Dying for a Deal

by Cindy Sample

  “Rest assured whatever trouble Gino got himself into has nothing to do with you.”

  She grabbed my arm and squeezed tight. “Listen, you’re still on my payroll. Figure out who did this to Gino. Please. Can you do that for me?”

  I nodded, although I had a feeling my partners would not be too thrilled about it. I was about to reply when we heard voices yelling and pounding on the front door.

  “Open up. We know you’re in there.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Adriana rushed to the foyer with me right behind her. Given the racket, it was most likely the police, although it could also be Gino’s killer.

  She peered through one of the glass panes to the side of the solid oak door.

  “Cops,” she whispered. “What should I do?”

  Sigh. It might be time to increase our hourly rate. I grasped the brass handle, opened the door and greeted my least favorite detective.

  Ali Reynolds gawked at me. “What the blazes are you doing here? And who are you?” she said to Adriana, who was peeking over my shoulder.

  “I’m here in my official capacity as investigative consultant,” I replied to the detective. “This is Adriana Menzinger, Gino Romano’s fiancée.”

  “You have no business being in this house,” Ali said, her nostrils flaring in anger. I could tell they were flaring because her nose was barely an inch from mine.

  “Adriana wanted to retrieve her personal items. She has a key so she has every right to be here. And I’m along to provide comfort to her.” I wrapped my arm around Adriana to demonstrate just how comforting I could be.

  Ali’s dark eyes flashed as she noticed the arm I’d wrapped around Adriana ended in a hand ensconced in a fingerprint-prevention glove. “And I suppose you always wear gloves when you tag along to support a friend?” She shook her head in disgust, then turned to direct a team of crime scene investigators into the house.

  “You need to get out of here. Both of you. Now.”

  “Can I finish getting my things?” Adriana asked her. “How would you feel if your boyfriend were suddenly killed and your world was turned upside down?”

  Ali flinched and her face grew pale. With a softened tone, she told Adriana she had five minutes to finish up.

  Adriana went back into the master bedroom, leaving me alone with Ali. The detective glanced at the papers I was still holding.

  “What are those? You’re not removing evidence, are you?” She snatched the credit card bills out of my hands and quickly scanned the statements.

  “He had a lot of debt,” I informed her.

  “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.” She pulled an evidence bag out of the pocket of her windbreaker and stuffed them inside. “I thought this guy was some kind of wealth manager. Doesn’t look like he knew how to manage his own wealth.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I hate to ask you this, but do you have any idea what was going on with him?”

  “Gino might have had a gambling problem.” I pointed to the evidence bag. “The bills included charges from multiple Tahoe casinos. Adriana said he also played poker with some other players on a weekly basis. But other than that, she was basically clueless as to his debts. Especially the one from Louie’s Loans.”

  “Gambling debts frequently lead to even more serious consequences,” Ali said. “Loss of home, family, a life of crime…”

  “Murder,” I added.

  “Yep.”

  Adriana joined us. She clutched a small tote bag filled with what I presumed were cosmetic items.

  Ali held up her palm, signaling she wanted a look in the tote. “I need to make sure you’re not removing evidence,” she said.

  “Just my makeup and some love letters,” Adriana sobbed.

  The detective pawed through the assortment and handed it back.

  “Will you keep me apprised of your findings?” Adriana asked as she reclaimed her love notes.

  Ali nodded, although the odds of her keeping either of us informed were less than zero.

  “And, of course, you’ll share anything,” Ali said, with her dark eyes fixed on mine, “absolutely anything you discover with me.”

  I nodded, then followed Adriana down the sidewalk to her car.

  “She’s kind of a bitch,” Adriana whispered, “isn’t she?”

  I almost said, “It takes one to know one.” But that comment would have landed me in the bitch category as well. Adriana had been remarkably nice today, especially given what she’d suffered in the past twenty-four hours.

