Riverboat Roulette

by Carolyn Keene

  “You have a place to start,” George said to me. “I can tell by the look on your face. You’re in sorting-through-the-clues land.”

  “I do have an idea. The most important thing, though,” I said to Margot, Mrs. Marvin, and Catherine, “is for you to act completely normal. Our big advantage is that the thief doesn’t think that anyone will check the safe until we’re already back in River Heights and he or she is off the boat. The culprit has no idea that we’re looking for him or her.”

  Margot, Mrs. Marvin, and Catherine all nodded.

  I turned to Buddy. “What time are we due back at the dock?”

  “Ten thirty on the dot,” he said.

  I checked my watch. “Just under three hours,” I said.

  I’d never solved a case that fast before, but the dogs and cats of River Heights were counting on me!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Money Bags

  BESS, GEORGE, AND I LAGGED behind the adults as we headed back toward the main deck to strategize.

  “The first thing we need to do is narrow down our list of suspects,” I said.

  “I think we should start with Joanne and Patrick,” George suggested. “Margot seemed pretty convinced that they were up to no good.”

  I nodded. “We’ll definitely check them out. Joanne’s crash with Andy, the waiter, could have been a staged distraction, but with only three hours to crack this case, I don’t want to be locked into one theory. What if we spent two hours investigating Joanne and Patrick, only to find proof that they had nothing to do with it? Then we’d have only an hour to locate the real culprit.”

  “That makes sense,” Bess agreed. “So who else are you considering?”

  I scanned the room through the window before we went back in. My eyes landed on Andy serving a couple across the room.

  “Well,” I began, “Joanne wasn’t the only one involved in the crash that caused the distraction. Andy was too.”

  “And,” Bess added, “if Buddy is selling the boat, then Andy’s job could be in danger. He might need that money.”

  “True,” I agreed. “We’ll add him to the list.”

  Bess started to open the door to go inside, but stopped and turned back. “You know what I don’t understand?” she asked. “How did the thief know the combination to the safe?”

  I shrugged. “Margot did open it in front of everyone onboard. Anyone could have seen it.”

  “Especially,” George added, “if they filmed it on their phone. They could have zoomed in on the video afterward and easily made out the combination.”

  Bess sighed. “There were a lot of people taking videos on their phones. So much for that helping us narrow it down!”

  Suddenly something else occurred to me. “One hundred thousand dollars in cash would take up a lot of space,” I said.

  “And it would be heavy,” George noted. “Remember how Catherine struggled to carry the box over to the safe?”

  “Whoever stole it is going to need a way to get it off the boat without attracting a lot of attention,” I said. “You can’t just stick it in your pocket or your purse.”

  “So they’d need a big bag?” Bess asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “I think we need to check the coatroom for bags large enough to carry the money off the boat.”

  “Good idea,” Bess said.

  “George,” I said, “go back to your game.”

  “Are you sure?” George asked. “Poker isn’t more important than this case.”

  “I need you to keep your eyes on our suspects and let me know if any of them are acting suspicious while Bess and I check out the coatroom.”

  “Got it,” George said.

  Bess looked over at me, her hand on the door handle. I gave her a small nod. She pushed open the door and we strode back into the warmth of the main deck.

  The gala was in full swing. All around us, players were at poker tables and roulette wheels, or on the dance floor. The general hum of two hundred people was punctuated by occasional cries of triumph or despair, depending on the luck of the draw. In the corner, I spotted Margot chatting up a man in a tuxedo. Her face looked drawn and tight, but otherwise she seemed to be doing a good job of pretending nothing was wrong. She raised one eyebrow slightly and I nodded, trying my best to reassure her that I had this under control.

  Bess gave George an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Go get ’em!”

  George nodded. “You too.”

  She headed to her table, and Bess and I continued toward the stairs on the other side of the boat. Those led to the coatroom.

  I turned to Bess. “We’re going to have to get past the coat clerk. Let’s use the trick we used on the Winchester case.”

  Bess wrinkled her nose and then nodded. “Only for you, Nancy.”

  She slowed her pace, giving me the lead, and turned toward the bar. When you work enough cases with your friends, they get to know all your ploys—whether they like them or not!

  I headed down the stairs and walked along the hallway toward a bored young woman who was sitting behind the coat check, sipping on a soft drink and thumbing through a magazine.

  “Hi!” I said brightly.

  The woman reluctantly looked up.

  “I am such a dummy!” I said. “I went to buy a soda and realized I left my wallet in my coat pocket.”

  “Do you have your coat tag?” she asked in a monotone.

  I dramatically patted my pockets, turning them inside out, pretending I was looking for my tag. I then moved on to my purse, emptying the contents onto the counter in front of the clerk. No tag.

  “I can’t believe this!” I said frantically. “I can’t find it!” Even though I had a tag from when we’d all checked our coats—and knew exactly where it was—my act was just the first part of the plan.

  The woman looked completely unimpressed. “No tag, no coat,” she said.

  “This is a nightmare. I think it was number twenty-three, something like that? Could you go check for me, maybe?”

