Lucky Ride (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series Book 8)

by Deborah Coonts

When he’d cut the connection and repocketed his phone, I gave him my one-eyebrow-raised look, which got under his skin. “Not asking Reynolds to lead the cavalry charge?”

  With no more energy to engage in repartee, he glowered at me. “I give up. You win; now stop.”

  “Concession is a hollow victory, but, swine that I am, I’ll take it. Did the doc have any chance to look at his inventory and comment on it before Beckham swung in like an Avenging Angel of Darkness?”

  “A moment of shock or uncertainty, I can’t be sure, but he left me with the impression some was missing. Which makes sense.”

  I sat back on my heels. “Doc could be covering up something.”

  “Or he was surprised.” Romeo leaped to the man’s defense.

  Was that a Y-chromosome knee-jerk thing, protecting their own? With what little I knew about men, I was unqualified to answer.

  “Guess we’ll never know,” he said.

  “Spoken like a man who has forgotten he’s an ace detective.” My voice turned hard. “Oh, we’ll know. But not until we find the killer.”

  “Mr. Beckham?”

  “Well, he’s certainly a suspect. But, I think he’s probably a better suspect in a future murder. He’s after somebody, but who?” I grabbed Romeo by the arm and turned him to face me. “Are you okay?”

  “I have a black eye, not a bullet to the chest.”

  “Then what are you doing standing around here? Go get Mr. Beckham. When you have him, call me. I’ll bring the thumbscrews. We really need to know what he knows before someone else ends up short of breath.”

  Squash’s call caught me stalking in the general direction of where I thought I’d left my car. I’d watched the EMTs stabilize the doc, then load him and screech away, leaving me choking on dust and questions. Then I retrieved my purse from the pony’s stall—he’d tucked into some oats, so I crossed him off my worry list. Now all I wanted to do was go home.

  “Please tell me you have Miss Bethany with you,” I said. My patience for pleasantries had expired days ago.

  “Is that her name?” He didn’t sound surprised I’d ferreted out that tidbit. That was as much of an attaboy as I would get from Squash Trenton.

  “Bethany Fiorelli.”

  “News to me. She dug in her heels—wouldn’t say a word. Not without you there, she said. She said you told her that.”

  “Not exactly. I told her to wait for you, then take your lead.” Even though the girl could really push the boundaries, I gave it to her for moxie. Had to admire that. “A miscommunication, of sorts.”

  “Figured, but she ad-libbed. No harm, though. As you suspected, the cops were just on a treasure hunt. They don’t have anything on her…or anyone far as I can tell.”

  “She didn’t give you anything?” Who knew Squash’s gamesmanship didn’t extend to the younger generation? Those of us older and presumably wiser were at risk…or at least vulnerable. I’d figured it was a double-X chromosome deficiency. Shown up by a kid. Could life get any more humbling?

  And here I’d been counting on the patented Trenton charm to squeeze something out of her. I didn’t think it would help telling the lawyer he’d fallen short of my expectations. In my experience, men didn’t respond well to that sort of thing—no matter the venue.

  “Did you also sic a keeper on her?” Squash asked. His tone held certainty that I wouldn’t be fool enough to think he’d do it, and he wasn’t fool enough to offer.

  “Yeah, I lined up Dane to keep tabs on her, but I’m not sure he’s got the skills.”

  “Gotta think like a kid. Dane’s close enough.”

  My sentiments exactly. But I worried I’d subbed the B-team for a pro. “You’re too expensive to be a kid-sitter. Besides, I need your expertise to keep her out of the legal system and to help figure out who is the right one to be shoved through that slop-chute.”

  “Does she even know a lawyer can actually help her?”

  “She’s got trust issues.” The Ferrari waited only two rows over from where I thought I had left it.

  “You sure she’s not your sister?”

  “Cute. And no.” Had everyone ganged up to point out my deficiencies? I fumbled in my bag for the keys.

  “She stonewalled me at every turn. Downright unappreciative—like someone else who will remain unnamed, but I’m talking to her. I’ve a mind to run her over to the Child Welfare folks.”

