Death Runs in the Family (17 page)

“So, now I’m a legend!”

Not really, toots, I just made that up.
I gave out a hollow laugh and threw my hair around, wondering how Hollywood starlets and ladies of the night deal with such idiots.

Eventually, we made it to the wall on which half-naked pink women forever cavorted amid pale pink, gold, and lavender art deco flowers. A burly, somber man nodded to Spaulding, moved for the half-hidden door and opened it, standing aside. As I suspected and hoped, Spaulding’s office was inside this part of the casino seen by only the privileged few. Well, I tried to console myself; this was one way of getting inside. Now if I could just get out with what remained of my virtue intact, dragging Lila and Gurn back with me.

We entered a sparsely furnished circular room, maybe a hundred feet in diameter and two or three stories in height. Overhead a domed ceiling, painted black, faded into the darkened atmosphere. In rows of four, huge flat screen TVs hung from black walls starting at about ten feet up from the floor, covering the circumference of the room. Over each set of flat screens, liquid crystal displayed banners of information.

Below in designated areas, people lounged on white leather lounge chairs, wearing a headset or small ear bud, giving their full attention to the screens before them and the LCDs. Some were being catered to by scantily clad women in pink gossamer costumes serving drinks or croupiers dressed like Gopher on
The Love Boat
, i.e. black slacks, white shirt, black bowtie, and short white jacket, trimmed in gold piping. The croupiers carried what resembled an iPad, entering stuff into it after chatting with an individual lounging on a white chair.

I ignored Spaulding’s nudges, and spun around the quiet, intense room. Given the hour, most of the overhead LCDs announced events from the other side of the world. There was bowling from Hong Kong, a game of Bocce Ball

from the Greek island of Corfu, track car racing from Bucharest, and the beginnings of a tennis match in Amsterdam, all reverently being scrutinized by the lounging, expensively attired customers.

Other games or contests were going on, but I lost focus trying to find Lila. In this half-light, I knew she would be hard to find given we were dealing with white on white, but I needn’t have worried.

Just as Spaulding grabbed my arm, Lila’s voice trumpeted in pseudo distress above the other sounds of this relatively quiet room. Much of the activity stopped, and people looked in her direction as she faltered, draped around Gurn’s mighty chest. One thing about Lila, she knows how to make a dramatic entrance or exit.

“Really, it’s nothing, nothing,” she warbled to one of the attending croupiers, walking right by Spaulding and me. “I have these sudden attacks of asthma and just need to take my medicine.” She sent a fleeting glance in my direction and let out an “Ooooo” sound, almost sliding down Gurn’s chest. What an actress!

I loosened Spaulding’s grip on me and bolted forward, grabbing her.

“Oh, my gosh,” I said, in my best Pollyanna voice, “Let me help you.”

I flung an arm around her waist, and she leaned on me, belting out in fortissimo, “Why, aren’t you sweet? What a lovely young lady. Thank you so much, my dear. What a comfort you are.”

A small crowd of concerned people gathered around the three of us. Spaulding’s henchmen kept watch from a safe distance, nervous glances thrown now and then in their boss’s direction. Spaulding, himself, looked like a cat watching a juicy mouse scuttle free to the safety of a nearby mouse hole, me being the mouse.

Gurn piped up, looking at me. “Could you help me take Mrs. Farnsworth to her room?”

“My pleasure,” I said.

The three of us moved forward as one, parting the masses like a boat going through water. We passed through the door into the main casino, Spaulding and his men at our heels. The elevator to freedom was within sight, and my heartbeat dropped to a near normal level.

“Lee! Lee Alvarez!” shouted a voice from the throng. Horace Morgan, our local druggist, stepped forward wearing a plaid suit and tie, his mustache twitching in excitement.

“I thought it was you on the stage wearing that purple wig. What are you doing here in Las Vegas? My wife and I are here for our fiftieth wedding anniversary.” He noticed Mom and looked at her in confusion. “Mrs. Alvarez! Are you all right? Can I be of assistance?”

He stepped forward only to be pushed aside by three larger members of Spaulding’s men, who attached themselves to us like metal to a magnet.

I gaped at Mr. Morgan, who stared at me with an “uh-oh” look on his face. I think it occurred to him as an afterthought what the Alvarez Family did for a living. Meanwhile, Lou Spaulding, his face dark with fury, stepped in front of Mr. Morgan and glared at me.

“Why, you bitch,” he growled.

