Murder or Bust (We're Not Dead Yet Club Book 3)

by Constance Barker

“Ah,” Hazel replied, raising a triumphant finger into the air. “You see? Cecil’s friend. Not Robert. Cecil’s friend is the lounge singer. Robert was the manager…”

  “No, Hazel, Cardello is the manager…”

  “Oh. So, who is Don then?”

  “Cardello.”

  “No,” Hazel replied, shaking her head. “I said Don. Who is Don?”

  “Cardello,” Clara replied, her voice tinged with just an ounce of frustration. “Don Cardello. It’s the same person…”

  “Oh…” Hazel nodded her head as though she understood, but Clara could tell straight away that she didn’t. “And he’s the lounge singer, right?”

  This conversation went on for quite a while and – while it may be tempting to relay each point of discussion in a blow-by-blow account, it wouldn’t really add much to the story except to thoroughly confuse anyone who was trying to follow it.

  All you need to know is that Robert was the singer, Don Cardello was the manager. Clara was right, Hazel was wrong.

  Got it?

  Anyway, the long and short of it was that, while Clara and Hazel were busy correcting each other over the finer details of the case, Ida May had managed to sneakily place another dollar into the slot machine. Neither of her friends realized until Ida May pulled down on the lever and, once again, the machine reels began to manically spin around.

  “Ida May!”

  “What?” Ida May shot back, shrugging her shoulders and gesturing towards the machine. “You two were busy!”

  It was clear that a change of tact was needed. Hazel stared around them, hoping that something very large and distracting would happen – for she believed that only that would be enough to pry Ida May away from the slot machine. As it happened, no such incident occurred, but Hazel’s searching was not entirely in vain. After a second or two, her eyes fell on an advertisement stuck to a nearby column – an advertisement that I won’t describe in any serious detail for reasons you are about to discover…

  “Ida May,” Hazel announced, turning her head sharply back to her friend.

  Ida May paused, her hand mid-way to putting another dollar into the machine. There was something in Hazel’s enthusiasm that had caught her attention – although an enthusiastic Hazel was not exactly a rare occurrence. She stared at her friend, her eyes sparkling with interest and – very slowly – her hand fell away from the slot and she turned her body to sit square on to her.

  “What?”

  “I think I have a treat for you.”

  Ida May’s eyes narrowed with interest. “What kind of a treat.”

  Hazel smiled, wickedly, nodding to the poster behind her. “You’ll like it.”

  She watched as Ida May’s eyes fell on the poster. She stared at it for a moment before slowly getting to her feet and wandering a little closer until her eyes could finally focus on the words. In an instant, her face became flushed and she let out a little squeal of delight, prompting Clara to step forward as well to examine the poster.

  “The Bountiful Mounties,” she read, staring between Hazel and Ida May. “Oh my…”

  Hazel chuckled gleefully. “They’re a Chip ‘n’ Dales act from Canada…”

  Ida May bit her bottom lip. “Hazel, you wicked thing.”

  “We couldn’t possibly…”

  “Oh, where’s your sense of fun, Clara…”

  “We have a case.”

  Hazel leant forward. “But they’re Canadian…”

  “Yes, I know what from Canada means, Hazel…”

  “Besides,” she replied, stepping next to Ida May and clapping her on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

  Ida May nodded gleefully. “It’ll be such a giggle, Clara. After all, we are here on a break.”

  Clara sighed. “I suppose, if it gets Ida May away from the slot machines…”

  Ida May squealed with excitement. “It’s settled then, I’ll get us tickets.”

  “And you never know,” Hazel put in. “It may help us solve the case.”

  Clara’s eyes narrowed in an instant.

  “How?”

  “Well, that Ava girl was a stripper, wasn’t she?”

  *****

  Now, back to the story where Hazel mows over a poor waitress carrying drinks.

  “Oh, Cecil…”

  Hazel scuttled around the corner, her eyes falling squarely on Cecil. Clara had been insistent that Ava was a showgirl, but Hazel knew better. At least, she thought she knew better.

