Luck Be a Lady (Tahoe Tessie Mysteries) (7 page)

Whatever that exchange had been about, it didn't feel right. I had no idea who Pesci was, but I couldn't imagine a good reason for the owner of a competing casino to be passing an envelope to one of our employees. I made a mental note to pull the freckle-faced guy's employee file later.  

I was mulling over the different possibilities for the envelope's contents when Tate cleared his throat in front of me.

"Tessie King, as I live and breathe, there are better ways to pick up guys." He bobbed his head toward the men's room door.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and shook my head. "Apparently, if you dine alone in this establishment, you are just begging for the worst table in the house." I glanced around at the empty prime spots, heaving a sigh.

Tate grabbed my hand, yanking me to my feet. He pulled me behind him to a table with a spectacular view of the lake and the sun setting on the horizon. Then he turned and loudly proclaimed directly at the maître de, "No one puts Tessie King in a corner."

I watched with a little more than my fair share of contentment as the man's goateed jaw dropped to his chest. He nearly fell over several other customers as he darted to our table.

"Whatever you want, Ms. King, it's on the house," he babbled as he smoothed the table cloth and swatted non-existent crumbs to the floor.

Tate's eyes lit up. "She'll have an apple-tini, please." He leaned across the table and whispered, "Did you want one, too?"

I nodded, "Sure, why not."

"Okay, so two, please. And don't be a stranger."

"And a burger for me," I added as the maître de walked away.

He bowed slightly toward the table in acknowledgement, before turning to jog to the bar. Leaning in, he whispered in the bartender's ear. The man mixed our drinks with such fervor you'd have thought James Bond himself had ordered them. Shaken, not stirred. Within seconds, they were gently placed on our table.

Tate lifted the drink to his lips, inhaling the aroma, a smile reaching his eyes as he took the first sip. His lashes fluttered as he set the glass reluctantly back in front of him. "The best drink ever made."

I couldn't help but grin. Tate was a full-of-life breath of fresh air that I sorely needed today.

"Speaking of drinks...Tate, did you know that my dad was drinking health shakes?"

"Ugh. I'm drinking the nectar of the gods, and you bring up DynoDrink?" He shuddered, clasping both hands around the fragile stem of his glass. "Mr. King tried to get me to try it once. No dice. I'll die young enjoying these, thank you very much." He savored another sip of the bright green concoction.

"What about Rafe?" I pried, not really sure what made me bring him up.

"What about him?" Tate appeared puzzled for a second until the bartender slid a second round in front of us. I hadn't even touched mine, so I chalked it up to extreme butt kissing.

"Britton said Rafe got my dad into them?"

Tate nodded. "Rafe is a spokesperson for DynoDrink. He'd give your dad a fresh can every few days from his stash."

I wondered if the fresh canister my dad had taken his dose from on the day he died had come from Rafe. A niggle of unease at that thought played at the back of my mind. "Was Rafe around on the weekend my dad died?"

Tate frowned, cocking his head to the side in thought. "He was. Big snowboarding competition on the mountain that weekend. His publicist was in town, too. I'm pretty sure he was either tied up with the tournament, or tied up by her." He paused to take a sip. "Metaphorically
and
literally, if I were to guess. For a girl, she's kinda hot." He pointed to a huge poster at the end of the bar I couldn't believe I hadn't even noticed.

Cardboard Rafe was nearly life-sized with a myriad of smaller pictures surrounding him. In most, a tiny blonde woman was draped on his arm, gorgeous, perfect teeth, not a hair out of place. She inspired instant hatred in me—by both Teen and Adult-me.

"Why do you ask, sugar?" Tate asked.

I shook my head. "It's nothing. I'm just...thinking about my dad, that's all," I said, not quite ready to share Britton's deadly shake theory yet.

Tate clucked his tongue and did a head-tilted, lips-pursed, pity-face.

Smiling, I assured him, "I'm okay. Promise."

He stuck a little finger in my face, and I was forced by a long ago pact to lock mine with his. "Pinky swear," I added.

"Your dad was an amazing man. I know you guys didn't really see eye to eye on, well, most things, but he loved you. I know that for sure."

