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

by Deborah Coonts

  As I turned my back and stepped into the room, I speared Bethany with as sharp a look as I could muster. “You and me, we have some talking to do.” I motioned for her to follow me into the hall.

  “What do you want me to do right now?” Dane asked as I slipped by him in the doorway.

  “Can you do some of your sleuthing from here?”

  He held up his phone. “Computer in a pocket.”

  “Good, then sit tight for a bit, if you would?”

  “Sure thing.” He went back into the room, leaving Bethany and me alone in the hall.

  I cut to the chase. “Want to tell me why the Reno police are looking for you?”

  Again, the big-eyed blinking thing, this time coupled with a blank stare.

  “Don’t bother making up some tall tale. It wouldn’t be in your best interest right now. You’re leaving dead people in your wake and you need some serious help. The truth really is your best bet here, trust me on that.” Depending on what she’d done, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure of that, but I went with it.

  “They want to know what happened to the doc.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion as if fear had tamped her feelings down to empty resignation. She ran the zipper on her fleece up and down.

  “Dr. Dean?” At least she wasn’t trying to hide what she knew. If she was surprised I knew his name, she didn’t let on. “Tell me about him.”

  The zipper: up and down, up and down, faster now. “He was this old guy; he owned the place. He was a vet. He’s the one that got me interested. He was one of the few who cared.”

  “So, he kept coming around?”

  “Yeah, he was nice. But my grandmother was always cool to him. There was something there, but she never told me what.”

  “Why’d he come around?” The grating zipper got on my nerves, but I didn’t stop her.

  “When the animals got sick, he’d come no matter the time. Never charged us. He always let me help him. Sometimes, he’d drop by and pick me up to make rounds with him. He always had stories about the rodeo.”

  “Really? Did he work on the rodeo?” I glanced over my shoulder at Doc Latham, who was talking with Poppy.

  “Yeah. He was ready to retire, which surprised me because he always said he couldn’t wait to get back out on the road. But I knew when he did, he’d feel guilty about leaving his patients behind. That’s where Doc Latham came in.”

  “How so?”

  “Dr. Dean hadn’t been feeling all that good. He said it was his heart. Then Doc Latham showed up. Dr. Dean seemed sort of conflicted but he let Doc Latham take his truck and sub for him here. He told me it was for the best.”

  “You do know somebody killed him?”

  Her hand stopped mid-zip. “No, they didn’t,” she whispered. “He had a heart attack.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Gram.” She swallowed hard and tears swam in her eyes. “Gram…” Bethany’s voice hitched, reminding me she was just a kid learning how disappointing and downright terrifying adults could be. She had lost her bellwether. When Mona abandoned me, I had thought I’d lost mine. The panic stayed with me still.

  Her hands dropped to her sides, and she pulled herself up straight, but I could see what it cost her.

  Being a grown-up sucked most of the time. Having to pretend to be one sucked way more. “Before she died, Gram told me some bad things happened. And if anything happened to her, I needed to find my mother. She would know how to fix it.”

  I saw the plea in her eyes.

  When?

  Something was wrong, very wrong. “She didn’t just die, did she?”

  Bethany’s lip quivered.

  “My grandmother.” For a moment, the girl looked as if she was made of stone, then a crack grew into a fissure. “You’re right, she didn’t die. Somebody killed her.” She gulped air, struggling to get the words out. “I came home, and there was so much blood…and he’d strung her up, upside down with a straitjacket on.” Tears overwhelmed her and she fell into my arms.

  Caught off guard, I staggered back but then steadied under her weight, such as it was. She was all bones and no meat. What kind of life would do that?

  Rhetorical question—it made me feel better. At least I knew the answer.

  “He killed her?” I held her tight, and her sobs reverberated through me. “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” The words came in gasps between ragged, tortured breaths. “He…won’t…stop.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Would you have believed me?” She swiped at the tears that wouldn’t stop.

