Luck Be a Lady (Tahoe Tessie Mysteries) (21 page)

"Thanks," I told him.

"And, if we need backup, I can call Michael. I have him on my favorites list." Tate shoved his phone in my face as though I needed proof he really had Michael's number.

"Sounds like I'm covered, then."

"Wait." Tate put on his wireless phone earpiece, cued up Michael's number, and tucked the phone into his pocket. "Now, all I have to do is push this little button." He hovered a finger over his earpiece and led me out the front doors.

He nodded toward the valets. "'Sup?"

I pushed down his pinky.

Entering the Deep Blue, it was business as usual on the gaming floor. Slots dinged, roulette balls clattered, and the ever-present smoke filled the air in a thin haze. In fact, the only sign that anything sinister had happened here yesterday was the hole in the top of the fish tank and some yellow crime scene tape fluttering on the fifth floor balcony like leftover party streamers. My eyes scanned the giant tank, unable to see it through a menacing tint now. There were no dead bodies floating, but, from now on, I'd always check.

One of the Deep Blue staff touched Tate's arm. He yelped, pushing the button on his headset.

The clerk turned wide eyes toward me. "I didn't mean to scare you. You just looked lost. Can I help you folks find your room or something?"

Tate frantically shook his head. "No, we are…" Then his eyes lit up as a voice sounded in his ear. Turning toward me, he mouth Michael's name. "Hello, handsome," he cooed, walking over to the aquarium. "Did I wake you?"

So much for my bodyguard.

I smiled at the man in the Deep Blue Casino polo. "I need to speak with Mr. Weston, please."

The pleasant expression faltered for a moment. "Of course. May I ask your name?"

I followed him to concierge desk. "Tessie King. I'm the new owner of the Royal Palace." I expected a glimmer of recognition, but his facial expression remained professionally pleasant.

"I'd be happy to take your contact information down and pass it along to Mr. Weston."

"No, you don't understand. I'd like to
see
him. Now."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Weston is not taking any meetings today. We've had a bit of a tragedy here," he said, his voice going low as his eyes shot to the aquarium.

I nodded. "I know. That's what I wanted to talk to him about."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be delighted to know that you stopped by, Ms. King. I'll deliver the message to him personally."

I opened my mouth to protest, but I realized it was a lost cause. This guy was polished, professional, and probably a lifer at the Deep Blue. No guest—even the owner of the casino across the street—was going to trump the instructions of his boss.

"Thanks a lot," I mumbled, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

Okay, I didn't try all that hard.

I turned and leaned back against the counter, praying a Plan B came to me.

Tate was still circling the aquarium, his cheeks pink, his eyes bright, his hands waving in the air as he talked. Ah, young love. To his right was a bank of glass elevators. I followed the line of their travel upward. The first six floors of the casino were built atrium style, while the top tower rooms were more private—the suites where the high rollers stayed. If I had to take a guess, I'd say Weston occupied the penthouse, just as my father had.

The only obstacle to getting there would be the hotel security. Currently a pair of guards stood sentinel next to the elevators. I guessed they were supposed to make the guests feel safe staying here despite the crime scene tape. Or keep unwanted nosey reporters (and rival casino owners) away from Weston.

Though, as I recognized one of them as the same guy from the other night at the club, Plan B started to form.

I made my way over to Tate.

"...ohmigod, I love those, too. It's, like, uncanny how much we have in common." He looked up and saw me. I made a wrap it up motion with one hand, and he nodded. "Okay, well, again, so sorry to call so early, but, yes, let's totally do lunch." He paused, listening to Michael on the other end. Whatever he said, it must have been good as Tate blushed like a school girl and giggled. "I can't wait," he squealed. "Ciao!" He pushed a button on his earpiece, then sighed, fanning his face with one hand. "Whew, I think I'm in love."

I couldn't help but grin. "Well, look sharp, loverboy, 'cause I need your help."

He cleared his throat. "Okay, right. I'm in. What do you need?"

"A distraction."

Tate frowned. "What kind of distraction?"

"One big enough to get the attention of those guys over there," I said, gesturing to the two security guards by the elevators. "I need to get to Weston in the penthouse."