  As she rounded the corner, she clattered into a waitress, sending a tray of glasses flying out in all directions. She didn’t seem to notice the smashing as the glasses shattered against the floor and machines around her – she had only one goal in mind. Cecil was going to prove she was right.

  She skidded to a halt in front of Cecil, knocking the suited man that he had been talking to right out of the way.

  “We couldn’t remember, dear,” she said rapidly, ignoring Cardello’s squirms of pain. “Was Ava a stripper or a showgirl?”

  “Huh?”

  Cecil stared around in confusion as Clara and Ida May barreled to a halt next to Hazel.

  “Ignore her, Cecil,” Clara said quickly. “She’s confused herself again.”

  “Although it is quite entertaining,” put in Ida May, biting her lip as she tried to contain her laughter.

  Cardello slowly got to his feet, clutching at his chest as he tried to steady himself. “Yes, I’m afraid there is a little misunderstanding,” he muttered, drawing up to his full height. “Ava was a showgirl. It is her former boyfriend who was the stripper?”

  “Eh?”

  Cecil stepped quickly forward before Hazel could mutter anything else. “Mr. Cardello, these are my friends I was talking about.”

  Cardello’s eyes swooped between each of the three ladies, settling finally on Hazel who smiled sweetly up at him.

  “These are the detectives you were talking about?”

  Clara stepped forward, gently shoving Hazel out of the way as she held out her hand. “The We’re Not Dead Yet Club – at your service, Mr Cardello.”

  “We’re Not Dead Yet?”

  “Yes,” replied Ida May, nodding her head firmly. “It doesn’t bode well to be too confident about our mortality at our age…”

  Cardello slowly nodded although his eyes told the ladies that he was as confused as ever. He turned slowly towards Cecil and whispered:

  “These are the detectives? Are you mad?”

  “They are the best I’ve ever seen at what they do,” Cecil replied.

  Cardello let out a single laugh. “Then I guess your experience is incomplete.” He turned back to Clara and stared her straight in the eye. “God help Robert with such watchdogs as you ladies on the case…”

  Clara’s eyes fluttered slightly and her nose winced as though she had detected a faint, unpleasant smell.

  “You mentioned Ava’s ex-boyfriend.”

  Cardello nodded. “Yes. Steve. He’s one of the Canadian boys in a dance troupe.”

  Clara could feel Hazel and Ida May leap with glee. “Not the Bountiful Mounties?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” He turned to Clara, ignoring Hazel and Ida May as they chatted excitedly amongst themselves. “But I’d suggest you stay out of his way.”

  “Oh? And why’s that?”

  “Well…” Cardello hesitated, a large smile forming across his face. “Steve’s a big guy – and he’s not exactly known for behaving rationally when his temper is blown…”

  He chuckled and turned his back on them. “If there’s anything I can do…”

  And then he was gone, strolling off happily across the casino as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Clara felt Ida May and Hazel slide up alongside her.

  “Hmmm,” hummed Ida May. “Big and irrational. Sounds like a suspect to me…”

  “Hmmm,” imitated Hazel. “Big and irrational. Doesn’t sound Canadian at all…”

  Chapter Eight – The Mysterious Girl

&
nbsp; It was the early the following morning when Cecil finally received word that Robert was being released from jail. Cardello had put up the bail money for him and, despite his misgivings about Clara, Ida May and Hazel, had agreed to co-operate with them as much as possible. Cecil suspected that he’d done this more to satisfy his own curiosity about the girls than because he actually believed they were capable of solving the crime. But Cecil never had any doubt in his mind and, as he waited anxiously at the bar for the return of his friend, the girls slipped off to indulge themselves in the fun of Vegas.

  As – apparently – did Percy. With all the excitement of the approaching murder case, they had all but forgotten about their friend until that morning. He’d skipped down the staircase, looking somewhat worse for wear but otherwise very happy, before heading straight off for the poker tables. Clara and Hazel followed him along the hall for a little while before finally diverting off towards the roulette tables.

