Morgan slipped an arm around Myra. “Girlfriend, you gotta deal!”
It took the cashier about ten minutes to place the gaming chips in plastic racks and tally them up. “You have $785,000 coming, your Highness,” she announced brightly.
“It looks like you overshot your goal a bit,” Myra whispered in Morgan’s ear.
“Oops,” Morgan said. “I sure did. Actually, though, I won only $760,000. Remember, I started out with a $25,000 bankroll. I don’t think Lacey should be too upset, since I’ll be giving the money back.”
“Would you like a check?” the cashier asked pleasantly. “I can have a check cut for you in just a few minutes.”
“No, thank you,” Morgan replied, equally pleasantly. “Please pay me in cash.”
“In that case, would you like to keep the money in our safe until you check out of the hotel?” the woman suggested. “That’s a lot of money to carry on your person.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Morgan responded authoritatively. “My personal bodyguards are keeping close watch on me,” she fibbed. “Besides, I’m not staying here. I’m in a penthouse suite at Caesars Palace.”
The cashier counted out the money in hundred-dollar bills—7,850 of them. Hundred-dollar bills are wrapped with narrow brown kraft paper bands called straps. Each strap contains one hundred bills totaling $10,000 and is approximately half an inch thick. If stacked into one pile, the currency Morgan received would measure about three feet high. It was all she could do to stuff the money into the purse she was carrying.
Morgan and Myra headed toward the Security office, where Morgan was to turn the money over to Rick Lacey. “Myra, did you notice anything strange going on in the casino tonight?” Morgan asked cautiously.
“No, I didn’t. What do you mean?” Myra questioned.
“I’m not sure. About an hour ago, the managers and pit bosses started buzzing amongst themselves. One would say something to another, and then the second man would leave and talk with somebody else.”
“Maybe they were just passing on instructions of some kind,” Myra supposed.
“No, I don’t think so,” Morgan contradicted. “Everyone seemed to get a shocked expression on their face and then became very subdued. I’ve been trained to notice body language and pay close attention to gestures and facial expressions. It comes along with a job in Surveillance.”
“You don’t suppose the people were concerned because of the money you were winning, do you?” Myra speculated.
Morgan shook her head. “No. I’m quite sure that whatever is going on didn’t have anything to do with me. The Blue Hawaii has many regular players who wager much more than I was betting tonight. Something very odd is afoot, though. Mark my words.” Morgan checked her watch. “It’s twelve-thirty already. Lacey’s really gonna be pissed,” she worried. “It took longer for the cashier to pay me off than I expected.”
Sergeant Belltower was sitting behind the front desk in the Security office. He did not recognize either Morgan or Myra, though he knew them both. Morgan was in the African Princess disguise, and he had not seen Myra since her makeover. “Yes, ladies, what can I do for you?” he asked politely.
“I have an appointment with Rick Lacey,” Morgan told him.
“Chief Lacey isn’t here,” Belltower informed her matter-of-factly.
“Uh-oh,” Morgan whispered to Myra. “He’s probably out on the floor looking for me.”
“Chief Lacey left the property around six this evening,” Belltower explained. “His wife just had a baby girl this afternoon, so I don’t expect he’ll be coming back in to work tonight.”
Morgan took Myra aside. “What do I do now?” she asked. “I’d turn the cash over to Paul Carey, since he’s the only other person who knows about it. But Carey’s in Utah.”
“I don’t know,” Myra said. “Maybe you should take the money back to the cage and have it locked up in a safety deposit box, as the cashier suggested. At least, it will be secure.”
Just then, Marshall Brendan burst through the door, breathing heavily. The sergeant jumped to his feet.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Brendan. What can I do for you?” Belltower asked unctuously.
“Wh-wh-where’s Lacey?” Brendan sputtered. “I just got here. I gotta see Lacey right away.”
“He isn’t here, sir,” Belltower informed The Big Guy. “He’s not on the property. I can try beeping him for you, if you’d like.”
Brendan shook his head. “Naw, don’t bother. I’ve already done that. Page me if he shows up here, will yuh?”
