“Oh, very well.” Lucy set her lips in a frown.
Downstairs, as they walked through heavy wooden double doors into the casino, Lexie heard the loud ka-ching of gambling machines and the rat-a-tat-tat sound of coins spitting into metal trays.
“For Pete’s sake.” Lucy stopped in her tracks. “This is sin at its worst.”
“Not everyone thinks like you do,” Lexie said. “Relax. You don’t have to convert anyone here. Come on.” Lexie took Lucy’s arm and pulled her forward.
The casino had been decorated with a mining theme. Train tracks lined the periphery of the inside walls and antique ore cars along with a couple of narrow gauge trains dotted the rails. The walls themselves had been given a faux cave-like appearance to replicate the inside of a mine and rusty tin candleholders clung to the rock, giving off dim electric light. Huge wagon wheel chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the gambling area.
Banks of one-armed bandits, lights flashing, swallowed up the gambling pit. People sat on high-backed stools in front of Game Kings and other machines plugging dollars, quarters, dimes, and nickels into slots. Lexie noticed one man in particular sitting in a wheelchair smoking a cigarette. Oxygen tubes were threaded up into his nose and a canister of oxygen perched next to him. Funny he didn’t blow himself up.
Most of the gamblers stared stone-faced at the readouts on the machines. Not being familiar with the gambling life, Lexie was amazed at the intensity with which everyone pursued their sport.
Bells chimed and wild musical jingles clanged as individuals, old and young, held out hopes for hitting the jackpot. Cocktail waitresses in short skirts and fishnet stockings meandered past stony-eyed patrons, bringing drinks and emptying ashtrays. Cleaning staff quietly wiped down and swept up messy areas and tellers in cash cages handed out money to lines of customers.
Lucy dug in her purse and fished out her fan. She swooshed it back and forth in front of her bright red cheeks.
Hot flash, Lexie thought. “Are you all right?”
“For Pete’s sake, no,” Lucy said. “I told you this was an awful place. I’m burning up.”
“Why don’t you go back to the room and rest?” Lexie suggested.
“Over my dead body.”
As Lexie and Lucy passed by rows of machines, Lexie was amazed. She’d heard that for some people, gambling wasn’t simply a pleasant hobby. They were addicted. Elderly people actually blew entire social security checks on the habit and young parents spent grocery money that should have gone to feed their kids. Sad, but true.
Lexie and Lucy both turned to look at one lady who was sobbing so loudly she could be heard over the casino clamor.
“Who cries at a casino?” Lucy asked.
Lexie shrugged. “Let’s go see.”
They walked around a bank of machines toward the woman who wore a purple silk blouse, a tan leather skirt and high-heeled boots, all expensive looking. She sat in front of a dollar machine with Elvira, Mistress of the Dark depicted on the front. The woman’s shoulders heaved tragically; sorrowful gulps tore from her throat, and she’d covered her face with her hands.
“Excuse me,” Lexie said when they walked up to her. “Are you all right?”
The woman moved her hands away from her eyes, but not completely away from her face. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying and black mascara smudges gave her a raccoon-ish appearance. She made a surprised squeak, slid off her stool and stood, knocking over her plastic cup that spilled a couple of quarters on the plush carpet. Hands still covering her face, she stumbled down past the bank of machines and out of sight.
Lexie furrowed her brow. Something about the woman intrigued her. Maybe it was the hands with the perfectly manicured red nails, or the sleek black hair combed back in a ponytail. Lexie wasn’t sure.
Lexie and Lucy exchanged awkward glances.
“I swear that was Carma Leone.” Lucy fanned herself furiously again.
“I thought she looked familiar.” Lexie planted her hands on her hips. “She was obviously upset. I wonder what she’s doing up here?”
“Maybe she’s visiting her Aunt Alice..”
“Possibly. Did I tell you she was the old dingbat who got Aunt Gladys tossed from the Sunrise Center?”
“I don’t remember.” Lucy rubbed her forehead. “Lexie, let’s call it a night. I have a bad headache and my bunions are killing me.”
“I want to look around a little more.”