  “Do you think Cecil will remember what he did yesterday?” Hazel asked, as they arrived at the nearest table.

  Clara shrugged. In truth she didn’t really know. Cecil had a knack of managing to get involved in their cases, usually by discovering some vital piece of evidence that broke the case wide open – but on this occasion had managed to stay quite out of the way with the exception of his drunken attempts to provide legal council to Robert. Although, now Clara thought about it, it was strange that Percy hadn’t even bothered to ask about the case. If what Cecil had told them was on the level, he was at least aware that a murder had taken place, and he knew the girls well enough to know that there was no way they’d stay out of it for long.

  Clara shrugged. “Maybe he was so drunk he doesn’t remember.”

  “Making that big of a fool of myself? I think I'd remember that.”

  Clara silently agreed.

  The croupier called out for more bets. Without a moment of hesitation, Hazel reached forward and placed a ten-dollar chip on each of her lucky numbers, calling them out as she did.

  “Four. Sixteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two…”

  “Hazel! That’s fifty dollars you’re betting there.”

  Hazel smiled cheerfully. “They’re my lucky numbers.” Her eyes scanned over the table, searching frantically for something. “Now where is thirty-eight? I can’t bet all my luck numbers without thirty-eight…”

  Clara giggled. “Hazel, it’s Roulette. The numbers only go up to thirty-six.”

  “Oh,” Hazel muttered, quickly scanning the table once again just in case Clara was wrong. “I’ll have to bet thirty-six then…”

  With that she placed another chip down on thirty-six.

  Clara frowned, biting her bottom lip. “Why don’t you just bet on red and black? The odds are much better with those?”

  Hazel smiled and shook her head slowly. “Clara, dear. Red and Black are not numbers…”

  “Any more bets?”

  The croupier released the little silver ball on to the wheel. As it journeyed around the perimeter, Hazel watched it intently, her knuckles slowly turning white as she gripped tightly on her own palm. Clara paid less of an interest. She’d only put a twenty on an even number, and the odds were pretty good for that. Still, there was something about the ball moving around the wheel that was oddly captivating. The anticipation was building around the table with each revolution as the ball got slower and slower, tighter and tighter towards the middle.

  She could understand how people got addicted to it.

  A hand appeared from behind them and grasped hold of Clara’s wrist. Turning to face the owner, Clara was faced with the sight of a young woman with long, black, silky hair who was wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans. She peered anxiously from side to side before taking a step forward to mutter quietly to Clara.

  “You talked to John, right?”

  “John?”

  “The bartender.”

  “Oh right,” Clara replied, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice. “Yes – well, no, actually. My friend spoke to him, I believe…”

  “You’re investigating Ava’s death?”

  There was something about this girl that peaked Clara’s attention. Her skin looked pale white, but it seemed to Clara that this wasn’t the girl’s normal complexion. Even as her eyes darted around the room, Clara could see small beads of sweat forming along the girl’s hairline. Whatever was going on, this girl was terrified.

  “I’m Clara,” she announced, holding out her hand. “We’ll be looking at all the suspects on behalf of Robert Gillette…”

  “Don’t trust the police,” the girl said sharply. “They can’t help you. They’re too afraid of him.”

  “Who? Ava’s ex-boyfriend?”

  The girl’s eyes flickered. “Steve,” she said in confirmation. “He wasn’t happy that Ava was seeing someone else. Particularly an older man.”

  “You think he was unhappy enough to murder her?”

  The girl’s eyes winced again. She shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot as the rattling of the silver ball became less frequent and more pronounced. Beside Clara, Hazel leaned further forward, gripping the table tightly as the wheel prepared to present the winning number.

  The girl lowered her head slightly.

  “He’d kill me if he knew I was talking to you.”

  Clara stepped forward, her outstretched hand finally taking hold of the girl’s. “Tell me.”

