Hocus Croakus

by Mary Daheim

  But the most incredible thing Judith noticed was that Salome looked like she was dead.

  FOUR

  THE FLASHING LIGHTS and honking horns and ringing bells seemed to be going off inside Judith’s head instead of around her. Was it possible to ignore the corpse in the Corvette? Maybe Salome wasn’t dead. Maybe she’d passed out. Maybe Judith was overreacting.

  The Lake Stillasnowamish Resort Casino was a fantastical place. Like all casinos and most resorts, it was designed to take visitors out of their drab, real lives. “Disneyland for grown-ups” was the way Renie had described her first visit to Vegas. For a few days, you could actually leave your troubles—along with your money—at the door and exist in a dream world.

  Slowly, she got to her feet. Would it be crass to cash out her unused quarters? Only, Judith thought, if Salome really was beyond help. That’s how she looked. Completely still. Drained of life. Judith had seen enough bodies to recognize death.

  Before she could decide what to do next, Renie appeared at her side. “I lost the whole twenty dollars,” she declared, looking vexed. “Unless you’re winning, let’s get out of here.”

  Grimacing, Judith glanced at the body and then at the people who had been sitting on either side of her. The elderly white-haired woman with glasses on a chain was riveted to her machine; the burly, middle-aged man in the plaid flannel shirt was reaching into his worn wallet to fetch another twenty. Neither of them seemed to notice that Judith or anybody else was alive.

  Or dead, for that matter, thought Judith as she started to walk away from the console.

  “Hey!” Renie gave Judith a small shove. “You’ve got over ten bucks still in the machine.”

  Not wanting to cause a fuss, Judith dutifully hit the Cash/Credit button and began scooping quarters into a plastic bucket.

  “You dropped a couple,” Renie said, bending down to pick up the stray coins. “If you do that when I’m not around, ask somebody else to pick them up for you. You don’t want to bend too far and dislocate your hip. This is a vacation, you aren’t looking for trouble.”

  “I’m not,” Judith said, “but I think I’ve found some.” Without acknowledging the puzzlement on her cousin’s face, she moved away from the console, then turned to stop by the front end of the car. “Look up into the driver’s seat,” she whispered.

  Renie, who didn’t need her glasses except for close work, peered up into the ’Vette. She started to shrug, then tensed. “Good God. It’s Salome.”

  “Yes.” Judith looked around. No one was paying the slightest attention to the cousins. Except, perhaps, for the eye-in-the-sky, as the security cameras were called.

  Renie grew red in the face and clenched her fists. “I don’t believe it! We’re supposed to be having fun!” Her voice began to rise. “Now you have to spoil it by finding another damned corpse!”

  Several people turned to stare at the cousins. Judith stopped short of putting her hand over Renie’s mouth. “Keep it down!” she ordered in a low, but emphatic, voice.

  Still looking outraged, Renie appeared to be weighing mayhem versus propriety. Before she could make up her mind, a short but stout white-haired woman whose hands glittered with diamonds and sapphires touched Judith’s arm.

  “Did your friend say ‘corpse’?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  “Uh…” Judith winced. “No, no, she said ‘horse.’ She wants to play the ponies in the sports-book area.”

  The woman patted Judith’s arm. “You should. I won over four hundred dollars today in the sixth race at Pimlico on a horse named Gasbag. He was a long shot, but I bet on him because that was my late husband’s nickname. Good luck, dear.” The woman toddled away.

  Renie had simmered down. “Okay, okay, now that I haven’t killed you, what do we do next?”

  Judith made an effort to gather her usual logical thought processes. “I think I know where security is located. I saw the desk this afternoon when I telephoned Bart Bednarik.”

  To her relief, Pancho Green was chatting with one of the uniformed security men. “Ah!” the casino manager exclaimed with his toothsome grin. “Mrs. Flynn! How did you like the Great Mandolini?”