Spaulding gestured to two other men, who glommed onto each side of Gurn. Spaulding was taking no chances. I maneuvered the dance bag around so I had access to the gun, my heart pounding again. I saw Gurn draw himself up into combat mode. This Navy pilot is a formidable opponent, gold chains and all.

Even Mom, who has been studying karate for only three months, went into a defensive stance. Within a split second, the tension became almost palpable. A small portion of the nearby crowd, including our druggist, began to disperse in an uneasy way, as if not wanting to become involved in something taking an unpleasant route.

Spaulding noticed the crowd’s reaction and put on a phony smile, saying in a loud voice, “Surely, Mrs. Farnsworth, you don’t want to travel the distance to your suite feeling as poorly as you do. Boys, help the lady and her two friends back inside and into my office, will you? She can rest there.”

“Mr. Spaulding,” said a commanding bass baritone voice interrupting the proceedings. “A moment of your time.” We all froze at the emanating authority of the voice, even Spaulding. In unison, we turned to the newcomer, a tall but bland-looking man, with dishwater blond hair and pale blue eyes, a man somehow not easy to disobey.

The speaker pulled out a wallet from an inside pocket of his plain, black suit and dropped it open, flashing identification. He lowered his voice but still spoke with crystal clarity. “Agent Ed Reinhardt, F.B.I. I’d like you to come with me, sir.”

Suddenly, Spaulding was surrounded by five like men, even down to the suits, who stood two or three feet away but watched him in an intimidating manner. His men had surrounded us, and the F.B.I. men, in turn, surrounded them. There was a lot of surrounding going on.

“What for?” Spaulding stuttered. His men, thrown by the sudden lack of power from their leader, shuffled their feet and became ill at ease.

“It’s regarding two accounting ledgers in your name.”

Spaulding at first was puzzled but seemed relieved. “See my lawyers. That’s what I pay them for.”

Reinhardt shook his head.

“No sir. There’s also a matter of a recent execution-style killing. My superiors would like to see you now, sir.”

He reached over and placed one hand on Spaulding’s shoulder. Spaulding pulled away and grew taller and larger, as if by sheer will. Both sets of secondary men tensed even more. With a sharp breath, I reached inside the dance bag and felt the cold steel of my detective special. If a shootout was imminent, I wanted to be ready.

Reinhardt removed his hand and grinned, diffusing the situation. He looked around at customers in the casino having a good time. “I’m sure your business partners wouldn’t like a scene, Mr. Spaulding. We all have to answer to somebody, don’t we? Let’s do this the easy way, sir.”

Spaulding looked at his own men. Shaking his head subtly, he dismissed his underlings, who melted into the crowd. The five FBI agents clustered around Spaulding and ushered him toward the elevator.

Reinhardt stayed behind for a moment and turned to me with a nod. “Thanks, Lee.”

“Any time, Ed,” I answered, with a dry throat.

Reinhardt followed his men and Spaulding, disappearing within the crowd.

“You know this guy?” Gurn asked me.

I nodded, too relieved to speak. This had been a close one.

“I think I need a glass of wine,” Lila said in a whisper-soft breath, which caught, in her throat. “Right now.”

“I could use something stiffer,” said Gurn. “What happened just now? I was sure it was going to get ugly.”

“I called Ed this morning,” I said. “I told him what was going down, and he should consider showing up for it. Fortunately, he did. I take it you got the info Richard needed?”

Mom patted her small clutch bag. “I started transmitting to Richard the moment we were free of the metallic cage. It should almost be done by now.”

I looked around for the discretely labeled set of stairs.

“Let’s take a walk down to the thirty-seventh floor then one of the elevators to the street level. While I don’t think we’re in immediate danger, it might be wise to leave here sooner rather than later. If all went as planned, Flint took the things from your rooms and is waiting for us outside in his car. I’ll check.” I looked at my text messages. “Voila! All is well. Let’s go.”

No one said anything going down in the elevator. I glanced up once in a while at the surveillance camera. I’m sure Gurn and Lila did, too. Once outside the revolving doors, we visibly relaxed and began a two-block walk to Flint’s car parked on a side road.

“What’s that?” Lila said to nobody in particular and pressed at her ear. She turned to me.

“Liana, Richard says we’ve got more than enough to tie Spaulding in with the rigged foot races and wants to know if Ed Reinhardt was the friend of yours from the Mercer Savings Sting of a few years ago.”

