Nobody Dies in a Casino (33 page)

“Don't worry, I already thought of it, and so did Louie. We wired healthy chunks—through laundered donors, of course. So you still get another one.”

“I'd like to know who killed Ardith Miller, the waitress at the Hilton.”

“I'll see the word gets out on the street—but that's a long shot, Charlie. Probably just some addict at the bus stop saw her stuffing money from the heist into her purse. But I'll be in touch.”

Charlie came back to Jeremy and Tuxedo, squinting at her with doubt.

“So there were eight bodies? The pilot, the cop, Hanley from Wisconsin, the two enforcers—Boyles and Sleem—and the insurance investigator—Tooney—and then the waitress and the grizzle-haired guy who got a scimitar in his back.”

“Actually, there were nine. They found the body of Eddie Hackburger, the Hilton security chief, in the ashes of Evan's home.” Charlie had received an envelope with the tiny newspaper clipping from Detective Jerome Battista.

“So, who set the fire?”

“Probably Eddie Hackburger—didn't get out in time. But he was part of a patriotic vigilante group with Mr. Undisclosed and his boys.”

“And Ben Hanley?”

“Much as I hate to admit it, probably too many cheese balls.”

“And the waitress at the Hilton?”

“Somebody saw her with a wad of hundred-dollar bills stolen from the black plastic bags. They could have grabbed the money. Why'd they have to kill her?”

“Didn't want to be identified. And you saved all those unconscious people from a burning house.” Jeremy looked impressed. Tuxedo didn't. The sleek black creature sat up to wash his white chest fur. “But here's Toby Johnson, responsible for at least three of the bodies, perhaps countless others, alive and well in Spain. Modern-day justice for you.”

“No more responsible than the official agencies that hire ex-armed response personnel to take care of problems they deem dangerous or embarrassing to national security. And Toby was the last person you'd ever think a hit man. Young, wiry, carefree, not totally selfish.”

“So what was that humongous orange thing between Merlin's Ridge and Groom Lake? Another secret government invention?”

“I sure hope so.” If anybody in the universe has that kind of power, Charlie wouldn't want it to be somebody else's government.

CHAPTER
41

T
HURSDAY
, C
HARLIE GOT
through to Keegan Monroe in Folsom. He'd thrown out his novel and started over. Charlie wasn't surprised. It was a habit of his. But she did remind him that his was not a life sentence and when he got out, if he didn't start back on screenplays, his career was in the toilet. If he couldn't finish a novel with all that time on his hands, he never would.

Thursday was also the day Richard called. He was home too and not a happy boss. “So, Charlie, tell me again what happened between you and Millrose?”

“She fired me and signed on with Jethro Larue. You know that. You said not to sweat it, that she wasn't worth it.”

“You haven't seen the trades today.” It wasn't a question. “Larue started the bidding at two mil for a trilogy. First one's written. Rumor has it the ante's just reached seven mil.”

“You're kidding. Nobody takes a chance like that anymore. They steal best-selling authors from another house. Who would—”

“Pitman's and Norseman are still duking it out. Face it, kid, you didn't pay attention. Like I told you before, you were coasting with Georgette Millrose. Look what happened.”

Friday, Charlie discovered the source of the threatening E-mail she'd received in Las Vegas. Edwina had decided to go modern. The strange address resulted from the fact that she used the university as her server. The strange message was due to a suicidal impulse, from which she'd recovered—and Edwina notified Charlie of that in a subsequent communication she'd thought to sign.

Friday was also the day Libby told off Perry Mosher and quit her job at Critter Spa and Deli, then promptly rear-ended a semi and totaled her already wreck of a car.

Neither of these events came as a surprise. Libby's reaction to her accident, however, did.

She took responsibility for it.

“I tell you, Maggie, I'm just stunned,” Charlie told her best friend and neighbor that night.

All four houses in the complex were identical originally. It was interesting how they'd been individually modified. Maggie Stutzman had taken the wall out between the kitchen and living/dining room. Which only proved she didn't live with a teenager.

“Well, you should be proud of her, for godsake. You're always complaining she blames her problems on other people. And the best part is that nobody was injured. If she'd been driving a small car like yours, they could have been beheaded. That big old rusty Detroit steel you carried on about so could have saved a lot of grief in your household.”

