Luck Be a Lady (Tahoe Tessie Mysteries) (20 page)

Alfie's gaze bounced from Ryder to me, and back again.

"It's okay," I told him, trying to diffuse the testosterone brewing in the air before the fish tank caught a second victim of the evening. "I'm fine."

Finally Alfie nodded. "Fine. Call me when you're at the penthouse. I'm posting a guard tonight."

Before I could protest that I didn't need an armed guard, he was gone. I let out a breath of relief I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Charmer, isn't he?" Ryder observed.

I shrugged. "He's old school. What can you do?"

Ryder's mouth curved into a hint of a smile. One that vanished as his eyes roved my face, honing in on the lump which I was sure was turning several lovely shades of purple. "What happened?"

"Long story." I looked down at the tank. "Involving that guy, I'm afraid."

If his face held concern before, it was downright frightening now. "Tell me," he demanded.

So, I did, filling him in on everything that had happened that evening from my place being ransacked to Alfie following our Joe Pesci impersonating friend.

When I was done, Agent Ryder stared at me for a long moment. Then he did the completely unexpected. He grabbed me in a hug. And not the kind that your Aunt Mildred gives you. This one was soft and fierce all at the same time, the kind where emotion overrides all logical thought and your body reacts all on its own. At least, that's what I told myself as I melted into his embrace, my knees all but giving way beneath me as I inhaled the woodsy scent of his aftershave. Pine. Like the fresh trees outside. With a subtle hint of sandalwood.

I was just letting the scent carry me away to a fantasyland filled with silk sheets and warm boxers when he pulled away, holding me at arms' length as he looked me over from head to toe. "You okay?" he asked.

I nodded. Mostly because I didn't trust myself to speak.

He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair making it stand up on end. "Jesus, Tessie, you could have been killed."

He glanced at our dead friend, then back up at me. "You sure Alfie found this guy
after
he fell in the water? 'Cause I might be tempted to give him a nudge over the balcony myself if I knew he did that to you."

I was pretty sure that was the nicest thing he'd ever said to me.

I nodded. "Positive. Look, Alfie's rough around the edges, but he's no killer." I was pretty sure.

"Okay, walk me through it," Ryder said, switching back into his professional mode. "Alfie called you to tell you about this guy. What time was that?"

"I don't know. Not too long ago."

"Where were you?"

"At the Golden Chalice having dinner with Rafe."

Ryder's eyes snapped up to meet mine. "You were on a date?"

"Uh..."

"You were on a date." This time it wasn't a question but a statement, all emotion he might have displayed a minute ago drained from his face. "I thought you said you weren't dating Rafe."

"No, I'm not. I mean, yes, I was, but it was a business date. I mean, business meeting. About the casino. Where he works." I blamed the possible concussion that I was rambling like a kid trying to cover her tracks after getting caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Agent Ryder!" a voice yelled from the floor below.

I let out a sigh of relief as he leaned over the railing, praising the guy's timing.

"Yes?" Ryder directed below to a uniformed officer.              "There's something you want to see down here," the guy said. "We've got some shiny material lodged between the paneling."

  "Shiny?" I muttered, making my way to the banister. I tugged at Ryder's sleeve. "Weston wears those awful shiny shirts. Like, all the time."

Ryder nodded. "That's what I wanted to tell you. We found Weston's prints on the railing where the vic fell over, too."

I couldn't help just the smallest of smug smiles. "Looks like you've got enough to call Weston in for questioning now."

*  *  *

Ryder insisted on having one of his officers escort me to the penthouse, where, true to my word, I promptly called Alfie to tell him that he could post his rent-a-goon.

Britton answered the door, her face falling into a frown when she saw me. "Dang, girl. That really is some bump. Come on in. I'll get you an ice pack." Her arm encircled my shoulders, leading me to the couch. Boxes filled the living room, pulling me from obsessing over Rafe, Alfie, Joe Pesci, and the look of utter disappointment on Ryder's face at the mention of my dinner versus the heat still pulsing through my body at the feel of his body pressed to mine. Britton's whole life, and her time with my dad, was shoved into these cardboard containers stacked against the walls and lining the hall.

