Death Plays Poker (24 page)

ELIZABETH

Elizabeth searched the poker room for George. She didn’t know why the guy was suddenly her confidant, but talking to him felt safe, like he’d never use anything she said against her. There weren’t too many people like that in the gambling world — hell, there weren’t too many in the world in general. George was the only person she wanted to tell what she’d just learned in the bathroom — or
head
, if she wanted to use boating terms
—
of
Last Tango
.

She found George about to sit down in the spectator stands. She tugged at his arm and led him away to where no one could hear them.

“What’s up?” George seemed amused.

“I’m pregnant.”

“You are?” George didn’t have to look so pleased with himself. “Congratulations.”

Ah. He thought it was a good thing.

“I’m not keeping it,” Elizabeth said.

“Why not?”

She looked at him hard. “Because it’s Joe’s.”

“I thought you were in love with Joe.”

“It isn’t mutual.”

At least George had the grace to look sad now. “How does he feel about the baby?”

Elizabeth scowled. “Would you not call it a baby? It’s a bunch of cells, and that’s all it’s ever going to be.”

“Sorry,” George said. “What was Joe’s reaction when you told him?”

Elizabeth didn’t say anything.

“You can’t not tell him.”

The poison was firing violent chemicals through her — at least now she knew what they probably meant. The tables were starting to fill up with players.

“You’re just going to kill his baby.” George’s eyes dropped, like she was so horrible he couldn’t even look at her.

Elizabeth didn’t say anything.

“Give him a chance.”

“Joe doesn’t want kids. He’s not — George, he’s not normal that way. I can see it in the way he refuses to recycle, the way he laughs at me for caring what the world will look like in fifty or a hundred years. He’s not interested in anything except living
his
life, then feeding some maggots underground.”

“Just because Joe doesn’t recycle doesn’t mean he wants you to have an abortion.”

“I want the abortion. If this pregnancy was a good thing, my body wouldn’t be reacting this way.” Elizabeth tapped her foot impatiently on the carpet. “It’s — I think the poison is because it’s Joe’s. Is that horrible? I think his genes are so desperate to not reproduce that they’re making me feel miserable so I terminate the pregnancy.”

“Have you been studying witchcraft? I don’t think genetics work that way.”

“Our bodies know things.” Elizabeth shook her head. “The game’s starting soon. I should get to my seat.”

“Tell him, Elizabeth. It’s strange what can make a man want to settle down.”

Elizabeth had been down that thought path on the short walk from the boat to the casino. “Maybe a baby would keep him entertained for a while. Maybe he’d even stay faithful for a month, though I doubt it. That’s not the life I want.”

“So you’re going to break up with him?”

She looked at George sharply. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you just said . . .”

“I said I’m not going to tell him about the baby. I mean fetus. I still want to date Joe, for all the reasons I’m already with him.”

“What possible reasons could you have, if you feel this way about your future?”

“Addiction.” Elizabeth had never put it in these terms, but it was true. “I’m drawn to Joe, magnetically, and I’m not going to leave him until I figure out how to break that.”

CLARE

Clare looked at Elizabeth across the poker table. Elizabeth was frowning, as usual, and playing her cards like the game was so fucking serious. Clare understood that there was a lot of money at stake; she just didn’t understand how money alone could motivate someone to get out of bed each day.

Clare wrinkled her mouth at her cards, but in fact they were two tens, and quite playable. She put her sunglasses on and tossed some chips casually toward the center.

Elizabeth said, “I can see you like your hand.”

Clare had no idea how the other players could all read her so easily.

“Raise.” Elizabeth put some chips in the middle and stuck a circular gold protector over her hole cards.

Clare shrugged and called the raise. Trying for casual and most likely failing miserably.

“Seriously, Tiffany. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Clare asked, wondering if Elizabeth’s old hostility was back.

“Forget about it,” Elizabeth said.

The flop came ace-ten-seven, three different suits. Ideal for Clare’s hand — her trip tens were beating everything but pocket aces.

“Are you mad at me for something?” Clare asked Elizabeth.

The first two players checked, and Elizabeth bet three-quarters of the pot. “No. But we need to have a talk.”

“So talk.” Clare called the bet and hoped she looked casual about her killer hand.

“Trust me: you don’t want me saying this in front of eight strangers.”

Clare had no idea what could be so top secret, but she’d take Elizabeth’s word for it. “You want to get some lunch at the break?”

