Double Lucky (34 page)

“
Very
philosophical.”

“I try.”

“And so pretty while she's trying,” he said, making major eye contact.

“If you weren't my uncle, I'd think you were flirting,” Brigette said, half smiling.

“Who,
me?
”

“You're a dog, Bobby. The kind of guy I would've been attracted to before I learned better.”

“That's insulting,” he said, not insulted at all.

“How many girls did you sleep with and not call back last year?”

“Hey,” he objected.

“I thought so,” she said triumphantly. “You're a dog.”

“Who's a dog?” Lucky asked, entering the room.

“Your son.”

“That's okay,” Lucky said, pouring herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “He's twenty-three, he's entitled to enjoy himself.”

“Not if he treats women badly.”

“Who said I treat women badly?” Bobby spluttered. “I take 'em out to dinner, buy 'em presents—”

“Sleep with them, then run like thunder,” Brigette said, finishing the sentence for him.

“Nice opinion you have of me,” Bobby said cheerfully.

“Took me years to figure out men,” Brigette said. “I think I've finally got it down.”

“So cynical for one so young,” Lucky said, sitting at the table.

“Yes,” Brigette agreed, quite enjoying the banter. “And you, Lucky, better than anyone, know why.”

“That's true,” Lucky said.

Philippe entered the breakfast room looking quite flustered for once.

“Everything all right?” Lucky asked.

“There's twenty men dismantling the tent,” Philippe said. “May I suggest everyone stays out of their way until they're finished?”

“Why? Is someone in their way?” Lucky asked.

“Gino Junior and his friends.”

“I'll talk to him, Philippe.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Golden. Oh, and this was in the mailbox,” he added, handing her the now-familiar envelope.

“What's that?” Bobby said, pouncing.

“Just another one of those stupid invitations,” she said, tearing it open.

Bobby grabbed it from her. The same three words were scrawled on the card:
Drop Dead Beautiful.

“We need to get someone on this,” he said.

“No we don't,” Lucky said.

“At least put in extra security cameras by the mailbox so we can see who's delivering the envelopes.”

“Okay, if it'll make you happy I'll have Philippe arrange it.”

“
I'll
tell him.”

“That's fine.”

Satisfied, Bobby poured himself another cup of coffee. “Max back yet?” he asked. “Be nice to see her before we take off.”

“She'll be back today,” Lucky said, not prepared to share her daughter's bad behavior with everyone.

“Thought she was coming back for Gino's party,” Bobby said.

“So did I. But you know Max…”

“Yeah,
right
.”

“What time are you leaving?”

“Around two. Thought I'd hang out with Gino before he heads off to Palm Springs. He told me he's taken up golf.”

“Gino? Golf?” Lennie said, strolling into the room and heading straight for the coffee. “Now,
that
I'd like to see.”

“I wouldn't,” Lucky said. “The thought of Gino on a golf course with a bunch of old-fart buddies hitting a ball around is
not
the Gino I know and love.”

“Ha!” Bobby said. “You'd like him to be all Brando-like, sitting in a room handing out favors to the neighborhood peasants!”

“You have a brilliant imagination, Bobby,” Lucky said coolly.

“Didn't Gino used to—”

“Okay,” Lucky said as Gino Junior came in with two of his friends. “That's enough.”

“But Mom—”

“Enough, I said. And you,” she added, talking to Gino Junior, “leave the people dismantling the tent alone, they've got a job to do.”

“We were only goofing around, Mom.”

“Then don't. Okay?”

Since when had she become the mother figure? The disciplinarian?

Well … having kids did that to a person.

She couldn't wait to get back to Vegas and her hotel. Right now that's where she belonged.

They were opening in two weeks and she
had
to be there,
wanted
to be there.

As soon as she tracked down Max she'd be on her way.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

After making himself a cup of tea, Henry returned to his rollaway bed, where he attempted to go back to sleep and summon up the magnificent and magical dream he'd experienced earlier.

Ah … Maria. All over him. So young and innocent.

Maria, his dream girl.

The title he'd bestowed on her excited him, making him more anxious than ever to see her.

Once more he got out of bed, wondering if it was too early to wake her. Today he would fix her a proper breakfast, eggs and bacon with toast and strawberry jam.

Yes, he decided, she would like that, unless she didn't eat bacon. Perhaps she was a vegetarian. He needed to know more about her. He needed to know everything about her.

He wondered what his mother would have to say on the day he brought Maria home. He rehearsed the scene in his head, imagining the look of surprise on Penelope's face.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Good morning, dear.”

“I would like you to meet Maria, the girl I'm going to marry.”

“She's very pretty, dear. And she looks smart too. Are you sure she's not too pretty and smart for you?”

Dammit! That was not the way the scene was supposed to go. Penelope Whitfield-Simmons even controlled his daydreams with her caustic remarks.

Ever since he could remember, his mother had put him down, belittled him, treated him with no respect. She'd never told him he was clever or handsome or any of the things a son wants to hear from his mother. She'd never hugged him or kissed him. It simply wasn't fair.

He steamed about his mother for a moment or two, then realized she wasn't there to annoy him with her nasty spiteful remarks. He was on his own, free to do whatever he wished.

And he wished to see Maria.

He got out of bed, dressed, and carefully began to prepare his loved one her breakfast.

*   *   *

“You got your car keys?” Ace asked.

“What do you think?” Max snapped back. She knew she shouldn't be taking her bad mood out on Ace, since he'd basically saved her, but she couldn't help herself.

They were sitting in the back of a battered Chevrolet Impala driven by an elderly man with his redheaded thirteen-year-old grandson in the passenger seat beside him.

Fortunately, the old man couldn't see that well, so at the behest of his grandson, who'd spotted Max in her torn jeans and tight tank top standing by the side of the road, he'd stopped for them and was giving them a ride into town.

