Edgar looked at me. "You wouldn't. I'm not babysitting those things. Who knows what they might do to an evolved being like myself."
I took out the pen box that Edgar's pen, the one he haunted, had been in. "This box kept him from escaping, so clearly it's built to handle curses."
"That particular curse," Clarence said. “We don’t know that the protection is generic.”
Edgar poked it. "I stayed in that box because I knew I couldn't go more than a hundred feet from the pen anyway, and I couldn't get the pen out of the box."
"What he said," Clarence said emphatically.
"You have gotten so desperate that you are agreeing with a ghost now?"
"When he makes sense."
"I always make sense," Edgar said. "It's just that some of my observations and perspectives are simply rooted in a different time and place."
"The pen box has cool glyphs on it," I said. "That has to count for something."
"For all you know that's Sanskrit for: 'No user serviceable parts inside. Refer to a licensed repairman.'"
"I won't take that very seriously," I said. I knew he was being silly, but it could easily be the maker’s name or something. An ancient logo maybe.
"Good, because I wasn't being at all serious," Clarence said.
We were arguing, but for a moment I felt happy. This was arguing in the spirit that we had argued in before—the good-natured, irreverent bickering about the trivial that relieved tension, not increased it. This was the kind of snappy back and forth that was good for the soul, and probably the immune system too.
But the elephant in the room was our choice of priorities. We both knew that.
"We haven't resolved much," I said.
"I've never found breakfast meetings very useful."
"This was your idea."
He was brought up. I’d gotten him that time. "I was stalling for time to think it through."
"It isn’t true that nothing was resolved. I think we resolved her intention to co-opt my box for inappropriate purposes," Edgar said sounding huffy. "I've got a feeling that she is going to contaminate my home."
"For safety," I said.
"I’m certain it’s for yours," he said. "I have no intention of trying to be lucky. I don’t even know if I have any."
"You still have the pen and I don't have many choices."
Clarence touched my arm. "Here’s a choice… you could come with me and get the lock. We need the lock. Let me secure the vault and then we will track the dice down together."
"Safely?" I asked.
"Yes."
I shook my head. "I can't do that."
"You won't do that."
I took a long, deep, breath. "Have it your way. The net result is the same."
"That we are splitting up."
"We are going separate ways for today. But we will stay in touch."
"I hope that's enough."
"As soon as I get the dice, I'll come help you get the lock."
"I don't need your help. I have a plan."
"When have plans ever worked out right?"
"This one will. I'll go get the lock and then I'll come clean up whatever mess you've gotten yourself and Edgar into and we will get the dice."
I glared at him. He was challenging me again. Okay, to be fair, he'd rescued me when I'd taken a risk, a pretty big gamble when confronting Walter in the Grand Storehouse. And although being rescued was better than the alternative, I hadn't asked him to rescue me and I did what I did to save his bacon. He didn’t like that and it stung that he'd been ungrateful for my consideration. Clearly, he actually resented me sending him off to safety.
I stood up. "Now we will see who gets their job done first, and who needs who's help."
Clarence looked up, his face dark. "Yes, we will. Let's see which of us is the better Antique Dealer."
I could feel the virtual gauntlet slapping my face. I eagerly picked it up. "In that case, happy hunting," I said. "And you can pay for breakfast."
And I walked out, with Edgar in my wake muttering a ghostly moan. "Oh my," he said. "This is not good. Not good at all."
"Oh my indeed," I said, earning myself an odd look from a couple with a little girl who were just coming into the restaurant. I guess that talking to yourself just isn’t done, even in Las Vegas. I’d have to keep in mind that people, most people, couldn’t see Edgar.
Outside the restaurant, I grabbed the local paper and the latest tabloids. I had to find a missing pair of dice, probably old ones… in Las Vegas. And I had to do it before someone else was killed and, almost as important, before Clarence retrieved the ancient Egyptian lock from a collector. How hard could that be?
Chapter 9
I grabbed an armful of newspapers from the racks outside the restaurant and took them back to my room. I cranked the protesting air conditioner up to full blast and sat on the bed, skimming the papers.
It must’ve been a slow news day and I didn’t see anything pertinent. There were no new deaths of big winners, no police reports of pawn shops looted for old dice or anything. That left me with a few more leads from the day before. For one thing, I could check out the casino where the last victim had won big (and then died). With luck, I might find out where he got the dice. I still didn't know for certain that the dice were the cursed objects but I had to assume they were for now.
I called Ronny who said he was free. I was beginning to wonder if he ever had any other fares. But that wasn't my business. When he arrived, I jumped in and found he had the air conditioning on full. "Off to investigate more?"
"I am. I want to check out the stories about the last winner."
"I, for one, have no idea how you intend to do that," Edgar said.
I didn't either, but I thought I could start by retracing the steps of the last winner, so I had Ronny take me to that casino. When he let me off, I went in, heading to a cafe at the edge of the main gambling pit. I ordered coffee (undrinkable, again) and chatted with the waitress about the night of the big winner. It was too early for the place to be busy, just a few gamblers were on the floor, looking like they'd been there all night, and a few slumped over breakfast around me. The waitress was happy to chat.
