High Stakes

by Fern Michaels

  Next, she connected with the vendors in Miami, from whom she received a robust response. She received the same sort of response from the pageant officials in the Florida city when she explained she was moving this year’s Mr. December contest to their city and asked for special consideration due to short notice. Then she went out on a limb and promised sold-out performances, with a bonus payment if that didn’t happen.

  Right now, right this second, she would and could lie through her teeth, do or say anything, to try to get out from under. What did she care what happened? If she played her cards right, she wouldn’t be anywhere near Miami and the planned contest for opening night. If she managed to play her cards the way she hoped to, she’d be halfway around the world, and Delgado and his people would be in prison.

  She thought about the downside. No conveyor belt, no big cash win. She could live with that. She had no other options if she wanted to get out from under. The only thing that bothered her was leaving all her bags, shoes, and designer outfits behind. Then again, maybe not. With a few cards left in the deck to play, she might be able to unload it all on one of those secondhand shops. She’d looked into it once. She could get fifty cents on the dollar, which was better than nothing, if she just walked out and left it all behind. With six weeks to go to the pageant, she could take all her jewelry to one of the best jewelers and see what they’d give her. A tidy sum, to be sure. Gabe would be so proud of her for finally coming to her senses. If he ever found out.

  Feeling better by the moment, Pilar sent off a text to Toby Mason, explaining once again that the China deal was off, that important people would be watching the performance tonight, and that he needed to be in top form.

  Get a haircut, she texted. Get highlights. Use extra bronzing lotion. I’ll meet with you to discuss Mr. December in Miami.

  Pilar then scrolled through the directory on her phone for the top jewelers and started calling to see who expressed the most interest and was willing to come to the apartment to view the pieces she was willing to sell. She finally found a jeweler in Georgetown, who said he would be happy to meet with her at one o’clock. Pilar agreed to the time and went on to the consignment shops that handled movie-star apparel turned in by politicians’ wives and other high-income Washingtonians. Even Jackie Kennedy had used their services back in the day. They had pamphlets that said the former first lady would wear something once, then turn it in for 80 percent of what she’d paid for it so she would not be photographed wearing the same thing twice. It took only an hour’s worth of calls before she found the person she wanted, who promised to come by to view the items at four o’clock.

  Satisfied that she was now on a roll, Pilar emptied her coffee cup and prepared a fresh pot. She felt calm now, despite her caffeine intake. She felt like she was truly ready to take on Zuma Delgado. If Gabe were here, what would he do? He’d smoke a cigarette. Pilar was up and rummaging in the kitchen drawers, where he always kept a spare pack in case he had a craving. She finally found the ugly things in the back of the utility drawer. She wasn’t a smoker, but she had smoked once in a while with Gabe when they were celebrating something or other. She fired up a cigarette, propped her feet up on Gabe’s chair, and puffed away as she sipped at her coffee. She let her mind roam. Did she forget anything? Something small she’d overlooked? She couldn’t think of a thing.

  One hundred pounds of pure uncut cocaine with a street value of five million dollars. Cut the cocaine, and the value jumped to ten million dollars, depending on the purity of the cocaine. With five shows, that meant Delgado would be raking in fifty million dollars, possibly more for the gig in Miami. And for her help, Delgado had promised her ten million dollars. She’d almost choked when she’d heard the numbers he rattled off so nonchalantly. Ten million dollars, and all she had to do was wrap ten packages with huge red bows. The ten wrapped packages would then be used as the prizes at the end of each show. When the winning contestant was handed one of the gift-wrapped packages, which he, in turn, handed off to Pilar, to be replaced with a similar package that held a thousand-dollar laptop computer and a plaque. Easy-peasy.

  Gabe was so right; you can’t fix stupid.

