The Saucy Lucy Murders (39 page)

Dry brown ski runs slashed down the slopes next to areas clotted with dry, scrubby bushes, stands of aspen and the usual pines and spruce. Only a few dirty patches of snow had accumulated in hollows of ground. It was not a good sign for the economic hopes of the ski resort. Last year had been bad, and this year it looked like it could be worse. It was November. The resort should be knee deep in snow. However, it looked like the South Dakota badlands.

Off in the distance she could see the rooftops of Snow Village, a small town that had grown up around the Ice Queen Resort. Kind of like a castle with a village where all the commoners lived to serve the
royal skiers, Lexie thought. Most of the resort staff and their families lived in Snow Village in modest clapboard homes and trailers. They went to Rawhide City for groceries and supplies, or to visit the small medical clinic. If they needed anything more substantial like new furniture or clothing, they drove to Moose Creek Junction or Westonville.

As if she, too, were thinking about the drought and its devastating effects on the mountain resort, Lucy pointed to some purple clouds mounding over the Tetons. “There’s a storm brewing.”

Lexie nodded. “That would be good for everyone. We haven’t had any decent snow in … how many years?”

“Not since you moved back,” Lucy said.

When Lexie pulled the chugging van off the main road and drove toward the hotel, the line of cars and trucks behind her quickly motored ahead and a few people honked.

“Ah, get over yourselves,” Lexie complained. “People are always in such a blasted hurry.” She pulled under the wooden awning at the front of the hotel and parked. “We may not have had the fanciest vehicle to drive up here in, but thanks to Bruce’s guilt money, we can …”

Lexie trailed off, unable to believe what she saw.

Lucy raised a concerned brow. “What’s wrong?”

Lexie pointed. “That’s the car that’s been following me!”

“Heaven’s to Betsy.” Lucy looked at it parked
by the curb for a minute, then fumbled in her purse and produced a pen and a notepad. “Pull over there and let me write down the license plate. Detective Stevenson and Otis might be angry at us for coming here, but at least we’ll bring home something for them to investigate.”

Anxiety niggled at Lexie as she and Lucy settled into their room. Neither she nor Lucy wanted dinner. Lucy’s stomach was still upset and Lexie’s mind was definitely not on food. She wanted to march right in to the hotel staff and see if they could track down who owned the mysterious car parked out front.

Then she wanted to confront the individual and demand they explain why they’d been following her. Was he or she responsible for the murders? The personal attacks on her life? The fire at her home?

Going up to someone and asking if they were a killer would not be wise. It would be crazy.

As Lexie and Lucy unpacked their belongings, Lexie’s mind worked overtime. She remembered the day when she and Lucy had talked to the insurance company about the café fire. It might be some time before they got reimbursed for the damage. After that, it would also take a while for them to get the fire damage repaired and get the café up and running. What she would do with herself and Aunt Gladys in the meantime was the question. On a final
note, there was the dilemma of Aunt Gladys wanting to move in with Frenchie.
Brother.

Lexie’s head started to ache. It was too much to think about. She’d have to sort it all out later. The first order of the day, she told herself, was to snoop around. She and Lucy had already located the mysterious car that had been following her. There was no telling what else they might find to help with the murder investigation.

“Let’s go check out the casino,” Lexie suggested.

“That den of iniquity,” Lucy said with a sniff. “You know Daddy would have a fit if he knew we were here.”

“Dad always said God gave us brains to think and to help ourselves. He would understand we drove up here for a good reason. It’s not to gamble our lives away.”

“Oh, very well.” Lucy set her lips in a frown.

Downstairs, as they walked through heavy wooden double doors into the casino, Lexie heard the loud
ka-ching
of gambling machines and the rat-a-tat-tat sound of coins spitting into metal trays.

“For Pete’s sake.” Lucy stopped in her tracks. “This is sin at its worst.”