“I am proud of her and grateful all the kids were belted in.” Eric had a cut on his cheek, Lori broke a finger, and Doug and Libby came through without a scratch.

Maggie set the bowl of fresh-popped corn on the coffee table and gave Charlie a hug that needed no explanation. After all Charlie'd been through, Libby's accident was what had made her knees shake.

They curled up on the ends of a couch, facing each other, with their shoes off and toes stuck under the center cushion, a ritual that had grown with friendship.

The popcorn was hot and salty. Charlie sighed. “Mrs. Beesom says if I ever go on vacation again, I should just stay home. Sounds good to me.”

“Jesus, Greene, there goes the neighborhood.” Black hair, pale and perfect skin, blue eyes that flashed mischief. God it felt good to be home. “Don't think we could handle it.”

“You're one to talk, Stutzman. Hear you've been keeping late hours on work nights.” If you get a man in here, which you need to do and is right for you, I won't be able to come over for popcorn and soul talk.

“Betty Snoop strikes again.” Maggie wrinkled a seriously silly nose and grinned. “Charlie, he's the most delightful, wonderful, gorgeous man I've ever met, and you can breathe now—he's married.”

“You're dating a married man? You know better than that. I can't even leave town but what you—how married?”

They crunched corn and stared each other down.

Maggie broke first. “Well, he can't compare with Mitch Hilsten, but—”

“Maggie, that's cheap and you know it.”

“Okay, he's married, but separated from his wife, and he's—”

“Where have we heard that before? Where'd you meet him?”

“He's my stockbroker.”

“You too? Like dripping and compounding and everything?”

“Charlie, I've been investing for years. You just never wanted to discuss that kind of thing. Now, I've heard some from Jeremy and Betty Snoop, but I want to hear about your Vegas experience firsthand.”

“Not till you fill me in on Mr. Married Dow Jones.”

Another impasse, but Charlie couldn't buffalo Maggie Stutzman twice in one evening. So, she sang for her popcorn.

Maggie thought Bradone sounded fascinating and wanted to meet her. “Living in Santa Barbara with a houseboy, traveling around the world, enjoying guys and then dumping them first, and all that money—makes my life sound so dull.”

Charlie didn't comment for once. Unfortunately, Maggie's life
was
dull.

Maggie must have had a window open, because a piercing scream brought them to their feet. Another took them out the kitchen door barefoot and into the middle of the concrete courtyard ringed with patios and parking.

“Was it Libby? Didn't really sound like her.”

“She's not home. It didn't, like, sound human.…” Charlie had stood and then raced out here so fast, she felt dizzy.

Mrs. Beesom turned on the light over her door and stuck her head out. She wore a funny nightcap to protect her curls between weekly visits to the hairdresser. Even with her glasses off, she spotted them.

“It's them cats in the alley again. I was sure hoping now you're home, Charlie, you'd put a stop to it.”

“It's okay, Mrs. Beesom. I'll take care of it. You can go back to bed.”

“I don't know how she can go to sleep so early and still keep track of her neighbors like she does,” Maggie complained as they headed for the metal gate at the back of the courtyard.

Before they reached it, Tuxedo Greene insinuated himself between the bars, his body all a shadow except for his white chest and toes. And his eyes, which refracted the dim light from Jeremy's windows.

For a moment, Charlie imagined she saw them through a residual smear of orange.

ALSO BY MARLYS MILLHISER

F
EATURING
C
HARLIE
G
REENE

It's Murder Going Home

Murder in a Hot Flash

Death of the Office Witch

Murder at Moot Point

 

O
THER NOVELS

Michael's Wife

Nella Waits

Willing Hostage

The Mirror

Nightmare County

The Threshold

NOBODY DIES IN A CASINO
. Copyright © 1999 by Marlys Millhiser. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Millhiser, Marlys.

Nobody dies in a casino / Marlys Millhiser. — 1st U.S. ed.

    p. cm.

ISBN 0-312-20344-6

I. Title.

PS3563.I4225N63 1999

813'.54—dc21

99-12859
CIP

First Edition: May 1999

eISBN 9781466843417

First eBook edition: March 2013