I let him take a few sips of his drink while pondering his words. "Really? How are you so sure?"

"How many summers did we spend together? Ten, maybe? My mom absolutely adored working for your dad. The entire week before you came out for your summer visit, he practically had the staff on lockdown, cleaning and prepping twenty-four-seven. Everything had to be in tip-top shape before you got here. The pool was always his main focus since he knew how much time you spent there."

Pleasant memories filtered past my stubborn pride. I allowed myself to feel the excitement of the summer when I was twelve. I had walked through the pool gate and seen the huge, twisting slide Dad had installed. When I turned fifteen he'd added a new wave pool. I'd tucked those memories so far back in my subconscious, they'd been lost behind all of the times when he'd forgotten to call on Christmas, or send a card when I'd gotten straight A's, or announced that he was marrying someone just a few years older than me. Seeing tears flowing down Tate's face made me realize he was mirroring my own.

I swiped at my eyes. "Sorry."

He reached for my hands. "Oh, honey, don't be. I was worried that you hadn't let them out already. You should be very proud of all that your dad accomplished. Not to mention how much he appreciated each and every person who worked for him. He made sure he knew each employee, their family, their needs. Why do you think I was always here? Mom couldn't afford a babysitter after Dad bailed. The staff became my second family." Tate forced a smile to his face.

I wavered between loving and loathing my father but jumped at the chance to make Tate smile for real by changing the subject. "How about we toast to the fabulous individuals we are now despite our jacked-up childhoods." We raised our glasses, clinked them together, each enjoying a big sip. Okay, so mine was more like a chug, but I'd earned it.

"Oh, fun fact!" Tate blurted. "Did you know this very table was your dad's favorite? He came up here almost every evening for a cigar, a drink, and to enjoy the fabulous view."

I turned just in time to watch the last deep orange glimmer of daylight fade behind the mountain. Had my burger not showed up at the same moment, it might have prompted some deep connection with my past. As it was, my stomach won out, and I practically dove into the plate.

Tate stared across the table as I devoured my burger, his eyes wide and a slight Elvis tic tugging at his upper lip.

"What?" I asked between bites.

"Oh, just that I've never seen anyone as small as you put food away like that. I mean, I've watched a show on television where piranhas dissected a whole cow. I'm getting the same vibe here, sweetness. I hope you don't eat this way on a date."

I put the remaining few bites back on my plate and swallowed what was left in my mouth. I pondered retaliating with some of his more embarrassing moments that I'd witnessed once we had hit puberty. The slumber parties where I'd woken to see his hair pre-product-enhanced, the breakups I'd helped him through with red snotty noses and lots of tissues, the time he thought a Speedo was a good bathing suit choice and I had to warn him that his junk was on the loose. The options were nearly endless. I opened my mouth to rehash the highlights, but his cheeks were already rosy. He'd obviously just hiked the same memory lane.

"Touché." He raised his glass, tossed me a playful wink, and took a sip. "You always have been more like family to me. You know, I think we need a girl's night before you leave."

"Sure, why not?" I finished my burger slowly, pondering what the week would hold for me as temporary owner of a casino.

"Omigod." Tate's eyes rounded, and a smile lit his face. "There's a male revue show at the Deep Blue tomorrow night. We are so going."

"I don't know…"

"We don't have to close the place down. We'll just go check out the man-meat and make an informed decision on whether it's worth wasting our whole night."

"Well," I tried to piece together a reason to decline, but the truth was, I did need a girl's night with Tate. And the fact that it was at the Deep Blue might give me an excuse to question Weston about his odd appearance here at the bar tonight. "Okay, it's a date." I finished off my drink and stifled a yawn.

"Girl, you must be wiped out after the day you've had."

"Yeah, I think I'm going to have to head up to my room."

Tate stood and extended his arm. "Allow me to escort you to your elevator, m'dame."

"Why, thank you, kind sir." I stood and slid my arm through his. With the medieval theme of the casino, there had been many nights where Tate had played the knight in shining armor for me. If only he'd been straight. Or I'd been a guy.

