2 Dancing With Death (18 page)

    
The elderly gentleman laughed. “What, think we’d let you in?” he asked, eyeing her department store dress with disdain. “I think it might be bit… rich for your blood.”

    
Betty smiled sweetly. “I didn’t say I wanted to join,” she said pointedly. “I said I wanted to know if you let girls gamble with you.”

    
“What are you getting at?” the bookie asked.

    
Betty was suddenly tired of playing coy. She looked him dead in the eye and said, “I want to know if Marissa, Miss Knolhart’s assistant, or Miss Knolhart herself, has ever placed a bet with you.”

    
The men traded looks with each other. Betty waited.

    
“Little girl,” the elderly gentleman said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you just run along and find something else to do?”

    
Betty stood her ground. “But I’m doing what I want to,” she said. “I’m talking to you.”

    
“Listen,” he hissed, grabbing her arm with a grip so tight it was almost painful. He steered her a few feet away from the other men in the group. They looked pointedly away, talking quietly amongst themselves. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you keep your nose out of our business.”

    
“Or what?” Betty asked flippantly. The rush of adrenaline must have gone to her head. The moment the words were out of her mouth, Betty’s brain caught up with her mouth. What was she doing antagonizing this man? She didn’t even know who he was. For all she knew, he was the murderer! And here she was, pushing his buttons.

    
Smart, Betty, she thought sarcastically to herself. Really smart.

    
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t test me.”

    
Betty jerked her arm away from his, squaring her shoulders. “Is that a threat?” A rush of fear led her to play her one trump card. The one that said: Don’t kill me next, or you’ll be in trouble mister! “You might want to know that I’m friends with one of the cops heading up the investigation.” Even if Bill wasn’t in charge any more, it wasn’t quite a lie. He’d been in charge until Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt state detective arrived. “Chief Owens wouldn’t take kindly to anyone threatening me.” She looked the man up and down, noting his diamond cufflinks and pretending to be very unimpressed with what she saw.

    
In reality, she was terrified. What sort of man was rich enough for diamond cufflinks?
    
The man laughed, a sound with no humor in it whatsoever. “Chief Owens is just a small town cop. You set him on my back, and I’ll see to it that my nephew, who is a sen-a-tor,” he said, drawing the title out as though she were a simpleton, “makes life more than little difficult for him.” Betty’s eyes widened in spite of herself, and the man laughed again. “Don’t play with me little girl. You’re way out of your league.”

    
He turned and sauntered back to the group. If he’d been a cat, Betty would have been willing to bet that his tail would be held high, as though he’d just killed and eaten a tasty bird. No, Betty thought, she wouldn’t compare him to a cat. That would be insulting cats everywhere. Cats had more class.

    
Betty wasn’t sure what trouble his nephew could actually make for Bill, and if she were honest she didn’t think it made a difference. Bill could handle himself.

    
What she found alarming was the way that everyone in the group seemed to back the man. They’d all refused to answer her questions, and they’d let him corner her.

    
What were they hiding?

CHAPTER 21

    
After her run-in with the gambling crew, Betty decided it might be best to lay low for a little while. She found Bill, letting him know what she’d learned so far. As she expected, he was exasperated with the risks she’d taken, but immensely grateful for the information she’d discovered. Officer Park was making Bill go over and redo all their investigating, citing shoddy record keeping as the reason. Bill suspected he just wanted to be a pain.

    
Thanks to Park’s policy, they hadn’t been able to move forward at all in the investigation. No new information meant there were no new leads, and Bill was chomping at the bit. Once the roads cleared, it would be much more difficult to keep guests in the hotel. If even one person made it out, their suspect, and all the evidence of their guilt, might disappear for good. Betty’s information was the only break in the case they’d had so far.

    
After listening to Bill’s tirade on the need for her to be careful with her investigation and not raise any more red flags, Betty returned to the dance competition. All that Bill’s lecture had accomplished was to cement her desire to investigate. If the real detectives were tied up with busy work, someone still had to ferret out information. And, while by now most of the crowd knew she was here with Bill, Betty felt that people were more likely to come forward with information to her than to a police officer. For one, she was much less imposing than a six-foot man in uniform. And, for another, people who didn’t want to be seen talking to Bill might feel more comfortable talking to his friend.

    
Betty pointedly refused to think about how she’d like to be more than Bill’s friend. That would either happen or it wouldn’t. And, since they were in the midst of an investigation, the “wouldn’t” was far more likely in the immediate future. All the more reason to help Bill solve this murder, she thought with determination.

    
If there was one thing Betty had learned from reading the “Gossiping Grannies” page of the Lofton newspaper, it was that the best information came from the people that were normally overlooked. Betty was willing to bet that no one else had considered how valuable a source of information George might be, and yet he knew everything there was to know about everybody in the hotel. If he wanted, Betty was sure that George could retire on blackmail money alone. Not that he’d ever take advantage of information like that, Betty thought fondly. Not when he was so free with his gossip. What good was blackmail if you’d already told other people?