  “Fine, but—”

  Pancho held up a hand. “Yes, I heard about the seating incident with Inga. I must apologize for the mix-up. Inga is—”

  Judith was compelled to interrupt. “Mr. Green, there’s a much bigger problem at the—”

  “Inga is Mandolini’s sister,” Pancho went on. “She and Mr. Fromm, his manager, along with whoever else might join their—”

  “Mr. Green! Please! The Corvette over in the quarter section has a—”

  Pancho’s attention was finally captured. “The Corvette?” He frowned. “Did someone damage it during the power failure?”

  “Not the car itself,” Judith replied, and swallowed hard. “It’s the person inside it. It looks like—”

  “Person? There’s no person in the car,” Pancho asserted, looking relieved. “That’s a dummy, a doll, a…you know, a mannequin.”

  “Not now it isn’t,” Judith persisted. “It looks like Salome.”

  Pancho chuckled. “Yes, it does a bit. We joked about that when we put the mannequin in the ’Vette. We told Salome that if she got bored between performances, she could always go sit in—”

  Renie stepped forward and grabbed Pancho by his well-cut lapels. “Salome is dead. Dead, dead, dead!”

  The frown returned to Pancho’s swarthy face. “What do you mean, ‘dead’?”

  Renie let go of his lapels, closed her eyes, and let her tongue loll out of her mouth. “Like that.”

  “She may just be unconscious,” Judith put in. “But whatever the case, she needs help. Or something,” she added lamely.

  At last, Pancho looked alarmed. “This isn’t a joke?”

  “No.” If the single word didn’t convince Pancho, Judith’s stricken face did.

  “Good God!” Pancho turned to the security man who had been going over some forms. “Amos, call your crew to SR-Five.” He stopped and gave a sharp shake of his head. “No. Call in only three of them. We don’t want a mob scene. And see if Doc Engelman is here tonight. I thought I saw him in the coffee shop.”

  Amos, who was a stocky young man of Native-American descent, stared at his boss. “What is it? What code should I give?”

  “Crimson,” Pancho retorted, already moving into the gaming area.

  Amos’s jaw dropped, but he already had a phone in his hand. His voice over the PA system was calm, however. Judith and Renie followed Pancho, but he detained them after a few steps.

  “Wait here by the security desk,” he said. “We’re going to do whatever we have to do as discreetly as possible.”

  “But…” Judith began.

  Grim faced, Pancho made a “back-off” gesture with his hands. The cousins watched him hurry away.

  “This is just too gruesome,” Judith declared. “What if Salome is really dead?”

  Renie raked her short chestnut hair with her fingers and fidgeted with her clothes. “Of all the casinos, in all the resorts, in all the world, why did she have to die by your slot machine? Hunh,” she said in surprise, “the back of my skirt feels damp. I must’ve gotten it wet in the rest room after the lights went out.”

  “That was no accidental power failure,” Judith asserted.

  “You may be right,” Renie conceded.

  Judith felt a headache coming on. “How on earth do I end up in these horrible situations? There were twenty other people playing those Corvette slots.”

  “Truly,” Renie replied, “in a casino, you could set off a nuclear device and no one would notice. One time in Reno, I was sitting near a window at the hotel/casino where we were staying, and there was a terrible car crash just outside. Everybody looked up for about a second, then went back to playing despite the fact that all sorts of emergency vehicles showed up, sirens, flashing lights, and all. Worse yet, there was a fatality. But nobody paid any attention, in
cluding me. I read about it the next day in the newspaper.”

  Judith shivered. “That’s awful.” She hesitated, then touched Renie’s arm. “Come on, we can’t just stand here. Let’s try to get closer to the action.”

  “But Pancho told us to—”

  “Never mind Pancho,” Judith said, already moving away. “If I’ve found another body, I’m entitled to see what’s going on. I’m praying that Salome isn’t dead, that she simply passed out, or that it’s a publicity stunt or a practical joke. How can you blame me for wanting to learn the truth?”

  There was no answer from Renie. Judith turned to look at her cousin, but she wasn’t there.

  “Damnit!” Judith swore under her breath. She gazed down the row of quarter slots. Renie’s taffeta skirt stuck out a bit into the aisle. As fast as her artificial hip could carry her, Judith tromped back down the row of machines to discover her cousin pressing buttons like a maniac.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Judith demanded.