Tate prattled on about the dancers at the Deep Blue Revue. Apparently he knew a few of them and had high hopes of us going backstage. I liked a half-naked man just as much as Tate did, but I wasn't quite sure I wanted to go behind the scenes. Sometimes when you lift the veil, and the mystery is gone, there's just no going back. He kissed me on the forehead and pushed me into the open elevator.

"Get some rest, girl. You've got darker circles than most raccoons." We air kissed as the doors closed.

The elevator rocketed me to my suite, and I was never so grateful to see my bed turned down and ready for me to slip into it. But as soon as I walked into the room, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I froze, my eyes quickly scanning the room. Everything looked just as I'd left it. With the exception of the turn-down service and the fresh towels. I fought the urge to call out, "Hello." Clearly I was alone. Clearly I was paranoid. Clearly I'd had too much apple-tini on too little sleep.

I shook my head, fighting down the feeling that something was off as I unzipped my suitcase. I grabbed a T-shirt and pair of little pink shorts with bunnies on them to sleep in. Then I took the hottest, longest shower I possibly could, staying under the water until my fingers pruned and my skin went a rosy pink. I towel dried my hair as I walked to the windows, staring out at the twinkling lights of the miniature Vegas-like strip below and the hulking white mountains beyond. Thoughts of my dad, both good and not so stellar, warred with each, swirled together with health shakes, FBI agents, and the question of who hated my dad enough to end his life. Unfortunately, the twinkling lights held as few answers for me as the rest of the day had, and I finally shut the curtains, bringing darkness and hopefully sleep with them.

As I snuggled under the covers finally ready to succumb to sleep, something at the back of my mind suddenly startled me back awake. It hit me what was off in the room.

I'd left my suitcase unzipped when I'd left with Tate that morning. Someone had gone through my things.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next morning, Britton called bright and early, inviting me to breakfast at the penthouse. I blame it on the fact that I was pre-coffee that I couldn't think of an excuse not to. So an hour later I found myself staring at a plate of eggs and freshly cut fruit while Britton mixed mimosas.

"I heard you visited Dickie's place last night," she said, handing me a glass.

I paused, forkful of cantaloupe melon halfway to my lips. "His place?"

"The Minstrel's Lounge. Jordan said you sat at Dickie's favorite table."

I set the cantaloupe down, not sure I could get it past the lump in my throat. "Who's Jordan?" I asked, deflecting the emotion.

"The maître de. He said you and Tate were pounding back drinks like there was no tomorrow."

"Goatee Guy told you that?" I asked.

Britton snorted. "'Goatee Guy.'  I like that. His facial hair is, like, total last year, right? Yeah, anyway, no, he told Jake who works the late shift at the baccarat tables, who told Amy the cocktail waitress, who told my friend Gigi who was up here doing my nails this morning." She paused, holding up all ten digits, currently painted hot pink with little white flower designs. "Cute, right?"

I nodded. "Fab. Almost as fab as the idea that the entire staff now thinks their boss is a drunk. 'Pounding back' the apple-tinis?" I set my mimosa down, concentrating on my eggs instead.

But Britton waved me off with one hand full of designer nails. "Don't sweat it. Everyone knows you're grieving."

"Hmm." I gave a non-committal grunt, trying to keep my mind focused on eggs lest that lump come back.

"Anyhoo, how did it go yesterday?" she asked.

I shrugged. "The lounge was nice. Very Richard King."

Britton rolled her eyes. "No, silly. I meant the
other
thing."

"What 'other thing'?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

Britton shook her head and did a well-duh face. "The investigation into Dickie's murder."

"You mean the one the FBI is doing?" I said around a bite of eggs.

"Riiiight." She winked at me.

"I'm serious. I'm not investigating."

"Uh-huh."

"No, really."

"Gotcha." More winking.

My turn to roll my eyes. "Whatever happened to my dad, I'm sure the authorities are looking into it," I told her. And I was. I just wasn't sure exactly
who
they were looking at.  

"Well, while you
weren't
investigating," she continued, "I was going through Dickie's den for any clues to who might have had it in for him."

As much as I was totally leaving this to the authorities, I couldn't help asking, "What did you find?"

She shook her head, her blonde ponytail swishing behind her. "Nada."

"Fab." I shoveled some more eggs in.