Lucy sneezed and pulled a lace-edged hankie from her housedress. “The cigarette smoke in here is kicking up my allergies, too. Please, let’s go back upstairs.”
Lexie shook her head. “You go on. I’ll be up in a bit.” She fingered the gambling chip in her pocket, wondering what in the world she’d been thinking to drag Lucy up here. She should have turned the chip over to the police, not try and be a super sleuth on her own. She had no idea how to go about this sort of thing.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Lucy dabbed at her watering eyes and coughed.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be gone too long or I’ll worry.” Lucy shuffled over to the elevator and disappeared inside.
Curious, Lexie decided to visit the blackjack tables. She knew absolutely nothing about gambling. It had been strictly forbidden in the Castleton home.
Lexie’s father had warned his congregation about the sins of gambling and drinking. He refused to allow his daughters to be subjected to any of those vices. His rules had been strictly enforced. The Castleton home never had a deck of cards or a pair of dice.
Lexie wasn’t gambling. She would remain an interested observer. She dodged bodies and got slammed into once or twice by people with zombielike stares before finally reaching the gaming area. Men and women from all walks of life leaned over green felt tables, placing bets with live dealers in tuxedos, versus computerized video poker.
None of it made a lick of sense to Lexie. People pushed chips, like the one in her pocket, toward the dealer. Anxiously, they awaited the fateful roll of the dice. Only one happy person would win, after which the remaining players would slurp their drinks and grumble to each other. On the next round they tapped their cards and nodded at the dealer again.
This is pointless, Lexie told herself, tucking her hair behind her ears. Wandering around staring at blackjack players would prove nothing. She’d have to question someone. See if they could offer useful information. Otherwise, the whole trip had been a waste of time and Lucy would be right. She was forever getting into ridiculous situations for no good reason.
She thought of the hell she’d been through the last months with people around her being murdered, the police considering her a possible suspect and getting attacked herself. The café fire was another painful reminder her life had become a fiasco. Eva and her Aunt Gladys, innocent bystanders to all of it, could be hurt or worse if something wasn’t done to stop the nonsense. Unfortunately, her foray into the detective business hadn’t proven very productive.
What did she know about conducting an investigation, anyway? She must have been out of her mind to cook up the scheme in the first place.
Lexie noticed at one table the dealer was being relieved by a new one. When the dealer stepped away from the table, probably to take a break, she made a beeline in his direction and tapped him on the shoulder. He was an older gentleman, probably in his fifties. His graying sideburns and dark hair were streaked with silver and white. Lord, he must have stood seven feet tall.
“Sir?” Lexie tilted her head back to look up at him.
He turned and looked around, completely missing her, a perplexed expression on his face.
Lexie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and she tapped his arm. “Down here,” she said, feeling like Thumbelina.
His glance grazed across her ample chest. “Yes?”
Lexie spoke loud so Mr. Friendly could hear her up in the ether zone. “May I ask you a few questions?”
“Why? Are you a reporter? I hate reporter
s.” He glanced around.
Probably expects me to have a camera, Lexie thought. “I had a friend who used to come up here to gamble,” she said quickly. “It’s possible you might have met him.”
“Why do you want to know?” One of Mr. Friendly’s bushy brows lifted.
She cleared her throat. “He was murdered.”
The man held up a hand. “Whoa. Are you a cop, or something? No comment.” He turned and swiftly walked away.
Frustrated but determined, Lexie took long strides to catch up. “I’m not a cop,” she insisted. “My friend’s name was Henry Whitehead.”
He stopped and gave her a thunderous look. “What do you want from me?”
“Did you ever talk to Henry? Did he ever mention an argument with someone in the casino? Maybe another player was angry with him—”
“Look, lady. There are plenty of folks who come up here and I never get their names. They drink, they smoke, they blow entire paychecks. It’s their business. Usually, they aren’t in a mood to mingle.” He stalked off shaking his head.
Lexie felt like a fool. So what if Whitehead had made enemies up here? What did that have to do with Hugh Glenwood and Jack Sturgeon’s murders? Elton’s accident and the attacks against her?