“Not everyone thinks like you do,” Lexie said. “Relax. You don’t have to convert anyone here. Come on.” Lexie took Lucy’s arm and pulled her forward.

The casino had been decorated with a mining theme. Train tracks lined the periphery of the inside
walls and antique ore cars along with a couple of narrow gauge trains dotted the rails. The walls themselves had been given a
faux
cave-like appearance to replicate the inside of a mine and rusty tin candleholders clung to the rock, giving off dim electric light. Huge wagon wheel chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the gambling area.

Banks of one-armed bandits, lights flashing, swallowed up the gambling pit. People sat on high-backed stools in front of Game Kings and other machines plugging dollars, quarters, dimes, and nickels into slots. Lexie noticed one man in particular sitting in a wheelchair smoking a cigarette. Oxygen tubes were threaded up into his nose and a canister of oxygen perched next to him. Funny he didn’t blow himself up.

Most of the gamblers stared stone-faced at the readouts on the machines. Not being familiar with the gambling life, Lexie was amazed at the intensity with which everyone pursued their sport.

Bells chimed and wild musical jingles clanged as individuals, old and young, held out hopes for hitting the jackpot. Cocktail waitresses in short skirts and fishnet stockings meandered past stony-eyed patrons, bringing drinks and emptying ashtrays. Cleaning staff quietly wiped down and swept up messy areas and tellers in cash cages handed out money to lines of customers.

Lucy dug in her purse and fished out her fan. She swooshed it back and forth in front of her bright
red cheeks.

Hot flash,
Lexie thought. “Are you all right?”

“For Pete’s sake, no,” Lucy said. “I told you this was an awful place. I’m burning up.”

“Why don’t you go back to the room and rest?” Lexie suggested.

“Over my dead body.”

As Lexie and Lucy passed by rows of machines, Lexie was amazed. She’d heard that for some people, gambling wasn’t simply a pleasant hobby. They were addicted. Elderly people actually blew entire social security checks on the habit and young parents spent grocery money that should have gone to feed their kids. Sad, but true.

Lexie and Lucy both turned to look at one lady who was sobbing so loudly she could be heard over the casino clamor.

“Who cries at a casino?” Lucy asked.

Lexie shrugged. “Let’s go see.”

They walked around a bank of machines toward the woman who wore a purple silk blouse, a tan leather skirt and high-heeled boots, all expensive looking. She sat in front of a dollar machine with Elvira, Mistress of the Dark depicted on the front. The woman’s shoulders heaved tragically; sorrowful gulps tore from her throat, and she’d covered her face with her hands.

“Excuse me,” Lexie said when they walked up to her. “Are you all right?”

The woman moved her hands away from her
eyes, but not completely away from her face. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying and black mascara smudges gave her a raccoon-ish appearance. She made a surprised squeak, slid off her stool and stood, knocking over her plastic cup that spilled a couple of quarters on the plush carpet. Hands still covering her face, she stumbled down past the bank of machines and out of sight.

Lexie furrowed her brow. Something about the woman intrigued her. Maybe it was the hands with the perfectly manicured red nails, or the sleek black hair combed back in a ponytail. Lexie wasn’t sure.

Lexie and Lucy exchanged awkward glances.

“I swear that was Carma Leone.” Lucy fanned herself furiously again.

“I thought she looked familiar.” Lexie planted her hands on her hips. “She was obviously upset. I wonder what she’s doing up here?”

“Maybe she’s visiting her Aunt Alice..”

“Possibly. Did I tell you she was the old dingbat who got Aunt Gladys tossed from the Sunrise Center?”

“I don’t remember.” Lucy rubbed her forehead. “Lexie, let’s call it a night. I have a bad headache and my bunions are killing me.”

“I want to look around a little more.”

Lucy sneezed and pulled a lace-edged hankie from her housedress. “The cigarette smoke in here is kicking up my allergies, too. Please, let’s go back upstairs.”