  “She’d just age out before they could figure out what to do with her.”

  That got a laugh, even though it was the truth and, as such, not a bit funny.

  “I assume she’s listening to all this?” As I folded myself into the Ferrari, I waved Forrest over. Switching ears, I held the phone with my shoulder as I arranged myself in the car.

  “Roger, that. Along with her shadow.”

  The phone slipped from its perch and I muttered a curse as I rooted around in the dark for it. Finally, I found it under my right heel. This time, I clutched it as I pressed it to my ear. “Sorry.”

  “Multitasking, it’s not good for your brain.”

  “You’re describing my life, Counselor. At this point, the best I can hope for is an early medical retirement.”

  Forrest eased his golf cart next to me. “Hang on,” I said to Squash, then pressed the face of the phone against my thigh, my thumb over the microphone. “Do you happen to know who danced tonight?”

  “Sure, Becky and Suzie, cute kids. They’re staying in a trailer on the edge of the parking lot. I escorted them home not too long ago.”

  “Which trailer?”

  “The blue and white one in the corner, over there?” I followed his point.

  “Got it, thanks.”

  I waited until he’d motored out of earshot before resuming my conversation. “Can I talk to Bethany, please?”

  At the push of a button, the Ferrari started with a comforting growl, and I maneuvered through the empty parking lot toward the trailer Forrest identified. A light still burned behind pulled curtains. Someone peeked through the slit as I eased the car to a stop and killed the engine.

  Some fumbling and muttering I couldn’t decipher came over the line before Bethany got on the phone.

  “Lucky?” Her voice sounded taut to the point of breaking.

  “How’re you holding up?”

  “Okay. Kind of. This isn’t how I thought it would go. I just wanted to get to Vegas. The rodeo seemed like a good idea. That clunker of a car Gram had would never have made it. Doc offered to bring me. He’s a friend of the vet who used to travel with the rodeo.”

  “Nice of him. Want to tell me about your friend the Rodeo Queen and über barrel racer?”

  “Poppy?”

  “Yeah, little Miss Poppy Beckham. Why was she sweeping out the arena when she should be getting her beauty rest?” I really should be doing this in person where I could corner her and maybe run through my intimidation repertoire.

  “Subbing for me.” Bethany lowered her voice, as if any of this should be a secret from her lawyer.

  “You do know Squash is on your side? He works for you, and whatever you tell him or say in his presence, he is bound by law to keep to himself?”

  “Folks don’t always do what they should.” Such cynicism in one so young must’ve been hard-earned.

  Unimaginable. “What do you know about her dad?”

  “He’s not as bad as he seems. He’d do anything for Poppy.”

  “What would he do to anyone who stood in her way?”

  “I really don’t know. He’s got a temper.”

  She sounded like the voice of experience. “Any anger he’s thrown your way?”

  “No, but I saw him arguing with one of the hands. Lifted the guy right off his feet. It got ugly.”

  “Who was he arguing with?”

  “Mr. Sinclair, he’s the bull guy. Used to ride, then got hurt. He also drives the bull trailer. His niece competes with us but she does the poles.”

  Doing the poles in Vegas conjured something entire
ly different. I shut my mind to that visual. “Any idea what they were arguing about?”

  “I don’t know. Something about one of the bulls being a killer, but Sinclair wouldn’t get rid of him. They were at the end of one of the stall rows, so I wasn’t real close.”

  “Okay. One more question. If you’re Doc Latham’s assistant, then why are you on the cleanup crew?”

  “Money. I’m not even a vet tech. Doc told me an unskilled helper wasn’t in the rodeo budget. Doc can’t pay much, but he got me this far, and he got a room for me.” For a moment, her voice brightened. “My own room. It’s awesome.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At one of the suite hotels on Paradise. I’m sure Doc’s worried, even though he knows my nights are late. I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer.”

  I told her what had happened. I didn’t lie, and I didn’t insult her by soft-selling it. I think she appreciated that. “Will he be okay?” Her concern sounded genuine but a bit resigned for someone so young.