What a stupid idea to come up here. Sometimes life, as her daughter would have said, was a total suck fest.
A deep weariness sank into her soul as she dragged herself to the elevators and pressed the up arrow. Inside, she punched the cherry floor button. Each floor of the hotel had been assigned a fruit, like the ones on gambling machines: grapes, lemons, watermelons, etc.
As the elevator swooshed upward, Lexie contemplated how she would admit defeat to her sister. It had been a waste of time to drag Lucy here in the weiner-mobile, sucking rancid ketchup and mustard fumes all the way. She had been out of her mind to think they could solve anything. Who did she think they were, anyway?
Starsky and Hutch?
Once the elevator reached her floor, she plodded down the hall and stood in front of the door to her and Lucy’s room. With a sigh, she produced her card key. As she shoved it into the thin slot, the door swung wide. What was going on? Lucy wouldn’t leave the door open like that.
“Lucy?” Lexie called as she entered the dark room. No answer. She ran her hand over the wall, looking in vain for a light switch. Her heart pounded a warning in her ears. Something was definitely not right.
“Lucy what’s going on? Are you in here? Is everything all—”
Whack!
Something slammed against the back of Lexie’s head. Dizzy and in excruciating pain, she stumbled forward, crumpling to her hands and knees. Funny, she didn’t see birds circling her head, like in the cartoons. Her temples pinged with clawing sparks and pain gripped her senses.
In the darkness, she could barely see something stretched out in front of her. Reaching out, she groped it with her fingers.
Arms … a body … and legs encased like sausage in support hose.
“Oh, God … Lucy!”
Another crack on the back of Lexie’s skull sent her tumbling into complete blackness.
Then there was nothing.
CHAPTER 20
I’M COLD. I CAN’T MOVE MY FINGERS. I CAN’T move at all. And, oh, my God, my head hurts.
Remember those old Salem witch trials where villagers weighted down the accused with a door covered in a ton of rocks? That’s what it feels like.
What happened? What do I remember?
The café. My murdered dates, my ruined business, the fire at my house, the trip to the Ice Queen Resort. I went back to my room and someone clobbered me hard.
Lucy … is she all right? Oh, God. It’s all my fault.
Lexie opened her sticky eyes and lifted her head despite the terrible pain. She blinked, attempting to focus. She tried to lift a hand. Impossible. Despite her impaired vision, she eventually fathomed the fact she was sitting tied to a chair.
Something moved in front of her and she shook her head to clear it. Finally the blinking and shaking worked and the room came into view. It was a musty old cabin, possibly one of those she’d seen along Crazy Woman Creek as they drove up the mountain. The fireplace was mossy and the rocks were crumbling, cobwebs hung from the ceiling like strands of silk and the dirt floor was covered with leaves, old rags, and other musty-smelling debris.
An ancient table and three chairs occupied one corner. Lexie assumed she was seated in the fourth chair to the set. A sagging, broken down iron bed hulked in another corner and the one window in the whole place had smudged and broken glass lining the frame, like a child’s crooked teeth.
Outside the broken glass, Lexie stared at the dark, swollen purple sky that spit occasional snow-flakes and sent them fluttering to the ground. It figures, she thought. Maybe now the curse of the drought would end and people could rejoice. She, however, was tied to a chair against her will.
What had happened to her? Who had brought her here?
Who was definitely the million-dollar question. More importantly, why?
“Hello,” she called out as shivers racked her body. Even her nose was icy and she sniffed. “Is anybody here?” When no one appeared, Lexie began to scream. “Help! Help! Somebody help!”
The door flew open and a squat, mannish figure walked in.
Lexie’s heart leapt and tears sprang to her eyes, obscuring her vision again. “Oh, hello, can you help me? Can you untie me? Someone smacked me over the head and—”
“I know. My mom hit you,” a slurred voice said.
The figure lifted its sandy blond head and gave her a crooked grin. Lexie’s eyes cleared and she nearly choked at who stood before her. It was Danny, the young man who worked at the senior citizen center.