“The very one, Mom. The F.B.I. has been working on cracking those ledgers, and Ed said they made a breakthrough around five o’clock this afternoon. With all the evidence they have, he knew if he could take a big wig like Lou Spaulding into custody before his lawyers went into their dog and pony show, it would mean a promotion for him.”

We finally hoofed it to Flint’s Jeep and piled in. “Where’s Nick?” I asked, looking at the lone occupant, Flint.

“Believe it or not, Nicky Boy is at my gym working out. He started going the day you headed back to California, and he’s there four, five hours a day. Going to get those six-packs back.” He turned around to the back seat. “Your bags are in the trunk. I don’t think I missed anything. Did you get what you wanted in there, Lila?”

“More than we expected, Flint. At least, it’s what Richard is indicating from the data I transmitted a short while ago.”

“Once you’re inside the inner casino, the system has no protection whatsoever,” added Gurn. “We were able to tap into minute to minute information their mainframe was relaying to the croupiers. Ties the Fantasy Lady and Spaulding into illegal betting on a lot of things, especially competitive foot races.”

“You didn’t make any bets, did you, Lila? Lose any money on a tennis match in Outer Mongolia or something? If so, we’ll need to let accounting know,” I teased.

“I’ll have you know I won fifteen-hundred dollars at Baccarat. Otherwise, I made no bets.”

Flint turned back to me sitting in the passenger’s seat. “Where to now, Lee?”

“The airport. We got what we came for and then some.”

“What?” said Flint in mock surprise, “You’re not sticking around for tomorrow’s show? Johnny said you were a good dancer and could come back anytime.”

“He just wants another five-thousand bucks,” I said. Everyone laughed, including me.

I sobered, thinking out loud. “You think Spaulding will do anything to Johnny? He looked very angry, seething, in fact.”

The atmosphere of the car became serious, each one of us thinking our own dark thoughts.

Finally, Flint spoke. “I would say, Papoose, if Spaulding has a vendetta toward anyone, it’s going to be with you. He took a shine to you, and he’s not a man who likes being duped by a woman. Watch yourself.”

Chapter Thirteen

And Yet Another Meeting

“Fer cryin’ out loud, Richard,” I said, stepping out on my deck and into the bright sunlight. “Not another meeting. I’ve done nothing but go to non-stop meetings for the past two days, ever since we got back from Vegas. Everybody wants to debrief. First Frank, then the F.B.I., the State’s Attorney’s office, the Gaming Board of Nevada, and the—”

My brother interrupted me. “This meeting is just the three of us, you, Gurn, and me.”

I let out a martyred sigh. Carrying the phone back into the kitchen, I sat down in the kitchen chair facing a wall, not wanting to be distracted by the gorgeous morning. Feeling lost for the moment, I fussed with the hand-loomed and colorful Mexican tablecloth, smoothing out slight wrinkles, and looking for residual crumbs of my morning’s lone breakfast.

It had only been a couple days of sharing my apartment with Gurn, but it’s surprising how fast you get used to doing something when it feels right. We both knew he couldn’t stay indefinitely. After all, he had his own place, and I had mine. However, I didn’t realize how empty my apartment would feel after last night’s farewell kiss and departure.

“And it’s important,” Richard added, bringing me back.

“Important? How?”

“The results of Stephen’s autopsy came back this morning.” There was a moment’s silence, and I felt my body tense.

“What did it say? And skip to the chase.”

“Stephen’s heart received a jolt of electricity strong enough to cause it to stop beating.”

I nearly dropped the phone. “Electricity! You mean a voltage of electricity killed Stephen? But how—” I broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Exactly,” he said, expelling air. “Nobody knows how it could have happened, not a clue.”

“The prosecution isn’t going to have much of a case if they can’t prove how everybody got done in, Richard.”

“I guess the good news is Spaulding and his men don’t know we’re looking into these races, or that we’re going after them for premeditated murder. They think everything revolves around money laundering and falsifying their tax returns. In a sense, they’ve been lulled into a false sense of security.”

“What about Eddie Crackmeir? Any more on him?”

“No. I spoke with Frank last night, and he says no one saw anyone near Crackmeir’s house that night except for Flint’s car. No other fingerprints in the house but the decedent and Kelli’s.”

