Death Plays Poker (26 page)

CLARE

Clare’s grip tightened around her phone. She was nervous calling Amanda. It was what Amanda said she wanted, but Clare wasn’t used to sharing brainwaves with someone so perfect and prissy.

“Hello.” Amanda’s voice was crisp.

“It’s Clare. Um, I have a question.”

“Shoot.” Like Amanda had so many other operatives working undercover in the world of competitive poker, and didn’t have time for what she naturally assumed would be Clare’s minor issue.

“It’s . . . um.” Clare kicked a pebble. She looked around to make sure no one was listening. But she was alone by the river outside Noah’s hotel. Safe for talking.

“Are you okay?” Amanda asked.

“Yeah. I think so. I have a problem. And I think I have a solution. But I don’t know if the solution is the best course of action. And I thought maybe . . .” Clare didn’t know whether to tell Amanda about Noah or not. But she knew she had to talk about Elizabeth.

“Are you downtown? Can you come to my apartment?”

“I’m still in Richmond. I could come downtown, but I kind of have to act fast.”

“Okay. What’s the problem?”

“I might be made.” She told Amanda what Elizabeth had said at lunch.

“Do you think Elizabeth suspects you’re a cop?”

“No,” Clare said. “I think she thinks I’m part of this cheating ring. But regardless, I don’t want my identity under scrutiny. She definitely doesn’t like me. If she finds out for sure that there’s no James who’s a big shot in furniture importing — which I think she’s pretty close to concluding — she’s likely to tell the whole scene. And then — okay fine, they don’t put it together that I’m a cop — but any social inroads I’ve made would get barricaded fast.”

“So what’s your solution?”

“I could sleep with Joe.” She filled Amanda in on the prop bet.

“Busy day. What would sleeping with Joe accomplish, besides getting crabs?”

“It would buy time.” Clare shuddered at the crabs reference. Anyway, she disagreed. Joe seemed clean enough to her. “If Elizabeth blows my cover and I’ve slept with her boyfriend, it makes her look like she’s grasping at straws to discredit me. I might lose my inroad with Fiona — women sometimes stick together — but for some reason, I don’t think Fiona cares about the nobility of friendship too much.”

“But you wouldn’t lose the men? Mickey Mills is your biggest asset at the moment. And you don’t think Nate would disown you for sleeping with Joe?”

Now was Clare’s chance if she wanted to be honest about Noah. “Nate thinks I’m mad about the prop bet. I’m sure I could go crawling back to him afterward. Mickey — I don’t think it would bother him enough to stop coaching me. Don’t know. I think he’d be more bothered if he thought I’d been lying about my identity.”

Amanda was quiet for a moment. “I’m still trying to understand your logic. If you sleep with Joe, you’re giving Elizabeth more incentive to blow your cover, not less.”

“Which is why I make sure she only finds out
if
she’s blown my cover. You see what I’m saying? I sleep with Joe tonight for insurance. I overheard Elizabeth say she was going to dinner with her family tonight — without Joe — and I’m not sure when I’ll get this chance again. Joe obviously won’t scream it from the rooftops that he fucked me, but he’ll have to tell Nate in order to collect on the prop bet. So
if
Elizabeth finds something on me that she
can
share with the poker world, I can make it look like she only did it because I’d slept with her boyfriend — which I’ll get a modicum of sympathy for, because I can say I only did
that
because I was angry with Nate about the prop bet. Tiffany would still have to leave the scene, but it would take longer for the fallout to happen because Elizabeth would be under scrutiny as well.”

Clare could imagine Amanda’s immaculate brain synapses trying to fire their way around this. Eventually, Amanda said, “In one way, it’s insurance. In another way, you’re giving your cover role an end date. It’s like you’re planting a stick of dynamite in the scene and setting it onto slow burn.”

“I think the dynamite’s already planted,” Clare said, though it killed her to acknowledge this out loud. “I don’t see Tiffany James’s cover role holding up much past this leg of the tournament. To use your dynamite analogy, I see sleeping with Joe as extending the wick a bit longer.”

“I’m not sure, Clare. I wish I had more time to think this over.”

“I wish I had ten years to learn how to play poker. I also have a backup story ready, if this is blown open before I can bail from the scene. I can say I lied about being a trust fund brat because I didn’t want to admit how I’d really made my money, through Internet porn or something.”

Amanda laughed. “Try stripping. Or prostitution. If you say web porn, people will want to see footage.”

“Oh yeah.”

“It’s risky,” Amanda said. “I see your point — you don’t know if you’re made, and your progress so far has been excellent.”

“It has?”

“Sure. Or we would have pulled you immediately for talking to Roberta McGraw.”

“Right.” Clare felt her posture slouch. She didn’t understand how she could try so hard to be good at this job and screw up so royally so often. It was like there were ten thousand things she had to be on top of all the time, and if she let even one slip for five seconds, it would turn into some major catastrophe.

