Fatal Deduction (18 page)

“Maybe she’s trying to buy your love. I’ve got a friend whose father hardly ever sees her. He lives with his second family in Texas, and he always buys her lots of stuff when he does see her. He’s trying to buy her affection.”

Chloe thought about the laptop and the hair stuff. Jenna might be right. “What Aunt Tori doesn’t understand is that both Mom and I already love her just because she’s Aunt Tori.”

“That’s like my mom. She doesn’t understand that I want to love her just because she’s my mom. I know she’s sick and can’t help lots of what she does, but I still want to love her.” Jenna’s sigh was deep and hurt Chloe’s stomach. “She just won’t let me.”

When Tori left the SeaSide at 3 a.m., she was exhausted. These long holiday weekends were murder! And there was still tomorrow to get through. With any luck, it wouldn’t be a repeat of today. Well, it couldn’t be. Miles Denbigh was on his way home to the little lady who was in for the shock of her comfy, pampered life.

Miles loved gambling, and he’d been coming to the SeaSide for
years. As the owner of a huge construction company with projects and housing developments in thirty of the fifty states, he had ample resources to gamble. He was one of her favorite customers—usually.

She’d arranged for the SeaSide jet to pick him up in Hartford, Connecticut, on Friday evening for the long Fourth weekend, gratis of course. Why he insisted on coming to Atlantic City when he had Foxwoods, one of the biggest casinos in the country, in his backyard, Tori never figured out. But she and her bosses were happy enough to help him drop a nice portion of his considerable fortune here.

When he arrived Friday, she saw him to his suite and comped all his meals. The bar in the living room of the suite was stocked with all his favorite beverages, and the refrigerator was full of hors d’oeuvres. While the bellman took his bag into the bedroom and Miles threw his jacket over a chair, Tori prepared his Manhattan with a thin slice of orange.

He took the glass and sipped. “Perfect! You’re amazing.”

She smiled her thanks, thinking about the notebooks she had full of the preferences of the SeaSide’s major clients. “Do you want to decompress here alone, or do you want me to arrange dinner for you? The Boardwalk Lounge has a great new singer.”

“Eat with me?”

“I’d love to.” And she didn’t mind eating with Miles. He was a nice man who still believed in being faithful to his wife, who rarely came with him; she didn’t like the shore because the ocean breezes made her hair frizz. At least with Miles there were no groping hands to discourage without angering the client. At ten she left him at the blackjack table, excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

“Tori.” He caught her arm. He pressed a bill into her hand. Before she could say thanks, his attention was back at the game.

When she’d left to return to Philadelphia on the Fourth around ten in the morning, he’d just come down to the lobby, all bonhomie and brio, ready for breakfast and a day of gaming.

When she came back to Atlantic City yesterday, Sunday, he’d had a disastrous night, betting big and losing big. When she approached him about six to make dinner plans, he was dug in, determined to recoup his losses.

She took his arm. “Come on, Miles. I need a drink and a dashing man to share it with.”

Not that he looked dashing anymore. He looked desperate. She frowned, all too aware that determined gamblers often mortgaged their homes and businesses to the hilt for the cash they needed for big stakes play. She’d never thought Miles such a player before, but looking at his desperate face, she recognized that very real possibility.

Tori took Miles’s arm and gently pulled.

But Miles refused to move. He continued to bet huge sums, his pile of chips and markers disappearing at an alarming rate. He was driven by the fever, and Tori understood. She’d experienced it herself.
My next roll—or card or turn of the wheel—will win it all back for me
.

But nothing won it back for him. It was 10 p.m. when Carl drove Tori and Miles to the Greyhound depot where she bought Miles a ticket for Hartford via Philadelphia and New York.

“It’s gone,” he kept saying. “It’s all gone. How will I ever pay Robert back?”

Tori tensed. “Robert who?”

“Robert Big Eagle.”

Tori shook her head. Robert Big Eagle was a shark of the lowest sort. He was also brutal in demanding his money. Of course his real
name was no more Big Eagle than Tori’s was. It just made him sound like one of the Indian tribe that owned Foxwoods.

“Have you been going to Foxwoods as much as you’ve been coming to the SeaSide?”

Miles nodded.

“Betting as heavily there?”

He nodded again.

Idiot
. But she didn’t say it.

As she walked down the darkened boardwalk to Luke’s, she thought it would be nice if she called Miles’s wife to meet him tomorrow when the bus rolled in. After all, they had much to discuss now that he’d gambled away not only his business and his portfolio but his house and his kids’ education fund. And he had Robert Big Eagle to contend with too.

Tori yawned as she climbed to the third floor and Luke’s sumptuous apartment. She pushed her hair back over her shoulder and winced as a lock caught on the brooch she’d borrowed from Libby. Who would have thought Libby’d have such great jewelry? When she started exploring her sister’s room, it was strictly for entertainment value, a chance to laugh at how cheap her clothes were, how hopelessly old-fashioned she was.

And then she’d found the shoebox.

She brushed her fingers over the pretty pin. The gold setting was fourteen karat, the
14k
stamped on the back. Maybe there was some value to the stones too. She’d give the thing to Luke as her next payment. She’d given him other jewelry—necklaces, pins, earrings that she’d acquired from clients in the past.

Tonight old Mr. Krasnicki had given her a very nice tip for introducing him to the fifth dancer from the right in the revue in the Pink
Shell Lounge. And there was the tip Miles had given her the other night. Luke didn’t need to know about these bits of change. She would keep them for her Chloe campaign.