  Before the clerk could respond, Bess came running around the corner. There was a brown wet spot on the shoulder of her dress. “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me,” she said urgently. “Is there a lost and found? I am having an emergency and I need help.”

  “Um, yeah, it’s down the hall—”

  “Great! Can you take me to it?” Bess asked. “I spilled something on my dress, and I cannot walk around like this. It’s too embarrassing.”

  “Um, well, I don’t think there’s a dress in the lost and found,” the clerk said.

  “All I need is a scarf or a sweater. Anything to cover this up.” Bess spied the fashion magazine on the counter. “You obviously appreciate fashion. Maybe you can help me pick something out.”

  The clerk perked up, pleased that Bess had noticed her interest in clothing. I would congratulate Bess later on her ability to improvise. She’s a planner; when she first started helping me with cases, the going-with-the-flow aspect of investigating could trip her up, but she was handling this like a professional.

  The clerk looked between me and Bess, clearly torn. Now it was my turn to jump in.

  “Go help her. She is having a true emergency. I can just go back and grab my coat. Don’t worry about me,” I said as I pushed back behind the counter.

  “You can’t—” the clerk started, but Bess grabbed her by the hand, pulling her down the hall.

  “Thank you so much for helping me,” Bess said.

  As they disappeared down the hallway, I fought my way through the coats. It was like a forest of outerwear, and most of it was black. I searched the shelves in the back, but there were very few bags. All the women had kept their purses with them. I saw a few briefcases, but none of them were big enough to hold all the money that had been stolen. I sighed. I felt bad that Bess had gotten her dress wet for no reason.

  As I turned back toward the entrance, I tripped over an umbrella that had fallen down. I fell forward, grabbing fruitlessly at the row of coats in fron
t of me. I tumbled straight through them, knocking several off their hangers.

  Down the hall, I heard Bess talking to the clerk. “Are you sure this is the best one? Maybe I should go back and take the orange cardigan.”

  “The orange cardigan was hideous,” the clerk said. “Trust me. This was the best of the bunch.”

  I quickly scrambled to put the coats back on the hangers. As I worked, an envelope from a coat pocket fell onto the floor. As I picked it up, a letter fell out of the envelope. It was addressed to Brett Garner and was printed on Poker All-Stars stationery.

  Dear Mr. Garner,

  This is to officially inform you that due to your poor performance in recent tournaments, we are forced to terminate our sponsorship. It is no longer possible for Poker All-Stars to pay your travel and entry fees.

  Sincerely,

  Jason Olsen

  President, Poker All-Stars

  “Thank you so much for all your help,” I heard Bess say from just a few feet away.

  Quickly, I shoved the letter into my pocket, grabbed my wallet out of my purse, and charged toward the exit.

  “Found it,” I said, just as Bess and the clerk stopped in front of the entrance to the coatroom. “Thank you.”

  We hightailed it down the hall. I could feel the clerk’s eyes on us, but I resisted any urge to look back.

  “Find anything?” Bess asked, as we rounded the corner.

  “No big bags, but I did find this,” I said, handing her the letter.

  Bess read it as we reentered the main deck. “You think Brett might be a suspect?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to, but if Brett’s losing his sponsorship, he’s going to need money fast. That’s a motive.”

  “Yeah, but he was across the room from the safe, right next to Andy and Joanne, during the crash. How could he have taken the money?”

  “He could have tripped Andy to cause the distraction and an accomplice could have stolen the money. Beside, Bess, look!” I pointed toward Brett’s chair.

  Bess followed my finger to see that under Brett’s seat was a huge hiking backpack—one definitely large enough to hold one hundred thousand dollars!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In the Belly of the Boat

  “WE NEED TO PEEK INSIDE that bag,” I said.

  “Absolutely,” Bess agreed. “What trick are we going with this time?”

  I was running through a list of my go-to schemes when I noticed George beckoning from her table. We made our way over to her.

  “Nice job, George,” I said, indicating the stack of chips in front of her. It was definitely the biggest pile on the table.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for, like, three minutes,” she said, throwing a chip into the center of the table. It was her ante, I realized.

  I laughed to myself. Only George would think of three minutes as a long time. Any kind of waiting is torture for her.

  The dealer finished shuffling and dealt two cards to each player. George smoothly peeked at the cards. She had a pair of fours. I recalled from George’s and Ned’s lessons that this was a so-so hand. She had a pair, but they were low cards. Anyone who had a pair of cards that were at all higher would beat her. It would come down to whether another four was flipped over in the shared cards. It was, I thought, definitely worth staying in the hand to find out.

  “Why didn’t you text us?” Bess asked.

  “No service out here on the river,” George said, waving her phone around dramatically. “All the trees on the riverbank probably interfere with the signal. Vegetation is really bad for cell service.”

  “No service? How are you holding up? Are you feeling ill?” I asked, putting my hand on her forehead.

  The dealer shot me a dirty look. Talking to players during an active hand is pretty frowned upon. If this were a tournament where people were actually playing for money and not charity, there’d be no way he’d tolerate it.

  George squirmed away from me. “Very funny. I can live without my phone just fine, thank you very much.”