    
Betty didn’t want to risk talking to any more of the dancers or more wealthy patrons of the arts who frequented the gambling club. She had the distinct impression that investigating any further on that front could be hazardous to her health. But, there were plenty of other sources of information at the competition.

    
Betty took advantage of the next round of competition and hovered near the buffet table. Everyone’s attention was on the dance floor except for the servers’. They were taking the opportunity to change out serving dishes and meal options. Betty grabbed a glass of club soda and stuck herself in an out of the way corner. She focused her vision on the blurry crowd in the middle of the hall. For once, the lack of distance vision was helpful to Betty. She could “stare at” the blurs, and yet stay completely focused on her other senses. Namely, hearing.

    
“We’re almost out of the chilled white,” one server muttered to another as they rearranged dishes on a table situated near her perch. “Can you imagine? I’ve never see the wine cellars this low before!”

    
“We’ve never been snowed in on a delivery day before either,” another server returned. “Just bring out more of the red and champagne. We have plenty of that. Tell them the champagne is a special vintage grown just for the hotel and that they can’t get it anywhere else. They’ll eat it up, and I guarantee you the white wine will last another few days.”

    
Betty fought to keep a smile from her face. It seemed like she wasn’t the only one who thought that sometimes a guest just needed to hear what they wanted to hear. She wondered if hotel staff received special training in using white lies to placate guests, or if was something that came naturally.

    
But knowing the hotel was running low on white wine wasn’t something that Betty considered high priority. She casually pushed away from the wall, moving to another spot with a different set of servers.

    
All that she learned from that pair was that they were concerned about what having a body in the walk-in-freezer would mean for hotel visits. If fewer people came to stay at the hotel, they were concerned that their jobs might be in jeopardy. Betty was tempted to jump into the conversation at that point. Didn’t they understand anything about the American psyche? The more murders at a hotel the better! All the staff had to do was make mention of seeing a young, female ghost with one shoe a few times, and the hotel would become a hot spot for psychics and ghost hunters everywhere. They could even get on tours of haunted hotels.

    
Murders, especially of young and pretty women, were better than gold at insuring your hotel would stay afloat.

    
Betty was just about to give up on the servers as hopeless for being a source of information, when a man cleared his throat very near her ear. Betty spun towards the sound, her heart in her mouth.

    
The celebrity chef judge laughed heartily. “I didn’t mean to scare you!” he said. “I thought you saw me coming over. You were looking right at me.” Betty shook her head mutely. She hadn’t been paying any attention at all to the sights around her.

    
In retrospect, that might not be the best way to stay safe in this situation.

    
“I just wanted to come over and see how you were doing,” the chef continued. “I saw you get cornered by Mr. Vayne earlier. You looked pretty pale.”

    
“Mr. Vayne?” Betty asked.

    
The chef held his hand up to indicate a height of a few inches taller than Betty. “About yea high, grey hair, diamond cufflinks, and the manners of a baboon?”

    
Betty laughed aloud. So, that was the name of the man with the senator nephew. She made a mental note to let Bill know the name. “He is rather awful, isn’t he?” Betty asked.

    
“He’s a pompous twit,” the chef said seriously. “And you still haven’t told me if you’re okay.”

    
“I’m fine,” Betty said nonchalantly. “He was just blowing hot air. He didn’t like some of the questions I was asking, and seemed to think that throwing his weight around would make me less curious. It didn’t work.”

    
“Good!” the chef said. “It’s about time someone made him uncomfortable. What were you asking him about?” he winked at her, lowering his voice to a murmur. “I’d like to know what buttons to press with him too. If you tell me, I promise to make him squirm!”

    
Betty shrugged, going back to watching the blurs. The round of dancing had been going for a while. She suspected it would end any second, and she didn’t think it would be the best idea to be overheard as people began making their way to the tables. So, she kept her voice low as she asked, “You know about the gambling?”

    
“Of course!” the chef said. “They aren’t the best at hiding it, are they?”

    
“No,” Betty agreed. “They aren’t. Well, I was just wondering if Miss Knolhart or her assistant had ever gambled with them.” Her eyes flicked back to the chef, and she noticed the way his expression had suddenly switched from jovial to thoughtful. It was clear that he realized the implications her question could have, and Betty respected him for it. “They didn’t like my asking,” she said. “Mr. Vayne pulled me aside and threatened to make my friend’s life difficult with his senator nephew. And that’s that.”

    
“Are you investigating the murder then?” the chef asked slowly.

    
Betty met his eye, looking for any hint of menace. Finding none, she decided to go with her gut. And her gut was telling her that, not only was the chef far from capable of murder, but he could keep his mouth shut if he wanted to. So when she answered, she answered with the truth. “Not officially,” she said. “But I’m friends with Chief Owens. He asked me to keep my eyes and ears open, and let him know what I find out.”