  Renie didn’t bother to look up. “Apparently, whoever was playing this machine when the power went out left sixty credits in it and nobody noticed. This is Wild Ginger, and it’s one of my favorites.”

  “You silly twit,” Judith hissed. “Cash out or whatever, but come with me right now or I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “Ohhh…” Renie pressed the Play button one more time. Two green leaves and one ginger blossom showed up on the center line. With a disgusted expression, Renie cashed out.

  “The sacrifices I make,” she muttered, “just because you have this obnoxious habit of finding dead bodies.”

  “You think I enjoy it?” Judith snapped.

  “I have to wonder,” Renie retorted as they approached the Corvette display where every machine had on its light to signal for a mechanic.

  “What are they doing?” Judith asked. Some of the players were talking among themselves, others were looking around for assistance.

  Amos, the security guard at the desk, had just reached the area. The cousins stopped in their tracks. Renie peered across the ten feet of space that separated them from the console.

  “It looks as if the machines are all registering a 30033 code. That means that the hopper is empty, or that there’s a mechanical failure.”

  A female security guard with two black braids showed up, then an older man who seemed to be the only guard wearing a gun. The players rose from their seats, most with reluctance.

  As other onlookers gathered around, Judith could hear the female guard’s pleasant but firm voice: “The problem is probably due to the power failure. If you’ll step well away, we’ll fix it. It may take a while, so you’re free to play elsewhere. Meanwhile, your money is safe. The computer has your credits recorded.”

  Pancho Green came around from the far side of the console. Apparently, he didn’t see the cousins, who were half hidden by a life-size cutout of a showgirl. The casino manager had assumed a casual air, chatting amiably with an older goateed man. As the crowd of onlookers grew in number, Pancho held up his hands.

  “Nothing to see here,” he announced in his resonant voice. “Go enjoy yourselves, good luck, and get rich.”

  The words seemed as magical as if they were part of Mandolini’s act. The gawkers began to disappear just as a quartet of workmen in white overalls unfolded a tall, plastic screen to enclose the Corvette area.

  “Shoot,” Judith said, “now we can’t even see the car.”

  “That’s the point,” Renie replied. “I’ve been watching poor Salome. She hasn’t moved.”

  Sadly, Judith shook her head. “I still can’t believe it.” She kept staring as the white panels were unfurled one by one, like sheets draped over a corpse. Which, she realized, was their purpose.

  Pancho and the man with the goatee stepped inside the enclosure as the last piece of plastic was put into place. “He must be the doctor. What’s his name? Engelstad?”

  Renie shook her head. “Engelman, I think.”

  Judith saw the doorman, Bob Bearclaw, moving toward the panels in his stately manner. To her surprise, he, too, slipped inside.

  “What’s that all about?” she murmured.

  “The doorman?” Renie said. “Maybe he’s there to open the car door.”

  “Don’t be callous,” Judith responded, noting that her cousin was drifting backward, toward the dollar slots behind them.

  Amos and the other two security guards apparently had taken their cue from Pancho. All three of them were speaking together, while Amos, with arms folded across his chest, seemed to be telling a funny story. Judith, however, didn’t miss their quick, anxious glances at the enclosure.

  But Judith did miss Renie. Turning around sharply, she saw her cousin at a dollar slot, deep in concentration.

  “Coz!” Judith cried, then lowered her voice. “How could you?”

  “I know, I know,” Renie replied. “I don’t usually play dollar machines, but I noticed that these seem to be hitting. Can’t you hear the clatter of the coins? Dollar tokens make a very loud—and lovely—sound.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Judith said in exasperation. “I mean, how could you play anything at a time like this?”

  “We don’t want to get in trouble, do we?” Renie inquired in her best aging ingenue manner. “I’m covering for your extreme curiosity by playing this machine. Look, I just won ten dollars.”

  “I hope you get tendonitis,” Judith snarled. “Nobody’s paying any attention to us. Besides, what harm is there in merely watching what’s going on?”

