Luck Be a Lady (Tahoe Tessie Mysteries) (19 page)

The Chalice was one of the finer dining experiences at the Royal Palace. During the day, most people dined in khakis and sundresses, but when the mountain shadows fell over the casino, the unwritten dress code got a bit ritzier. As we stood in line waiting on the maître de, a woman pranced by in a full length formal dress on the arms of a man in jacket and tie. I suddenly missed the short dress.

Obviously sensing my discomfort, Rafe grabbed my hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. "You look beautiful."

I glanced up at him and forced a smile to my face. "You're full of crap, but thank you for trying."

"How's your head?"

I ran a light finger over the knot at my temple with my free hand. "I think the bump is getting bigger," I moaned.

"Then I think we're line-jumping," he said, tugging my hand toward the front.

The small framed man dressed in a starched white shirt, black pants and long apron turned an annoyed face our way at the intrusion. That is until recognition animated his features. "Mr. Lorenzo, Ms. King, why has my staff kept you waiting in line?" He waved frenzied arms resembling one of the large inflatables businesses put in their parking lots to drum up customers. "Please, allow our VIPs through."

Rafe slipped the man some money as they shook hands. "I'm so sorry to throw my weight around like that, but Ms. King has a bit of a headache and needs to sit down."

I almost resisted rolling my eyes. His words made me sound like a prima donna trying to get her way.

But they did the trick.

"Oh, you poor thing. Right this way." He waved the menus in his hand toward a table in the center of the room. "The best seat in the house," he assured us.

As we were seated, the window next to us afforded a view of the swimming pool, illuminated with floating candles and ambient lighting. The sun was setting along the horizon, dark orange outlining the jagged mountain tops in the distance. Several fond memories of my father and me sitting at the very same table filtered past the throbbing pain. He'd order a dirty martini and oysters for himself and a Shirley Temple for me before the host even got us settled.

"It's good to see you smile," Rafe said as the waiter stopped at our table. "Well, I was going to order wine for us, but with that nasty bump, we'd better stick to iced tea." He held up two fingers and the waiter disappeared.

He picked up his menu, casually scanning it. "So, what does one eat after being bludgeoned?" His eyes sparkled teasingly over the top of his menu at me.

"I don't know what tradition dictates," I played back at him, "but I'm leaning toward the Chicken Bella."

"Superb choice," the waiter interjected as he walked up to the table. His pen hovered over his order pad until I nodded.

"I'll have the same," Rafe said. Then as the waiter walked away, he added, "You know, I was going to float some ideas for the casino by you tonight, but if you're not up to it..."

I shook my head. "No, no. I'm fine. And, actually, I'd love to hear your ideas." Which was only half true. What I'd have loved was to sit and stare at the sunset, reminiscing about old times. But I knew that thoughts of old times would lead to thoughts of my dad. Which would lead to thoughts of who had killed him, who was stealing from our hotel guests, and who had hit me over the head. All of which were not going to do my headache any good. So, while I'll admit to only half listening, the change of pace was a welcome distraction.

Rafe's spiel was as focused and well thought out as any sales pitch I'd ever heard. He had big ideas about transforming the image of the Palace, making it more family friendly like some of the Vegas casinos. He wanted to create an atmosphere that welcomed the young and old alike to the slopes, not just the throw-back crowd my dad had catered to. While his ideas had merit, I knew they required money. And that was something the casino was sorely lacking at the moment. While he talked, I kept checking my phone for any news from Alfie, but as our plates were placed in front of us, I forced myself to pay closer attention to Rafe.

"I discussed most of this with your father, you know, before…" Rafe's words trailed off as he placed his napkin in his lap, his face contorting with concern.

Pushing around a large, sauce-coated mushroom with my fork, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's okay to talk about my father's death. I'm coming to terms with it."

He shook his head as he set down his fork and knife, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. "I just can't believe someone poisoned him, and in his health shake, no less."

I froze.

I felt my skin tingling, my foggy brain suddenly focused with laser precision on his words.