Tate groaned, rolling his eyes. "The things I do for you, girl."

I clasped my hands in front of me. "Pretty please, Tate!"

He waved my begging away. "Yes, yes, of course I'll do it. Just give me a minute to prepare."

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks!" I called, leaving him in the lobby as I made my way to the gift shop near the elevators. I pretended to scan the magazine rack as I kept one eye on Tate and one on the security duo.

Tate did some pacing, some lip pursing, obviously trying to come up with the perfect plan. Finally he looked up at the huge tank and screamed a blood-curdling, high-pitched thing that had every head in the casino turning his way.

"Oh my God, there's another body in the tank!" He clutched his chest with one hand, pointing up at the blue waters with the other.

That did it.

Obviously dead floating bodies were a touchy subject for Security at the moment, as both guys bolted forward, rushing to Tate's side to scan the tank. Ditto the front desk staff, the concierge, and half the patrons of the casino, some with poker cards still clutched in their hands.

"Where is it?" the security guy from the club asked.

"There!" Tate cried. "At least, I think it was there. Wait, maybe it was just a shark. You know, they look an awful lot like floating people sometimes..."

I didn't waste any time, quickly bolting toward the elevators, stabbing the up button, and waiting an impatient five-count before the carriage arrived and the doors opened. I quickly stepped inside, saying a silent thank you that it was empty, and hit the penthouse button.

My heart was hammering so hard in my chest by the time the doors opened to the penthouse that I thought it might pound right out. I tried to slow my breathing, tell myself I was cool, calm, and in control. When in reality I knew I was going unarmed into a possible murderer's private suite where his team of security could probably make me disappear faster than a guy's paycheck at the slot machines.

I stared at the double doors to Weston's private lair, my finger itching to hit the down button again and scrap this whole mission. I mean, did I really need to talk to Weston
that
badly?

But muffled voices from inside the suite propelled me forward. I tiptoed closer and pressed my ear to the door, but the voices stopped. I backed up at the sound of the lock turning.

Weston cracked the door, wearing a satiny robe and a befuddled look on his face. I prayed there were pajamas underneath. "You do realize there are cameras trained on the door with a monitor here, right?" He pointed next to him inside his room.

"Uh, yeah," I stammered. I did now.

He grunted but opened the door, revealing a very well-dressed man sitting behind him on an upholstered sofa. "What do you want?" Weston asked.

I licked my lips. I didn't think asking for a confession straight up was going to get me anywhere. "I wanted to talk. About my dad."

Weston snorted. "Sorry, honey, but this ain't free therapy. You want a trip down memory lane, go talk to that stacked step-mother of yours."

I looked behind him. The well-dressed guy was sizing me up, eyes narrowed, stare level and assessing, hand hovering near a tell-tale bulge at his side.

I swallowed hard. "Okay, then let's talk about Brad Dunley. And Leo Cannetti. And Johnny Smith. Though I'm pretty sure that last name was a fake."

Weston's eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a tense line. "You're right," he spat out. "It sounds like we do need to talk."

I wasn't sure if I was relieved or more nervous as Weston stepped aside to let me into his penthouse. I felt cold shivers trail up my spine as he locked the door behind me and his well-dressed friend rose from the sofa. I tried to shake the feeling off, gathering what courage I had left as I faced Weston.

"I saw you giving them money. Now two are missing, and one is dead."

"Goody for you. You can do math," he said, heavy on the sarcasm.

"I think you killed him," I challenged, surprised at how steady my voice came out considering my insides were total jelly.

"Like I give a shit what you think," he spat back.

"Agent Ryder thinks you killed him, too." I had one eye on Weston, one on his goon who was hovering near the window, hand still loose over that bulge.

"Agent Ryder has no proof," Weston told me, sitting on the sofa and crossing one ankle onto the other knee. I was very relieved to see that he had sleep pants on under his robe.

"Not
yet
."

Weston smiled. "You're assuming there is proof, dollface." He spread his hands wide. "But I'm an innocent man."

