Lucky Stiff

by Annelise Ryan

  “Ether.”

  “Ether? Why the hell would he have ether in his system?”

  “You got me.”

  “And how would he get it?”

  “You got me there, too. That’s what I’m researching.”

  “Well, that certainly makes things more curious, doesn’t it?”

  “That it does. How did things go out at the Strommen place?”

  I fill him in on our visit and Hurley’s plan to get a search warrant; but as I relay the facts, my mind keeps going back to Hurley and his foul mood. Is it really just the cases we’re working on that have him frustrated? Or is it me?

  That reminds me of Michael Landon, so I tell Izzy about my planned date. Though in an effort not to sound too presumptuous, I make it sound as if things are still up in the air. “Is it okay if I bring him along to your party tonight?”

  “Of course,” he says. “The more, the merrier. I’m glad to see you getting back into the swing of things.”

  Knowing that the results of the tox screen will provide a stronger probable cause for the search warrant, I head for the library and call Hurley to fill him in. He listens politely, thanks me, and hangs up. His cold attitude toward me leaves me feeling melancholy, and I’m still rattled by the near-death experiences of the last few days. If this job has taught me anything, it’s taught me that life is often much too short and we need to live every day to its fullest. When my time comes, I don’t want to have any regrets. But at the moment, Hurley is starting to look like he might become one.

  Once again I weigh the value of my job against the value of my love life. I could go back to working at the hospital and eliminate the whole conflict-of-interest problem, but I love what I’m doing now. And I really, really don’t want to go back to work at the hospital, though I can’t think of another job I can qualify for that doesn’t require me to ask, “Do you want fries with that?” Not that a fast-food job would be horrible, but I know that easy access to that kind of food won’t be good for me.

  Then my mind goes all Ozzie and Harriet on me and I start fantasizing about a life with Hurley where I don’t have to work at all. I could stay at home, keeping the house, eating the occasional bonbon, and preparing fabulous meals for when Hurley comes home at the end of his workday. My imaginary scenario screeches to a halt, because even my most fantastical mind can’t buy into that last part. So, instead, I mentally amend the scene to include me getting fabulous take-out meals for the two of us.

  I shake off the image, because I know I could never do this. The financial dependence I had on David has taught me a valuable lesson. From here on out, I want to be earning, and controlling, my own money. My divorce settlement offers me some freedom, but it’s not enough to live off and provide me with some sort of retirement fund.

  The obvious answer is to increase my little nest egg. Given the volatility of the stock market lately, and the dismal interest rates available for savings accounts, I only see one way to do this.

  Around noon, Izzy interrupts my thoughts by popping his head in and informing me that he has arranged for coverage with the neighboring county’s coroner from now through the morning of January 2. We covered Christmas for them; so in return, they are taking the New Year’s holiday.

  “Let’s close up shop for the day,” he says. “I’m going to head home and help Dom prep for tonight’s party. Take the rest of today and tomorrow off, and we’ll start fresh on the second.”

  This seems like a sign to me, so I head out and make a beeline for my bank, where I take out twenty grand in cash and cashier’s checks. If I’m going to have a chance at increasing my nest egg, I’m going to have to take big risks, I decide. Feeling lucky, I head for the North Woods Casino.

  Over the next four hours, I bet big and take those huge risks at the poker tables. I hit it big early on, winning a cool five grand at Texas Hold ’em, so I start increasing the bets even more and taking bigger risks than before, counting on my luck and skill to hold out. But neither one does. The river turns in more ways than one and I end up giving it all back, and then some. By the time I head home, I have managed to set a new record for myself; my total losses so far are at a little over thirty thousand dollars.

  So much for Ozzie and Harriet.

  Chapter 29

  I head home in a funk to get ready for the evening’s events. I go through the usual ministrations to prep for my blind date, trying on a half-dozen outfits before I finally settle on a lavender sweater and my ever-ubiquitous, supposedly slimming black slacks. Though I have no intention of “getting lucky,” I go the extra mile and shave the winter fur from my legs.