"I really wish there was something I could do to help."             

"With packing?" Britton sat next to me, pushing me back and applying a blue ice pack to my temple.

The cold was a shock at first, but it quickly went to work, easing the pain some. I placed one hand over the pack and waved the other around the room. "I wish I could help this all not suck so much."

She patted my leg. "Hey, I found something while going through Dickie's stuff I think will take your mind off of everything." Britton got up and dug through a box near the front door, returning with a tiny wrapped package. She set it on my lap. "Open it. Your dad got it for your birthday last year, when you said you'd come for a visit."

But I never did.

The room spun a bit, feeling like I was hit on the head all over again. This time the pain radiated in my chest, angry fingers clutching my heart. I'd never thought about the times I had let my father down, the promises
I'd
broken, or the white lies
I'd
told, always so wrapped up in my own disappointment.

I pushed the box back toward Britton. "I can't. I don't deserve anything."

She dropped to her knees in front of me, cradling the box into my palm and wrapping my fingers around it. "He loved you so very much. He was saving this because he knew you'd come out one day."

"For his funeral," I blubbered, tears falling freely.

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

I studied the small gift, carefully wrapped in bright yellow paper, my favorite color. The bow was lopsided and tied too tightly, obviously done by my dad. This tightened the grip in my chest. I gasped for breath, the tears coming even faster. I wanted to preserve the paper, the package, and really didn't even care what was inside. The fact that my father had actually wrapped the gift himself spoke louder than whatever present lay within.

Curiosity finally bested me. I wedged the bow off intact and gently draped it on the table next to me. Slowly peeling back the tape, I was able to save the sunny paper as well. I pulled the top off of the box, exposing a pair of diamond stud earrings, a tiny scrap of paper falling away. I picked it up. Scrawled in his nearly illegible handwriting, it said, "I knew you wouldn't come on your birthday. I'm just glad you finally made it. Love you, kiddo." I pressed the note to my chest, sobbing, wishing my daddy could hug all of the pain away one more time, regretting every wasted vacation and opportunity to come visit. Britton's arms encircled me again, and I drew as much comfort from her as I could.

When I was finally able to curb the crying, Britton whispered, "The guest room is made up for you. Most of your things are in there."

"Thank you for letting me stay with you. I just don't feel safe in my room."

"Don't be silly." She playfully swatted my arm. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

I gently gathered my treasures and took them to my room, splaying them on my nightstand. The room was decent sized with a full bed and its own bathroom off to the side. I dug through my hastily packed suitcase, found some sleep pants and a T-shirt, and quickly changed. As I slid into bed, I was overcome with a sense of peace. I knew I was right where my father wanted me, fighting for his casino, safely under his roof. And sleep claimed me quickly.

For a while.

My ringing phone startled me awake. Swiping it on without looking, I muttered, "Hello?"

"Hey, sorry to wake you," I heard Ryder's voice.

I sat bolt upright, smoothing my hair and straightening my pajamas for some odd reason. "Hi, I'm awake." Now.

"I wanted to be the one to tell you. We had to let Weston go."

"What?!" I shouted. I consciously lowered my voice so I didn't wake Britton, then added, "Why?"

"Weston has video of himself at the casino, time stamped and everything, for the time of the struggle and Leo Cannetti's murder." He breathed a defeated sigh directly into the phone. "We couldn't keep him."

"Leo Cannetti?" My groggy brain tried to keep up.

"Oh, the Joe Pesci guy."

I couldn't believe it. Weston was a sure thing. "What about the fingerprints?"

"It's Weston's casino. His prints are all over it." I could hear the defeat in his voice.

"And the fabric at the scene? Wasn't it from Weston's shirt?"

"Hard to tell," Ryder said. "The crime lab is comparing the two, but it will be awhile before we have anything conclusive. In the meantime, Weston's a free man. Sorry, Tessie," he said, and I had a feeling he truly was.