  “I would have no reason not to. Now you’ve done your whole smoke and mirrors routine, and it’s hard for me to figure out where the truth stops and the lies begin.” The urge to take her and drop her in mother’s lap overwhelmed me. It was time for the two of them to meet and the truth to come out.

  Secrets. My family legacy. Why couldn’t it have been a key to Fort Knox? Did they still keep the nation’s gold there? Or better yet a superpower or something useful?

  My vision swam. I pulled in air, but somewhere it got waylaid before it hit the gray matter. My thoughts swarmed like bees disturbed from the hive. One would alight briefly, only to buzz off to join the swarm when I reached for it.

  Was this all about the girl?

  No matter the angle, I couldn’t make that theory fit. If he’d wanted her, he’d had plenty of opportunities to grab her…or worse. No, he was after something else…or someone else.

  Mona.

  “How can they be related? Mr. Turnbull? Where does he fit in with your grandmother and the doc in Reno? Is this an extortion scheme? Or an insurance scam? Or something else?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. I’ve tried. I’m so scared. That’s why I came here, to find you…and Mona. Gram said you would have answers.”

  Gram was overstating.

  I rubbed her back as she clung to me. Now I understood what she wanted. And how she found me.

  But the why still eluded me.

  Why her? Why the rodeo? What the fuck was going on?

  A text dinged. For a moment, I thought about not reading it, but I needed answers almost as bad as Bethany did. I snaked one hand into my pocket, searching for my phone.

  Romeo. Any idea where Doreen Bates is? We talked to her. Sent a psych to help. Now she’s gone.

  I raised my head and brought the others in the room in with a look. “If you needed to find Doreen, where would you look?”

  “Do you think he took her?” Bethany’s voice was a whisper against my neck.

  “If he did, I’ll kill him myself.” Children were off limits in my book, and once someone crossed that line, there was no redemption. “The police are doing their best, but we could use your help. Any inside scoop?”

  Bethany tugged by back into the room. “Poppy, do you know where Doreen is?”

  “Sure,” Poppy sounded confident. “She’s with her horse. Since all this has started, she’s slept in his stall and spends the days sitting in his hay bin. She’s terrified something is going to happen to him.”

  “With her mother a bit unstable, that horse is all she has,” Doc Latham added. “I used to bring her a hotdog before I left for the night.”

  “Anybody else know?”

  “No, her mother thought she was with me,” Poppy said.

  Note to self: Never have kids. Not ever. “So, the three of you cover for each other and fancy yourselves modern-day Nancy Drews.”

  Bethany pulled herself off my neck and leaned back to give me a look. “Who?” she said, pulverizing my youth-fantasy.

  “Never mind.” I tried not to grump.

  Having something to do, someone to save, seemed to restore Bethany’s backbone. “Let me try her cell.”

  I don’t think anyone in the room drew a breath while we waited. After multiple rings, Bethany shook her head. “Rolled to voice mail, but sometimes cell service is sketchy in the barn.”

&n
bsp; That was one of those I-know-it-isn’t-true-but-let’s-roll-with-it things. We all bought in—the hook of a silver lining to hang our hope on. “Can you take me to her?…quickly.”

  As the three of us ran down the hall, I jotted off a quick text to Romeo. Where are you?

  Stuck at the Babylon.

  Okay, I’m on Doreen. Meet up after.

  I pocketed the phone and ran after the girls.

  Dane was on my heels.

  Night had covered the city and lit its magic, but none of it brightened my mood and all of it blurred as I sped through the city at the speed of heat. I focused on driving, pushing thoughts of kids and killers out of my head. She’d be okay. She had to be. I wouldn’t allow otherwise.

  In the past, I thought Mona was the closest I’d come to homicide.

  I was wrong.

  The parking lot at the Thomas and Mack was empty. No crowds circled the building as I bounced up the rise into the lot. Bethany let out a yelp as her head hit the roof. The girls were stacked in the passenger seat, Bethany on top.

