Murder by Chance (Betty Chance Mystery) (6 page)

“He deserved it,” Hannah said, frowning.

Betty felt as if someone had slapped her in the face. “What do you mean he deserved it?”

Hannah shrugged. “He was grumpy. He wouldn’t talk to anybody on the bus. He even refused a stick of sugar-free gum when I offered it to him.” Hannah paused before adding, “I don’t offer gum to just anyone. The way he refused, you’d think I was being a flirt.”

Betty’s demeanor changed and she pulled her lips together, tightly. She knew better than to laugh out loud. Did seventy-one year old Hannah really think a man
deserved
to die because he refused her token of friendship? Even more astounding was the chance that Hannah was offering more than just a Chicklet to a man who was more than a decade younger than she.

Betty shook her head in wonder. Homo sapiens, especially the older ones, never failed to surprise her. Nearly every male under the age of ninety acted as if their aging body were a Halloween costume that could be discarded at any given moment if the right opportunity presented itself. Betty decided it was good that an older woman could see herself in the same, misguided light.

Hannah grabbed her cane and held it midair. “I’ve already called my son, the attorney. He told me I could sue if I wanted.” She turned around swiftly and scurried away, pushing servers and customers out of her way with her cane as she headed toward Ogawa’s table.

Betty’s mood shifted into a downward spin. If Hannah’s litigious son was anything like his mother, Take A Chance Tours was driving straight into bankruptcy.

Tom Songbird repeated the M-word again as he and Betty waited for the sheriff to arrive. “Money! We’re going to lose a lot of money.”

For a change, Tom wasn’t the cool, calm and witty stud in the room. Instead he was openly worried about the casino losing money. His tribe would also lose money in the process. For Tom, family and friends were all that mattered. If he was acting like a nervous nelly for a change, Betty knew his concerns were serious.

Tom tapped the conference table rapidly with the tips of his perfectly manicured fingernails. He once told Betty he spent a small fortune every week at his hair stylist. Plus, he’d willingly hand over a week’s pay for the perfect pair of shoes. Tom represented his tribe to the people he encountered while on duty. He was determined to be treated with respect, and not merely brushed off as if here some low-level security mall cop.

He and Betty were waiting inside the conference room they had been in the night before. Betty nicknamed it Interrogation Central. Songbird continued, “There’s no way about it. Gamblers are suspicious. Murder isn’t good for business.” He tapped again.

The scent of Tom’s aftershave drifted toward Betty. She recognized it as Burberry Sport for Men, a pricey little item that her ex-husband started wearing after he met his sugar-mommy. Before that, the only fragrance Larry wore was Old Spice.

Betty leaned over and asked, “Is this the first murder at Moose Bay?”

Tom nodded. “There’s been a few deaths before, but they’ve all been natural.”

Betty asked, “Describe natural.”

Tom sipped the last bit of coffee in his cup before answering. “The usual. Heart attacks, strokes, the sort of thing that happens when seventy percent of your clientele is older. We’ve never even had a suicide here.”

“That’s pretty amazing,” Betty said, remembering the frightening statistics of towns that allow legalized gambling. Las Vegas alone boosts twice the national average for suicide. And these days there were mini Las Vegas’s popping up all over the country.

Tom added, “My staff is trained to keep an eye out for anything suspicious or disturbing. We take suicide prevention very seriously. There’s nothing worse than gambling gone bad.”

“With your clean history, having a murder delivered to your front door must have been shocking,” Betty admitted.

Tom answered honestly. “Not just me, but to our employees as well. Everyone’s concerned about the effect it will have on business. Even when a ninety-nine-year-old dies in their sleep in one of our hotel rooms, it makes the papers. A drop in business always follows, at least for a couple of days.”

“Well, I would have to think that someone winning thirteen million is bound to help the casino. That big of a jackpot will receive nationwide publicity.”

Tom said, “The progressive win is my other problem. The news about it could turn out to be bad. There’s something not right about that win.”