I hung up and checked the glaring red numbers of my alarm clock telling me that everyone else was sound asleep. First sign of sunlight, I was chatting with Weston myself. I, for one, didn't need a warrant.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

After the phone call from Ryder in the wee hours of the morning, I'd accomplished nothing more than tossing and turning until I knew the Java Joust was open for business. I'd grabbed a quick shower, then thrown on a pair of grey slacks and my white blouse. (Which had miraculously been cleaned by the very efficient penthouse staff. If I wasn't careful I could really get used to someone else doing my laundry.)  I needed to be out of the penthouse before Britton woke and wanted to tag along. There was no way that woman could keep her cool around Weston, and cool was one thing this interrogation was going to require. I mindlessly turned my new earrings in my lobes as I slammed shots of espresso and people-watched. Early risers shuffled through the lobby, entirely too cheery and bubbly for the time of day. Tate's voice caught my attention, rising above the hum of conversation.

I finished my drink and popped a mint into my mouth before walking out into the lobby to find him. I had expected to see him behind the desk. Instead, he was leaning against the wall by the elevators talking to three women in employee uniforms.

He caught my eye as I approached. Then he clutched his chest and gave me a wide-eyed stare. "Well, Tessie King, as I live and breathe. You do know it's not even eight in the morning, right? What are you doing up with the roosters, girl?"

"Ha. Ha. Very funny," I said, joining him. As a teenager, I hadn't particularly been known for being a morning person. Truth be told, I'd been more of a crack-of-noon person. In my defense, I'd been a teenager.  

"I was just telling these ladies about my Michael," Tate said, then released a heady sigh, his eyes glistening with that far off, dreamy look.

"Pick out a china pattern yet?" I teased.

"Practically," one employee, a short red-haired girl, said. "He's making us all jealous."

"Hey, don't hate on a playah," Tate piped up.

Which resulted in a round of giggles from his posse, before the red-haired girl checked her phone. "Dang, I gotta get back to the front desk. Call me later, Tate," she said as she and the other women wandered off to their respective posts. I'd like to think it was because my employees were all so punctual, though a small part of me wondered if hanging with the boss didn't make them nervous.

"So, seriously," Tate said. "What act of God propelled you from bed before lunch?"

"Agent Ryder called me last night."

Tate squealed. "Ohemgee, Tessie, I knew you were holding out on me with that hottie."

I shook my head and waved a hand between us. "No, not even close to being that kind of call." I filled him in on the details of Weston, his almost arrest, and subsequent release. "He has to be in on it all. I mean, it's too coincidental for him not to be. I saw him handing off a payment to those two guys. And I plan to find out why."

Tate pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" I asked.

"I don't think this is such a hot idea, Tessie. I mean, you were
attacked
last night," he said, emphasizing the word with drama worthy of a Broadway stage.

"Weston isn't going to attack me in broad daylight."

"Honey, Weston doesn't go into broad daylight. He stays in his casino cave with the other slimy insects."

"Wow, you have about the same love for him that Britton does," I observed.

Tate wrinkled up his nose. "After talking to Michael, yes, I do. He says, Weston makes them work overtime, then fudges their time cards so he doesn't have to pay extra. And he skimps on everything from health insurance to TP in the men's bathroom."

"Jerk."

"I know, right!"

"Which is all the more reason to think he's involved."

But Tate shook his head vehemently from side to side. "No way, honey. It's all the more reason to leave this to Agent Hottie Pants and keep yourself out of harm's way."

I blinked at him. "Wow, really? I expected you to be the last man in my life trying to play macho and send me to the spa."

Tate's forehead wrinkled. "Not that a spa day doesn't sound divine, but there is nothing here being macho," he said, running a hand over his skin tight slacks.

I had to stifle a giggle. He was so right.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt," Tate concluded.

"I know. Sorry, overreaction. I've just had it up to here with the old boy's club around here."

"Welcome to casino life," Tate mumbled. "But seriously, if you are set on going to talk to Weston...I'll go with you. I'll be your bodyguard." He puffed out his chest and widened his stance, trying to pull off a menacing look. I didn't have the heart to tell him it just made him look constipated.