  The Ferrari had a few limitations, but speed wasn’t one of them, and tonight speed was what I needed. We’d lost Dane somewhere on the 15.

  And maybe knocking Bethany on the head might impart some sense. Jesus, now I was subscribing to my mother’s silly theories. The apocalypse was near.

  The car fishtailed in the dirt, then I regained control. “Awesome,” Poppy whispered. The sentiment surprised me. But Ferraris and breaking the traffic laws weren’t part of her world as they were mine.

  The rodeo had gone dark. Don’t know why that hadn’t crossed my mind. A man had died. A woman, too, but that wasn’t yet common knowledge. A time to pay respects.

  And to catch a killer.

  The dirt clouded around us as I slid to a stop. Doc’s truck hadn’t moved. Dirt covered the yellow crime scene tape, which sagged in places, making the whole thing look like bad Halloween staging.

  The girls piled out of the Ferrari and took off running. I was a step behind.

  In Vegas, if there was no crowd, then the show was failing. Tonight, I was grateful someone had called off the crowd.

  We ran, unhindered. Rounding a corner. Halfway down. We all skidded to a stop.

  The stall was empty.

  Well, the horse was there, but no Doreen.

  “Shit.” I was on the verge of apoplexy.

  The girls were fine, not the least bit winded—further proof there was no God, or, if there was, she wasn’t smiling on me.

  Bethany lifted the latch and threw her weight against the door, pulling it open. Poppy and I stuck our noses through the bars.

  “Any sign of Doreen?” I asked, ever hopeful.

  Bethany didn’t answer. Instead, she spoke in soothing tones to the horse. Kneeling next to him, she stroked his neck. Something came over her, a calmness as if this was her place. The horse responded, nuzzling into her.

  A friggin’ sixteen-year-old horse whisperer. “What do you see?”

  Poppy nudged me. “Shhhh. She’s got something.”

  “There’re letters carved in his neck,” Bethany said.

  “What?” I cringed back. First kids, now animals. What kind of sicko was this?

  “Not carved.” Bethany’s voice never changed to angry, but I knew she vibrated with it…she had to. “Shaved.”

  I breathed a sigh. “He didn’t hurt the horse?”

  Something about my smile made the girl smile. “No.”

  Somehow, not hurting the horse was important to me. Like it was the very last little thread of my rope. “Okay, what does it say?”

  “S. S.”

  I turned my back and leaned against the stall. Defeat rested heavy on my shoulders.

  S.S.

  I hadn’t a clue.

  And Doreen was gone.

  “Okay, we’re both assuming something bad happened to Doreen. Her mother’s dead. Where would she go?”

  Both girls shrugged. “Here.”

  “Okay, let’s look for her then.”

  We’d traversed half the barn, calling out. No one answered.

  “We need to split up,” Poppy said.

  “Not on your life. You two stick with me.”

  We’d made it through the barn and stood in the large opening in the back. I’d scanned the parking lot twice when movement caught my eye. “There? Who’s that?”

  A slight figure walked toward us, head down, tucking in her shirttail.

  “Doreen!” Both Bethany and Poppy shouted as they ran.

  I wasn’t far behind.

  Doreen, all blonde hair and chiseled features, smiled when she saw the girls. She grabbed them, one in each arm, then she looked at me over the tops of their heads. Almost my height, she looked a year or two older than the other two.

  I introduced myself. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “Thanks.” She seemed sad but not broken up.

  The damage parents can do.

  The girls started chattering excitedly, just happy to find their friend.

  When they wound down, I used the lull to get a word in. “Where were you? You had us panicked.”

  “I just was taking a shower at the trailer. Becky and Suzie let me use their facility. They’re the best.” It was clear Doreen wanted as little to do with her mother as possible. Well, she got her wish.

  “You and your mother weren’t close?”

  “No. I didn’t want her here. She…”

  “I get it.” I felt sorry for her. Women with difficult mothers were legion. I was one of them, but Doreen Bates put my mother in a whole new light.