Brendan turned abruptly and bumped into Morgan, knocking the purse containing the cash from her hands. “I’m awfully sorry,” he apologized, reaching down to pick up the handbag. “I-I-I gotta lot on my mind tonight. I didn’t even see you standing there.”
The purse was open on top and Brendan noticed the bundles of money inside. He became all smiles. “You got lucky tonight, huh? Good for you! It’s winners like you who make my casinos successful. I hope you’ll spread the word to your friends. Maybe they won’t be so lucky, hawr, hawr.”
Morgan took the proffered purse. “Mr. Brendan, could I talk with you for a minute? I know you’re busy or you wouldn’t be here so late at night, but it’s important.”
Brendan did not want to be impolite to a high roller, which the woman facing him appeared to be. “Yes, certainly. What is it?”
“This money … this money that I won tonight. I played blackjack with money given to me by Mr. Lacey—”
Brendan knew Lacey had a reputation for rewarding women for their company and immediately assumed Morgan was one of them. He definitely did not want to become involved in Lacey’s personal business. “I suppose you want to thank him. Lacey isn’t here now. Can you see him in the morning? I hate to rush you, but I gotta big problem and—”
“Please, Mr. Brendan, hear me out,” Morgan pleaded, latching onto his arm. “I’m not a regular casino customer. I’m an employee here. I work in Surveillance.”
That stopped Brendan. “Wh-wh-what did you say?”
“I said I work for you.”
Brendan stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That does pose a problem. As you know, employees of this casino are not allowed to play the table games. The slots are okay, so’s the race and sports book and keno. If I know you won the money at the tables, I’ll have to let you go.
“I don’t want to do that. You seem like a nice lady. Maybe Lacey gave you a bum steer. Let’s just forget this conversation ever took place. Keep whatever you’ve won. It’s yours. Show your thanks to Lacey tomorrow. Just don’t gamble at the tables again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve really gotta go.”
Without waiting for a reply, Brendan dashed out the door.
Myra and Morgan stepped out in the hall so they could talk without Sergeant Belltower overhearing them. “Mr. Brendan apparently knows nothing about the money scheme,” Myra commented.
“No. I told you. The only people who know about it are you and me, Lacey, and Paul Carey. And the mechanic, but he was just following Carey’s orders. Carey told him to make sure I won. He didn’t tell the man why.”
“Why is a good question. What do you think the test proved, Morgan? Neither Carey nor Lacey were even here the whole time you were playing.”
Morgan shook her head. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. None of it made any sense to me from the git-go. What do we do now, Myra?” Morgan asked.
Myra thought for a minute. “Let’s go downstairs to the Wardrobe department. You should change out of that ridiculous costume.”
“Ridiculous? I thought you liked it,” Morgan grinned. “Okay, I’ll change. Then what?”
“After you turn in the costume, we’ll page Lacey. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
When they opened the door to the Wardrobe department, Myra recognized her friend Micki Nedrow. “Micki, what are you doing here so late?” she asked.
“I’m doing a double shift,” Nedrow grumbled. “It might wi
nd up being a triple, I don’t know. Both of my so-called workers on swing called in sick, and I haven’t seen the one from graveyard yet. It’s par for the course around here. Aarrgh!
“You look fabulous, Myra. I love your new outfit and hair style.”
“Thanks, Micki. I suppose you’ve heard the news about me and Michael—”
Micki nodded. “Yes. And I’ve also heard the rumors about you and Morgan, too. It’s none of my business, but, are they true?”
“Yes. Morgan and I are in love and we’re living together.”
“That’s great. There’s not enough love in the world, and when two people find each other, I think it’s wonderful.”
“Speaking of rumors—did you hear any rumors or gossip tonight?” Myra asked. “Morgan thinks something strange might be going on in the casino.”
“What do you mean?”
Morgan answered. “The pit bosses and department managers have been acting funny tonight. Funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha. We ran into Marshall Brendan at the Security office and he seemed even more preoccupied than usual. He didn’t recognize Myra or me.”