  “You can’t see anything,” Renie pointed out, pressing the button again. “You’ll hear what happened later. It’s bound to get out. Not to mention that Joe knows Pancho, right? Hey! I got twenty! This thing’s hot!”

  Judith had never seen Renie like this. Her cousin might become absorbed in her family, her work, the baseball season, or a designer sale at Nordquist’s, but she had always been able to fragment herself enough to lend Judith an ear. Maybe it was best to ignore her.

  Turning back to observe the plastic panels, she noticed that the guards had fanned out beyond the area, which was cordoned off with velvet ropes attached to sturdy brass poles. More workmen were bringing in a hoist and a flatbed trailer. Once again, people began to gather near the Corvette console.

  Pancho stepped out between the panels. “We seem to have an oil leak,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “We’re going to have the dealership bring us a new model.”

  Some people groaned, others laughed. But their interest was short-lived. Judith stayed in place, once again half-hiding behind the showgirl cutout. The screens were removed to reveal the Corvette covered with a white tarp. It took less than five minutes to lift the car and place it on the trailer. The parade of guards and workers was led away by Pancho Green and the man with the goatee. Bob Bearclaw nodded at Pancho before moving toward the front of the casino in his dignified manner.

  Judith felt gypped. “Are you broke yet?” she asked Renie, who was still at the dollar slot.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Renie said with a disgusted expression. “But I only put in forty bucks.”

  “Good grief.”

  Renie, however, was undaunted. “Want to try roulette?”

  “I don’t know how to play,” Judith said, a worried expression on her face.

  “I’ll show you,” Renie replied. “It’s not hard. But first, we’ve got to find the table with the lowest minimum.”

  “First,” Judith said sternly, “I’ve got to find Joe. I have to tell him about Salome.”

  “He won’t know anything,” Renie said, leading the way to the table games.

  “But he knows Pancho,” Judith replied stubbornly. “Where did he say he was going? To play craps? That seems to be his favorite.”

  “Bill likes craps, too,” Renie said. “But he has to study the tables for a long time to make sure there’s a decent shooter. Otherwise, he won’t play. Let’s have a look. The craps tables are near the
roulette wheels anyway.”

  Joe and Bill weren’t at any of the six craps tables. While they were all crowded, the cousins observed neither whoops of joy nor high-fiving of hands. The Hot Shooter had not been found.

  At the far end of the table games, they spotted Bill. He was standing a few feet back from a baccarat table, fingering his chin.

  Renie approached her husband with caution. She waited until the current hand was played out before tentatively tapping him on the arm.

  “Have you seen Joe lately?” she asked in a subdued voice.

  Bill didn’t reply immediately. Another hand was being dealt. Judith noticed that at least five of the six players were of Asian descent. All but one was using black chips. An ancient Japanese man with a scraggly gray beard put what Judith estimated was at least twenty of them on the space marked player.

  “Black’s a hunsky,” Renie whispered, following Judith’s gaze.

  “You mean a hundred bucks?” Judith gasped. “He must have at least two grand out there.”

  “Which he just lost,” Renie said softly. “Bank won.” The Japanese man put out another stack. Judith saw that he had a very large pile of black chips still in front of him.

  “Joe went off a couple of minutes ago with somebody I didn’t recognize,” Bill finally said as the new hand was dealt.

  “Which way?” Judith asked.

  Eyes glued to the table, Bill shrugged.

  Renie started to walk away. Judith snatched at her cousin’s bronze dolman sleeve. “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to tell Bill about Salome?”

  Renie shook her head. “Not when he’s observing baccarat. He’s trying to get into the rhythm of the game. Player-Player-Bank-Bank-Bank-Player-Tie-Player—”

  “Shut up!” Judith cried. “I’m starting to wish I’d never come here.”

  “Coz.” Renie eyed Judith very seriously. “You came here to relax. For once in your life, could you ignore what may be a tragedy—but has nothing to do with you—and simply enjoy yourself? That’s what I’m trying to do. Honest, by the time you leave here, you’ll feel refreshed.”