  “And then when Doc showed up, Mother was at her worst, it seemed.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t know. She never was good around men, but she didn’t have the best picker either.”

  I could so relate. “He wasn’t here all the time?”

  “Off and on, when Dr. Dean would get sick.”

  Dr. Dean.

  “He joined us full-time in Reno, that’s what mother said.”

  Bethany pulled away and looked at me. “We need to talk to Mona…now.” Bethany’s demand was hard to ignore, and the rationale overwhelming, but I couldn’t take her to Mona.

  The kid was leaving bodies in her wake. How many now? Three? Four? She had the opportunity to kill all of them as far as I could tell, the access to the barbiturates, and a motive…revenge. No way was I playing the part of the Trojan Horse, helping the killer get past all defenses.

  “I’ve spoken with her. Not now. This is my call and I expect you to honor it. I can help you, but my first job is keeping everyone safe, including my mother. If the killer is using you…” I left it there, hoping her imagination could fill in the list of horribles I pictured. If all of this was really related. And if somehow the killer was using Bethany to get to my parents. Or if she was the killer…

  Then I wasn’t going to facilitate that.

  Mona and the Big Boss were hiding something big, something cataclysmic; otherwise, my mother would be looking to me to solve it.

  But who was Turnbull and why was he killed?

  And what did Toby Sinclair have to do with any of this?

  And why Dora Bates? And why in the manner she was? Which was just like Sara Pickford.

  And Doc Latham coming and going.

  And where the hell was Beckham?

  Until I had answers, I was going to limit access to my parents. I knew my mother. If the Big Boss was threatened by the past, by what Mona knew, even a kid with a sad story couldn’t force the answers out of her.

  Not even her own kid.

  I was living proof.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WITH no answers and no clear path, I stashed the two girls at the Babylon with a security detail to make sure they stayed put. Doreen wanted to stay with Becky and Suzie. At eighteen, Doreen could do what she wanted. I’d told Dane to go home and get some rest.

  Romeo was still tied up, no pun intended this time�
��with the vision of Mrs. Bates in my head, I couldn’t stomach the humor—so I’d told him to meet me at JCB Prime at Cielo. Yes, right now I needed my happy place. And more and more I was calling a barstool home. Not good. I knew that. But nothing I could or would do about it.

  I was motoring south on the Strip headed to Cielo when Flash caught me.

  “Got something for you.” Her voice carried her own special kind of breathless, which meant she was telling the truth.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. The truth cut both ways. Resigned to the inevitable, I said, “Besides Sara Pickford being murdered, that much I’ve learned. Give me what else you got.”

  “I hate it when you do that. That was like my best pitch.”

  “We both need a very long vacation from reality.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself. My reality is a twenty-five-year-old Italian working on a Ph.D. in Archaeology.”

  “Which means he will expect you to pay for everything, then leave you broke and heartbroken.”

  “Thanks. Sour grapes coming from someone whose reality is murder.”

  She had me there. “Remind me why I keep you as a friend?”

  “Blackmail. So, do you want it straight or do you want me to be entertaining?”

  “I like murder served like whiskey.”

  “Straight it is. The doc was sort of a run-of-the-mill murder, nothing elaborate.”

  “You mean other than being strung up upside down in a straitjacket?”

  “Damn. That was my second best pitch.”

  I didn’t tell her I was guessing. First Dr. Dean, then Sara Pickford, now Dora Bates. “Let me guess, barbiturates.”

  “Bingo. That’s why they want your girl—contact with the stiffs and access to the murder weapon.”

  “Weak but understandable. What about Dr. Dean’s son?”

  “They’re still looking for him. I do have some skinny on Sara Pickford. She was a bit more interesting, not because of what I know, but because of what I don’t. On the surface, an above-board rancher’s wife. Dabbled in entertainment. Married…a lot. But here’s the interesting thing: she had two daughters, twins. I can’t find a trace of either. I tracked them until they were fourteen. Everything looked boringly normal, then, poof, they were gone. Disappeared.”