She understood his anguish. A suspicious win could be just the spoiled icing on the cake the casino didn’t need. Like any gaming establishment, Moose Bay wouldn’t pay a large sum of money until the win was validated. If the win turned out to be a malfunction or—high-tech robbery—not a penny would change hands.

“Of course, the winner’s already threatened us with a lawsuit,” he said.

Betty grabbed the black carafe and refilled both of their cups with coffee. It was going to be a very long day. She asked, “What do you think happened—a malfunction? Did someone hack into the system?”

“No idea. It’s just … something’s off.” Songbird slowly scratched his head. “The win registered but the system’s microchip set off a warning at the same time. That’s very odd.”

The suspected tampering wasn’t good news, especially if other players found out about Moose Bay’s hesitation to hand over a check. Gamblers wouldn’t care about the legalities of the win. The only thing they’d remember was that Moose Bay refused to pay.

Betty stirred a stream of cream into her cup and asked, “Have you let the press know what’s going on?”

“Not yet,” Songbird replies, “not until we can say one way or the other what we’re going to do.”

“You can bet the alleged winner will definitely let them now,” Betty said before advising, “It will look better if it came from you first.”

Songbird nodded his head in agreement. “We have our guys working on it, as well as at the other end, in Nevada. We’ve notified the gaming company that developed the software to look into possible tampering.”

He fiddled nervously with his watch and continued, “And if it gets out, every wise-guy with a computer will decide they can figure out a way to cheat Moose Bay out of millions. Eventually, one of them will.”

Betty nodded. One bad act usually led to another. “Speaking of news, either good or bad. I haven’t seen any media types poking around.” If the crime had occurred in Chicago, Betty knew dozens of camera crews would be following their every move by now.

Tom said, “Oh they’re here, all right. They started arriving twenty minutes after the I-Reporter put it on You Tube. Since it’s tribal land. I can keep them from coming onto the casino’s campus. But half a dozen news trucks are currently parked outside the entrance, which is off reservation.”

It crossed Betty’s mind that the two incidences—the homicide and an alleged mega jackpot malfunction—might be connected. Having two major crimes linked to the same place, and occurring in such a short time span, could hardly be considered coincidental.

“Did you tell Severson’s there’s something’s wrong with the progressive win?” Betty asked.

Tom shook his head. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Let’s keep him focused on Farsi’s death until I have more facts.”

The subject seemed to be finished for the moment, so Betty asked a question about which she’d been very curious. “How did Severson become the town sheriff at such a young age?”

“The same way everything is done in this town—connections. His father was the sheriff before him. His dad was killed by a sixteen year-old punk during an attempted robbery at a convenience store.”

“That’s horrible,” Betty responded. Her heart ached every time she heard of one of the good guys being killed by one of the bad. It reminded her that every single law enforcement officer’s life was on the line daily, including her son’s. Yet, the fact that Severson’s father was killed easily explained his contempt for Tillie’s convenience store escapade.

Tom continued, “I guess most people felt sorry for the kid, so they voted for him. None of us thought he would actually get elected. He was only twenty-three years old at the time.”

“What kind of Sheriff has he been?” Betty asked, suspecting once the kid was sworn in it would have been next to impossible to get rid of him, even if he was inept.

Tom’s answer surprised her. “Not that bad, but don’t forget where we’re located. Usually the biggest thing that happens is someone steals an outboard motor.”

The door to the conference room opened and a casino worker entered, pushing a cart filled with trays of pastries.

Betty gave him a quizzical look.

Tom explained. “The sheriff requested we provide treats for the passengers he’s interviewing. Severson said people would open up to him more easily if they’re on a sugar high. But between you and me? I think he just wants free donuts.”

The two laughed like old friends. They both needed to.

Betty pulled away from the table and stood up. She walked to the window that looked out over the casino’s parking lot. As far as she could see, every parking space was taken. Business was always good at a casino and as the economy worsened, business only improved. After all, losing a retirement fund at a casino was way more fun than losing it on Wall Street.