“Speaking of Kelli, have they found out anything more on what might have happened to her? If she’s been…”

I couldn’t finish the sentence. Yes, I was mad as hell at her for lying to me, taking advantage of me, and stealing the cats. Every time I thought about it, I wanted to wring her neck. But I didn’t want her dead, and it had been five days since her car was found at the airport with fresh blood on the driver’s seat. Usually, if the police don’t come up with something within the first thirty-six hours, there isn’t much hope.

“Nothing,” Richard said. “She seems to have vanished into thin air. Or she’s at the bottom of Hoover Dam. Spaulding’s men probably gave her the same treatment as Eddie Crackmeir, only they took her somewhere else to do it.”

“
Dios mio
, it’s all so gruesome. Sometimes I wonder why we’re in this business, Richard, I really do.”

“Hey, we do software piracy ninety-eight percent of the time. This is because of Stephen.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to get back with the program.

“So to recap,” Richard said, “all we know is who, what, and why, right?”

“Right. Who—Spaulding and Company. What—fixing races. Why—huge buckos. What’s missing is the how, Brother Mine, the how.”

“There might be something in the recordings I’ve got. That’s the reason I’m calling. I need another pair of eyes to look over the footage.”

“You mean you have recordings from each of the races? How did you get those?”

“It wasn’t easy, and I’ve been working on it whenever I could for the past two days. But I need you to look at them, too, in case I’m missing something. I have to warn you, though. One of them is of Stephen.”

I chewed on my lower lip, a bad habit I had yet to break, but it’s one of many and at the bottom of my list. “What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. That’s the problem.”

“You need to take a break. You’ve been at this ever since Stephen died. Gurn and I went to a dinner and concert last night. It was great.”

“What did you see?”

“
Rachmaninoff
.”

“
Vicky’s been after me to take her to it.”

“You should go.”

“Speaking of Vicky, I don’t know if you heard me the other day but—”

“Richard,” I interjected, hearing a beep from call waiting. A glance at caller ID showed me it was Frank’s private number at the precinct. “It’s Frank. Do you want to hold?”

“No, I’ll see you in about an hour.” We hung up, and I went to the other call.

“Hi, Frank. What’s up? Richard was just updating me—”

“Lee, Spaulding made bail,” he interrupted. His voice sounded low and grave. “Two million bucks bail, and he had it fifteen minutes after his arraignment.”

I kept quiet and waited for him to go on.

“Late last night. I only got the information a few minutes ago. Spaulding packs a lot of power in Vegas, for certain.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You talk to Flint lately?”

“Not since day before yesterday. Why?”

“I tried to reach him right before I called you. He didn’t pick up his cell, that’s all. I left a message.” He paused for a moment. “You know, his face was on the hotel room surveillance tapes. Flint is not an easy man to overlook.”

My heart lurched. “Meaning what? You think he might be in danger?”

“I don’t mean anything, Liana.” His answer was sharp and quick. “I left a message only a few minutes ago. I’ll keep trying. Take care of yourself, Lee. Watch your back.”

Without saying goodbye, Frank hung up, proving to me he was more upset than he was letting on.

This was the second person to tell me to watch out within the past few days. The first one had been Flint. I felt uneasy, filled with unexplained trepidations, but I had little time to think about it. I needed to get dressed and over to the office for my meeting with Richard.

I took a fast shower and had just finished throwing on a hot new lavender and pink pants suit found at my favorite outlet store—label removed, but you can’t fool me—when I

heard the doorbell. I raced to the door, but Tugger beat me, showing up out of nowhere. Last seen, he’d been sunning

himself in the middle of the kitchen floor, where the cupola allows the sun to stream in.

I might have known by his reaction to the doorbell it was Tío. If I was the jealous type, I would think my cat loved my uncle more than me. For sure, he obeys him more than me, but nobody listens to me, human or otherwise, so I can’t take offence.

“Good morning, Tío,” I said, swinging the door open wide and offering an even wider smile. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Sobrina,
” he said, taking me into a bear hug. “You have been so busy with all the meetings and your
novio
, you have hardly been here. It has been the cats and me.”

“Thank you for taking care of them while we were busy, Tío. Both Gurn and I appreciated knowing they were well taken care of.”

“
De nada.”
He broke free from my embrace and looked down at Tugger. “There is the good boy, the Rum Tum Tugger.” He extended his forearms and gestured for the cat to jump up. “We have something to show you, Liana. Tugger! Come.”

I’ve seen this little trick before, but I am never unmoved by it. My four-footed roommate, the same cat I can’t get to do squat, made a lithe jump and perfect landing into the tall man’s arms as if he did it every day. Which he almost does. It is a rare day Tugger and Tío don’t practice one trick or another.