“Your … your mother hit me? Why?”
“Shhh.” He pressed an index finger to his lips. “My mom says you are a very bad person. She says you hurt us.”
“Hurt you?” Hiccoughs ricocheted through her frame. “How?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. All I know is she told me to watch over you until she got back.”
Hiccough. “Where did she go?”
He shrugged again and sat on one of the chairs. “Dunno. You got pretty hair. I like it.”
“You should untie me and let me go. I’m a good person. Your mother’s wrong. I didn’t hurt anyone.”
Danny stood up so fast he knocked over the chair, his expression darkened and his eyes blazed. “My mother is not wrong. Don’t ever say she is wrong. Take it back.”
Lexie shrank in her seat and swallowed more hiccoughs. “I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t mean it.”
“Honest?” His eyes got rounder.
“Honest.”
“OK. My mom will be back soon. You can talk to her.”
Lexie chewed her lower lip, wondering exactly who Danny’s mother was and why she hated her so much. Her whole body had become a giant ice cube and the hiccoughs continued to tear through her. Stop it, stop it, stop it, she told herself. It hurt too much to hiccough. She swallowed in a desperate, spasmodic rhythm. Amazingly, the hiccoughs went away. Although hiccoughs-from-hell were the least of her worries.
She didn’t have to think long before she heard car tires crunch on gravel. The door opened and in walked Carma Leone with a blast of cool wind, dressed in one of the Ice Queen Resort’s black maid uniforms with a white sweater.
Lexie’s mouth dropped. “Carma? You’re Danny’s mother? Why are you dressed that way?” Her blood ran even colder when she glanced outside and saw the mystery car parked by a fallen log. The same one that had rammed her old POS truck as she was on her way home from Whitehead’s house. The same one that had been following her for months. The same one she and Lucy saw parked outside the casino.
“Ah, I see you recognize my little sports car. How astute you are.” Carma cocked her head to the side.
What was Carma up to? Lexie licked her dry, cracked lips. “You’re the one who’s been doing all these things to me? And murd
ering people?”
Carma stood beside her son, setting her purse and a brown paper bag on the table. “You got it right, sweetheart.”
“But why on earth? What do you have against me? And what did you do to my sister?”
“I beaned her pretty hard, but she’ll probably live. I’m not after her. I’m after you.”
“Why?” Lexie choked back tears and fought another wave of hiccoughs.
“I guess I might as well get it off my chest.” Carma thoughtfully examined her perfect red nails. “You see, back in high school, I had this boyfriend named Dan Lightfoot. Remember him? Tall blond football player with the cute dimples?”
“Your boyfriend? Carma, I never knew you went out with him.”
“No one knew we were together. It was a secret. My mother didn’t like him and we weren’t allowed to date. But I loved Dan with all my heart.” Her gaze drifted off into memories, and she rested a hand on Danny’s head. “Dan was my first, you know. Danny is our son.”
Flabberghasted, Lexie stared at Danny. Could it be?
Maybe that’s why his features seemed so familiar the first time she met him at the senior citizen’s center. Lexie and Dan hadn’t started dating till their junior year. He and Carma must have had their fling before then.
Lexie’s head reeled with disbelief. It was difficult to concentrate. Carma and Dan. The entire concept was alien to her. Could they really have been in love? It was hard to believe, but appeared to be true.
Dan had a son. What would The Undertaker think if he found out? What would Davina think?
“I never heard rumors you were pregnant, Carma. You know high school kids are brutal about gossip.”
“My mom and I covered it up pretty good, didn’t we? Why do you think I slouched and wore all those big, dumpy sweatshirts when I was a sophomore? At the end of the school year, my mom shipped me off to live with my Aunt Alice. I spent most of the summer before Danny was born ratting around in her tiny little trailer. Let me tell you, that was true murder.” She gave an unnatural, high-pitched laugh.
Lexie shifted uneasily in her rope bindings. She had to keep Carma talking until … until what? She had to buy time. Before Carma did something desperate. Again. “You didn’t give Danny up for adoption?”
The Saucy Lucy Murders Page 30