I channeled my dad as I prepared to do my best bluff. "Innocent or not, you're going to have Agent Ryder and the rest of the Nevada Organized Crime Task Force crawling all over your casino for months to come. He's not a man who gives up easily. Trust me—the Royal Palace has been his second home for the past week."

Weston's jaw tensed again at that, some of his smile fading.

"Of course," I continued, shrugging, "I guess I should be thanking you. Since Mr. Cannetti decided to take a swim in your tank, Ryder's vacated the Royal Palace. Things are back to normal now. In fact, I heard business doubled overnight." I paused. "Huh, I wonder if some of those sales were from your guests, switching casinos."

Weston's face was practically contorted into a sneer now, his entire body tense. "All right, what do you want?"

"The truth," I told him, sitting on a hard-backed chair across from him. "Why were you paying off Cannetti and the valet?"

Weston glanced at the well-dressed guy. He gave the barest of nods in agreement. Then Weston turned back to me and took in a deep breath. "I was paying for information."

"What kind of information?" I pressed.

"About a thief at the Royal Palace."

That stopped me. I'd assumed that Weston was the thief. "Wait—you didn't know anything about the thefts?"

Weston uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, both elbows on his thighs. "Look, about a month ago this guy Cannetti comes to me and says he's got some info. He knows something about a scheme at the Royal Palace so big that the scandal would take the whole place down. He wants to know if I'm interested in buying that info. So I says, 'hell, yeah, I am.'"

"So you paid Cannetti to find out what the scheme was?"

Weston nodded. "But the bastard was spoon feeding me information, asking for more money each time we met. He told me they were stealing from guests. They had a crew organized, knew how to block out security footage, and someone on the inside using their pass key. It was all pretty damned genius, I gotta say."

"But Cannetti wasn't the one organizing it."

Weston shook his head. "Nope. That was the kicker. Cannetti said once everyone found out who was behind it, it would take the casino down for sure. Finally I told him I was giving him one more payment, and I wanted to know everything—including who this guy was—or I was gonna break his knees."

I raised an eyebrow his way. "So, you threatened the guy who turned up dead in your fish tank."

Weston put his hands up in a surrender motion. "Hey, he didn't have no broken knees, did he?"

I had to give him that one. "Okay, so what happened? Did Cannetti agree to tell you who was behind it all?"

Weston nodded. "Yeah. That payment you saw at the lounge was the last one. He was supposed to get this guy on tape, setting up the next heist. Irrefutable proof."

"So who was it?" I asked. I was on the edge of my seat now, dying to know.

But Weston sat back, crossing his legs again as he shrugged. "No idea. I was supposed to meet him to get the evidence yesterday."

"That's why he was at the Deep Blue."

Weston nodded. "I was supposed to meet him on the fifth floor balcony. But when I got there, he was already..."

"...swimming with the fishes. That's why your prints were there," I said, thinking out loud.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "You know, my security guy said you were friendly with the cops."

"Feds," I corrected, automatically.

Weston shook his head. "You're in town, what? Four days? And already you're ratting to the organized crime dopes."

"Hey, Ryder is not a dope." Though why the hell I was defending him I had no idea. "And I'm not ratting. I'm...trying to find out what happened to my dad."

Weston leaned forward again, his eyes intent on mine. "Look, whatever happened to your dad's got nothin' to do with me. I wanted to take the man down. But I didn't take him out. I had more respect for the guy than that."

As much as I hated Weston, I was inclined to believe him. Everything he said fit too well. And he had zero tells going on. "Cannetti didn't give you any indication who might be behind the thefts?" I grasped.

Weston shook his head. But then he paused, something warring behind his eyes. "Look, I'm not sure I should say anything, what with your dad being, you know, deceased and all."

Yeah, I knew. "What? Tell me."

Weston chewed the inside of his cheek. But finally he spilled it. "Cannetti mentioned something. Before Richard died. Honestly, I thought your dad was gonna turn out to be the guy behind the thefts."

"Why would you think that?" I asked.

"Cannetti. He was vague, but he said he'd seen wise guys at the Palace. That their connections went all the way to the top."

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. "What do you mean, 'the top?'" I asked, even though I knew how he was going to answer.