  Pilar finished her cigarette and lit up a second one. She thought maybe she should eat something, but there was nothing in the apartment to eat. She debated calling one of the restaurants nearby to order a salad and sandwich. If she didn’t eat something now, it would be late tonight before she would be able to sit down to a meal. Gabe’s words rang in her ears. If you don’t eat breakfast, then you must eat lunch, and you must consume at least two bottles of water a day. That was fine and well and good when Gabe was around to make sure it happened, but now that she was on her own, it didn’t seem all that easy.

  Good Lord, when had she turned into such a slug? Before she could dwell on her own question, she flicked on her phone for the app that would take her to Boxcar Betty’s, where she ordered a ham and cheese on rye with two pickles and a side order of potato salad. She was given the amount, plus delivery, plus tip. She shrugged. Twenty-five dollars was a bit much, she thought. Obviously, Gabe hadn’t thought so. She shrugged. When in Rome . . .

  The rest of the morning was spent on the phone with Carlie Fisher as they fine-tuned the Miami schedule. The first radio ads would start tomorrow morning and run all day, on and off. The first TV commercial in both English and Spanish would air in Miami tonight, at nine o’clock. That should satisfy Delgado that she was on his side. Just go through the motions, just bide your time, keep the sleazebag happy, and you might, just might, walk away from this in one piece. How she had thought otherwise still baffled her. All it took was sitting across from him, staring into his cold, dead-looking eyes. She had to get away as soon as possible.

  For one wild, crazy moment, Pilar gave some thought to going to the feds and confessing and asking for immunity. She negated that thought as soon as it entered her head. If she did that, she was on their radar screen forever.

  In a rare moment of honesty, Pilar admitted to herself that she was to blame for her current situation, because of her greed. She’d gotten her and Gabe into this, and now it was up to her to get herself out of the mess she’d created. In another rare moment of honesty, she was glad that Gabe had gotten away. He’d just done what she asked because he loved her heart and soul, and she’d taken advantage of his love. There was no way she could blame him for her current circumstances. Her eyes burned with guilt. Wherever you are, Gabe, I hope that you’re safe and happy and that you don’t forget me. Please, don’t ever forget me.

  Whatever was going to happen going forward would be what it would be. Pilar sighed as she settled down to wait for her lunch to be delivered. She had ninety minutes to eat and get ready for the day and for the jewelry man to arrive. It would take her only five minutes to get her jewelry ready, since she kept it all in one place. Inside a box of maxi pads that had been opened, then sealed at the bottom. She kept the box in the master-bath linen closet. Gabe had said she was crazy, but she had ignored him. Going in and out of the safe twice a day was a pain in the neck. She’d won her argument by saying, “Who would steal a box of sanitary napkins, since most burglaries are committed by men?” She’d finally worn him down, and he’d never said another word about her makeshift jewelry safe.

  Pilar’s food arrived. She handed over the twenty-five dollars and sat down to eat. She wolfed it all down within ten minutes. She’d never eaten so fast in her whole life, but suddenly she was starved, because she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.

  Her stomach full, she cleared the table. She decided to finish the coffee and have another one of Gabe’s cigarettes. In some cockamamy way, smoking her husband’s cigarettes made her feel closer to him.

  The one last cigarette turned into three more before the jeweler arrived right on time. Pilar had transferred the sparkling gems to a velvet-lined jewelry box Gabe had given her years ago but in which she kept only her high-end costume jewelry.

  The jeweler, a fussy little
man named Madison Miller, checked each piece of jewelry with a jeweler’s glass, scribbled notes, and thumbed through a catalog he’d brought with him. Pilar thought about smoking another cigarette to while away the time while the jeweler decided what to pay her, but decided against it.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Sanders, why are you selling all these lovely pieces of jewelry?”

  Pilar knew the question would come up and had the lie all ready. “My husband is being transferred to Paris. I don’t want the hassle of trying to take the jewels with me. I can always buy more. I find, though, the older I get, the less I care about such things. I suppose you find that hard to believe or understand.”