“Why not?” Elizabeth said. “I’ve been having a lousy day anyway.”

The other two players folded and Clare was heads-up against Elizabeth. The turn card was a king. There were some remote chances Elizabeth was ahead, but if so it was dumb luck. Basically, Clare wanted as much money involved on this card as possible, and she didn’t want Elizabeth to know why.

Elizabeth bet, making it another half-pot to Clare.

Clare gave a look that she hoped resembled worry. She looked at her stack. Looked at the dealer. “If I go all in, does she have me covered?”

The dealer did a quick chip count. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Clare said. Then she did something dangerous. “Call.”

The river was a three, which suited Clare’s plan perfectly. No draws could have come in, and unless Elizabeth had already had her beaten on the turn, Clare’s display of weakness could now net her a very large pot.

“Check,” Elizabeth said.

Clare waited a beat. “All in.”

“Fold,” Elizabeth said. “Disappointed, huh, Tiffany?”

Clare nodded, collecting the chips the dealer was raking her way. “How did you know I was ahead?”

“I’ll tell you at lunch.”

NOAH

Noah listened to his earphone: dead silence, like he’d instructed. The black table felt looked darker than it had before, like something creepy lived inside it and was waiting for the right moment to reach its evil claw out and drag Noah into its underworld. He had to cut back on the gruesome late night
TV
.

He saw Tiffany and Elizabeth one table over. “Tiffany” looked frantic. She was clearly not a poker veteran; she was crap at hiding her emotions. But what was she frantic about? Did she miss having the other players’ hole cards fed into her ear?

Elizabeth looked angry. She didn’t normally smile, but today she was even more intense. Was she wondering why the signal had stopped?

Joe was at Noah’s table, but he seemed as relaxed as he always did. Today he was wearing a pirate hat and saying “Arrrr” before making every play.

A few tables over, Noah saw T-Bone stand up, throw his cards down, and storm away from the table. Busted out? More likely he’d lost a hand to a bad beat, since he soon turned around and sat back down with a plonk. In any case, he was perfectly in character.

Where was Mickey? Yup: grinning. Cracking some joke, or laughing at someone else’s. Noah couldn’t hear the words from three tables away, but his face was the same as always.

Did it not matter that they’d lost someone close to them? Or were they just that damn good at putting game faces on?

Fiona was chatting with the two guys in the booth who ran commentary for a competing show. She tossed her head back and laughed at something one of them said. She looked perkier than usual. Was she so happy that the scam was off that she forgot she should be grieving about Loni?

And George, in the spectator stands, looked confused. Annoyed because he’d busted out early? Or was George listening in to the channel, wondering where the hell Oliver’s voice was?

But none of what Noah saw was evidence. When the bell sounded for lunch, he wondered if he’d learned anything at all by stopping the cheating ring.

He’d either have to play closer attention, or raise the stakes a notch.

ELIZABETH

“So how did you know I wanted a call for my trips?” Tiffany leaned into the restaurant table. Her wrists were too small for her bangly bracelets. She made Elizabeth think of an eight-year-old playing dress-up in her mother’s closet.

“You’re an opposite player,” Elizabeth said. “When you like your hand, you act nonchalant. When you’re bluffing, you’re bold and pushy. It’s fairly formulaic — I’m surprised Mickey hasn’t tried to coach that out of you.”

“So the sunglasses don’t help?” Tiffany fingered the sparkly studs on the magenta frames that sat beside her coffee cup.

“Really?” Elizabeth laughed. “Your sunglasses are your biggest tell of all.”

“What do you mean? They’re supposed to be anti-reflective.”

“I can’t see your cards in them.”

“You see my eyes through them?” Tiffany said. “Do my expressions give me away?”

Elizabeth decided to throw the girl a favor. Despite the donk beat in Niagara, she wasn’t afraid of Tiffany winning this game. “You only put the glasses on when you have a hand you like.”

Tiffany grinned. At least she could laugh at herself. “Should I keep them on all the time?”

“That would make sense.” Elizabeth sipped her iced tea, which she found way too sweet. She liked the places in the southern States that let you add your own sugar. “So why are you pretending to be someone you’re not?”

Tiffany’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“I used to work for my father. He’s a furniture importer, like your dad. Except I’ve never heard of your dad, and neither has he.”

