Fanatically in Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  Sliding into a nearby slot machine, my elbow bumped into the person beside me. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

  “No problem, shug.”

  I turned to find my grandmother, who had already found our target. “How are the machines treating you tonight?”

  “Things are looking up.”

  A collective groan rose from the blackjack table, and I studied the scene. One white-haired woman grinned triumphantly and accepted claps on the back, while others slumped from their perches. Tee Pee signaled for another drink, lifted his cap, then ran a hand over his dreadlocks.

  As the dealer started a new game, Tee Pee stayed in his seat. “Deal me in,” he said and took a swig of his drink.

  But the dealer shook his head and whispered something near Tee Pee’s ear. A dejected Tee Pee pulled himself off the stool, his face an appeal.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I heard the dealer say. “You need to settle up before I can let you play.”

  “Target’s on the move,” Sylvie said beneath her breath. “You go north thirty paces and twenty degrees, and I’ll take the south corridor.”

  I pretended to watch the blinking screen before me. “What?”

  “For crying out loud, follow Little Bee Gee, but stay out of sight. You stay on his left side.”

  “Right.” Margie with the unibrow sure was bossy.

  I waited for Sylvie to leave before following at a safe distance. A cacophony of clangs and dings swirled around me as I wove through aisles of games, stepping through smoke clouds like a carcinogenic ghost haunting Tee Pee, relentless in my pursuit of his every step. Dodging one careless waitress bearing an overloaded tray and one drunk man looking for a celebratory hug, I stayed true to the course, honing in on the rapper like a scud missile.

  Head slung low, Little Tee Pee left the boundaries of the game floor and made his way down a crowded hallway.

  When I turned the corner to enter the hall, I wasn’t surprised to find my grandmother already there. With her phone held to her ear, she carried on a fake conversation as she walked, headed toward the concert auditorium.

  “No, Marvin, I will not come home yet. I don’t care if you can’t find the tuna casserole. It’s in the fridge next to your tapioca, for crying out loud. Do I have to do everything? All I want is one night off.” She flung open the door Tee Pee had entered, and loud music pushed its way out. Apparently, Tee Pee was a fan of the Boy Wonders too.

  I let a full minute pass before opening the doors myself and slinking inside.

  My calculated entry was for naught, though, for as soon as I inched inside the theater, a large hand wrapped around my upper arm and a menacing voice spoke near my ear. “Don’t you take one more step.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  As beach music pounded from the speakers, I stared up at a man tall enough to reach a cloud.

  And Sylvie stood right beside him.

  “Ladies, where do you think you’re going?” He regarded both of us like pesky stowaways he intended to toss overboard. An earpiece decorated one ear and a diamond earring adorned the other. The badge on his black leather belt identified him as Demario Jenkins, senior security officer of the Lucky Horseshoe. When I failed to deliver a proper response, Demario tried again. “You two want to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “Not sure what this gal’s deal is,” Sylvie said over the music, “but I came to win some money and hear my favorite band. This takes me right back to high school. Aren’t they the best?”

  The Boy Wonders played from the stage, toupeed, pasty men wearing board shorts and loud Hawaiian shirts. Women of Sylvie’s age screamed like teenagers from the packed seats as the lead singer crooned about boardwalks and bikinis. From the looks of it, I thought a song about fiber supplements and knee replacements might be more appropriate. Two oversized surfboards at the edge of the stage spun and bucked like mechanical bulls while water sprayed from them like geysers.

  “Cut the crap,” the man said. “You’ve been tailing one of our guests for the last ten minutes.”

  “The pro’s been tracking him for fifteen,” Sylvie said. “You should probably note that somewhere.”

  “I’m gonna have to ask you two to leave,” Demario Jenkins said.

  I watched Tee Pee wedge his way into a row, his hands furiously texting on his phone as he squeezed by a pack of irritated women.

  I stepped closer so the guard could hear. “You have no reason to throw us out.”

  “We can refuse service to anyone,” Demario said. “And harassing a guest certainly qualifies as a valid reason.”