The news that my father had been murdered was obviously no secret. However, the fact that poison was introduced to his DynoDrink had yet to be disclosed to the general public. I carefully went back over every conversation Rafe and I had in the last few days. I was certain I hadn't mentioned it to him. So how did he know?

I attempted to set my fork carefully on the table. The resounding squeal of the tines scraping against the plate from my shaking hand nearly made my fillings jump from my teeth. I dropped the fork on my napkin, using every ounce of my strength to push past the pounding headache and the urge to grab him by the front of the sweater to interrogate him.

"His health shake?" I asked, playing dumb.

Rafe paused, forkful of food halfway to his mouth. "His what?"

"Health shake," I repeated, my heart racing. "You just said his health shake was poisoned. How would you know that?"

In the silence that followed, my mind ran rampant. Rafe had reportedly been doing publicity on the mountain at the time the drink was poisoned, but he could've easily slipped back to the casino. The staff wouldn't have given him a second look. He was in and out of the penthouse all the time to chat with my dad, according to Britton.

Which begged the question—what did I really even know about Rafe other than the love-struck musings of a teenage crush and how the media portrayed him? He was the one who turned my father on to the health drink. I'm sure he could have easily had access to Britton's medicine cabinet. Maybe he'd floated these same ideas to my father and hadn't been happy with the way he'd responded. Unhappy enough to do something drastic.

And Rafe said he'd found me on the floor this evening, but what if he'd really been the one who'd put me there?

"Rafe?" I prompted when I realized he still hadn't answered. "How do you know about the health shake?"

He broke the silence with a deceptively casual shrug. "Wasn't that how he died?"

I nodded slowly. "But I wasn't aware that was public knowledge."

"I guess I just assumed," he said, covering the statement quickly with a sip from his iced tea.

"You just
assumed
he was poisoned and
assumed
that it was his DynoDrink?" I asked. "That's a lot of great guessing on your part."

Rafe paused. He set his drink down. Then his face broke into his charming bad-boy grin, the one he pulled out for the cameras and groupies. "Okay, you caught me. I've been listening to the hotel rumor mill. Some girls from housekeeping saw the police taking cans of the stuff from the penthouse. I admit it, I'm a gossip. Please don't tell anyone. It will ruin my image." Then he winked, as if letting me in on his private joke.

"The police took a lot of stuff from the penthouse," I said slowly. "What made you so sure that about the DynoDrink?"

Rafe shrugged. "Well, if I were going to poison someone, I'd put it in the DynoDrink." He leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "I know I'm a sponsor, but have you smelled that stuff?" He waved a hand in front of his nose.

I watched his charming act as I mused that it was an interesting choice of words.
If I were going to poison someone...
It was possible he was telling the truth. I mean, hadn't Britton made the same leap about the health shake? Then again, it was just as possible he was covering.

I tried to look for his tell, anything that said he was lying. The only problem was that all my father had taught me about catching liars and cheaters was lost to my inability to filter past my own feelings. This was way too personal. I wanted to believe Rafe. Which meant it was possible I was missing something. Then there was the steady drum beat in my head which didn't help things.

My phone jingled to life in my purse. I pulled it out, thankful for respite, and saw Alfie's face gracing the screen. I swiped the phone on. "Tessie."

"We found your Joe Pesci look-alike," Alfie growled in my ear, almost sounding unhappy to admit that such a guy actually existed.

For the first time that night, I felt my spirits rise. "You did? Where?"

Alfie's voice held zero hint of humor as he answered.

"He's swimming with the fishes."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I stared down into the man-sized hole in the top of the aquarium at The Deep Blue. Below me, several schools of colorful fish darted back and forth, happy that something new was occupying the sharks for the time being. I tried my best to keep my meal down as I thought about what that "something new" was.

After I'd answered Alfie's call, Rafe had offered to escort me from the restaurant, but I'd politely declined, telling him Alfie was waiting for me. While I was
still
perfectly capable of crossing the street on my own, the truth was I wasn't sure I wanted to be alone with Rafe at the moment. Was I 100% positive he was a murderer? No. But I wasn't 100% positive he wasn't. And with the way my luck was going, those were odds I didn't want to bet on.