Max slumped against the seat in the back. She was exhausted, everything hurt, and she was scared of going home. She was certain that if Lucky ever found out the truth, she'd ground her forever. She'd missed Gino's big party, and in Lucky's eyes there would be no excuse for that, especially as she'd faithfully promised to be there. Her life was about to turn into pure crap.

“It's okay if you don't have keys,” Ace said. “I can hot-wire it.”

The thirteen-year-old swiveled his head, staring at Max's boobs, his teenage lust bursting out all over. “You know how to hot-wire a car?” he asked, still staring at Max's chest. “Awesome!”

“He knows,” Max answered, indicating Ace. “He robs banks, hot-wires cars, he's a regular man of all trades.”

“Awesome!” the boy repeated.

Ace took a swig from the water bottle the old man had offered, then passed it to Max. She took a couple of gulps. Now that they were almost safe, her nerves were beginning to kick in. What was she going to tell Lucky? Definitely not the truth, it was too stupid and humiliating, plus Lucky would never let her forget it.

She decided to go with the carjacked story. That was her safest bet.

“You happen to have a phone?” Ace asked the kid.

“I wish,” the boy said. “Grandpa thinks cell phones rot the brain.”

“Who do you want to phone?” Max asked, shooting Ace a sideways glance. He was still a major hottie, in spite of his bedraggled appearance.

“My brother.”

“You're not going to tell him, are you?”

“Not if you don't want me to.”

“No, I don't.”

“So we're just gonna let that freak get away with it?”

“What freak?” the boy asked.

“Nobody you ever wanna meet,” Ace said.

The old man, hunched over the wheel, launched into a nasty coughing fit. The boy took the water bottle back from Max and handed it to his grandfather. The car swerved on the dusty road as the old man drank.

“How about I drive?” Ace suggested, leaning forward. “You look like you could use a break.”

The old man acquiesced. He was tired and his arthritis was playing up, his hands bent and misshapen. “Wouldn't mind that a bit, son,” he said, clicking his teeth. “You got a license?”

“Yes, sir,” Ace replied politely.

The old man pulled the car over. Ace got out. The boy slithered over the passenger seat and into the back next to Max.

She shied away—he reminded her of Gino Junior's friends with their horny eyes and leering stares. The old man settled into the front passenger seat while Ace got behind the wheel.

“How long before we reach Big Bear?” Max asked.

“'Bout half an hour,” the old man said, and promptly fell asleep.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

“A detective will be calling you,” Renee informed Anthony over the phone.

“What the fuck you talkin' 'bout?” Anthony replied, a ferocious scowl covering his face.

“Detective Franklin from Vegas. She might even send someone to interview you if she's not satisfied with your answers, so I suggest you try and repeat exactly what I've already told her.”

“You must be fuckin' shittin' me?” Anthony exploded. “You gave the cops my name?”

“I
had
to, you were sitting at the table with us for over two hours, everyone from the busboys to the guests in the hotel saw you. I can't pretend you weren't there.”

“Why the fuck not?” he said, marveling at Renee's stupidity.

“I've had to pay a lot of people off, but the entire hotel—impossible.”

“I don't fuckin' get it,” Anthony raged. “That's the dumbest move you've ever made.”

“No,” Renee said sharply. “My dumbest move was aiding and abetting you. I should've called the cops.”

“Don't even think about it,” he said, his voice cold. “You know what would've happened to you if you'd made a foolish move like that.”

“Are you threatening me, Anthony?”

“Of course not,” he said, backing down. “But what the fuck am I supposed to say to this detective?”

“Tell her you're a friend of Susie and mine, we had dinner, and that's it.”

“Jesus
Christ!
” he snarled. “Who needs this shit?”

“I know,” Renee said. “I'm not thrilled myself. I've got a detective snooping around my hotel questioning people—how do you think I like that? I haven't given her your number yet. What number should I tell her?”

“Here's the deal,” Anthony said, still pissed off. “I'll call her.”

“That won't fly.”

“How d'
you
know?”

“Because I do.”

“Jesus Christ, Renee! You're a fuckin' moron! Give her my cell, not any of my business numbers.”

Renee controlled her own temper. Anthony was the fucking moron and she was starting to think of ways to get him out of her life permanently.

“When will you be back here?” she asked.

“In time for the big event. Everything still in place? No fuckups?”

“Apart from cops crawling all over my hotel, everything's on track.”

“You can handle it.”

Of course she could handle it. Who did Anthony Bonar think he was, issuing orders as if she were some lowly employee there to do his bidding? Fuck him.

“Right now Tasmin is listed as missing,” she said.

“An' there's no way they can come up with more, ain't that so?”

“Yes, Anthony,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Your people were thorough?”

“Yes,” she said, knowing he was making sure she'd arranged to have Tasmin's body buried where nobody would ever find it, that is, unless
she
pointed them in the right direction. “Everything's taken care of,” she added.

“It better be,” he said, slamming down the phone. “Son of a
bitch!
” he yelled, furious that he had to deal with this shit.

“What's the matter, Papa?” Carolina asked, entering the room wearing a skimpy yellow bikini and flowered flip-flops.

“Nothing, Princess, it's business,” he said, distracted.

“What business exactly are you in?” Carolina asked, biting into an apple.

“Import/export, you know that,” he replied, noticing that the bikini she had on was showing too much skin. She was thirteen, for chrissakes, what moron allowed her to buy a bikini more suited for a Victoria's Secret model?

“Yes, Papa, but
what
do you import?” Carolina persisted. “One of my friends asked me the other day, and I didn't know what to say.”

“I import all kinda things, Princess. I buy items from China, ship 'em to America, then they get sold in the stores.”