Bright colored goldfish swam in the small pond, blips of gold flashing under green and fuchsia water lilies. Raindrops splashed and spread in rings in the water.
I looked around, pleased with the growth of the garden. The varying pinks of the flowers surrounding us looked amazing. Mr. Cabrera had done a great job helping the garden grow. Not a deadhead to be seen.
"I don't know," she said finally. "I do care for Donatelli." Hearing Mr. Cabrera's first name always took me aback. For as long as I'd lived in the Mill, he'd always been Mr. Cabrera to me, and I was Miz Quinn to him.
"But," Mrs. Krauss continued, "I want to live to see my grandchildren grow."
That would be a long wait considering she didn't have any grandchildren.
"Those are rumors," I said. For the most part. Okay, so Mr. Cabrera's lady friends had been known to, er, up and die on him. All of natural causes, of course. "He's jinxed." I really couldn't argue with that.
The impatient blast of a car horn rang out. I rolled my eyes. Maria's empathy for Mr. Cabrera apparently only stretched to five minutes.
I rose. "I need to get going, Mrs. Krauss. My sister's waiting for me."
She clucked, looked so sad. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
"I go nowhere," she said, "now that Don and I are no more."
Ah, jeez. Okay, so I felt a little sorry. Eensy. Barely even enough to mention. "Call him."
She rose, looking every bit like her nickname. Put a head, feet, and arms on a brick, give it a hostile attitude and a slight German accent, and it was Ursula Krauss. A white eyebrow arched. "Where are you going?"
"The Kalypso," I said, realizing too late she'd been fishing. Her face lit. "Oh?"
I cringed. "Business, really. Maria's fiancé . . ."
"I'll go with you, play some craps." She turned toward the house.
I followed her. "Really, Mrs. Krauss, I don't think that's a good idea." Not good at all. I'd be much too tempted to push her off the boat into the river.
"Ach. Nonsense." She waddled away. "I'll get my purse."
Eight
You didn't know fear until you'd driven on a rural highway with my baby sister. Unfortunately for Ana, Brickhouse, and me, the Kalypso was located in southeast Indiana, less than an hour under normal driving conditions. Thirty minutes if you drove with Maria. And that counted being pulled over once by a state trooper.
Brickhouse, looking decidedly green around the edges, quickly excused herself to find a restroom. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up," she squeaked.
Ana didn't look so good herself. Her dark complexion had faded three shades to a deathly mushroom color. "Ana's right, you know," I said to my sister. "Your driving is terrible. You can stop that pouting and just own up to it." Maria frowned. "It wasn't so bad!"
Ana wrapped her arms around her stomach. "Your license should be taken away."
Maria stomped her foot. "A few minor, minor," she repeated for emphasis, "mishaps and you all get bent out of shape."
Ana ran a hand over her dark hair, smoothing stray strands. "Well, excuse me if I don't like getting an up close and personal view of the guardrail."
I tuned out their bickering. My thoughts of casinos, even in this day and age, conjured images of Vegas-style mobsters, money laundering, racketeering . . . murder. I wouldn't go there where Nate was concerned, even though my overactive imagination wanted to.
But something was certainly going on. He'd sounded terrified on the phone. Add that to someone breaking into his and Maria's condo and the mysterious package he'd sent me . . . and my mind was jumping to mafia-style conclusions. The package Nate sent was burning a hole in my backpack. What in the world was in it? Had he turned up evidence of wrongdoing onboard the Kalypso? Was he the one doing the wrong? Oh, the questions.
To get to the Kalypso we had to take a monorail from the Odyssey, a luxurious hotel a good mile away from the boat. The Odyssey was a huge affair, six stories of cold glass and hard steel, air-conditioned to the point of me having goose bumps.
Maria was still pouting when we took our place behind the throng of people waiting for the monorail. Mid-morning and the place was packed—mostly, I noticed, with senior citizens. I looked around for any of my neighbors, but didn't see anyone I knew.
"I'm going to go find out when the next train is coming," Maria said, and stalked away.
I felt a tug on my sleeve and turned around.
"Are you a virgin?" a little old lady asked me.
I ignored Ana's sudden burst of unrestrained laughter and turned to face the woman who spoke to me.
"Sorry?" I said. I couldn't have possibly heard right.
The woman looked to be about sixty-five, my size, with cotton-candy-like blue hair. Her slightly wrinkled eyes were lined with cobalt blue liner, and small sparkling dia monds dotted the corners of her lids. Fake lashes were weighted with a slightly darker shade of blue than her liner and were in need of being reglued. Her cheeks were somewhat sunken, the hollows colored candy apple red. And her mouth—her mouth was decorated in orange lipstick. Orange. I shook my head.
The blue-haired woman placed her hands on her hips. For the first time I noticed that she wore a kimono. A chartreuse green kimono. Completing the outfit were Nikes protecting her big feet. I blinked, thinking maybe I was hallucinating. I wasn't.
With all the colors she wore, she looked like the snow cones I used to get at Coney Island as a kid.
"I asked," she said, "if you were a virgin."