  “The paramedics thought so. I’ve got one more question. Did you call Mr. Beckham about his horse being sick?”

  I could hear the radio in the background as she quieted.

  “This isn’t a game, Bethany. The police are not to be played and neither am I, nor my mother. Tell me the truth and it’ll all be okay.” Yep, that’s me, making promises I had no idea whether I could keep. I shut up and waited.

  Her call.

  Finally, she pulled in a deep breath. “Yeah, I called him.”

  “How did you know about the horse?”

  “I checked on him like I always do. I’ve got a little more rope to run with—no parent checking on my every move.” Apparently, a love of clichés was a family thing.

  “Did you see Mr. Turnbull?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Bethany, did you see Mr. Turnbull?”

  “Yeah, I told him about the horse. He was acting weird, staggering around. I thought he was drunk.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “He told me to run.”

  “Did he say who from?”

  “No.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I ran. I came to find you. My Gram always told me if I needed help, you’d be the one to find.”

  Boy, I wanted to deviate down that path, but I resisted. Murder took precedence.

  “What time did you talk to Mr. Turnbull?”

  “About eight-thirty. They were just finishing the early classes. After that, they cleaned the arena and had everyone come in to clean it up.”

  “Did you call Mr. Beckham?”

  “Yeah, I tried, lotsa times. He didn’t answer.”

  “You didn’t talk with him?”

  “No, when Poppy and I changed places, I told her.”

  “You didn’t run right away. You joined the cleanup crew and stayed around to watch what happened to Mr. Turnbull, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Sinclair grabbed me, told me to get to work. I need that job. I figured I could sneak out later.”

  “When Poppy came to sub for you?”

  “Yeah, but she was late. The whole place was nuts. Took them a while to get everyone out.”

  “And she called her father?”

  “I guess. I don’t really know.”

  She pulled in a shaky breath. “Look, I know I haven’t been totally square with you. I don’t trust easy. Will it help if I promise no more skirting the truth? I promise I’m telling you all I know. I need your help. Please?”

  She sounded like she meant it, but meaning it and doing it were two different things. Probably against my self-interest, I felt like giving her the benefit of the doubt. “Who do you think hurt Poppy’s horse? Mrs. Bates? I’ve heard she’s been spouting off about collecting insurance if the horses die.”

  “She’s horrible.”

  “Could she have done it?”

  “She’s batshit crazy enough to do almost anything. But we can’t prove it.”

  “We? Who’s we?”

  “Nobody. Just me.” Now that lie was easy to spot.

  But I didn’t need an answer. The kids had ganged up on the adults; that was pretty easy to figure.

  “Maybe you just have it out for Mrs. Bates—fixing your friend’s problem by putting her abusive mother on ice?” A shot in the dark but a reasonable theory.

  “Mothers.” A lifetime of hurt filled that one word. “There’s no telling what moms will do.”

  I didn’t have a clever retort for that one, but I had enough gray matter working to hear the subtext. “Tell me about Mrs. Bates.”

  “You know Poppy’s dad?”

  “Mr. Beckham. Such a peach.”

  “Mrs. Bates is worse.”

  I gave a low whistle. “You’re telling me that, when I talk to her, I need to make sure my shots are up to date.”

  “Won’t make any difference. She’s rabid.” The girl sounded like she’d been bitten more than once.

  “All the more reason for you to hang with me or Detective Romeo, or maybe even Dane, if I decide to forgive him, so nobody will mess with you.”

  “What did Dane do?”

  Like I said, too clever by twice, but now was not the time to shade the truth. “He lied.” I paused for dramatic effect, hoping she got my point.

  “You’re not to go anywhere without talking to me, you got it?”

  “You’re pretty bossy.”

  In the background, Squash let out a hyena laugh.

  “Ignore him. Pay attention. This game is way above your level.”

  “I know.”

  I worked through the possible places I could stash Bethany, keep her safe, and have a good chance she’d stay where I put her. “Would you like to go to the hospital to see Doc?”