“You wonder why? With you in the African Princess costume and Myra looking like a totally different person? You gotta be kidding.” Micki’s face took on a somber tone. “But to answer your question. There was a report on the eleven o’clock news—”
“What was it? Don’t keep us in suspense,” Myra prompted.
“The Crest Resorts corporate jet crashed a few hours ago. It went down in a heavy snowstorm about two miles short of the runway at Salt Lake City. Paul Carey was killed. The pilot’s in critical condition and may not live through the night. The other passengers are in serious condition, but they should make it,” Micki announced.
“Ohmygod,” Myra gasped. “Carey invited me to fly up there tonight.”
“It’s a good thing you turned him down,” Micki told her soberly.
Thirty-Seven
“WHEN YOU PROMISED TO TREAT ME to a steak dinner tonight, I didn’t know you meant the $3.95 steak and eggs graveyard breakfast special here at the Blue Hawaii coffee shop,” Morgan teased. She splashed a few drops of hot sauce on her scrambled eggs.
“I didn’t,” Myra answered. “I was going to buy you the best steak in town. But things change.”
“They sure do. I’m still in shock about the plane crash.”
Myra took a sip of her coffee. “Everyone here is. Especially Marshall Brendan. He and Paul Carey were partners for a long time and good friends even longer. They went to high school together, I understand.”
“It’s no wonder Brendan didn’t recognize you tonight, Myra. It wasn’t only your new look. He was really shaken up by Carey’s death.”
Myra checked her watch. “It’s after two-thirty. I’ve paged Rick Lacey a half dozen times now. The hotel operator said a lot of other people are looking for him, too. He hasn’t answered the pages or returned calls left on his beeper. My guess is Lacey is at the hospital. Maybe some complications developed with his wife or their baby. I’ll have the operator try again when we finish eating. If he’s not on the property by then, I think we should just go home. By the time we get to sleep it’ll be nearly four, and I’ll need to get up no later than eight. Because of the plane crash, I’ll have to be in my office early. It’s going to be a busy day. The media will be expecting me to furnish background information on everyone who was on board the airplane.”
“I never really thought about it before, but your public relations job involves a lot more than just preparing press releases on the entertainers and casino promotions, doesn’t it?” Morgan asked.
Myra nodded. “Yes. A whole lot more.”
“If we go home, what are we going to do with all the money?” Morgan worried.
“We’ll take it with us. What else can we do? I’ll lock the handbag in the trunk of my car. We’ll turn it in to Lacey tomorrow. I’m glad we rode in to work together this morning, Morgan. I wouldn’t want to be driving down the street by myself knowing there’s a fortune in my trunk.”
“I guess we won’t be going dancing tonight,” Morgan fretted.
“I’ll give you a rain check on the dancing,” Myra promised.
IT WAS LATER DESCRIBED variously by witnesses—nurses, orderlies, and patients—as a bloodcurdling scream, a horrendous howl, or a tortured wail. But as all of those who attempted to characterize the piercing, earsplitting sound that escaped from the soul, built in the bowels, amplified in the lungs, traveled through the throat, and expectorated from between the lips of Susan Lacey knew, there were no words in the English language to adequately describe what they heard.
Susan had awakened around four in the morning and reached to the night stand for a glass of water. The room was darkened, the only light coming from the hospital corridor. Her hand landed on a hairy object sitting where the water glass should have been.
Susan pressed the button at the end of the cable clipped to a bed rail. When the light above the bed came on, she was staring into the expressionless eyes of her husband’s decapitated head. At first, she thought she was still asleep, having a nightmare, and at any moment would wake up in a cold sweat. Then, when Susan realized she was already awake, she assumed the object sitting on a pool of blood and gore only inches from her face was someone’s sick practical joke, a Halloween-type prank. Perhaps it was nothing more than a latex mask and catsup, she surmised. Tentatively, without any real consideration, she touched the viscid fluid, then inspected the sticky red mass on her finger. As Susan’s eyes focused more clearly and reality set in, an avalanche of emotion cascaded and tore out of her like a firestorm.