Her statement started Ana laughing all over again. Really, it wasn't that funny. I shifted, stepping on her toe. "Ow!" she cried, pulling her foot away.
"Why don't you go see where Maria went?" I said to her.
"Snippy," Ana accused, wagging a finger, her voice cracking with giggles.
"A virgin?" I repeated.
"You know," she said, her voice reaching octaves that would make an opera singer envious, "a riverboat virgin? Is this your first time?"
I laughed. "Yes, this is my first time onboard."
"You're gonna love it!"
"I am?"
"Three floors of gambling. A thousand slots. It's heaven. And the food . . . The buffet is gorgeous."
I didn't think I'd ever heard a buffet described as gorgeous, but I took her word for it.
I scrunched my nose, charming-like. "I'm not really here for the gambling." Unfortunately.
I looked over her blue hair to see if I could spot Maria or Ana . . . or even Mrs. Krauss. They had disappeared. When I turned my attention back to the woman, she was looking at me as though I had just proclaimed that Don Ho lipsynched "Tiny Bubbles."
"Not here for the gambling?" she asked. "I'm kind of looking for someone."
She poked me in my ribs with her elbow and made a tsking noise. "Here for the men, are ya?"
"Uh, yeah. Looking for men," I agreed so I didn't have to explain about Nate.
"I'm Stella Zamora, by the way."
Shifting my backpack, I held out my hand. "Nina Quinn."
"Five more minutes!" I heard someone complain loudly. I knew that someone. I turned and saw Maria stomping toward me.
Ana followed closely on her heels. Ruined mascara circled her eyes, making her look like a raccoon. Served her right for laughing at my expense.
"But look what I found in the gift shop," Maria said, holding up a small container.
"Dramamine?"
Maria put her hands on her hips. "You know how I get on boats, Nina."
Ew. I definitely knew.
"Who's the princess?" Stella asked me.
Uh-oh.
"Princess?" Maria asked, her chin up, her voice as cold as an Antarctic wind.
"Think I'll check on Mrs. Krauss," Ana said, retreating. Coward.
"This is my sister, Maria," I said, making introductions. "Maria, this is Stella."
"Yeah 'princess.' Just look at you," Stella said to her. Maria's eyes narrowed.
I thought I heard a cat mewl somewhere behind me.
&nbs
p; "What about me?" Maria said in a staccato burst.
"Chanel from head to toe," Stella said, shaking her head.
"Chanel's the best."
"Hah!"
"Um," I said, breaking in. "What kind of food do they serve in the buffet?"
Maria balled her fists. "And just what's wrong with Chanel?"
"Do they have chicken here? I like chicken." Both of them ignored me. It was as if I had suddenly disappeared. "Listen here, girly. Expensive shmensive. It's not for you. You need something with pattern."
Maria's mouth dropped open. Telling Maria she needed to wear patterns was like telling a nun to wear a skimpy bikini. "I'd never!" she exclaimed.
"Well," I said, interrupting. "There was that time when you were six and made a tie-dyed T-shirt at day camp."
"Only because the counselor made me," Maria retorted. Oh, yeah. Now I remembered the hissy fit she'd thrown over it. It hadn't been a pretty sight, and I was afraid that it might be repeated if Stella continued goading her.
"Well, you should," Stella said. "It will zazz up your life." Zazz? Was that really a word?
"I don't need any zazzing," Maria said.
"Whatever you say, Princess."
Maria put her hands on her hips. Her chin jutted forward. The temper she'd inherited from our Nana Ceceri was on a short fuse. From experience, I backed away. On rare occasions Maria's fiery temper had instigated a fight or two. Or three. I learned the hard way to keep out of the line of fire. However, despite the steam practically coming out Maria's ears, she kept quiet. I did see that she was giving Stella the Ceceri evil eye. Apparently it had no effect on blue-haired, kimono-wearing old women.
A series of chimes pealed and a tinned voice came over the PA, announcing that the monorail would be arriving in less than a minute and to move away from the edge of the platform.
"Well, then," I said, stepping between the two. I faced Maria. "Be nice," I whispered. "Say good-bye." Maria hmmphed.
I turned back to Stella. "It was nice meeting you."
"Same here, sweet thing," she said to me. She focused on Maria. "Princess." Swiveling, she hitched her shoulder bag, which was more sack than bag, and turned to go. I heard a loud CLUCK and spun in time to see Brickhouse Krauss knock Stella Zamora onto her wrinkled behind with her purse. Once down, Brickhouse sat on Stella. Shock rooted me to the floor. Maria clapped. I expected a "two-four-six-eight" from her any second now. I found my voice. "Mrs. Krauss!"
"Ach! Shame! Shame!" Mrs. Krauss continued to hit Stella repeatedly with her purse.
She continued on in rapid German. I didn't understand a word of it, but by the look of fury in Mrs. Krauss's blue eyes, it spelled trouble.
The monorail, smoothly and rather quietly, slid up to the platform and slowed to a stop. Stella Zamora tried to slither away, but Mrs. Krauss sat tight, clucking. She looked like a hen sitting on a blue-haired egg.
