay. “I should have known it wasn’t from you!”
Jay went to her, attempted to hold her. At first she stiffened, shrugged off his hands, pushed at him. Insistent, he held on. “Dianne, forgive me, please. I was wrong. I was only trying to keep from upsetting you, but I realize now that I put you in more danger.”
Dianne visibly relaxed. She closed her eyes, moaned, turned in his embrace, and laid her head against his shoulder. Jay held her, stroking her back.
Kasey felt a strange tightness in her stomach and quietly retreated.
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