  I head over to Izzy and Dom’s place a little early and offer to help with the preparations, but Dom, as usual, has full control of the kitchen and insists that I relax. I join Izzy in front of the TV in the living room with a glass of wine and the evening news.

  Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings and Izzy gets up to answer it. I hear an unfamiliar male voice and assume it’s my date, so I set aside my wine and head for the door. But instead of my date, I find a priest and a nun standing in the foyer. For a second, I wonder if Izzy has plans for an exorcism. But then the woman speaks and I recognize the voice as belonging to Cass, our part-time office secretary/file clerk/receptionist and all-around gal Friday. She and Dom are both members of a local thespian group, and Cass typically rehearses her roles on a 24-7 basis, showing up in costume and in character whenever she comes to work. As a result, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the real Cass, and it appears that tonight will be no exception. The priest, whose name is Charles, turns out to be Cass’s date, as well as one of the other actors in the play they’re currently working on. As we are making introductions, the doorbell rings again. When Izzy answers it, I see Hurley standing on the threshold, along with a tall, bespectacled, short-haired brunette woman, who looks vaguely familiar. Hurley introduces her as Christine Carter, or “CeeCee.” As soon as I hear the nickname, I recall how I know her. She is our local librarian.

  I feel an instant spark of jealousy, but I bury it and try to put on my best front. Another ring of the doorbell interrupts the introductions; this time when Izzy answers, there is a single man standing there.

  “Hi,” he says, proffering a bottle of champagne. “I’m Michael Landon.”

  Izzy invites him in and the introductions resume. It turns out Michael Landon doesn’t look anything like his famous namesake. He is about my height, with reddish brown hair, green eyes, and a dimple in each cheek that deepens when he smiles.

  As Izzy takes and hangs coats, Dom joins us, and introductions are made all around. Then Dom announces that dinner is ready and herds us into the dining room.

  Izzy settles in at the head of the table, and Dom takes the seat to his right, leaving the rest of us to sort out what’s left. Hurley takes the seat to Dom’s right, with CeeCee next to him, and Charles and Cass take the seats to Izzy’s left. Michael claims the other end of the table, leaving me with the seat to his right, next to Charles and directly across from CeeCee.

  Dom’s meal is his usual stupendous creation. He has prepared Cornish game hens, wild rice, and baby peas. We all dig in with gusto, and soon everyone is eating and chatting—about current events, the crazy weather, and, inevitably, thanks to Cass and Charles, religion. Michael proves to be a bright and witty conversationalist, who entertains us with tales about living in New York City for the past ten years. I’m starting to feel hopeful about this first date, but then I notice how he and CeeCee keep bowing their heads together and engaging in private, hushed conversations. I try to engage Michael a few times with questions; but after brief but polite answers, his attention keeps going back to CeeCee. Then they start the full flirtation dance: she twirls her hair; he finds an excuse to touch her arm; they exchange several shyly flirtatious glances.

  So far, my first-date experiences post-David have been a huge success—for other women.

  After dinner I offer to do the cleanup and insist that Dom kick b
ack and relax. I start clearing the table and Hurley joins me as the others depart for the living room. Izzy breaks out a Trivial Pursuit game, and within minutes we hear raucous laughter coming from the other room. Hurley and I silently clear the table and meet up in the kitchen when we’re done.

  “Well, it would appear that you and I are quite the matchmakers,” I say a bit bitterly, scraping plates and loading them into the dishwasher. “You’d think they could at least try to be subtle about it for tonight and wait until tomorrow to hook up.”