  Sylvie gave me the nod. “Tell him who you are, Paisley. Go on.”

  This never ended well, but I obeyed. “I’m Paisley Sutton.”

  I waited. On the stage, a man sporting a fuzzy comb-over took to his knees for a guitar solo.

  Sylvie waited.

  No response from Demario.

  “Formerly of the band the Electric Femmes,” I added.

  Demario chewed his gum with annoyed smacks and let his eyes flit to the stage, where Mr. Comb-Over was being helped up by two able-bodied bandmates.

  “I sang with Jaz and Trina Sparkles?”

  That got Demario’s attention. His whole face collapsed into a gap-toothed grin. “Jaz? You were Jaz’s backup singer?”

  “I beg your pardon. I was not her—”

  “We’re doing a little recon work for Jaz,” Sylvie said as the Boy Wonders began a new song and invited a few ladies on stage. “That guy we followed in here is her boyfriend, and we’re starting to smell a rotten fish if you know what I mean. We’re keeping eyes on him tonight to protect our starlet and make sure the boy’s totally on the up and up. You got me?”

  “I do.” Demario glanced in the direction of Tee Pee. “But I still can’t allow you to follow a patron around.”

  “Why not?” Sylvie asked. “We’re stuffing the machines with money and not hurting anyone. The only folks who’ll know we’re trailing Little Do-Re-Mi are the boys behind the curtain working security. We’ll leave Mr. Saggy Shorts alone. I promise you.”

  He seemed almost ready to relent.

  “You won’t even know we’re here,” I said. “I promise you we’ll be stealthy and silent. We won’t disrupt a thing and —”

  Screams erupted from the front of the theater.

  “Stowaway!” A Boy Wonder yelled.

  Oh no.

  What happened next would go down as yet another chapter in the book titled Things We Don’t Tell Family and Other Folks With Fully Functioning Brains.

  With a Bonzai yell, my dear aunt Frannie raced from stage right like a crazed woman with minutes left to live. “Boy Wonders!” she called. Now somehow wearing a polka-dotted bikini top and those terrible jeans rolled to her calves, Frannie dodged one sax player, hurdled over a bongo, then made a flying leap for the giant, mechanical surfboard.

  “Tell me this isn’t happening,” Sylvie muttered.

  “Oh, it’s happening.”

  “Surf’s up!” Like a bad movie we couldn’t pause, Frannie landed on the surfboard. And then kept sliding.

  A constant spray of water covered the board, and as Frannie’s feet hit the slick surface, the board launched Frannie right into the air.

  “Woman overboard!” the lead singer yelled. “Save yourselves!”

  More screaming ensued as Frannie flailed. Her arms flapped like a senile bird, and her legs bent in angles no good Southern lady displayed in public. Guests rushed to their feet, pushing and shoving for freedom as if trying to outrun a bomb. Drinks spilled, and patrons shoved as Frannie descended with a crash on the second row.

  The music came to a cymbal-bashing halt.

  I knew I should rush down there, but my feet seemed to be frozen in blocks of concrete.

  Finally, a head of black hair popped up. “I’m okay!” Frannie held her wig in her hand, then I watched as her face fell. “Hey. Who’s got my top?”

  Beside me, Sylvie closed her eyes in pain.
r />   Demario returned his critical gaze back to us. “You were saying?”

  Sylvie shrugged. “We don’t know her.”

  “Yeah, my cameras that show you three coming into the casino together would say otherwise.”

  “Look at those mom jeans,” Sylvie said. “Would we hang out with someone like that?”

  Demario sighed and pointed toward the door. “I think you ladies better gather your friend and go.”

  “Somebody throw me a shirt!” Frannie yelled from the front before tossing back a lady’s jacket. “I meant one of the Boy Wonders!”

  Ten minutes later after many apologies to the band and all the concert-goers, the three of us—all fully clothed, thank you very much—walked back through the casino toward the exit. Demario walked a few paces behind, so there was no escaping our banishment.

  “How was I supposed to know they’d lubed up the board?” Frannie grumbled.

