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“Hit me,” Cleo said.
Robbie did, laying a jack of spades on top of her three of hearts. It figured. She always went bust when she hit on twelve. It was some kind of curse.
She flipped her bottom card over.
“Better luck next time,” Robbie said before looking to the first of the three players on her left.
Someone sat down in the empty seat on her right. When she glanced over, Martin smiled at her. Her stomach suddenly flooded with jitterbugging butterflies. Had they been successful rigging the doors?
“On a streak?” Martin asked as he set a short stack of chips on the table.
“A losing streak,” Cleo said. “I should stick with the slots. I do better there.”
“Slots are for chumps.”
All the games were for chumps, but she didn’t say it. People like Martin saw themselves as winners. And maybe it worked because, from what she had seen, they usually were. “How about you? Have you been winning today?” She’d tried to sound casual, but her voice came out low and loaded with innuendo.
“I always win. You know that. Though I’ll admit it started out looking as if I might crap out, but in the end, I was rolling sevens.” His eyes shone as though he was enjoying their little subterfuge.
She was not. If anything, it made her even more nervous.
“Bets, please,” Robbie said.
Martin put out a fifty-dollar chip. Before Cleo could reach for her dwindling stack of five-dollar chips, he pushed one of his chips in front of her. “This hand’s on me.”
She’d rather play on her own money, but she didn’t want to create a fuss, so she simply said, “Thank you.”
Robbie dealt the cards.
Martin had an ace showing. He looked at his bottom card, flipped it up, splitting two aces.
Those would have been her cards if he hadn’t sat down.
She didn’t care. She’d rather save her luck for Sebastian’s office.
A peek at her hole card revealed a ten of diamonds to go with the five of clubs she had showing. Robbie was showing a seven of hearts, so she was probably screwed no matter what she did. She slid her cards under the fifty-dollar chip, signaling she’d stand on the cards she had.
Robbie dealt two up cards to Martin, both queens, proving the universe, too, thought he was a winner.
So why did she suddenly resent it?
Isn’t that what I want? To be a winner? To have the universe deal me twenty-one at every game I play? Isn’t that why I worked my tail off and took crazy risks to get the border story that was supposed to be my ticket into a major media outlet?
Her phone trilled the opening notes of John Cafferty’s “On the Dark Side” just as Robbie rolled his bottom card over, showing a seventeen. She looked at the text. It was one word: Go.
Her heart gave an extra thump. Showtime.
She scooped up her chips, slid off her seat, and blew Martin an air kiss.
“Good luck,” he said.
From your lips to God’s ear, she thought as she walked away. Then, because the thought felt like a challenge to the universe, almost an invitation for things to go wrong, I take it back.
As she waited for the elevator, she pulled out her phone and flipped through the menus, looking for the vibrate option. Why in the hell did they bury it so deep?
“Hey, Cleo!”
She looked up to see Willa walking toward her. Ah, crap. She tapped the screen and dropped the phone into her bag.
Willa looked Cleo up and down, taking in her jeans, shirt, flat sandals, and the oversized bag Cleo hoped would contain the IOU soon. “You’re going to the memorial dressed like that?” Willa asked in a horrified tone.
“No, Alec’s covering it. I figure I’m persona non grata with Liz.”
“Oh yeah. The fight. Will Jada be at the memorial?”
“No. Because of Annaliese, she’s not too popular with Liz either right now.”
Willa scowled. “That’s not fair. Jada’s done nothing to Liz.”
The elevator arrived, disgorging three people. “I know. But it is what it was.”
Willa’s scowl softened into a concerned frown. “But if you’re here and Alec is going to the memorial . . . You didn’t leave Jada home alone, did you?”
Cleo laid her hand against the edge of the elevator door, so it wouldn’t close. “She’s perfectly fine, Willa. She’s adjusting to Annaliese not being there.”
“But―”
“Please, Willa. Don’t worry about her.” She stepped inside, still holding the door. “You were a great help those first few days, and I don’t know what we’d have done without you, but Jada’s doing okay now.”
“But―”
She wished she had more time to reassure Willa, but the elevator doors kept trying to shut. “I’ve got to go. Enjoy”—she almost said enjoy the memorial, but that seemed inappropriate—“your day off.”
She let the doors close. Willa was still frowning.
~***~
Alec met Callum outside the conference room. He’d worked with Nigel’s nephew before and liked him. Despite a tendency to bounce with puppyish enthusiasm, Callum needed little supervision when he was working. On his own time, staying out of trouble was more challenging. Alec suspected he was the black sheep of his family because his sense of humor ran toward the sophomoric.
“Shouldn’t we sign the guest register?” Callum asked.
“We’re not guests. We’re press, which means we don’t even rank as high as the hired help.”
“Are you certain that’s protocol?” He wasn’t looking at the book but just beyond it at a classy brunette wearing a dove gray suit with her hair done up in a French twist. The way she quietly greeted people, she was likely employed by the funeral home Bales had mention rather than by the casino.
Alec smile to himself. Callum loved women, but he had a type, and a sophisticated thirtyish brunette hit on his cylinders.