Instead, I'd darted from the restaurant as quickly as I could, pushing through the crowd of people gaping at the scene in the Deep Blue's lobby until Security had escorted me to the sixth floor balcony where Alfie and several other grim-faced guys in suits stood taking in the scene from a bird's eye view.

A man from the Crime Scene Unit in diving gear had just opened the tank's hatch, poised at the edge with a long silver pole that had a sturdy loop at the end. He was obviously ready to pull up whatever had the fish in a frenzy. I switched my gaze to the balcony below me, leaning over the railing a bit for a better vantage point. Officers scoured the area under me, chatting with witnesses, taking notes, cordoning off sections of the 5th floor balcony with crime scene tape. Apparently, that was where the action had taken place.

Alfie broke away from the other suits, approaching me. "How's the knot?" he asked, gesturing to my head.

"I'll live." I waved my hand toward the fish tank. "What do you know about this?"

He looked over the railing, and we watched as the diver pulled the bloated faux Pesci from the water. He flopped on his back on the top of the tank, his wide-eyed, lifeless stare seeming to be directed at me. I ducked my head back, taking in deep breaths.

Alfie's eyes danced with amusement. "First time you ever seen a dead guy?"

I briefly glanced at Joe again, his empty glare seeming to have followed me. "Maybe." I swallowed back the few bites of chicken I'd had earlier that were plotting an escape.

"It's never pretty."

I briefly wondered how many non-pretty corpses Alfie had encountered in his line of work. "How did you find him?" I asked.

"Well, your friend there was caught on our camera in the elevator right after your attack. We followed the footage of him as he left The Royal Palace and headed this way. By the time we got here, he was like that."

I swallowed hard. "Any idea how he got 'like that?'"

"I've been told that witnesses saw him fall off the balcony below us into the tank."

I looked at the railing where we stood. It came up to my armpits. Even if Joe was a good foot taller than I was, there was no way he'd accidentally fall over a balcony like that.

"Yeah, I think he was pushed, too," Alfie said, reading my mind.

"Actually, he was stabbed first," Ryder interjected, catching us both off guard.

I spun to find him standing directly behind me, rocking his casual look again. Shirt sleeves rolled up, tie askew, the top button of his shirt undone. I wondered if it was his after-five look, my mind wandering over just what Ryder did in his off hours. I had a hard time imagining him doing anything but popping up at inopportune times and asking annoying questions.

"That's so?" Alfie asked, the tone in his voice challenging, as if he didn't believe the feds had better informants than he did.

Ryder nodded, unfazed. "It is." He glanced over the railing. "See that laceration there?" He pointed to a gash in the dead guy's side. "Knife wound."

"You sure it wasn't just from the sharks taking a nibble?" Alfie probed.

Shark nibbles. Eww. I took a deep breath, telling that chicken it better stay put it if knew what was good for it.

"Nothing is certain until the M.E. checks off on it," Ryder hedged. "But, yeah. Unless the shark was wielding a switchblade, I'm pretty sure it was human inflicted."

"Huh," Alfie said, glancing back down at the body. "Guess he was having a real unlucky night."

"To put it mildly." Ryder paused. "How about you, Alfonso? How has your night been?"

Alfie turned his stare from the body squarely on Ryder. It was his steely, stony-faced stare that made card cheaters quake in their boots and employees run for cover.

But if Ryder was intimidated by it, he didn't flinch.

"Why do you ask, Agent Ryder?" Alfie ground out.

"Seems witnesses said you were asking about our victim."

Alfie shrugged. "I'm a curious guy."

"
Before
he was found," Ryder amended.

Alfie's eyes narrowed. "You charging me with something, pal?"

Ryder paused again, and I had a feeling he kind of wanted to. "No," he finally said. "But I'd advise you to stay away from our crime scene."

"Gladly," Alfie spat back. "Come on, Tessie, let's go."

Alfie moved to grab my arm, but Ryder stopped him. "Actually, I need to talk to Tessie. Alone."