  “It’s just as well,” Hurley says with a sigh. “CeeCee has been hinting around for months that she’d like a date, but I kept making excuses. I only asked her out tonight because I didn’t want to be a fifth wheel. That midnight-kiss thing can get kind of awkward when you’re the only one without a partner.” There are a few seconds of awkward silence before he continues. “Truth is, the only person I wanted to be with tonight was you.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed. “Hurley, we—”

  “I know, I know,” he says, stopping me. “I get that we can’t be together, and I get why. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He shoves a dish of leftovers into the fridge, slams the door, and storms from the room.

  I tiptoe into the dining room and eavesdrop as he enters the living room.

  “I hate to be a party pooper,” Hurley says to the group, “but I think I’m coming down with something. I’m going to head home.”

  I hear CeeCee say, “No problem. I’ll get my coat.”

  Then Michael chimes in, “If you want to stay, I’ll be happy to give you a lift home.”

  “Um, well, I guess that would be okay,” I hear CeeCee say. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

  I’m guessing this last part is directed at Hurley, and I’m proven right when I hear him say, “Please stay. There’s no reason for anyone else to have a bad night just because I am.”

  “Okay,” CeeCee says. “Thanks, and I hope you feel better soon.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Hurley says.

  I hear the rustle of moving bodies and duck back into the kitchen. I go back to the dishes, but I do them as quietly as I can, listening to what’s going on in the rest of the house. I hear Hurley and Izzy talking at the door, the opening and closing of the coat closet, and then the opening and closing of the front door. Moments later, I hear the sound of a car engine start up and then fade off into the distance.

  I finish loading the dishwasher and close it up. When I turn around, I see Izzy standing behind me. “Good Lord, you scared me,” I say, clapping a hand to my chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  “As good as can be expected, considering that my date is hitting it off with Hurley’s date better than he’s hitting it off with me.” I lean back against the counter and sigh.

  “So I noticed. What was Hurley upset about?”

  “He wasn’t upset. He said he wasn’t feeling good.”

  Izzy arches a skeptical brow at me. “Did you two have a fight? Is that why he left?”

  Busted again. I can never hide stuff from Izzy. To him, I’m as transparent as the wrap Hurley used on the leftovers. “Yeah, we had a bit of a disagreement,” I admit. “It’s hard sometimes, you know?”

  “I do.” He leans against the counter beside me. “Look, it’s obvious that you and Steve share a strong attraction for one another, and we’ve talked about why it might be a problem if you acted on those feelings.”

  “I know. And we haven’t acted on them.” I’m staring straight ahead and glad Izzy is, too, so he can’t read my face as I tell this tiny white lie. “But it hasn’t always been easy.”

  “Then maybe it’s time for you to weigh your options and decide what’s most important to you in life.”

  I finally risk a look down at him. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that if you decide you want to go back to nursing, I’ll understand. You’re very good at this job, and I love having you working with me. But if your allegiance to me is figuring into this equation in any way, eliminate it now. I’ll survive without you, and all I really want is to see you happy.”

  His words bring tears to my eyes; on an impulse, I push away from the counter and grab him in a giant bear hug. “You truly are a good friend,” I say.

  He lets me hold him for all of two seconds before his muffled words and the warmth of his breath between my breasts make me let him go. “Sorry,” I say.

  He blushes and mumbles, “No problem.”

  “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’m going to cut out early, too. Will you make up an excuse for me to the rest of the group?”

  “Don’t you think they’ll find it suspicious that you and Hurley both cut out around the same time?”

  I shrug. “I really don’t care. And I doubt that Michael and CeeCee will, either.”

  “Are you going to go talk to Hurley?”

  I shake my head. “No, you’ve given me a lot to think about and I need some time to sort things out. But if and when I reach a decision, I promise I’ll let you know.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He walks me to the door and gets my coat for me. After trying to hold it so I can slip it on, and watching me contort myself into a back bend, we both laugh. He hands me the coat and I put it on myself. I give him a quick kiss on top of his balding head; and as I’m walking out the door, he stops me.

  “Mattie?”

  “Yeah?” I say, looking back at him.