Betty turned around. “Do you think Severson has the skill to discover who killed Farsi?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. This is the first murder investigation he’s led.”

“His first?” Betty whined just as the door burst open.

“Whose first?” the sheriff asked, entering the room. His deputy followed closely behind.

Tom immediately came to her rescue. “I was telling Betty about my nephew’s first date,” he lied.

“Hmmmph,” Severson muttered and then carefully positioned the files he was carrying at the end of the table. Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out a large legal pad and three pens. He laid them neatly in front of him. Next, he removed a small tape recorder from his case and set it on the table. He looked like a schoolboy who had just taken
Let’s Investigate!
out of the local library.

With his thumb, Tom gestured towards the voice recorder. “Sheriff, you don’t need to use that.”

Severson puffed up his chest, obviously upset at being challenged. “Of course I have to use a tape recorder. Every law enforcement manual insists that I …”

“That’s not what I mean, Sheriff. This is a casino. Look up at the ceiling.”

Severson glanced up. Positioned overhead were several eyes-in-the-skies.

Tom continued, “Our cameras provide digital audio recordings, as well as visual. There’s not one square inch of this facility that isn’t being captured by our security department.”

The sheriff hesitated before responding. “Turn off your surveillance system for this room. I’m not sure of the legalities of having the casino record the interviews. Everything has to be by the book. I can’t take a chance of having this case thrown out on a technicality.”

Tom nodded. He hadn’t thought of that. “The system can certainly pinpoint any camera,” Tom said as he turned for the door. “I’ll have them shut this one off—just let me know when we can turn it back on.” He gave Betty a wave and disappeared through the door.

Betty slid a piece of paper in front of the sheriff. “This is the list of clients I’ve scheduled so far. You asked me to schedule them in ten-minute increments.”

The sheriff scanned the information. “There are only eight listed.”

“I’ll locate more while you’re interviewing the first eight.”

“You didn’t think I was going to interview everyone by myself, did you? I don’t have time for that. Two other officers will be interviewing suspects at the same time I do.”

Betty bristled. There was no reason for the sheriff to refer to her elderly clients as suspects.

“Should I schedule three interviews at one time then? One for each of you?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Severson nodded.

“Okay, I’ll try. But, you should know that most of my clients have purchased an Early Bird Bingo packet, so they’ll be reluctant to ...”

Betty stopped speaking when Severson flung his pen across the room.

He glared at her and said, “Mrs. Chance, I am trying to solve a murder. I don’t care if your passengers are scheduled to play Texas Hold’em with the Pope, my investigation comes first.”

“I understand,” she answered solemnly.

The sheriff turned on the voice recorder before adding, “There’s one more thing. You’re going to have to arrange for transportation back to Chicago for your passengers. The Take A Chance bus is officially a crime scene. It’s staying in Minnesota until the BCA releases it.”

“When will that be?” Betty asked, knowing that any investigation by the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension could take months.

“Last time I checked, there was an eight week backlog.”

Betty sputtered, “Sheriff, I have to pay for the bus every day I have it.”

He smirked. “Don’t you have insurance?”

To be honest, Betty didn’t know if the insurance would cover any of the events of the last twenty-four hours. Lori made all of the decisions when it came to insurance, or any financial matter.

In a stern voice Severson said, “It could be worse.”

“How?” Betty wanted to know.

“I could keep every client of yours locked up in the town’s jail, if I wanted. As far as I’m concerned, everyone on your tour is connected to Farsi’s murder, until proven otherwise. That means everyone, from the eighty-year-olds with sticker-decorated walkers to … well, you.”

Betty knew the sheriff was bluffing but she began to despise the man. If he treated her this rudely, there was no telling how he would treat her clients. He’d more than likely alienate every person he encountered, making it impossible to catch the killer.

It came to her in a flash. If anyone were going to catch the murderer, it would have to be her. And, she needed to do it before someone else was found dead. Or even, thought satisfyingly, arrested for slapping a gun toting, boy toy sheriff.