by Mary Daheim
“I haven’t seen Manny since earlier today,” Joe put in. “I take it he’s making the funeral arrangements?”
Lloyd nodded once. “I guess. But Manny’s from back east. I hope he doesn’t have Sally buried there. Doesn’t seem right, eh? She was a western girl.”
“I’m sure her husband will do what he thinks is right,” Judith remarked. “Are her parents still living?”
Lloyd shook his head. “Died in a tractor accident.”
Judith frowned. “What happened?”
Lloyd screwed up his face, apparently in an attempt to remember. “Sally’s dad was into tractor pull. Tractor got loose. Crushed him and his missus. Show business runs in the family.”
And the tractor runs amok, Judith thought. Tractor pulls weren’t her idea of show business, but she didn’t comment except to murmur that it was a shame.
“Got to go,” Lloyd said, standing up. “Manny may be in the casino. Nice meeting you, eh?”
“Witness or suspect?” Judith said after Lloyd was out of hearing range.
“Both.” Joe wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Anybody connected to the act is a suspect.”
“That’s not such a long list,” Judith remarked, counting off the people involved. “Lloyd, Grisly, Inga, Mr. Fromm—who did I leave out?”
“Micki Mendoza, for one. Freddy’s girlfriend is also an aspiring performer.” Joe looked at his place setting and scowled. “Where’s my coffee?” He signaled for the waitress who was at the end of the aisle. “Coffee,” he mouthed, pantomiming cup to lips.
“I forgot about Micki,” Judith said as the waitress brought Joe his coffee, refilled Judith’s cup, and presented the bill. “Is she another blonde?”
“No, she’s got terrific long red hair. Of course,” Joe added, “it might not be natural.”
“True.”
“And don’t forget Manny Quinn,” Joe reminded Judith. “A spouse is always suspect number one.”
“I suppose,” Judith mused after a pause, “alibis aren’t worth much, since you don’t know when the murder occurred.”
Joe didn’t bother to respond. “Really,” Judith said after a lengthy silence, “I’d like to help. You know, talk to these people. It’s my way.”
“Uh-huh.” Joe’s response seemed ambiguous. He studied the bill, then put two silver dollars on the table for the tip. “Let’s go. I should get back to the meeting.”
The reservoir of goodwill that Joe had built up in the past half hour sprung a leak. “To what purpose?” Judith snapped, trailing her husband out to the cashier. “It sounds like you’re getting nowhere. Why can’t I at least talk to people?”
“Go ahead,” Joe said as he waited for change. “I can’t stop you, God knows. Besides, I’m going to suggest that we call in the feds. We should have done that right away.”
“Then do it,” Judith barked. “I’m going to do…” She wasn’t sure what she would do. “…something,” she finished on a lame note.
“Okay. See you.” He brushed Judith’s forehead with his lips.
“When?”
“Oh…” Joe glanced over his shoulder. “Six, six-thirty, in the room?”
“Fine.” Judith purposely moved in the opposite direction, finding herself in the winter wonderland of dollar slot machines. She would have moved on if she hadn’t spotted a young woman with flaming-red hair at a machine in the middle of the row. On a hunch, Judith sat down at the machine next to the redhead.
The machine featured different types of snowflakes and required three coins. Judith winced as she took a twenty out of her wallet. Then she glanced at the redhead’s stash. Two grooved red containers must have held at least a hundred dollars apiece. They were almost full, and the redhead’s tray was covered with coins. Judith got out another twenty. It was obvious that her neighbor wasn’t going anywhere for a while. An investment would have to be made. Assuming, of course, the woman was Micki Mendoza.
Whoever the redhead was, she was stunning in an artificial sort of way. Her well-defined features were carefully, even lavishly made up, and the flaming-red hair was pulled back from her face to hang long and curly over her shoulders. She wore a short off-the-shoulder black dress with a wide ruffle at the top and another at the hem. Her black ankle-strap pumps had four-inch heels. They made Judith dizzy just to look at them.
“You’re doing well,” Judith remarked as more silver dollars rattled and clattered into the young woman’s tray.