  “Not at all. I see it all the time. I can give you two-point-four million dollars for the lot. I truly do not think you could get more anyplace else, but you are welcome to try. That is my offer.”

  Pilar didn’t see any point to haggling. “I think that’s fair. Are you prepared to take the jewelry now?”

  “Yes, and I came with a check. You might want to call your insurance company when I leave to cancel your insurance policy.”

  Pilar almost laughed. She had never insured her jewelry, to Gabe’s chagrin. She simply did not believe in insurance. “Yes, of course. I have it on my list of things to do.”

  Her jewelry in the fussy little man’s briefcase, the check on the table, Pilar walked him to the door, where they shook hands.

  “Enjoy your time abroad, Ms. Sanders.”

  “I will, and thank you.”

  Back in the kitchen, Pilar looked at the check and didn’t feel a thing. It could have been for ten dollars, and she would have felt the same way. She didn’t even care that she had just sold off her beautiful jewelry, all gifts from Gabe. She had kept a diamond cuff bracelet that Gabe had given her for their twentieth anniversary and a diamond choker he’d given her on their twenty-fifth anniversary because she planned on wearing both when she left here for good, along with her five-carat diamond earrings and, of course, her diamond wedding band and engagement ring. If anyone questioned the value, she’d just shrug and say it was high-end costume jewelry.

  Pilar sat back down at the table. She missed the ratty flowers. How was that possible? she wondered. She sighed as she filled out a deposit ticket and placed the check in an envelope that went into a FedEx envelope, which she would drop in the box in the lobby when she left for the evening, for delivery to her brokerage account. She took a moment to wonder if she was being too quick. Maybe the people from the consignment shop would pay her today. No, they wouldn’t pay until they could cart out her belongings. Tomorrow, probably, but today they would settle on a price.

  What to do with the remaining hours until they arrived? She could cry, she could think about Gabe, she could feel sorry for herself, or she could do something constructive. She eyed the nearly half-empty package of cigarettes on the table; then her gaze went to the coffeepot. Why the hell not? Smoke and drink coffee. It could be worse. She could be smoking pot and drinking booze. She realized that before she left for the evening, she would have to take another shower and wash her hair again so she didn’t smell like a chimney stack. She crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t get addicted to cigarettes.

  TV! That was what she could do; she could watch the news. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. Game shows? Soap operas? The shoppers’ channel? Hard news on the cable channel? Cartoons?

  In the end Pilar sat back in the chair, propped up her feet on Gabe’s chair, and stared off into space as she puffed on what was left of his cigarettes and swilled more coffee.

  Chapter Seventeen

  While Pilar Sanders schemed and plotted, Jack Emery and the gang said good-bye to Maggie and Toby, then piled into the Post van and headed for Connecticut Avenue, where Joseph Espinosa and Alexis Thorne lived. Ted, who was driving the van, took the corner literally on two wheels as he headed down the long driveway that led to Alexis’s studio at the back end of the property, where their transformation was to take place.

  The mood was sullen, cranky, just downright short of hostile, with only Espinosa being upbeat and cheerful.

  “I didn’t know you guys had a studio,” Jack said tightly as he eyed Harry out of the corner of his eye. “Did you guys buy this property together, or does it belong to Alexis? You never said. What I mean is, you guys aren’t married but are commingling.”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to report in to you, Jack. But no offense taken,” Espinosa said. “Yes, we bought it together. We did all the legal work to protect ourselves in case our relationship goes south. You know, like Bert and Kathryn’s. With our romantic track record of on again, off again, it seemed like the wise thing to do. At least for the time being. It may change in time, and then again, it may not. We live in what we call the big house, and it’s a work in progress. What that means is we work on it weekends, painting, repairing, laying carpet, stripping wallpaper, that kind of thing. I take classes at night at Home Depot and Lowe’s so I don’t screw up.”