  The evidence techs hauled equipment from their van and up the sidewalk. I wasn’t certain what they expected to find, but maybe Gino’s walls, counters and doors would yield some fingerprints of well-known felons who’d visited his house.

  “So what’s next?” Adriana asked me as she reversed her car down the driveway. “Do we go undercover to find the killer?”

  “We?”

  “Sure. You want my help, don’t you?”

  Honestly. Everyone wants to be an amateur sleuth these days.

  “Look, you have your own job to do at the bank. I have a team of skilled homicide detectives at the agency. I promise we’ll put all of our manpower behind our investigation for you.”

  I just hoped those skilled homicide investigators agreed with me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Adriana dropped me off at my house, where I was met by a scene resembling a sitcom on steroids. High-pitched shrieks, low-pitched barking and the smell of wet dog tempted me to run after Adriana and catch a ride with her.

  To anywhere.

  I threw back my shoulders and soldiered on, or in my case, mothered on, and marched into the family room, the scene of the chaos.

  “Where have you been?” asked my husband in a strained voice. “I left you three messages.”

  “Mommy, Mommy, we gave Scout a bath, but he didn’t like it,” Ben shouted. It didn’t take a detective to come to that realization. All it took was one look at the trail of doggy paw prints throughout the kitchen and family room.

  “Where’s Scout now?” I asked. A sharp bark outside the slider answered my question.

  “We put him back outside.” Kristy shook her head sorrowfully. “He’s not a very cooperative dog.”

  I settled in an empty chair next to Tom and placed my hand on his. “And you thought chasing killers was tough duty.”

  His brown eyes crinkled and he gave me that half smile that never failed to make my heart beat faster.

  “I hope you had a more constructive day than I did,” he murmured.

  “I think it’s time we held an agency meeting.” I was about to share some more details when Jenna hobbled into the room.

  “Where were you?” my daughter accused. “Didn’t you remember I needed your car for the senior banquet?”

  “Yes, I remembered,” I countered, clearly puzzled. “I rode with Adriana and left my car here for you.”

  “Doesn’t do me any good when you have the keys,” she said with a pout. “Next time you go tearing off with a client, leave your keys behind, not your cell phone.” She picked up my phone from the charger and handed it to me.

  I glanced at the screen. Eight texts from my daughter and husband.

  I looked at Tom. “Couldn’t she have driven…” He frowned and shook his head. His SUV was off limits to my teenager. And I couldn’t blame him. Jenna was a good driver, but we’d already lost one car.

  I sifted through my purse, pulled out the keys and handed them over. “Drive safe, sweetheart,” I said, my heart racing again but not in a good way. How many days, months or years would it take for me to recover from Jenna’s crash?

  She grabbed the keys. Despite her injury, she practically sprinted out the door into the garage. The teen recovery rate was far superior to mine.

  “I’m not sure we can handle the new addition,” Tom said, tilting his head in the direction of our new pet, who added his two cents with a string of woofs. “When will Hank be back in town?”

  “
Not for a month or two. I’m sure Scout just needs to get adjusted to us.” As if sensing he was the topic of our conversation, Scout sat quietly, pretending to be a well-trained dog.

  “Let’s give Scout more time,” I said. “It’s only been a few hours.”

  Tom looked at the kitchen clock. “Feels like a week to me. And what were you and Adriana doing all of that time? Given your mutual history, I’m surprised you’re still speaking to one another.”

  “She’s growing on me.” I smiled at him. “Kind of like star thistle. Prickly, but you get used to it.”

  “She doesn’t have any crazy ideas about you investigating her fiancé’s murder, does she?”

  My husband is such a good detective.

  “Sort of. By the way, we ran into your old partner at Gino’s house, shortly after we arrived.”

  Tom’s face reddened, which seemed an odd reaction. “I suppose you mean Ali Reynolds?”

  I nodded and waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I switched into interrogation mode. “You’ve never said anything about your relationship with Ali. Did the two of you ever date?”