Two nurses arrived within seconds, but it was several minutes before they were able to grasp the situation, subdue Susan, and give her an injection to return her to sleep.
“I CAN DO WITHOUT BREAKFAST,” Morgan grumbled, “But I sure do need a cup of coffee. I’m groggy from lack of sleep.” She lit two cigarettes and handed one to Myra, who was driving.
“I need coffee and something to eat. I’ll give you a call as soon as I get things under control in my office—it shouldn’t be more than an hour or so—and we can meet in the Help’s Hall for breakfast,” Myra told her.
“Have you talked with Michael or Kim since you split up?” Morgan asked. The question was prompted not so much from curiosity as it was from a slight feeling of insecurity.
Myra made a face. “Kimberly no, Michael yes. Last night, while you were playing blackjack, Michael called me on my cell phone. He wanted me to drop everything and meet him right away at the condo. He said he needed to talk in person about something or other. I figured Michael had a day to collect his thoughts and was going to try to talk me out of the divorce.
“I don’t think Michael’s handling the separation very well, Morgan. I set him straight, though. I told him no, I was not going to meet him at the condo, then or any other time. That it wouldn’t do any good for us to talk, I’d already said my piece. He didn’t want to take no for an answer, and I finally had to hang up on him.”
“Where was Kim while Michael was begging you to get together with him?”
“Right there. Where else? Don’t worry, Morgan. I love you and I’m a hundred percent satisfied with my decision. Michael and Kimberly have each other. I’m with the person I want to be with—you.”
Morgan leaned over and kissed Myra on the cheek. Her hands teased the nape of Myra’s neck. “I love you too, Myra. Don’t ever forget that.”
A few blocks later Morgan asked, “What are we going to do about the money?” That issue continued to weigh heavily on her mind.
“We might as well leave it in the trunk of my car for now,” Myra decided. “It’ll be safe there. As soon as you hear from Rick Lacey, let me know and I’ll run out to the car and get it for you.”
“If you’ll let me use your cell phone, I’ll call him right now. Maybe Rick can meet us in the parking lot,” Morgan suggested. “The sooner I give the money to him, the better I’ll f
eel.”
“That’s a good idea,” Myra agreed. “Since you didn’t return the money last night, Lacey may be thinking you absconded with the cash. You can set his mind at ease.” She turned on her cell phone and started to hand it to Morgan. Almost immediately, it rang.
Myra held on to the phone. “Let me answer it,” she said disgustedly. “I know that has to be Michael. She pressed the send button. “Yes, Michael, what do you want now?” Myra spat into the mouthpiece.
“This isn’t Michael. It’s Kim.”
“I’m sorry, Kim,” Myra apologized, slightly taken aback. “I thought Michael was calling me again. Kim, I need you to help me convince Michael that our marriage is over. I’m not going to change my mind, no matter what he—”
Kimberly interrupted Myra. “Myra, listen to me. Both Michael and I have been trying to reach you since early this morning, but your cell phone was turned off. Michael had something very important to tell you last night, but you wouldn’t hear him out. He couldn’t say what was wrong over the phone, because at the time he thought the condo might be bugged.”
“Why on earth would Michael think that?” Myra asked.
“Someone planted a video camera in our bedroom at the condo. They made a video of the three of us making love. Michael received a DVD along with a threatening note.”
“Ohmygod. What did the note say?” Myra asked.
“It said that if we didn’t want our business put in the street, you should stop asking questions at Blue Hawaii. The note was unsigned, of course. We called Mark Caruso right away. He and two other police officers came to the condo and removed the video camera. Mark considers the note to be a serious threat. He thinks it was written by the serial killer.”
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” was all Myra could say. The color had drained from her face.
“Mark says making our ménage public is the least of our worries. The killer apparently believes that if you don’t already know who he is, you’ll soon find out if you continue questioning the casino employees. Your life—Michael’s, too—may be in great danger.”
A Time For Us (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 26