  He went on. “Originally, we were going to rent out the studio to help with the mortgage payment, but Alexis wanted a studio. She likes to volunteer for several little theater groups, and this was perfect for all of that. As I told you, she practices on me, and I’ve paid close attention. I can transform anyone into someone so they are totally unrecognizable. Okay, everyone out!”

  Harry rolled his eyes for Jack’s benefit.

  Dennis hopped out and looked around. “I like this. I can see why Alexis would want this place as a studio. Who did the pumpkins and straw? Good eye. It looks . . . you know, down home, homey. Halloweenish.”

  Espinosa flushed. “I did it as a surprise for Alexis last weekend. She loved it. Okay, come on in. I’ll turn up the heat and put the coffee on.”

  “How big is this studio?” Fergus asked.

  “A little shy of three thousand square feet. It doesn’t look that big from the front, because it goes all the way to the back end of the property. It’s really nice here in the spring and summer, with the big trees. Make yourself at home, guys, while I get things set up. Coffee first. Since we missed lunch, we can order in. There are magnets for local eateries with phone numbers on them on the mini-fridge. Take your pick.”

  The boys did exactly that as Espinosa banged around in the tiny kitchen. They marveled at the plaques attached to each door.

  “Wig room. Wow! Look at all those wigs,” Dennis said as he pointed to shelves that lined three walls of the room, which was full of every imaginable kind of wig, with the third wall totally mirrored and with a long counter running underneath it. Three beautician’s chairs faced the mirrors. All manner of combs and brushes were lined up on the counter.

  The next room was the makeup room, where the gang stood staring at the array of pots, jars, and bottles of stuff that women needed to be beautiful. There were sponges and cleansing pots, all with delicate little signs attached. One wall held different-colored nail polishes with matching lipsticks. Underneath those shelves were perfumes and lotions, along with bronzing tubes of all sizes and shapes. The third shelf was dedicated to eye treatments. Boxes and boxes of false eyelashes were stacked one on top of the other. The last section of the wall was dedicated to a Peg-Board, where jewelry winked and sparkled under the bright lights. The room literally glittered. The men looked around, marveling at the shiny labels and, in some cases, instructions covered in plastic and attached to a colorful string.

  “There’s more product here than in a department store,” Charles said as he tried to take it all in. He eyed the three beautician’s chairs as he tried to calculate the cost just as Espinosa entered the room.

  “What do you think?” their host asked, pride ringing in his voice.

  “I think it’s safe to say we’re all very impressed. It must have cost a fortune to outfit all of this,” Jack said, waving his arms around.

  Espinosa burst out laughing. “Remember that bonus the firm paid out from the class-action suit w
e kind of helped the girls with several years ago? Alexis used every cent of it to set this up. Each time she gets a bonus, she adds to the studio. You haven’t even seen the wardrobe room. That alone takes up the whole back end of the studio,” Espinosa said, much like a new father extolling his firstborn’s attributes. “By the way, what did you all decide for lunch? The coffee is ready. Who wants to go first?” Espinosa asked, rubbing his hands gleefully as he eyed the unwilling volunteers.

  “We didn’t. What will it be, folks?” Charles asked.

  A heated discussion followed, with the end result being Chinese. Dennis ordered online. They then followed his lead and headed to the kitchen for coffee.

  “So who is going first?” Espinosa asked again.

  Charles waved his arms about. “Since Fergus and I are just here for moral support, take your pick.” He took a sip of the scalding brew in his cup and winced.

  “Where did you get an idea like that, Charles? You and Fergus are not sitting this one out. You are going to be transformed just like the rest of us. This is a team effort and project,” Espinosa said. “Since you guys are so fearless . . . not, let’s go with Dennis as the first transformee. Now, there is something you all need to know. This works in stages. First, the latex on each of you, and then we go to the next step. Total makeup time is a little over three hours. It’s like an assembly line, and you cannot hurry the process. I’ll also be working on myself in between. We are going to be taking it right down to the wire. Let’s go to the studio, Dennis.”