  Tom’s face grew even redder. “Not really. She was very supportive during Carol’s illness and afterward. That’s all.”

  His comment about his wife’s death made me feel like crawling under a rock so I switched investigative direction.

  “You are correct that Adriana wants me or rather, our agency, to investigate Gino’s murder. She’s not real keen on Ali Reynolds.”

  “Ali will do a fine job. She’s an excellent homicide detective.”

  Bully for her. With my hackles raised, I proceeded. “I’m sure she will. But Adriana is our client. I was there when Gino was killed. I feel an obligation to do what she’s asked of us,” I replied. “And she’s paying our agency for the investigation. We can’t simply ignore her request.”

  Tom rubbed his hand through his chestnut hair, mussing it up nicely.

  “You’re right. Let’s go make a plan.”

  We spent the next two hours alone in our bedroom, making said plan. Someday we hoped to get a larger house with space for a home office, but for now, we sat propped against the pillows strategizing how to investigate Gino’s murder.

  Such a waste of a king-size bed.

  “So you’ll talk to Ali and see if you can get any leads out of her,” I confirmed with Tom. “And I’ll interview the loan shark.”

  Tom sighed. “I’m not crazy about you chatting with anyone in the ‘shark’ category, but you do possess more financial expertise than I do.”

  I shifted closer to Tom, and he pulled me into his arms.

  “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he whispered in my ear before leaving a trail of kisses down my neck.

  My insides went mushy, and I turned to meet his soft lips.

  Our brief rapturous moment was interrupted by pounding on our bedroom door.

  “Mom, come quick,” cried Ben. “Scout broke a lamp.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The following morning I woke up with murder on my mind. My number one victim—my ex-husband. The man who dumped the world’s most rambunctious canine on our doorstep.

  Although he did have the sweetest eyes. Scout, that is, not Hank. Scout’s shaggy head rested on the console as I drove him to a local Doggy Daycare. Maybe they could teach him some manners this week while the kids were still in school. Otherwise, we were going to have to put bubble wrap around every breakable in the house.

  At the daycare center, I bent over and gave our pet a goodbye hug. He returned the favor by licking off the makeup on one side of my face.

  Once on the road, I headed east toward Reno. Lately I’d spent more time zipping up the mountainous highways than roaming the streets of Placerville. I hit the audio button and the strains of Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” filled the car with music.

  Just for fun, I’d Googled “Reno loan sharks” the previous evening and much to my surprise, the online yellow pages offered a category for them. Louie’s Loans, the company whose name was on the bill I’d found on Gino’s desk, held a prominent spot. Right across the street from Phil’s Pawnshop. Both were conveniently located close to the major Reno casinos.

  An hour into my drive, I realized I should have brought something with me that was pawn-worthy. I glanced at my diamond ring, which originally belonged to Tom’s grandmother. There was no way I’d let this ring end up at any pawnshops, but it could be useful as a conversation starter.

  Two and a half hours and one pit stop later, I pulled into pawnshop mecca. Skyscraper-sized casinos were interspersed with brick and stucco one-story buildings. Huge posters covered the pawnshop and finance company windows advertising their fantastic deals. The one thing both types of establishments bore in common were garish fluorescent lights advertising their business in one hundred-point font.

  I slid out of the car and locked the door. Despite the sun shining in a cloudless sky, I still felt a chill as I walked down the slightly seedy strip. Maybe I should have dragged Gran or Stan along with me today. Tom was trying to finish his interviews for the district attorney so he could hopefully begin assisting me on this case in the near future.

  I squared my shoulders and opened the door to Phil’s Pawnshop. I could practice my spiel before I moved on to my real quarry—Louie’s Loans.

  The bell tinkled as I walked into the store. The two men behind one of the counters sized me up, down and sideways. While I’d expected to see glass cases filled with an array of jewelry, I didn’t realize how many guns of all shapes, sizes and calibers would be for sale.