“It’s okay,” the redhead said with a shrug of her bare shoulders.
With a sense of recklessness, Judith pushed the Credit button. Three dollars, she thought. Enough for two pounds of hamburger on sale at Falstaff’s Grocery. As she feared, no winning combination showed up on the center line. At least the different snowflakes were pretty.
She tried again. No luck. Six dollars gone. She could buy a flat of primroses for the planter on the front porch with that money.
“Have you been playing your machine long?” Judith inquired of the redhead.
“What?” The woman turned to Judith. “Oh. Half an hour, maybe. I don’t keep track of time.” The redhead struck more gold.
Judith struck out. Nine dollars wasted. She could have bought a big pot roast for that price.
“Maybe I should try the machine on your other side,” Judith remarked. “I’m told that slots next to each other can both be hot.”
The redhead didn’t look up. “Yeah, that’s what they say. It’s bull.”
“Really? I’m new at this, so I’ll take your word for it. I might as well stay put.”
No response. No luck, either. For twelve dollars, Judith could have bought an azalea tree for the backyard.
“Have you won the big jackpot?” Judith inquired.
“Are you kidding? The most I’ve gotten is the three grand firs. You have to get the evergreen symbols to win the ten grand.”
“The grand firs must pay well,” Judith said, craning her neck to look at the redhead’s machines. “Oh, I see. It’s all trees except for the symbol that says ‘Evergreen Giant Jackpot.’ Goodness,” she went on, her eyes widening, “the grand firs are a grand.”
“Right.” The redhead didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “Maybe I should have gone with Manny to play the Vernal Equinox high-roller machines. He swears they pay off. But fifteen bucks at once is a bit much. The last time I tried it, I lost three bills in five minutes.”
Judith was puzzled. “Three bills?”
“A bill is a hundred dollars.” Briefly, the redhead studied Judith. “You must be new to all this.”
“I wasn’t kidding,” Judith admitted, then added with a humble expression, “I’m lucky I sat down next to somebody who knows what she’s doing. My name’s Judith.”
“Hi. I’m Micki.” She held out a hand that sported a large green emerald. The left hand displayed a brilliant marquis-cut diamond.
Judith hesitated. She wasn’t sure how long she could play dumb about Micki’s connection to the Mandolini ménage. The decision was made for her when she was almost pushed to the floor from behind.
“Ooops!” Two bright green–clad arms grasped wildly at Judith’s chair. “Sorry!” cried Renie, struggling to regain her equilibrium. “Ooof!” Catching her breath, she bent down to pick up the quarters that had fallen out of her bucket. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, if startled,” Judith replied. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Being startled by seeing you in the dollar section,” Renie answered, now on her hands and knees to gather in the fallen coins. “What are you doing here? Sleuthing?”
Judith winced as Micki frowned at both cousins.
“I mean,” Renie explained, finally standing up, “I couldn’t imagine it was you being reckless with money. What’s going on?”
Micki leaned forward in her chair to face Renie. “What did you say?”
Renie turned to look at the other woman. “Wow! That’s some red hair you’ve got there. It looks like your he
ad’s on fire. Butt out, I’m talking to my cousin.”
“Um,” Judith intervened, “coz, this is Micki Mendoza.”
Micki swung her head in Judith’s direction. “How did you know my last name?”
“Ahh…” It was no good. A fib was useless at this point, especially since Renie looked blank. Judith had to confess. “My last name’s Flynn. My husband, Joe, is helping with Sally’s murder investigation.”
“I knew it,” Renie said under her breath.
Micki shot Judith an angry look. “So why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She began scooping up silver dollars and dumping them in a bucket. “How did you know who I was? You did know, didn’t you?”
“I guessed,” Judith said, looking apologetic. “Because of your gorgeous hair.”
Micki gestured at Renie, who still seemed puzzled. “Bucky here doesn’t think it’s so gorgeous.”
“Hey,” Renie said sharply, annoyed by the reference to her overbite, “so I’m sorry, okay? I thought you were some pushy intruder.”