She was in a very good mood when she fell into bed beside Luke.

T
HE DOORBELL PLAYED
the “Westminster Chimes” at nine o’clock Monday morning. As I walked to the door, I thought how nice it would be if that lovely sound wakened the girls instead of my having to do it. While Jenna might be polite when I made them get up so we could go to Sam Pierce’s, Chloe would have no such inhibitions. Morning was most definitely not her strong time.

I looked through the peephole in the front door and saw Drew standing on the stoop. I pulled the door open with a smile.

“Good morning.” I waved him inside. “How about a cup of coffee?”

“Sounds good.” He followed me into the kitchen. He glanced around. “Nice. You should see the one we’ve got. Very fifties, and not in the retro sense. It’s just old. The rest of the place is great, but the kitchen—bad. I figure they never ate in.”

I surveyed Aunt Stella’s compact and wonderful kitchen. “It is pretty great, isn’t it?”

Drew took a chair at the kitchen table as I pulled the coffee maker forward on the counter.

“I came to check on Jenna. How’s she doing this morning?”

“I haven’t seen either girl yet today. I was about to go wake them when you arrived.” I measured the coffee, filled the well with water, and turned on the machine. “Toast?”

Before he could answer, Chloe and Jenna stumbled into the kitchen. They wore shorts, knit tops, and sleepy faces.

Drew stood immediately and pulled Jenna into a hug. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Is she still here?”

Drew nodded. “I can’t just kick her out on the street.”

Jenna made a face, though she didn’t contradict him. “I’ll come home when she leaves.”

Drew looked so sad my heart broke for him. “Jenna, it’s your house, not Ruthie’s.”

“Yeah, well, try and tell her that.”

“Can’t you just make her leave, Mr. Canfield?” Chloe asked. “I mean, you’re not married anymore or anything.”

I caught my daughter’s eye and shook my head. This situation was one Drew and Jenna and Ruthie had to resolve, not Chloe or me.

Drew, bless him, didn’t seem to take Chloe’s comment as butting in. “I will tell her to go, but someone she cared for was just killed. Right now she’s in mourning.”

Jenna snorted. “Until the next guy comes along.”

Drew winced. “Jenna, she’s still your mother, even if she is difficult.”

“Difficult doesn’t begin to cover it, Dad.”

Jenna tried to act like she didn’t care, but her hurt and yearning
were stamped on her face. I knew how Mom’s indifference had hurt me through the years, but I couldn’t begin to imagine Jenna’s hurt.

“She doesn’t like me.” The girl’s voice broke. “And I don’t much like her.” The last was said with defiance.

It was time to redirect the conversation. It was clearly going nowhere good, and Drew wouldn’t want to air his family problems in front of us. “Sit down, girls, and tell me what you want for breakfast.” I was Mary Poppins, all good cheer and a spoonful of sugar.

“Toast or English muffins,” Jenna said. “And orange juice if you have any.”

“Me too.” Chloe looked through the sliding door. “Can we eat outside?”

“Sure. Why not?” I poured the coffee into two mugs for Drew and me. When the toast popped, I buttered it. Chloe opened the slider, and we all followed Princess into the backyard, where we took seats around the table on the patio. Princess raced to the back of the yard for her daily bath in the koi pool. When she started to scrabble out, I sent a disgruntled Chloe to save the edges of the pond.

“One of these days she’s going to step on one of those fish,” she grumbled as she resumed her seat. “And you’re going to lose all your inheritance.”

“I don’t think the kois’ lives are a condition of the will.” I put my empty coffee mug on the table and wished all I had to do today was sit here and enjoy the lovely garden. “I have to take that jewelry to Pierce’s today. Do you girls want to come with me? Chloe, you can show Jenna where you live.”

Chloe lost a bit of her morning grouch. “Want to come, Jenna?”

“Sure.”

“We’ll leave as soon as you’re finished eating.” I turned to Drew. “Is it all right if Jenna comes with us today?”

Jenna turned to her father. “Please, Dad.”

He nodded. “Sure. I don’t see any reason why not.”

“All right!” Chloe abandoned her dirty dishes and raced up to her aerie, Jenna on her heels.

Drew watched them go. “Thanks, Libby. She needs something to distract her until I can figure out what to do with Ruthie.”

Ruthie
. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but can’t you say something to her about the way she treats Jenna? She’s breaking the kid’s heart.”

“Don’t you think I have?” He put his hand to his forehead and rubbed like a massive headache was brewing and it wasn’t something that aspirin or ibuprofen would touch. He sighed. “She’s a master at ignoring what she doesn’t want to hear, and I don’t feel right just putting her things on the front step and locking the door.”

“She was your wife. You feel responsible for her, for caring for her.” I couldn’t help wondering if, even after all the trouble she’d been, he still loved her. The thought made me sad.

“I feel lots of things for Ruthie, and I guess responsible is one of them. So is anger. And distress and sorrow and frustration. I even feel this weird sort of love, like you would for someone way less fortunate. The woman is, after all, ill.” He was silent for a moment. “Sometimes I even feel hate.”

I stared at Drew, shocked. Not that his emotions surprised me; they seemed what anyone facing such a hard and unsolvable situation would feel. It was the fact that he actually spoke his feelings out loud that amazed me. So very un-guylike, at least in my limited experience.

He shook his head as if surprised himself. “I’m sorry. I never say things like that.”

“Well, it was probably good for you, and as your fiancée for a day, the least I can do is listen.”