People circled around us and got onto the monorail without even looking twice.
Stella was yelling about not being able to breathe, and Mrs. Krauss was spouting German as she rooted through Stella's giant sack. "Aha!" Mrs. Krauss held up a package.
My package! The one Nate had sent me.
My mouth dropped open as I stared at Stella. She'd pickpocketed me! I couldn't believe it!
A security guard rushed over. He tried not to smile at the image in front of him, but I saw the quirk of his lips. Mrs. Krauss heaved to her feet. Stella gasped for air.
"Ma'am?" he said to Maria, who probably looked like the only sane one around—little did he know. "Is there a problem?"
Horror resonated in her eyes. "Yes! Do I look like a 'ma'am' to you?"
"Princess," Stella ground out.
I held Maria back before she could take over where Brickhouse had left off.
"Er, miss? Is there a problem?"
Maria leveled a high and mighty stare at him. "That woman!" She pointed to . . . nothing. Stella Zamora was nowhere to be seen.
Mrs. Krauss let out a string of very recognizable words— in any language. The young security guard blushed. In a rush, Brickhouse explained how she'd seen Stella steal the package from my backpack.
"We'll look around for her, ma'am," he said to me. I felt a prickle at the term too. Hmmph.
He took my name and phone number and sauntered away.
The chimes sounded again, and the monorail's doors closed. It slid away without us onboard.
"Of all the nerve," Maria whined. "Calling me ma'am. Now, you . . . Perfectly justifiable."
What was justifiable would be me murdering her if she continued razzing me.
Ana caught up with us. I noticed she'd washed her face. She must have seen her raccoon eyes in the mirror and decided that no makeup was better than looking like something that knocked over trash cans to forage for food. She looked around. "Did I miss anything interesting?"
Nine
Sirens whooped to my left, and I turned in time to see a woman sitting in front of a slot scoop handfuls of quarters into a bucket.
Brickhouse veered off, muttering about craps tables and good luck.
Unable to help myself, I took a step toward the slot machines.
Ana grabbed my arm. "Uh-uh. And get that look off your face."
"What look?" I asked, still gazing at the slots. "What look?" Maria echoed.
Ana stepped in front of me, forcing me to look her in the eye. "The kid in the candy shop look, the kid on Christmas morning look, the newlywed look."
I feigned innocence. "Newlywed look?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me. Chapel of Forever After remind you of anything?" Ugh. I really didn't need the reminding.
"The chapel of what?" Maria asked.
"Nothing," I said quickly.
Ana smiled. "So you do remember."
How could I forget? How did I forget? The Chapel of Forever After was in Vegas. It's also where Kevin and I married. Which Ana was delicately trying to remind me was after a long night of gambling and watered-down gin and tonics.
Looking over Ana's shoulders, I spied a blackjack table. I gazed at it longingly. "Just one hand?"
"No," Ana said.
"Come on." Maria tugged on my arm. "We've got to find Claire Battiste. How do we get upstairs?"
"Maybe there?" Ana said, pointing to a door camouflaged into the wall by a large fake ficus tree. A keypad glowed bright. Closer inspection revealed that the door could be opened only by a key card. I tried the knob anyway, hoping luck was on our side. Locked. Damn.
"May I help you?"
I jumped up, pressing my back against the door.
He was tall, thick. Not in a fat way, but in a cop way. Although he wore no uniform, his stance, his eyes, his polished shoes, and his up-close inspection screamed security. Okay, I confess, he had a credit card badge attached to his Dockers pocket that said security. S. Larue was his name. He took hold of my elbow and pulled me away from the door. "This area is authorized access only."
"I have an ap—"
Ana's coughing cut Maria off. She waved her hand in front of her face. "Doesn't this place have vents?" The cigarette smoke hanging in the air was becoming thicker by the minute. But, for as long as I'd known Ana, she'd never had a problem with smoke.
Ana coughed again. And again. "My asthma," she said. "I didn't bring my puffer."
Now I knew something was up. Ana didn't have asthma. She was the healthiest person I knew. I narrowed my gaze on her face, trying to figure out what she was doing. As I watched, she held her breath and kept coughing. She honestly looked like she was having an asthma attack. And not only that, but she had positioned herself so that when she slumped over, Security Man would be in the perfect position to catch her.
Maria gasped as Ana went down, but I simply watched in stunned amazement.
S. Larue scooped Ana into his arms. "Air. I need fresh air," she choked.
"I'll take her to the balcony and then to the first aid office," he said, all business now.
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He turned with Ana in his arms, and I saw that behind his back Ana held his credit card badge in her hand. As I reached out to take it, S. Larue dropped Ana. She landed on her hind side, her "Owww!" echoing.
S. Larue snatched his card back, clipped it back onto his pants pocket. "Nice try," he said to Ana, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. "But I usually tend to notice when a woman's hand is in my pocket."
"Oh," Ana murmured.
He looked at us. Maria and I took a step back. Maria said, "We didn't steal it!"
Trouble In Spades Page 8