With an effort, Micki picked up all her coins. It was obvious that they were heavy. “I’m out of here,” she announced.
The cousins watched her flounce away, the ruffles on her dress almost creating a breeze.
Renie turned to Judith. “Who the heck is Micki Mendoza and why do you care?”
“She’s Freddy Polson’s girlfriend. Or fiancée, I think.”
Renie still looked mystified. “Who’s Freddy Polson?”
Judith sighed. Obviously, Renie hadn’t paid attention to anything that Judith had said about the murder case. “He’s the Great Mandolini.”
“Oh.” Renie was a trifle shamefaced. “I guess I haven’t taken in much of this murder thing.”
“I guess not.” Judith slammed the Credit button to retrieve her twenty-eight coins.
“I haven’t seen you all day,” Renie said, looking chagrined. “Or Joe. I called your mother around eleven. She told me you’d gone skiing.”
“You knew that wasn’t true,” Judith said in a vexed voice. “I can’t ski with these hips, and Joe never learned.”
“I know, I know,” Renie said, trotting along the aisle, behind Judith. “Where were you?”
Up ahead, Judith spotted the end of a horseshoe of high-stakes blackjack tables that didn’t open until evening. “Let’s sit,” she said, though it took some effort for her to get onto the taller chair. “Let me start at the beginning.” As succinctly as possible, she recounted her adventures back at the B&B. Renie looked suitably dismayed, surprised, and sympathetic in turn.
“That’s awful,” she finally declared. “What’s worse, it’s not all.”
Judith was taken aback. “What do you mean?”
Renie took a deep breath. “We got a call this morning from the idiot who’s working on the cabin. Armbuster has all sorts of questions and problems about that project. Bill drove down there around noon. He’s not back yet, as far as I know.”
“Did they pour the foundation yesterday?” Judith asked.
Renie shook her head. “It was too wet. But that’s not the main problem. The ground’s too soft, according to Armbuster. Apparently, he thinks the new building should be built about twenty yards farther from the river. That means it’ll be closer to the highway. I wanted to consult with you before Bill took off, but neither you nor Joe was around. Bill had to get going so he wouldn’t get back too late for his afternoon walk.”
Judith checked her watch. “It’s almost four-thirty. Where do you suppose he is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should go up to the room to see if he’s called. Now it’s past his usual nap time.”
As ever, Judith was impressed—and somewhat daunted—by Bill’s disciplined schedule, especially in retirement. However, she was also concerned about the project at the cabin site.
“I suppose I ought to drive down there tomorrow,” Judith said, more to herself than to her cousin. “If they go back too far, they could end up in that quicksand bog.”
“True,” Renie noted. “But that’s really close to the highway.”
Judith reflected—and remembered. When she and Renie were kids, they had ventured too far into the bog, which technically wasn’t quicksand but mud from a pond that had all but evaporated. Judith had started to sink. At that time, the four cabins were intact, and much farther from the highway—and the bog—than after the flood swept away a goodly portion of family property. No one could hear them scream from the bog. It had been up to Renie—who’d been a small, skinny child—to haul Judith out of the quicksand. Somehow, she’d managed, but Judith had lost her new summer sandals, sucked into the muck. Since one of the few things that Gertrude and Deb agreed on was how to clothe their daughters—and which sales to frequent—Renie had the same pair. The surviving sandals had been a reminder of how close the cousins had come to disaster.
“What do you think?” Judith finally asked.
Renie was watching a middle-aged couple engaged in an argument. Gambling often brought out the worst in people, especially married couples. “About what?”
“About me driving down there tomorrow?”
Renie shrugged. “It’s your project.”
“Maybe I should just call Armbuster—I mean, Armstrong—tonight.”
“That should work.” Renie grinned as the wife slugged the husband with her heavy drawstring handbag. “Caught any killers lately?”
“No. And,” Judith went on, distracted as she was by the husband who was trying to yank the handbag out of his wife’s hands, “nobody else has, either.”