Lexie shook her head. “You go on. I’ll be up in
a bit.” She fingered the gambling chip in her pocket, wondering what in the world she’d been thinking to drag Lucy up here. She should have turned the chip over to the police, not try and be a super sleuth on her own. She had no idea how to go about this sort of thing.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Lucy dabbed at her watering eyes and coughed.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be gone too long or I’ll worry.” Lucy shuffled over to the elevator and disappeared inside.

Curious, Lexie decided to visit the blackjack tables. She knew absolutely nothing about gambling. It had been strictly forbidden in the Castleton home.

Lexie’s father had warned his congregation about the sins of gambling and drinking. He refused to allow his daughters to be subjected to any of those vices. His rules had been strictly enforced. The Castleton home never had a deck of cards or a pair of dice.

Lexie wasn’t gambling. She would remain an interested observer. She dodged bodies and got slammed into once or twice by people with zombielike stares before finally reaching the gaming area. Men and women from all walks of life leaned over green felt tables, placing bets with live dealers in tuxedos, versus computerized video poker.

None of it made a lick of sense to Lexie. People pushed chips, like the one in her pocket, toward the dealer. Anxiously, they awaited the fateful roll
of the dice. Only one happy person would win, after which the remaining players would slurp their drinks and grumble to each other. On the next round they tapped their cards and nodded at the dealer again.

This is pointless, Lexie told herself, tucking her hair behind her ears. Wandering around staring at blackjack players would prove nothing. She’d have to question someone. See if they could offer useful information. Otherwise, the whole trip had been a waste of time and Lucy would be right. She was forever getting into ridiculous situations for no good reason.

She thought of the hell she’d been through the last months with people around her being murdered, the police considering her a possible suspect and getting attacked herself. The café fire was another painful reminder her life had become a fiasco. Eva and her Aunt Gladys, innocent bystanders to all of it, could be hurt or worse if something wasn’t done to stop the nonsense. Unfortunately, her foray into the detective business hadn’t proven very productive.

What did she know about conducting an investigation, anyway? She must have been out of her mind to cook up the scheme in the first place.

Lexie noticed at one table the dealer was being relieved by a new one. When the dealer stepped away from the table, probably to take a break, she made a beeline in his direction and tapped him on the shoulder. He was an older gentleman, probably in his fifties. His graying sideburns and dark hair were streaked with silver and white. Lord, he must
have stood seven feet tall.

“Sir?” Lexie tilted her head back to look up at him.

He turned and looked around, completely missing her, a perplexed expression on his face.

Lexie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and she tapped his arm. “Down here,” she said, feeling like Thumbelina.

His glance grazed across her ample chest. “Yes?”

Lexie spoke loud so Mr. Friendly could hear her up in the ether zone. “May I ask you a few questions?”

“Why? Are you a reporter? I hate reporters.” He glanced around.

Probably expects me to have a camera, Lexie thought. “I had a friend who used to come up here to gamble,” she said quickly. “It’s possible you might have met him.”

“Why do you want to know?” One of Mr. Friendly’s bushy brows lifted.

She cleared her throat. “He was murdered.”

The man held up a hand. “Whoa. Are you a cop, or something? No comment.” He turned and swiftly walked away.

Frustrated but determined, Lexie took long strides to catch up. “I’m not a cop,” she insisted. “My friend’s name was Henry Whitehead.”

He stopped and gave her a thunderous look. “What do you want from me?”

“Did you ever talk to Henry? Did he ever mention an argument with someone in the casino? Maybe another player was angry with him—”

“Look, lady. There are plenty of folks who come up here and I never get their names. They drink, they smoke, they blow entire paychecks. It’s their business. Usually, they aren’t in a mood to mingle.” He stalked off shaking his head.

Lexie felt like a fool. So what if Whitehead had made enemies up here? What did that have to do with Hugh Glenwood and Jack Sturgeon’s murders? Elton’s accident and the attacks against her?