“Those look just like the roses from Martha’s wedding,” Betsy said, smoothing the blanket over her knees. “I’ll never forget them. From Ecuador, right? It’s so nice of you to come. Have you played the slots at all since you got here? That’s the worst part of sitting home all day. I can’t get out to my activities. I haven’t been to a casino in months. I miss my slots. No clink-clink-clink to inspire me. Haven’t been to the chapels either, but at least I have my scrapbook. If it weren’t for Wmnie, I’d be bored out of my mind. Take a seat. Tell me how Martha is. I hope she doesn’t think I deserted her. Do you think she’ll get off? She doesn’t look too good on the television. Pale. Tell her to put on a brighter lipstick and some blusher.”
I sat on a chair across from the television, hoping I hadn’t taken Winnie’s seat. The TV was tuned to the Court TV channel with the sound turned down. I waited till Betsy paused in her discourse before saying: “Martha was concerned about you. She was worried something had happened. I told her I’d check on you and report back.”
“What a doll. Didja hear that, Winnie? Martha was worried about me.”
Wmnie emerged from the kitchen with the roses artfully arranged in a glass vase. She placed them on the coffee table and took a seat on the end of Betsy’s couch. Conversation halted while the three of us admired the floral display.
“They’re gorgeous. Thanks, Jessie.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “How are you feeling? I’m sorry to see you off your feet.”
“Oh, I’m mending just fine,” she said. “Taking a bit of a break right now. I’ve gotta exercise every day. A lady from physical therapy comes and tortures me three times a week, but I’m making progress. Right, Winnie?”
Winnie nodded.
“The biggest problem is boredom,” she continued. “These four walls get old real fast. Know what I mean? I can only use the walker for a short time. Then I poop out. But me and Winnie’re gonna rent a wheelchair and hit the slots this Saturday. Lots of casinos are set up for the handicapped, and I’m one of them now. We’re gonna test out their services.” She winked at me. “One of these days, when I’m steadier on my pins, we’ll make it back to the chapels, too.”
“I remember your telling me you like to go to weddings,” I said.
“One of my favorite things—besides playing the slot machines—is sitting in the downtown chapels and watching the weddings. I just love seeing the people who get married. They’re so comical, some of them, and sad sometimes. Winnie and I used to go every week. We were usually the only ones there besides the bride and groom. I’d take my camera and shoot snapshots of the happy couple as they left the chapel in their wedding finery. I must have more ’n a hundred pictures like that in there.” She pointed to an old-fashioned scrapbook with a pale green cover and black pages tied together on one side with green string. “I bet those pictures would make a good book, you know, the kind people have stacked up on their coffee tables. I’d call it
Marriage Las Vegas Style.”
“That’s a good title,” I said.
“I bet you’ve got connections in the publishing business. Want to see my pictures?”
“Perhaps later, if you don’t mind,” I said. “What I’d really like is to talk to you about Victor and Martha. I’m hoping you can give me some insights into their life that might help me help her.”
“Oh, how exciting,” she said. “What can I tell you?”
“Of course, you already have a guest,” I said, smiling at Winnie. “Please tell me if this isn’t a convenient time. I can come back.”
“No! This is perfect. This is great. Winnie doesn’t mind. Right, Winnie?”
Winnie nodded.
“I’ll be a witness if you want,” Betsy said. “I’d be a great witness. We’d whup that Fordice good.”
“I don’t know if Martha’s lawyer will need you, but I’ll certainly let him know you’re willing to testify.”
“Great! What else?”
“First, I need to know if you saw them together enough times to gauge their relationship. The prosecution is suggesting that Martha and Victor were on the brink of a breakup. How often did you visit? And did you see any evidence of friction between them? Or any evidence to the contrary?”
“Before I got laid up—and before Martha got arrested—I used to see her at least once a month, sometimes more. A couple of times when Victor was away, I stayed at the house with her for a week. Most of the time I saw Martha by herself because Victor traveled a lot. And when he was home, she was jealous of her time with him.”
“Did you ever seen them together?”