“That’s a shame,” Renie said as a pit boss arrived to referee.
“You begged me not to give you any more money,” the wife yelled at her husband. “You’re not getting it now!”
“That was then, this is now!” the husband shouted back as the pit boss tried to restrain him.
Renie was trying to ignore the feuding couple. “Did you say Joe had gotten involved?”
Security had arrived, attempting to hustle husband and wife off in different directions.
“Never mind what I said!” the man called over his shoulder. “I’ve got a sure thing!”
“So do I,” retorted his better half, “and it’s in my purse!”
Before answering Renie, Judith watched the couple being escorted off the floor. Relative peace returned to the casino. “Yes,” she finally said, “but he and the tribal detective aren’t getting very far.”
“Early days.” Renie slipped off her chair. “I’d better check on Bill. Do you want to meet for dinner? I’m thinking coffee shop.”
“How come? Aren’t you winning?”
Renie held out her bucket, which didn’t contain many more quarters than the ones she’d spilled on the floor. “That’s it. It’s been a bad day.”
“That doesn’t look good,” Judith remarked. “What have you got in there? About six bucks?”
“That sounds right.” Renie started to walk away, then stopped to speak over her shoulder. “Six-thirty, seven, if you want to meet us. Assuming I find Bill.”
Renie seemed downcast, but Judith didn’t feel sorry for her. Her cousin would have been much better off helping to solve the murder case than frittering her money away on the slots. As Judith stood up, a pang of guilt struck her. Without even trying—and using Renie’s chip to boot—Judith had struck it rich. Maybe she should take it easy on her cousin.
On the other hand, Judith wasn’t having much of a vacation, either. Now she had the cabin project to add to her list of worries. She found herself wandering toward the front of the casino. Through the glass doors, she saw that it had stopped raining. A breath of fresh air might give her an energy boost.
Stepping outside, she noticed Pancho Green talking to a man with slicked-back silver hair and long sideburns. Like Pancho, he was wearing an expensive suit, but Judith didn’t recognize him as one of the pit bosses. The men were a few feet in front of her. Quietly, she crept closer to hear what they we
re saying.
“…jump the gun,” Pancho said with a scowl. “Besides, you’ll only piss off the feds. You know what that could mean.”
The other man seemed to recoil. He was taller and younger than Pancho, but not as broad. Judith guessed him to be in his late thirties, perhaps older. It was hard to tell with that silver hair.
“Are you threatening me?” the man shot back.
Pancho put out a hand, but didn’t touch the other man. “Hell, no, Manny. Why would I do that?”
Bob Bearclaw appeared from the parking-valet kiosk. He paused, looking up from the drive to Pancho and his companion, who Judith figured must be Manny Quinn.
Manny’s belligerent expression faded. “You wouldn’t, I guess.” He shot a wary glance at Judith. “What would you expect that old bag of a sister to say?”
“Come on, Manny…” Pancho began.
Bob Bearclaw had noiselessly approached the two men. “Your car will be right out,” he said to Manny. Bob spoke as softly as he walked. Manny suddenly looked cowed. With his usual dignity, the doorman walked away.
“Thanks,” Manny murmured, starting down the stairs. After two steps, he turned around and came back to Pancho. Leaning toward the casino manager, Manny Quinn’s voice was low and harsh. “I don’t care what anybody else says. I know damned well that Freddy killed my Sally, and by God, he’ll pay—one way or another.”
EIGHT
THE GLASS DOOR swung out, almost knocking Judith down. Inga Polson’s stout figure hurtled out of the casino, her harsh voice screaming at Manny Quinn.
“Get back here, you wretched man! Don’t you dare leave!” Inga stood on the top step, bosom heaving, arms waving.
Manny looked up from the black Lexus the valet had brought out for him. “Stop it, Inga,” he said in a hostile voice. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
Pancho put a restraining hand on Inga’s shoulder. “Let him go,” he said softly.
Manny took the opportunity to duck inside his car. A moment later, he roared out of the drive and headed for the highway. Inga stood rooted to the spot, bristling with outrage.