  I shivered again as I cruised past more firearms than I’d ever seen displayed in one place. When I reached the two men, I smiled and stuck out my left hand for them to admire before I began my pitch.

  They responded with a flat, “Five hundred dollars. Take it or leave it.” The older man, who needed a year’s supply of Crest white strips, threw his arm out and added, “We got more diamond rings than we know what to do with. Ya got anything else?”

  My tongue nudged one of my molars as I contemplated the value of my two gold fillings.

  “Not really,” I replied. “Do you make loans here?”

  He shook his head of thinning black hair. “Nah. But you can check with Louie over there. He does all kinds of financing deals.” He pointed across the street. “Just watch yourself and read the fine print. Louie don’t take no prisoners.”

  I had no idea what he meant by that elusive remark, but I merely thanked them and headed for the door. Once outside, I gazed at Louie’s place. The building he was housed in was plain red brick, nothing outlandish. The garish “buy and sell signs” posted across the windows definitely got your attention.

  I walked to the end of the street, caught the light before it changed and zipped across the pedestrian crosswalk. I ambled down the sidewalk, reading the catchy signs before entering the store. Louie’s square footage doubled that of Phil’s paltry shop. The store contained a staggering array of every possible item a person might pawn. Guitars galore, iPads, computers, tools and jewelry. Oodles of jewelry.

  Despite bright lights shining down on the displays, a scent of sadness and despair permeated the atmosphere. I tried to shake off the depression that wrapped itself like a heavy cloak around my shoulders.

  I had a job to do. And a mystery to solve.

  An attractive twentyish woman with the elegance and appearance of a young Nicole Kidman stood behind one of the jewelry counters. She threw me a dazzling smile, and as I drew closer I grew more and more positive we’d met before.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, smoothing her long auburn curls behind her ears.

  “Yes, um, Phil”—I jerked my finger behind me toward Phil’s store—“told me that your company makes loans to almost anyone.”

  She chuckled. “Not quite anyone. But if you have some type of collateral we can arrange short-term financing for you. What amount were you looking for?”

/>   Uh oh. I wasn’t prepared for that question. But Gino had borrowed a lot based on the bill I recovered at his house. I’d start high and work my way down.

  “Forty thousand?” I asked.

  “Whoa,” she said, her bright blue eyes growing rounder. “That’s not small. Do you have collateral or money due you soon?”

  I chewed on my lip trying to come up with something feasible, wishing I did have forty thousand walking into my life in the near future.

  “My husband and I split up and the house will be closing shortly. Would that work?”

  She relaxed her shoulders. “Oh, sure. I’ll go get you some forms for you to fill out.” She went around the counter and headed toward the back. Her cell rang and she picked it up and greeted the caller with a “hello,” followed by “this is Cherie.”

  Cherie! A unique name that fit her well. Now I remembered where I’d seen her before. It was when I won at the roulette wheel the first time Gran dragged me up to Tahoe with her. Cherie also worked at the casinos.

  As my grandmother would say, now isn’t that a coincidink.

  Cherie returned with an armful of documents for me to peruse. As I skimmed through the extra-teeny font, I asked, “You look so familiar. Do you work in one of the casinos?”

  “I’m a dealer at Harrah’s. I only help out here when they’re short-staffed.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “It’s okay.” Cherie shoved another errant curl behind her ear. “I prefer working at the casino. It’s fast-paced and I meet interesting people. There are always a few losers, of course.”

  “In more ways than one,” I replied.

  She laughed. “True. But I’ve met some great guys while I was dealing.” Her smile fell away as if she remembered something. “Mostly. Sometimes they’re not the good guys you think they are.”

  Little bits of conversation were coming back to me as Cherie and I chatted. Marty at Timeshare Help had been a wealth of information, not only regarding timeshare resales, but also providing details about the personal life of Gregg Morton. Including an ex-girlfriend by the name of Cherie.