  “Be careful, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “And whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you.”

  “I do. And I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Izzy. Thank you.”

  I walk the short distance to my cottage and let Hoover outside to do his business, while I think about everything Izzy said. I realize that one of the main things holding me back at this point is my allegiance to Izzy. I owe him big-time for helping me out when I was at my lowest, but I also helped him out to some degree by stepping in as a ready and willing assistant as soon as the old one quit. Given that, it would be inconsiderate and ungrateful of me to abandon him just because I’m back on my feet—except it sounds like he’s now giving me permission to do so, and with his blessing, no less.

  I don’t really want to go back to the hospital to work, but I can feel my resistance to the idea weakening beneath the power of my attraction to Hurley. What I need is financial independence; and once again, I feel the lure of that one big win pulling at me. If Jack Allen could do it, so can I. I take Hoover back inside, grab my debit card, and head out.

  Chapter 30

  Forty-five minutes later, after negotiating some dicey, snow-covered roads, I arrive back at the North Woods Casino. I head inside, and after deciding to switch up my game, I make my way to the first high-dollar blackjack table with an empty seat. I start off with some fairly conservative bets. But after suffering a lengthy losing streak, and watching one of the gentlemen at my table win huge by betting huge, I change my strategy and start betting larger amounts. At first, it pays off, and I win a couple of hands. Then I lose ten in a row and decide to get up and try a different table. When that fails to trigger a steady winning streak, I carry my chips to the bathroom, wash them for good luck, and change tables yet again. I employ a series of mental chants, and even try to exert my mental powers on the cards—all in an effort to change my luck.

  I keep playing—taking advance after advance with my debit card—until I’m forced to quit when the tables close at four in the morning. I’m shocked at the hour. I’m also shocked at the outcome, as I have lost close to thirty thousand dollars. I have a little over a grand left in my wallet; and, still thinking that the Fates have to turn my way soon, I hit up a progressive slot and manage to go through the last of my money before the sun comes up.

  I drive home, bummed and exhausted, and spend half the time bemoaning my stupidity, and the other half convincing myself that I simply had an off
night. Lady Luck aside, simple mathematical odds say things should turn my way at some point. One good day is all I need to recoup my losses, and then some.

  I drop into bed at six in the morning and fall asleep almost immediately. I dream about hitting a big jackpot the same way Jack did; and in the dream, all of my friends and family are around when it happens, cheering me on. Lights are flashing and bells are ringing, and suddenly I realize that the bell sound is actually my cell phone ringing. I ignore it and try to go back to sleep, but to no avail. I stumble out of bed, see that it’s afternoon, and put on a pot of coffee. While the coffee is brewing, I check my cell, see that it was my mother who called, and that she left me a message. I dial into my voice mail and listen as she wishes me, “Happy New Year.” I briefly consider calling her back, but then decide against it. I’m depressed enough already.

  When I take Hoover outside, I half-expect to see Dom or Izzy come out, but the party must have gone on late into the night because their windows are all darkened and there’s no sign of life.

  I keep flashing back on my dream, on Hurley, and my future, and on the entire day stretching out ahead of me with nothing planned. Before I know it, I’m on the road again, heading back to the casino.

  After pulling another ten-grand advance with my debit card, I settle in at a big-stakes blackjack table next to a young bleached blonde who is wearing a lot of makeup and jewelry, and little else. Despite the frigid temps outside, the only clothing she has on is a skimpy tube top and a tiny, very short leather skirt. The makeup, while heavy, is skillfully done, and she has the figure for the clothes. If I was to wear that tube top, I fear the weight of my boobs would turn it into a belt. She, however, wears it very well and has just enough bosom to create some enticing cleavage. It has the male dealer at the table well distracted. I feel rather frumpy in my black jeans and heavy sweater; but when the skimpily clad woman wins several hands in a row, I figure it’s worth the humiliation if some of her luck rubs off on me.