Tiffany’s hands seemed to spontaneously start fiddling with each other. “You don’t know my dad’s name.”

“I’m assuming his last name is James.”

Tiffany swallowed. “Yeah.”

Elizabeth leaned as far as she could across the table. It wasn’t to avoid being heard; it was to intimidate Tiffany, to throw her even more off kilter. “You don’t have to tell me your real name. But I want to know why you’re lying.”

“I’m . . . not . . . lying.”

“Really? Explain this, then.” Elizabeth pulled her BlackBerry from her purse and began reading, presumably a text message. “‘Hey, Lizzie, no James in Canada — as you already know. Checked England — nothing. Only possibility left U.S. — but don’t think so. Maybe it’s another name? Message back if you want me to check something else.’”

“Who’s that?” Tiffany asked.

“My brother.”

“Why would you — what’s the point of finding out my dad’s company name?”

“Tiffany. Stop lying.”

Tiffany flinched. She briefly separated her hands, maybe to try to make her nervousness less obvious, but in seconds they were back together like magnets, her bracelets clanking. “The business is in my mom’s name. For tax reasons.”

“What’s your mother’s name?” Elizabeth held her finger poised over her phone’s keypad.

“I’m not going to tell you. You’re deranged. My dad keeps that private, and now I can see why.”

Elizabeth felt the poison pushing in. She wanted to fight it back, because as soon as it took over she couldn’t trust her instincts anymore. She was pretty sure Tiffany was lying. But what if she wasn’t? Now Elizabeth just looked like an idiot.

She tried one more push. “Your dad runs the company, though. So you say.”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s his name my dad would know. And he doesn’t.”

But even Tiffany could see that there was doubt, and the balance had shifted in her favor. She bridged her hands in midair. “Why don’t I call my dad and ask him if he’s heard of any Ngs?”

The waitress set the food down. Tiffany’s hamburger looked more appetizing than Elizabeth’s oriental chicken salad.

“Why don’t you tell me the real way you came into your money,” Elizabeth said.

Tiffany had the nerve to look amused. “Um. How do you think I really got my money?”

Elizabeth glanced at Tiffany’s steaming, chunky fries.

“Have one.” Tiffany turned her plate so the fries were facing Elizabeth.

Elizabeth took a fry. “I think you’re being funded by someone with an agenda.”

Tiffany frowned. Elizabeth knew she’d hit on something.

Fiona sauntered up to their table carrying a slim leather briefcase. “Mind if I join you guys?”

Elizabeth did mind, but she’d finished with Tiffany for now, so she smiled instead. “Grab a chair.”

“Man,” Fiona said. “It’s lethal in that room. Everyone hates each other normally, but since Loni’s death, they’re showing it.” She glanced at Elizabeth as if she’d just remembered their recent argument on camera. She leaned in and asked in an affected voice, “Shit. No hard feelings, right?”

“No, of course not.” Elizabeth felt her mouth curl into a very tight smile.

The waitress came by and Fiona ordered a Cobb salad.

“I’m surprised you guys are talking,” Fiona said. “With that prop bet and all, I thought you’d be fuming, Lizzie.”

“Prop bet?” Tiffany squeaked, like a parrot.

“Joe and Nate?” Fiona stared. “No one told you?”

Tiffany shook her perky little head.

“Wow, I suck. Sorry,” Fiona said, not looking sorry at all, “but someone should tell you. Joe and Nate have a bet for twenty grand to see which one of them can sleep with you first. And rumor has it, appearances aside, that no one’s won yet.”

Tiffany tried to act disgusted, but Elizabeth could see she was flattered. “Are you kidding?”

Fiona shook her head. “Has Nate already won?”

“Nope.”

“You haven’t slept with Nate?” Elizabeth said. “Or is that another one of your lies?”

Tiffany faced Elizabeth and said calmly, “I’ve known Nate four days. Should I have slept with him?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I thought you had loose morals.”

“Where does morality come in? I’ll sleep with him when I want to, not because someone else thinks I should or shouldn’t.”

“You sound like Joe. He doesn’t believe in morality either.”

“Maybe Joe could win the bet.” Tiffany eyed Elizabeth defiantly. “I’ve known him four days, too.”

“Maybe no one will win,” Elizabeth countered. “Maybe you’ll turn around and leave this scene as loudly as you came.”

“Jesus,” Fiona said. “What the hell did I just walk into?”