  “You want to tell me where the bikini top came from, Agent Hula Granny?” Sylvie asked.

  “I got all sorts of things in this fanny pack.”

  “You knew the Boy Wonders were gonna be here, didn’t you?” Sylvie dodged a hand-holding couple and glared at her friend. “Well?”

  “I can’t help it if I research everything,” Frannie said. “This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I took it.”

  “Next time, don’t invite your boobs to the opportunity,” Sylvie warned. “They had to break out the defibrillator for that poor man on the front row.”

  “Paisley? Hey, Paisley!”

  The exit doors whooshed open as we stopped and turned back toward the casino. Tee Pee held his hat in his hands and regarded us like three kids who’d broken curfew. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Tee Pee!” A bruised and battered Frannie hobbled toward him. “Wow, small world. How nuts is it you’re at the Lucky Horseshoe, and so are we?”

  “Probably not too nuts.” The rapper didn’t seem all that dim-witted right now. “Are you following me?”

  “Never admit the crime,” Sylvie whispered.

  “Yes, we are,” I said. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

  My grandmother gave a low growl of disgust. “You’d never survive the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “This place isn’t exactly in the neighborhood of Sugar Creek,” I said. “If you’re looking for Ozark sights, this isn’t on any Trip Advisor list.”

  “So I drove to a casino,” Tee Pee said. “Big deal. It’s one of my hobbies.”

  Casinos and camping. A likely duo. “I overheard what the dealer said to you.” I watched his face for a reaction. “Does Jaz know about your debt?”

  Tee Pee caught the eye of Demario and gave a small wave. “Let’s take this outside.”

  We followed him to the outer portico, walking past a line of cars to a dancing fountain. Little Tee Pee sat down on the stone ledge as the water jumped and danced behind him.

  “I assume you’re here watching me because you think I killed America,” Tee Pee surmised.

  Sylvie scowled at a limping Frannie. “Two of us are here for investigative purposes.”

  “We know about your defunct charity,” I said.

  He slowly nodded. “I guess it didn’t take a genius level of skill to figure that out.”

  Frannie sniffed and straightened. “Maybe a moderate amount of skill.”

  I zeroed in on our suspect. “You were running a scam and America figured it out. She visited your campground.”

  “You’d think a pop star wouldn’t have time to visit charities,” Tee Pee said, “but I learned not to underestimate her.”

  “Was there ever a camp for children?” I asked.

  “My grandparents left my dad that land in Utah. I did operate a camp for underprivileged kids three summers ago. I ran it on money I had left from my inheritance. I mentioned it during an interview that first year, and next thing I know, I’m getting checks from all over the country, including one from America. Folks from the music industry showed up big time. You wouldn’t believe the checks these people wrote. When they sent money again for the next year, I was completely surprised. But my dad had sold the land to an investor, and what was I gonna do? I tried to find a new location, but details really aren’t my thing. And I got busy. Donors started asking for pics and videos of the camp session for their own social media, so . . . I faked it. Hired some actors and a photographer.”

  “You could’ve stopped it at any time,” I said. “But you kept going and America figured it out.”

  “Most donors can’t be bothered to check on their investment,” Tee Pee said. “They just want the write-off. But not America.”

  I quickly told Tee Pee what Ida Ellis had overheard on the plane ride. “America was going to go public with her revelation. Besides facing criminal charges, you’d face losing your career.”

  “And losing Jaz,” Sylvie said. “Which might be the biggest hit to your career and bank account.”

  Tee Pee paled beneath the harsh lights of the casino. “I got carried away. But I had debts to pay. The music life is expensive. Paisley, you get that.”

  “Especially combined with gambling debt?” I ventured.

  A warm breeze blew the dreadlocks resting on his shoulder. “Things were beginning to turn around. I started dating Jaz, and my music was finally getting the recognition it deserved. It’s nice to be taken seriously, you know?”

  I did know. “Then America threatened to take it all away.”

  “I didn’t kill her.” Tee Pee’s voice was a one-two punch of certainty. “I might’ve wished she’d disappear, but I didn’t kill her.”