  Bess and I burst out laughing. We all knew that wasn’t true. A while ago we’d gone camping out by Mystic Lake, a few hours from River Heights. None of us had realized that there was no cell service there. After about three hours, George was grumpy and irritable. We couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, until Bess realized that it was the longest George had gone without being online in at least two years. As soon as cell service returned, happy George returned.

  The dealer turned to George. Without a word, George threw in a ten-dollar chip as her bet. I was impressed. This was her first time playing with strangers, and she looked like a pro. I knew she’d been nervous that she would embarrass herself by not knowing some of the game’s unspoken rules, but she seemed to blend right in. The dealer went around the table, asking each person if they were going to call—meaning match George’s bet—or fold. One man folded; two others called.

  I scanned the room, and all of a sudden, it hit me. Someone was missing.

  “George, where’s Joanne?” I whispered.

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you!” George hissed back.

  “I raise,” said a man across the table. He pushed in a twenty-dollar chip. The dealer turned back to George. She had to decide if she was going to match his bet, raise it, or fold. Some people play very aggressively, almost always betting over their hands. George, however, is a very logical person, and she plays a very logical way. She bets what she thinks her cards are worth and very rarely bluffs.

  I knew there was no use talking to her until she had made her decision.

  After what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds, George called the bet, throwing in another ten-dollar chip so that the total bet from each player was twenty dollars.

  “Where’s Joanne, George?” I asked the second the chip left her hand.

  “A few minutes ago Andy came over to her and whispered something in her ear. Suddenly she got up and followed him across the room. It all seemed urgent and very hush-hush.”

  The dealer flipped the first three center cards over. No fours, which didn’t help George at all.

  “Where did they go?” I asked.

  “All I saw was that they went through that door over there.” She pointed across the ship to a door marked RESTRICTED. CREW ONLY.

  This could be a clue that Andy and Joanne were working together. If I was lucky, maybe they were doing something with the money right now. If I caught them in the act, then the case would be solved with plenty of time to spare.

  But what about Brett? He was a solid lead too. And I’d already been on this case for thirty minutes—one-sixth of my total allotted time. I didn’t have time to waste pursuing the wrong clue.

  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and counted to ten. I tried to clear all thoughts from my head. It was a trick my dad had taught me. As a lawyer, he has to make tough decisions all the time, decisions that could determine whether an innocent person was put in jail or a guilty one got to walk away. He’s told me that during moments when you feel under pressure, the best thing to do is pause. There’s almost nothing that can’t wait for a count of ten, and this way you can listen to your gut. My dad says that most often your first instinct is the correct one; it’s overthinking that gets people into trouble.

  By the time I got to ten, I knew what we needed to do.

  “Okay,” I said to Bess. “I’m going to look for Joanne and Andy. You work your magic with Brett. See if you can get him to show you inside his backpack.”

  “I can do that,” Bess said with a grin. Bess is a people person; aside from being a good listener and generally compassionate, she’s also good at convincing others to do what she wants. She’s gotten herself out of so many library late fees and parking tickets that we call it her superpower.

  I charged across the room to the CREW ONLY door and, after a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, tried the doorknob. I wasn’t expecting it to be open, but to my
surprise, the handle turned. A lucky break! As soon as I stepped through the door, it was clear that Buddy had never intended for passengers to see this part of the boat. For as luxurious as the main deck was, this room was cold, dark, and industrial. To my left were doors that led into the kitchen. I could hear the clanging of pots and tense, agitated voices barking orders. To my right was a long, dark staircase.

  I couldn’t be sure that Andy had taken Joanne down the stairs rather than into the kitchen, but it was a gamble I was going to have to take. I started down the stairs. I wanted to use my cell phone to light the way, but I didn’t want to tip Andy and Joanne off that I was coming. I walked as quietly as I could, painfully aware every time my step echoed off the metal stairs.

  When I got to the bottom of the steps, I was in a long hallway that stretched in both directions. In front of me a porthole revealed that we were about even with the water level. I realized that if my head was at the same level as the porthole, then my feet were underwater. I could make out murmured voices coming from my right.

  Slowly, creeping along the side of the boat to make sure I didn’t trip over anything, I made my way toward the voices. I could hear the water sloshing with every turn of the paddle wheel.

  Ahead of me I could see moving lights—probably flashlights—in an open doorway. As I crept closer, someone shut the door from inside.

  Suddenly I heard a loud thud. Was it the bag of money? I pressed my ear against the door. It was thick with a tight seal to keep water out in the case of a leak, so I really had to push right up against it to hear anything.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” a man’s voice said. It was muffled, but I recognized the high, nasal pitch as Andy’s.

  “I just need to do one more thing,” a woman’s voice said. I couldn’t prove that it was Joanne’s, but since George said she had left with Andy, I was pretty sure it was her.

  “We really should be getting back. The other waiters are going to notice I’m gone.”

  “Hold your horses. I’ll be done in a minute. Remember, I paid you for this!” There was a scraping sound as the woman grunted. It sounded like the noise I made when I’d helped Ned move into his dorm at school and had accidentally picked up the box that had his free weights in it.