“Don’t get gloomy. It’s a compliment.” Amanda paused. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to whore yourself out for this job. I like your creative thinking, and it’s great that you called me with this, but you don’t need to sacrifice your body —”

“It’s no sacrifice. It’s a tricky situation; I think it needs a creative solution. Hell, I might even enjoy it. I just want to make sure, before I go ahead and sleep with Joe, that you agree that my logic makes sense.”

“Yes,” Amanda said. “I think the logic makes sense.”

GEORGE

George was beginning to think staking out the ice machine had been a harebrained idea at best. He and Mickey had been casually strolling the hallway all evening, using Mickey’s room on the third floor as a base. They hadn’t seen anyone even glance at the door of the ice room. “Maybe T-Bone didn’t get the message because he was about to give the note to someone else.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said. “Or maybe T-Bone made the cash drop while we were knocking back beers in White Rock.”

“Why don’t you think T-Bone’s the Dealer? Isn’t that the most likely explanation?”

“No.” Mickey tossed a peanut in the air and caught it in his mouth.

George hadn’t told Mickey about the notes Fiona had received. The one George had seen, the note calling off the scam, had been identical in font and format to this new half-price ice machine note.

“The only game T-Bone likes is poker,” Mickey said. “I think he killed Loni, and I think he’s cheating. But he wouldn’t be the mastermind behind this. If he had a point to make, he’d make it without all this subterfuge.”

George felt his eyebrows shoot up his face. “You think the Dealer has a point to make?” It’s what George had thought originally, but Fiona had convinced him that it was probably all about money.

“’Course he does.” Mickey leaned back in his chair. “If it was only for money, he wouldn’t create all this drama. He likes to be the smart guy — the one in control.”

“You never finished telling me what makes you think T-Bone killed Loni.”

Mickey tilted his chair back so far that George thought gravity would soon pull him over. “You know the morning Loni was found?” Mickey said. “As I was leaving my room for breakfast, I saw T-Bone heading toward his room — the room where Loni was later found dead. That was after eight a.m. But T-Bone says he was playing poker from seven o’clock on and never went back upstairs. Why would he lie if he has nothing to hide?”

George wondered, too. “Do you think he killed the others?”

“Who knows? It’s Loni I care about. But if you were going to kill someone now, what method would you use? Choking, right? Because it would get lumped in with the serial killer. And if you have an airtight alibi for just one of those other murders, then it’s not you, is it?”

George thought that made sense. If nothing else, it could make a cool twist for his fiction. Shit, he had to stop thinking fictionally.

Mickey crinkled up his forehead. “You think the note meant another hotel? T-Bone’s staying at the casino, but some of the others — Nate Wilkes, Oliver Doakes — are at the Delta. Maybe there’s a third-floor ice machine there that’s already been established as the drop point.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight thirty,” Mickey said. “That’s four hours we’ve been stalking this floor.”

“Time to get some ice.” George stood up and took the now-familiar ice bucket with him. In the hall he saw Joe walking toward him with a bucket of his own.

“Caught me.” Joe grinned, sheepishly holding up his bucket. “I’m stealing ice from the hotel, and I’m not even staying here. Though technically the marina is under the River Rock umbrella . . . so I guess it’s not outright theft.”

George didn’t know what to say. He could ask why this machine, why the third floor and not the second or the fourth? But he didn’t want to tip Joe off that he was suspicious. “Planning a romantic night on the boat?”

“I sure hope so. Lizzie’s out, though, so maybe don’t say anything if you see her.” Joe pushed open the door to the ice room and started filling up his bucket. “I know you and my girlfriend are newfound best friends and all that, but no need to hurt her, right?”

George didn’t know whether to hate the guy or applaud him. “Fiona?”

Joe shook his head. “Tiffany.”

“But she’s — isn’t she dating Nate?”

“Broke up. She found about the prop bet, and she’s damn mad. At Nate; not me. She sent me a text asking if I wanted to meet for a drink.”

“So let me guess,” George said. “You suggested your boat.”

“We have everything we need there.” Joe put one more scoop of ice into his bucket and moved aside to let George fill his. He didn’t seem concerned about looking through the machine for any cash drop, half-price or otherwise.

“What if Elizabeth comes home?” George knew he sounded like a square.

“She has to call me to let her onto the dock. We only have one gate key between us.”

George thought Joe was pushing his luck. What if a guard let her in, or if another boater was coming through the gate at the same time Elizabeth arrived? But who was he to tell another man how to keep his woman? “Have fun,” George said. “And good luck, man.”

CLARE

“So you finally agreed to go out with me.” Joe leaned back in his deck chair and folded his arms in front of him.

Clare sipped her beer. “This is not a date.”

“No?” Joe said with a laugh. “What is it? A serious meeting between two industry professionals?”

“This is a revenge drink.”

“Revenge. I see. Who are you upset with?” Like he didn’t know the answer.

“Nate. I found out at lunch that he had a prop bet with you about sleeping with me.” She decided not to tell Joe that Elizabeth knew, in case it would deter him from cheating. Clare’s head was starting to spin from all these stories she had to maintain for different people, but so far she had them all straight.