“Yes, I’m certain. If you want to make time with the lovely lady, it would be more appropriate after the service.”
Callum looked at him and blushed. “Right-O. Let’s find a spot for me to film the action.”
A number of people had already found seats, but there were also several clusters of people near the back of the room talking softly. One of the groups consisted of senior management.
A larger-than-life photo of Sebastian sat on an easel next to the podium. His children and their spouses occupied half the front row.
The room smelled like a florist shop run rampant. Alec wondered if any of the massive arrangements were actually condolence bouquets or if the casino had ordered them all to make a decent showing.
They found a spot against the side wall where Callum could unobtrusively film with his shoulder cam, and Alec started discreetly pointing out the main players in the drama.
“There’s not likely to be a great deal of ‘action,’” Alec said. “Probably nothing we can use.” Maybe some cold shouldering between Sebastian’s kids and his widow. Nothing likely to interest their audience.
Callum shrugged as he checked the focus. “Doesn’t matter to me. It got me a trip to Las Vegas.” He cast a quick glance at the funeral director, who seemed to be quickly overshadowing the lure of gaming tables.
That was when the showgirls walked in, and Callum’s jaw hit the floor. “Wow.” He threw his shoulder cam into position and filmed them finding seats.
Yeah, that footage had Personal Use written all over it.
But once the girls were settled, Callum swung the camera back to the funeral director.
He was such a pup. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be charmed by him. Alec had seen Callum work it before with women who should have been out of his league—out of his stratosphere even. It was the high-tone British accent. Women thought it was sexy.
Maybe he should encourage Callum to pursue the classy brunette.
It would keep him and his sexy accent away from Cleo.
She should be upstairs by now.
In the front row, Sebastian’s daughter kept looking at her brother and smiling broadly. Not the expression one expected at a memorial for one’s father, but it didn’t seem to be something she could contain. She probably already considered half the inheritance hers since it was going to her mother instead of Liz. Hell, she probably already had it spent in her head.
Since losing a large fortune wasn’t likely to put Liz in a happy mood, Sebastian’s daughter would be wise to wipe that smirk off her face before she appeared.
He reconsidered the possibility of something interesting happening. A cat fight between Sebastian’s daughter and Liz seemed, as Nigel would have said, like a capital idea. Exactly the sort of high drama The Word’s readers loved.
Callum elbowed Alec. His camera was still pointed at the brunette, so Alec swung his attention there.
The grieving widow had arrived.
~***~
Cleo took the elevator to the floor below the executive suite then the stairs, so she could peek through the door—just in case—but the floor was unoccupied as far as she could see.
In the large bag she’d borrowed from Annaliese’s closet, she’d stashed a pair of gloves—also “borrowed” from Annaliese. This time, from an unused box of hair color. She felt a little silly putting them on, but if this went south, she didn’t want her fingerprints on everything. Better safe than sorry; the paranoid’s mantra.
She crossed to the outer doors of the office suite and pushed. It opened, smooth and silent. She breathed a relieved sigh. In spite of Alec’s assurances, she hadn’t really believed it would be this easy.
As she stepped inside, the lights came on, and she froze for a second before realizing they were equipped with motion sensors. She should have expected that, should have remembered from her days in housekeeping that all the offices and meeting rooms had that feature. There was enough light coming through the doors behind her to navigate the open space that led to Sebastian’s office, so she found the switch by the door and turned them off. The sensors would reset in ten minutes, but there was nothing she could do about that.
Her footsteps made no sound as she passed the reception desk and the closed doors of the casino’s upper management’s offices. It was so quiet it was almost spooky, and she got a creepy feeling—a tingling on her skin and a tightness in her stomach—as if she expected something dire to happen.
Why had she agreed to watch that horror movie with Alec? Her imagination didn’t need the extra encouragement. If this were a movie, this was the moment a cat would jump into the shot, releasing the building tension, so the real scare could catch her off guard later.
As it was, she could practically feel Sebastian’s presence as she tested the door to Bales’ office. It swung open easily and in perfect silence. The lights came on automatically here too. Cleo crossed to Sebastian’s office. She wasn’t surprised when the room stayed dark here. Sebastian wouldn’t have liked not being in control of that minor detail in his sanctum.
As forecast, the day was overcast, so the light from the windows had a gray quality. She turned on the desk lamp, creating a warm circle of light, then returned to Bales’ office and killed the overheads. The room went from brightly lit to gloomy, but it was the silence that got to Cleo and brought back the chill she’d felt earlier.
“Hey, Sebastian,” she said softly, her hand still on the light switch. “I’m trying to protect the innocent here.”
And now she was talking to someone who wasn’t there as though she owed him an explanation. If it wouldn’t have scared her to death, she’d have welcomed him telling her where to find the marker. And while he was at it, who was guilty of his murder, so she’d know where to focus once she had the marker.
Assuming the marker was there to be found.
“Maybe you could give me a clue where to look,” she murmured.
She looked around Bales’ office. Remembering what Loretta said about Sebastian hiding things from his wife in her office, Cleo wondered if she should look through the filing cabinets or the desk drawers. Except why would Sebastian need to hide a marker from Liz? Especially since their divorce was nearly final.