  The girl considered this for a moment. She was afraid – there was no other way of putting it. Whatever this Steve was like, he had this poor girl literally quaking in her shoes. She slowly released her hand from Clara’s and took another step back.

  “The police were called out a few times. Steve got violent with Ava, but nothing was ever done about it.” She paused, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. “You don’t want to mess with him. He has a way of getting exactly what he wants. He would consider feeding you to the lions if you get too close…”

  “Who? Steve?”

  The girl shuffled back on to her left foot and glanced around again. “I have to go.”

  “No wait…”

  “I shouldn’t have talked to you about this…”

  The girl moved away just as a large cheer erupted from right beside Clara. Without warning, Hazel grabbed hold of Clara and spun her back towards the table.

  “Clara, we both won!” she called out, pointed excitedly at the ball as it rocked gently next to the winning number. “Thirty-six. And even. We both won. Told you it was my lucky number…”

  “That’s great,” replied Clara before turning back towards the girl.

  By the time she had turned though, the girl was gone. Hazel may have been $350 richer, but Clara couldn’t help feeling that a vital bit of the case had just slipped away…

  Chapter Nine – A Sinister Warning

  To say that Hazel was a little reluctant to leave the roulette table so early would be a major exaggeration. As Clara’s eyes swooped desperately amongst the crowd, searching for the mysterious girl, her right hand pawed at Hazel, trying to drag her away, even as she scooped up her winnings.

  “Hold on Clara, what’s the rush?”

  “Just hurry up, will you?”

  “Why, what’s the matter?”

  Clara didn’t respond. She took a few steps away from the table and thrust herself high up on to her toes. Like a hawk surveying a vast grass plain below, Clara eyed each individual, hunting for the dull-black clothing of the retreating girl. The harder she stared, the harder it seemed to distinguish between the mass of figures who, having heard Hazel’s triumphant cries, were now surging forward to see what all the fuss was about.

  Clara had almost abandoned hope when…

  There she was. Slipping between a burly looking security guard and a Black Jack table, the girl skirted quietly around the outer edge of the casino floor. Her face was lowered towards the ground and her casual demeanor screamed of a person trying desperately to avoid any unwanted attention. But there
was no denying it was her.

  Anxious not to lose her again, Clara risked another glance back towards the roulette table.

  “Hazel, quickly…”

  Hazel had finally finished shoveling her chips into her oversized handbag and had now turned away from the roulette table. As she trotted through the crowd, her handbag swung back and forth, bashing into other customers as she made her way over to Clara. By the time she reached her, any sign of victory had vanished from her eyes as they settled on Clara’s concerned face.

  “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

  “The girl,” Clara replied, turning back to check on the girl’s progress. “She’s getting away.”

  “Girl? What girl?”

  “She warned me to stay away…”

  “What? That girl, Ava?”

  Clara shook her head violently. She reached down and grabbed Hazel’s free hand and – with a gentle tug – started off into the crowd.

  “This way…”

  Hazel didn’t know what hit her. Before she was even able to ask, she found herself disappearing into the crowd as Clara skirted this way and that as she made a diagonal path across the casino floor. She didn’t pause for an explanation, not even when Hazel’s bag smashed against a nearby waitress and – for the second time in as many days – sent a tray of glasses smashing against the floor.

  “Sorry,” she called out. “Duty calls…”

  They weaved in and out of the crowd, getting closer and closer to where Clara expected the girl to be. She hadn’t headed straight for her – that would have been an amateur mistake to say the least – but had taken a moment to roughly work out the girl’s trajectory. As they got closer to the far side of the hall, Clara began to smile. She couldn’t see the girl any more, but that could only mean she hadn’t got there yet.

  They were about to cut her off…

  And yet when they arrived, there was no sign of her.

  None.

  None at all.

  It was almost as if she’d…

  “Vanished,” Clara muttered, staring wildly back to the spot where she’d last seen the girl. “Gone without a trace.”