Joe said, “Uh, not that I want to dissuade you from this revenge fuck in any way —”

“Revenge drink.” Clare was glad Joe had made the leap, though.

“Drink. That’s what I meant. But shouldn’t you be mad at me equally?”

“Oh my god. Maybe technically.” Clare threw her hands in the air. “But I really liked Nate. I know it hasn’t even been a week, but I felt really strong chemistry. I thought he did, too. Maybe you’re right — maybe you’re not who I should be talking to right now.”

“No, no,” Joe said. “It’s cool. I’m on your side. So you feel ripped off? Betrayed? Both?”

“Yeah.” Clare pretended to calm down a bit. “Maybe I’m naive. I always let my heart get too involved too quickly.”

“That’s a good thing,” Joe said. “And I think Nate actually does like you. For what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth nothing. I can’t give him another chance — that would make me
really
naive. Onwards and upwards, right?” Clare gave Joe a small hopeful smile.

Joe’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Clare leaned forward. “We could really piss him off, you know?”

Joe swirled the ice around in his half-f vodka seven and downed the rest of the drink. “You want to come into the stateroom?”

Clare was surprisingly scared. She did want to go into the stateroom, but maybe not so fast. “What about Elizabeth?”

Joe smirked. “You mean that like a conscience thing, or like a what-if-she-finds-out thing?”

“Both,” Clare said.

“Lizzie’s out with her family. She won’t be back until late.”

Clare hoped this was true.

“Come on. Everyone wants a famous guy in their little black book.”

Clare lit a new cigarette. “Little black book implies I’d be calling you back.”

“Ouch. Famous notch on your bedpost, then?”

“Fame doesn’t impress me.” Clare at least had this in common with Tiffany. “Success does, though.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Success is earned.”

“Not always.”

“No,” Clare said. “In fact that’s — Joe, I have no idea who I can talk to about this. I was going to talk to Nate, but he turned into an asshole. Have you heard the rumors that are going around?”

Joe rattled his ice. “What rumors? If you’re talking about my massive member, you’ll have to come into my stateroom to see for yourself.”

“You like to take risks, huh?” Clare moved her chair closer to his, trying to feign fascination. “I think it turns you on that Elizabeth could come home anytime.”

“I take risks for a living. I guess it turns me on.”

“But that’s the rumor I heard. There’s someone — some people — who might not be taking risks. They might be cheating.”

“I have heard that.” Joe’s voice lowered. The tarp was covering the boat, but someone on the dock could easily hear through it. “But since my win rate hasn’t gone down since this cheating supposedly started, I haven’t paid the theory much attention. Where’d you hear it from?”

“I overheard people talking when I was in line for coffee. So I asked Mickey, and he said yeah, that rumor’s been around since the tour was in Calgary. Did some guy die there?”

“Jimmy Streets,” Joe said. “An old-timer. A really good player.”

“I was hoping to stay on this tour for a while — at least until I got my game not sucking enough that I could go home a winner. But I think this is too much for me. I wasn’t made for the dark side of life.”

“Most of us aren’t.” Joe gave her a look of what seemed like genuine concern. “Hey, I’m sorry for always trying to get you in bed. I think you’re cool. I want to know you. We can hang out and talk if that’s more where your comfort zone is.”

“That would be great.” Clare widened her eyes to show vulnerability.

“You’re not going to bail while you still have money in the game, are you?”

“No.” Clare shook her head. “I’m not worried that I’m the next victim or anything. I’m not part of the cheating ring. That’s what the rumors say, right? That the two are connected?”

“Yeah.” Joe nodded. “That’s what Lizzie thinks, anyway.”

“You’re not so sure?”

Joe met her gaze gently. “On this scene, stories buzz around like black flies. If one person isn’t speculating about a cheating scam, someone else is. Yeah, you should be careful. But there’s no point worrying about something until you see direct evidence.”

“But I think —” Clare paused intentionally. She was going out on a limb here, but something was keeping her from trusting Noah fully. “I think I might
have
seen something. And — oh my god, I hate this. I don’t know who to trust.”

“It’s okay.” Joe took her hand, stroked it. “You can trust me. You’re fine.”

“But — what if it’s nothing? I don’t want to spread more rumors.”

“If it’s nothing, we’ll forget about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Joe said. “You need to get this off your chest.”

“It’s Nate.”

“Nate?” Joe’s mouth dropped open.

“I’m not saying this because I’m mad at him,” Clare said. “I mean, I’m sure I am, partly. But I’m also really scared. What if he’s the killer? I don’t think I’d be the next victim, because I don’t know anything about the scam. But what if he thinks I do? What if he comes after me?”

“He won’t come after you.” Joe got up and stood behind Clare, kneading her shoulders in a way that actually felt great — Clare hadn’t realized how tense they’d been.

Joe’s phone beeped. He picked it up and read a text. “Lizzie’s staying at her parents’ place overnight. We’ll have the boat to ourselves if you want to stay over.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

“Hey, you called me.” Joe traced a finger along her neck and down under the top of her shirt. “Who’s the spider? Who’s the fly?”