Tío says Tugger is one of the most intelligent cats he’s ever met and needs to keep his mind sharpened daily by doing little tricks and puzzles. I once said I would do the
New York Times
crossword puzzle with Tugger but was met by a blank stare from my uncle. When it comes to animals, Tío has no sense of humor.

“
Sobrina,
Tugger and I have been working on this for the past two days.”

With a certain amount of pomp and circumstance, Tío carried Tugger to the center of my living room and struck a

pose, reminiscent of Siegfried and Roy in their Las Vegas days.

This looked like it was going to be a long and drawn out affair.

“Tío, I hate to say this, but I’m in a hurry to get to the office. Whatever you want to show me, can it wait until later today or tomorrow? Richard needs to have a meeting with me.”

“So many meetings, Liana! Oh, of course. Little Tugger and I can wait. It is not so important.”

But he looked so crushed and dejected, I immediately jumped in with, “What am I saying, Tío? Will it take more than fifteen minutes? I’ve got fifteen minutes.” I looked at him and smiled. He returned my smile ten-fold.

“
Bien
,
bien.
It will take no more.” His long-fingered, elegant hand took Tugger around the midriff and placed him on the floor.

“Tugger, sit,” Tío said. And hot damn if the cat didn’t sit down on his haunches and stare up at the man intently. That stare always impresses me, especially as I can never get My Son, The Cat, to do much of anything, other than eat.

Tío turned back to me. “
Sobrina
, when Tugger and the little one were taken the other day —”

“Dios mío,
” I interrupted, instantly reliving it, “what a horrible day. I’m so glad it turned out all right. It could have so easily gone the other way.”

“
Exactamente!
” Tío said, holding a finger up for emphasis. “It could have so easily gone the way of great unhappiness.” He cleared his throat, and I sat down in the nearby red leather chair, giving my uncle my full attention.

“This is why I think to teach our Tugger to defend himself and you, of course.”

“Beg pardon?”

“All Tugger knows is goodness and kindness. But sometimes to protect oneself and those we love, is something it needs to be taught. It is not always instilled in one so innocent.”

“After seeing what Tugger has done to some of my shoes, I wouldn’t label him as innocent.” Tugger took his eyes off the man, looked over at me and blinked, an upward turn to the corners of his mouth. Did he know what I was saying?

“This is not the time for the jokes,
mi sobrina.
”

“Sorry.”

We both paused and studied the slender gold-eyed, white and orange cat sitting perfectly still. Tugger glanced first at Tío then at me, all the while in a waiting mode. Small flickerings of skin beneath fur belied the outward look of ease and tranquility. The cat was ready for something, but what?

I looked over toward my uncle. “What is the latest trick you’ve taught him?”

“I will show you, but I want you to first not be afraid. You can see I am wearing the long-sleeves of the sweater and underneath I have the long-sleeve shirt. But even that is not enough.”

Tío reached behind my sofa and pulled out a padded material with Velcro on one side. “I left this here yesterday when Tugger and I practiced. I think we are ready to show you now what he can do.”

Having said that, Tío wrapped the self-adhering pad around his forearm and secured it in place. He snapped his fingers twice over Tugger’s head, and the cat’s body became rigid in rapt concentration. But once again, for what?

“Tugger! Tugger! Attack! Attack! Now!”

Tío’s commanding voice was shrill and tense, unlike anything I’d heard come out of him before. The cat, also, made a sound I’d never heard, a low, guttural growl. Then he came

to a standing position and sprang, his exposed claws and teeth sinking into the padding on Tío’s forearm. Tío moved about and tried to dislodge the biting, spitting, and clawing animal, while I sat frozen in horror. My sweet, docile, toy-loving feline was a homicidal maniac trying to chew my uncle’s arm off!

This scene probably only lasted for a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity to me. Tío yelled out over the hissing, growling, and ripping sounds Tugger was making, “Tugger, down. Tugger, enough. Down.”

I leapt up and ran over to my uncle, who now cuddled a more relaxed Tugger in the other arm.

“Tío, are you all right?” Anxious, I took his wrapped arm in my hands and looked at it. The fabric was shredded in places, but I didn’t see any blood.

“Do not worry,
mi sobrina.
” He took a moment, placing Tugger, who now seemed calm and serene, on his shoulder, and stroking his svelte body. “The padding protects me.” He stopped talking and shrugged.