No, the first place to look would be Sebastian’s office. If she didn’t find it there, then she’d ransack Bales’ filing cabinets.
When the door to Sebastian’s office opened easily, she had to acknowledge Alec was a good partner to have.
There were no unsightly filing cabinets in Sebastian’s office, but there was a credenza. She made a quick but thorough search of that and came up empty. Not surprising. She hadn’t expected to find the marker in any of the obvious places. Sebastian’s massive executive desk was clear of clutter except for a few business books off to one side. She picked up each book in turn, holding them upside-down by the covers, and shook them, on the off chance that something might have been stuck inside.
Nada.
Even though the police had undoubtedly taken everything worthwhile, this was going to be her only shot at this. She needed to be methodical. She sat behind Sebastian’s desk and started opening drawers.
~***~
Wearing a black dress that was indecently short for a memorial, Liz stood talking to Callum’s classy brunette. A tiny, fashionable hat with a short black veil—sequined, no less—sat atop her head.
Alec ground his teeth. Liz’s dress was fitted but sported a ruffle at the waist, camouflaging any telltale bump that might exist. His disappointment was mitigated, however, when he recognized the man signing the guestbook.
He nudged Callum. “That guy there. Make sure you get some footage of him.”
Callum adjusted his aim. “Who is he?”
“The widow’s first husband.”
“Ah, the plot thickens,” Callum murmured as he shifted his camera to follow Dave Marsh to a seat.
More people were starting to arrive. Another gaggle of showgirls. A bunch of suits who were probably managers.
And Candy.
When she’d signed the guestbook, she looked around as if searching for someone then found a seat a couple of rows behind Bales next to a petite blonde who looked vaguely familiar. She saw Alec and waved.
He held his hand chest-high and waved back.
This was the least grief-stricken group of mourners he’d ever seen.
The funeral director and Liz had stepped to the far side of the doors. Liz’s back was to him and the other woman had a puzzled look on her face. Liz shook her head in a definite no. Alec couldn’t read lips but he was reasonably certain the funeral director asked, “Are you sure?”
A group of men passed between them, blocking Alec’s view for a few seconds, then Liz headed toward the front row to take her seat.
The funeral director’s brow puckered as she looked over the crowd. In a momentary lull, she consulted the guest book. She was still running a finger down the list of signatures when Bales walked in the door. They had a short exchange and then Bales shook her head, less emphatically than Liz had, but also answering with an obvious no. Then she, too, looked at the names in the book, apparently pointing out a name here and there. Alec watched with growing curiosity as they stepped aside and Bales discreetly pointed out a few people in the crowd.
It was impossible to pinpoint who merited this special attention, but after Bales took a seat within a few rows of the front, the third person the funeral director spoke to was Candy.
“What’s going on?” Callum asked.
“I don’t know,” Alec said. “But I’m about to find out.”
The funeral director wasn’t half a dozen steps away when Alec slid into the vacant seat beside Candy. “What’s up?”
“Oh, Alec. It’s great to see you here. Who’s that cutie behind the camera?”
“That’s Callum. He’s British. Very sexy accent. I can introduce you later if you like.”
“He’s a Brit? Oh yum. Nice guy?”
“Very. What did the funeral director want?”
“Oh, she’s got a problem because no one wants to get up front and speak.”
“No one?”
“Well, neither of his kids. I suppose that’s understandable. They didn’t really know him. But Liz said she’d give some kind of eulogy, and now she’s backed out.”
“Ah. That explains it.”
“I’ll bet she’s pissed off that Samantha’s getting everything.”
It was like she’d read his mind. Then he realized she knew about the will. “Were you at the reading?”
She nodded. “Sebastian’s lawyer invited me. I didn’t expect to be in the will, but Sebastian left me some money. Well, me and his other exes. It was a chatty will. He said we deserved something for putting up with him. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“Uh huh.”
He was about to ask if she’d agreed to speak when an impeccably tailored man walked down the empty row in front of them and said to the blonde next to Candy, “Teresa, would you go upstairs and get the file on the casinos history?”
She stood. “Of course, Mr. Wasser.”
“I’ll hold your seat,” Candy said.
“Be sure it includes the landmark dates,” Wasser said.
“Yes, sir.” Teresa sidled out of the row.
Wasser nodded toward Candy and left.
“Who was that?” Alec asked, hoping his guess about Teresa’s destination was the result of paranoia.
“He’s the VP of marketing. He must have agreed to speak.”
A chill ran down Alec’s spine. “And Teresa?” She could be in PR. Please let her be in PR.
“She’s the secretary for the Admin group. ‘The first line of defense for the executives’ is what she calls it.”
That’s where he recognized her from. He had to warn Cleo.
He excused himself and rejoined Callum, his phone already in his hand. Thankfully, Cleo’s number was on speed dial because every second counted. He listened to it ring. Pick up, pick up, pick up.
But it went to voicemail.
He cursed softly. “Cleo, there’s a secretary on her way up to the suite. You need to get out of there.” He hung up and dialed again. Voicemail. He hung up and redialed. Voicemail. Where the hell was she?