  “Yeah. He’s been really good to me.” Her voice hitched. “I’d just die if anything happened to him.”

  “Don’t go tempting the Fates. I’ll have Mr. Trenton take you there. Put him back on, okay?”

  She fumbled the phone, then Squash’s voice sounded strong through the connection. “I’m assuming I have marching orders?”

  I gave him the short and sweet as I watched the trailer. The girls kept sneaking a peek through the curtains. “Take her to UMC. There’ll be a uniform stationed outside the doctor’s room. We don’t know if he’s in danger, or a suspect, or whatever, and I’m too tired to work through all of it. Make sure the uniform keeps the girl there until I show up in the morning. Tell Dane he can get some shut-eye, but I want him back at the hospital early.”

  “It’s already early.”

  “Right. I just want him to make sure that girl doesn’t go anywhere without him shadowing her. Whoever tried to kill that horse and who probably killed Mr. Turnbull might think Bethany saw him. Maybe she did and doesn’t know it; maybe she didn’t.”

  “And that makes her a potential target.”

  “Bingo. The cops thought she was interesting enough to take in for questioning, and that makes me wary. She can sleep at the hospital. Make sure they take care of that. I’m practically catatonic. Nothing productive is going to happen on my end until I get some shut-eye. I’ll be there when I get there.”

  “You’re welcome.” There was a hint of humor in his voice as he rang off, but he would make me pay.

  Oh, yes, he’d make me pay.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE door opened before I’d found the courage to shift my weight to the thin metal stairs of the trailer. Someone held it a few inches open as she hissed, “Come in. Make it quick.”

  Throwing caution to the wind, I stepped. Metal bent under my bulk, but it held and I launched myself at the door. Once inside, my back against the closed door, I faced the two young women, Becky and Suzie—identifiable by the initials strategically stitched on the triangle of cloth that served as underwear. The fake crystals pushed the decorating past overkill and all the way to uncomfortable…at
least for me. They remained remarkably confident and comfortable. I averted my eyes and tried not to wonder how far they’d taken the bejazzling thing. I’d heard rumors of women decorating their…I winced in wonder and shut down that thought.

  Their faces were pale, their expressions worried, their bodies exposed. With their over-waxed eyebrows, tiny Cupid-bow mouths, and cheap bottle blonde, they could be twins…or a metaphor. Goosebumps peppered the vast expanse of exposed skin. Looking at them, their youth, their tiny figures, I found myself consumed with lingerie envy—well, not the personalizing aspect—but the lace looked French. My mother believed a woman could conquer the world with French lace and an attitude. One of my goals in life was to prove her right. “Did you know that the finest lace used to be made in Calais? Now the jobs have been shipped to China, and we’re all stuck with cheap knock-offs.”

  Both girls blinked rapidly but said nothing as they stared at me, their mouths open.

  “Sorry, one of life’s indignities that gets stuck in my craw. Now, about the murder?”

  The girls recovered nicely. “Do you think the killer will come after us?” One of the girls breathed the words, filling them with excitement and a hint of fear.

  I tried to hide a surreptitious glance at the woman’s crotch. BW.

  Becky. Were initials and bling part of the rodeo uniform?

  “Why would you think that?”

  “We were dancing, watching like we always do,” the other one chimed in. Suzie. Seeing as there were only two of them, I didn’t have to glance at her crotch. She grabbed my arm and pulled me close, then lowered her voice. Her breath smelled like gin. “We saw everything.”

  Becky nodded. “Everything,” she whispered.

  “What exactly did you see?”

  Suzie grabbed my hand and pulled me toward one of the two queen beds filling the living area. A curtain separating the two had been pulled back and gathered against the front wall. Against the opposite wall, they’d set up a bar, row after row of the good stuff, on a folding picnic table. If there was a kitchen, I couldn’t find it. I assumed the other end of the trailer housed a bathroom, but I didn’t want to ask.

  A loud banging on the door had the three of us practically jumping for cover. “You girls in there?”