"I won't forget that night for a while," she said.
"It was that memorable?"
"Sure thing. It was a busy night and tips were good. You could feel the excitement even before we heard about a couple of big winners that hit jackpots on the slots," she said. She got a dreamy look. "That was nothing compared to the buzz that started when the last one started winning though."
"Why? What sort of buzz? You get winners all the time, right?"
"Not like this. It isn't often that someone clears two million dollars in a few hours playing roulette."
"He won that much?"
She nodded. "It built fast toward the end. I think security let him keep playing because they wanted to figure out what sort of scam he was pulling but they couldn’t spot it. I heard that he didn’t even seem to be paying a lot of attention… just kept winning. Eventually, the management decided to cut their losses."
"What did they do?"
"It isn't like the old days," she said, giving me a cautionary look.
“Of course not.” Everyone seemed to think that I knew what the old days were like.
"They told him he was done playing, to cash in his chips and get out. They banned him from the casino. They'll circulate his name and picture so he won't get to play anywhere in town."
"Right. But he got his money?"
"Sure. He won it fair and square, as far as anyone could tell. It's damn hard to cheat at roulette… you put down your bet and wait for the croupier to spin the wheel. It isn't like you even touch it."
"I see. A pure luck play, then?"
"Well, if you study it hard…" the way she screwed up her face I was certain she had studied roulette thoroughly… "you learn certain combinations of numbers that are more likely to pay off. But that only lets you win slow over time.
” The look of concentration on her face made it look as if she was visualizing that, seeing how she’d do it. She was another gambler, was my safe bet. “I was working the main floor, serving the gamblers drinks that night. I brought him a well drink—a whiskey. The woman with him was drinking gin and tonic. As I came up I saw him put a stack of chips on a single number. That’s a huge gamble so I stood there and watched him win." She grinned. “He took a hundred dollar chip off the stack and handed it to me.”
"So everyone thinks he had something besides a system working for him?"
"Clearly, although if security and management couldn't figure it out… wow."
"What happened then?"
"He was really sweet and polite. When the security guys asked him to stop playing, he tipped the croupier another hundred bucks, then went to the cashier, got his money and left. The next day the word was circulating that he died from some totally freak accident."
"Do you think it was an accident?"
"Word is that his money was still in his pocket, so I guess it was."
"Was he with anyone?"
“In the casino?” She smiled. "Oh yeah. Winners always attract the girls."
"Anyone special?"
"Well, he left with two girls, but earlier… there was one on his arm, whispering in his ear, being friendly… you know. When he left, she stayed behind. I watched her, brought her a couple more gin and tonics. She was doing pretty well at roulette herself."
I was beginning to get an idea. "Like maybe some of his good luck rubbed off on her?"
The waitress paused. "You know… now that you mention it, it was exactly like that."
"I wonder who she was." I was fishing for a way to find out.
"A thin, tall, redhead in her late twenties. I’d call her more elegant than pretty. The guy left with the pretty girls." She cocked her head. "What's your interest?"
I decided that Ronny's cover story was my best bet. "Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
She crossed her heart. “Scouts’ honor.”
“I'm a writer, a magazine reporter working on a story about luck. I just got to town and heard about these deaths and decided to check them out. With him dead, I'd like to interview her for my article, that's all. She might be able to tell me something the guy said or did that would interest my readers."
"You need to talk to Freddy," she said.
I looked in the direction she was pointing with her chin. There was a middle-aged man in a nice suit leaning up against a wall acting like he was ignoring everything going on. "What does Freddy know?"
"He's with security. He was here that night, and by now I bet he could tell you her social security number and her favorite color. He spent most of the night going over the CCTV footage, trying to work out how that guy won so big."
That made him a good lead. "Thanks."
The waitress handed me a card. I looked at it and read: "Rachel Wells, exotic dancer."
"This is you?"
She nodded. "When there’s work it is. If you can use anything I said in your article, quote me or something, it sure would be a big boost for me if you said I was a dancer instead of a waitress."
"I can do that." I felt a little guilty and promised myself that I would actually write an article. It was only fair that she and Matt get their moment of fame. I did know a guy one town over who actually did write for the tabloids—Kenneth. He might be willing to help. Of course, I wasn't sure he didn't work for the cabal in his off time. It seemed like he’d helped them set me up in our last encounter, so if I worked with him I'd have to take a page from Clarence's book on caution.
I went over and introduced myself to Freddy, this time leading with the line about being a reporter so I’d have an excuse to ask lots of question. He seemed happy to chat.
As he opened up, I smiled to myself. Take that, Clarence. I'd found an angle that got people to talk—how was that for street smart?
"I am surprised that you let that guy leave her just like that after he won all that money."
He smiled. "In a situation like that, there isn't much else you can do. The casino works all the angles it can, but at the end of the day it is still gambling – and the guy won. If we didn't pay up right away, the gambling commission would be on us in a flash. He filled out the tax forms so that the government will get its cut and we gave him the money."
"So you have to see him doing something?"