  Frannie inspected her scratched elbow. “But it was just a matter of time before she went to Jaz with what she’d discovered.”

  “After my plane landed, I went straight to the mansion,” Tee Pee said. “A car picked me up, and we didn’t make any extra stops. I put my stuff up and said hello to Jaz. We got into another argument where she accused me of cheating on her with America. The Enchanted Events folks showed up soon after that, so I got out of the way and left.”

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  “I came here.” He held up his phone. “You think I’d promote nature all day then murder people by night? No, little dudes.”

  Sylvie tilted her head. “When you say little, you mean exceptionally trim, right?

  “You can search my internet history where I found the casino,” Tee Pee said. “Your friend Demario in there can verify I was here about forty-five minutes after you arrived at the mansion, Paisley. I lost five grand at the tables and was half an hour late for the concert. If the casino won’t show you their video footage, I’ve got the credit card receipts to prove it.” He stood. “I didn’t kill America. Didn’t even know she’d be here this week ’til I saw her on the plane. I’ve got enough problems without a murder charge hanging over my head.”

  Sylvie, Frannie, and I exchanged a look. Though we’d still verify his alibi, it looked like murder wasn’t the crime that Little Tee Pee had committed.

  “I better get back in there,” Tee Pee said. “There’s a private poker game I don’t want to miss. This could be my big payday.”

  “Go easy, Tee Pee.” Frannie stuffed the bikini top peeking from her bag back inside. “Sometimes you gotta know when to quit.”

  “Like she’d know anything about that,” Sylvie mumbled.

  Tee Pee turned to leave, only to circle back to us. “If you ladies want to hone in on someone, you need to take a closer look at Jaz’s assistant.”

  Frannie wrung out her dripping wig. “Why?”

  “First of all, I don’t trust her. I’ve tried to tell Jaz that Reese is a leak in her team, but did she listen to me? No.”

  “As in passing on insider secrets?” Sylvie asked.

  “I think so. And if I’m right, Reese is either getting paid for it or someone’s blackmailing her. Like America.”

  I was having trouble reconciling any of this with
Jaz’s mousey assistant, but what if her conversation with Sharky Cooper wasn’t about Jaz, but was actually of a more personal nature? “What on earth could Reese have done to warrant blackmail?”

  Tee Pee shrugged. “I don’t know, but after America arrived at the mansion, I caught Reese bawling her eyes out. She was terrified of America.”

  “Reese is probably terrified of her own shadow,” Frannie said. “She could’ve been crying about anything.”

  “This is more than me catching a moment last Sunday. I visited the tour a lot, and when America joined the show, Reese became increasingly anxious. She’d all but run when America came around. I’m telling you, she had something over Reese Riggins. I don’t know what Reese is hiding, but I feel certain America somehow did. And probably used it to her advantage.”

  America might’ve been talented and altruistic, but she sure seemed to have a vindictive, manipulative side and hadn’t hesitated to go for the jugular.

  Sylvie cast a doubtful look. “But Reese is so quiet and meek.”

  “You know what I’ve learned in this business?” Tee Pee hitched up his droopy pants and stared longingly back toward the casino. “Those are the ones you gotta watch.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Walking down my staircase Sunday morning, I tripped on a pair of heels, snagged a toe on one sequined dress, and grabbed a hat sitting atop my banister like that’s where it belonged. It looked like a tornado hit Jaz’s luggage, and I stepped over the remains while I blocked out the sight of my living room and pondered the conversation we’d had with Little Tee Pee. The fact that America made Reese nervous wasn’t a lot to go on. I wasn’t sure following Tee Pee’s intuitive hunch was wise, but I did need to talk to Reese.

  I gave a designer shirt a fling. “Jaz! Your stuff is a security hazard!”

  “Shhh!” My mom appeared from the kitchen, holding a coffee mug. Already dressed for the day, she wore dark slacks, a silk blouse, and a fitted blazer the color of a snow cap. I could count the times I’d seen her in jeans on one hand. “Jaz is still sleeping.”