"To press charges. But even in this case, we didn't just thank him for his patronage. Out of sight of the other customers, we took him aside and made him turn out his pockets. We’d noticed him fishing in his pocket while he was gambling and we thought he might have some electronic gadget… keeping up with tech is part of the job. You'd be amazed at what people try."
"And you found nothing?"
"Nothing at all. It was a bust. He said he'd had a lucky charm but lost it sometime in the night. He claimed that when he put his hand in his pocket he was forgetting it was gone."
"And the woman? Rachael said there was a particular woman that was with him but didn't leave with him."
Freddy smiled. "We knew that woman well. Not her name, but we know her game, as the saying goes. She's one reason we held off on stopping the guy from playing. She doesn't run scams on the tables, but she definitely runs them on guests. Seeing her sidle up to a guy who was winning big wasn't surprising, but if she intended to try anything, that isn’t good for business. When she let him go that confused us. We never figured out what her angle was. As far as we could tell, they met at the table shared a few drinks and conversation, but they didn't stay together."
"And then, after he left, she won on her own?"
"Yeah. Nothing big, but a little nuts. She doesn't normally play roulette." He smiled at the look on my face. "Anyone who comes in here regularly gets profiled—she prefers blackjack and wins some, loses some. She isn’t a gambler, and just bets enough not to be suspicious which is, of course, suspicious. After the guy left, at our insistence, she went to a roulette table, made a bet and won. She let it ride and won again. Then she made a couple of street bets."
"Street bets? Is that a thing?"
"We call it that. Other people call it an inside bet. What happens is that you put money on three numbers and it pays out 11 to 1 if you win."
"So she had a system?"
"Not really. If she was working the table, she'd do it in an organized way. Lot's of people try to do that with some variation on the Martingale betting system."
"And this Martingale is a gambler?"
He laughed. "I have no idea. The term comes from 18th century France. And it just means a system where you start with the lowest table limit bet and net on an even-odds payout.” He saw my look of ignorance and laughed again. “Those are the ones where you pick black or red, high or low, even or odd. The idea is that if you win you make the same bet; if you lose you double your wager. You keep doing that and when you do win again, you'll be up by one bet."
"Is that bad or illegal?"
He laughed. "It isn't kosher but everyone has a system of some kind for playing roulette. Technically the casino frowns on systems of any kind, but there is such a poor return on that kind no one cares. Letting them try their systems keeps the suckers playing. And suckers always lose."
"And the lady?"
"She made a few street bets and lost. She was way ahead by then of course, but she acted like the losses made her lose interest. She cashed in her chips and left."
"Any idea who…"
"I can't tell you any specifics. I'm just telling a story here."
"And it's appreciated."
He smiled toward the cafe. "I imagine Rachael gave you her card?"
"She did."
"She's a good kid and a better dancer. If you can help her…"
"If I can, I will."
He nodded. "Nice chatting with you."
As I walked away I felt like I'd made progress. I was willing to bet that the mystery woman had gotten the dice from the guy a
nd walked away with them. Freddy said she was into scams, so maybe she'd figured out his lucky charm and picked his pocket. Or maybe, knowing he wasn't going to be allowed to gamble anymore, and happy with two million dollars, he'd given them to her.
Either way, I knew she was the next link, the lead I had to follow.
I decided to eat lunch before I called Clarence and found out how he was doing. The way he'd been acting lately I wouldn't have been surprised if he was still at the motel deciding which shoes would be safest if he dropped the lock on his foot.
Okay, I was feeling pleased with myself and just a tad snide—or maybe a bit more than a tad. I wanted to boast of my progress. And I was hungry to glimpse the dice—my unholy grail.
Chapter 10
Clarence felt a little uneasy, uncomfortable with himself. It wasn’t nice, and it was his own fault too, which made it worse. It was all because of his pride – he had lied to Cecilia. Just a fib, really, but still… telling her that he knew where the lock was… call it an exaggeration. He had learned who had it, however.
After just a little research, going to the visitor’s center and asking about collectors of antiquities, and then talking to one of them, he’d learned that the existence of the lock was not a secret at all. The first dealer he talked to was happy to talk about it, and tell him that it was right there in Las Vegas. “A private collector has it.”
“Have you seen it yourself?” Clarence asked him.
“You bet. And the guy had experts authenticate it too.”
The one thing that didn’t mesh was that in all his research there was no mention of a curse. Given that this is an ancient artifact from Egypt that was odd. There were almost always stories of curses, even if it was just because the artifact had been taken from a tomb. Legal or not, sanctioned or not, grave robbing still resonated with the paranormal crowd.
But not in this case. The lock seemed to be regarded as an important but innocuous relic.
Naturally, there was a chance that he was chasing the wrong lock. That concern factored into the sense of having lied to Cecilia. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that possibility to her. If he showed any doubt at all he thought she would rub it in his face and use it as an excuse to convince him to join her search. But this time, for once, he’d identified an artifact, and it was something that could be useful to them. He was determined to tough it out and track down the lock.
The Curious Case of the Cursed Dice (Curiosity Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 6