“Oh, sure. Sometimes, after he’d been home for a while, I’d go out there, or they’d take me for dinner at a hotel on the Strip. Victor was always whispering how grateful he was to me for keeping Martha company when he was away. He even brought me a pearl bracelet as a thank-you gift. Winnie, go get my bracelet so Jessie can see it.”
Betsy’s friend left the room.
“When they were together, how did they get along?”
“It was so romantic to see them. They were like a couple of newlyweds. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, always pulling her to his side for a hug or kissing her hair. And she blushed a lot, but I could tell she liked it.”
Winnie returned with a blue leather box, which she snapped open and handed to me. Nestled on black velvet inside was a heavy gold bracelet; each link was a flower, and each flower had a pearl center.
“Pretty spectacular, huh?”
“It’s very beautiful,” I said.
“Martha was so happy with him when he gave me the bracelet, she was gushing. ‘Isn’t he thoughtful? Isn’t he wonderful?’ That’s the way she talked all night. He gave her something, too, but she was more excited about mine. Not that she wanted it for herself, but she was genuinely happy for me that he’d gotten me a gift. They don’t make ’em like my friend Martha, right, Winnie?”
I looked at Winnie. “I’d say you’re fortunate in all your friends, Betsy.”
“Anyway, it’s gorgeous, but I can’t wear it.”
“Why not?”
“Too fancy, that’s why. I’d be terrified someone would steal it right off my wrist. Those things have been known to happen, you know. Especially at some of the older casinos, where the security isn’t as high-tech as the new ones.”
“That’s a shame,” I said. “You should enjoy it. It’s too lovely to sit in a box and never get worn.”
“I enjoy just looking at it, and knowing it’s mine. Right, Winnie?”
I closed the bracelet box and handed it back to Winnie, who immediately went to put it away. “Betsy,” I said, “I know Martha was unhappy about Victor’s traveling so much without her. Did she ever confide in you? Were there other problems in the marriage?”
“I don’t think they had a lot of problems between them, but there were a lot of pressures on her.”
“What kind of pressures?”
“Jane, for instance. Martha was always trying to make friends with Jane. Not to speak disrespectfully, but Jane is a bit of a brat, and she’s a little old to be so childish. Didn’t I say that, Winnie? Jane behaves like a spoiled child, making Martha jump through hoops for her.”
Winnie sat down again.
“What kind of hoops?” I asked.
“That business of not keeping their lunch date, for instance. I don’t believe that she didn’t get the message. One time she didn’t show up at a dinner party Martha threw for Victor’s birthday, because Martha hadn’t sent her an invitation. They were living in the same house at the time. And Martha had included her in the planning, too.”
“What other pressures were on Martha?”
“Oh, his ex-wives demanding attention. I told her to put them off, tell them to talk to Victor when he got home. But she was too polite to do that, always trying to solve their problems.”
“Give me an example.”
“Well, Bunny, for instance, is always running out of cash. Victor paid her good alimony, too. They weren’t even married that long. She was always whining about needing more. Me, I think she’s got a bit of a gambling problem. Probably should be in GA—that’s Gamblers Anonymous, if you didn’t know.”
“I’ve heard of it. Would Martha give Bunny money?”
“Yeah. She’d call Victor’s lawyer and authorize a transfer. Victor never complained about it. I think he was just happy he didn’t have to deal with Bunny himself.”
“And the other wives? Did they pressure Martha, too?”
“Daria probably the least, but she gets the most alimony. After all, she was the mother of his only child. Then again, she didn’t have to harass Martha. She could have Jane do it. I think she was jealous of Martha. She’d show up at the house, supposedly to see Jane, and start ordering the housekeeper around.”
“That seems to be a common pattern on the part of Victor’s exes,” I said, remembering my odd encounter with Cindy at Martha and Victor’s house.
“Martha was very upset. She was afraid Isobel would leave them.”
“Do you think she would have?”
“Left? Never! Not while Victor was alive. Now? I don’t know. But she was very fond of Martha. So maybe she’ll stay.”
“And Cindy?” I asked. “What about her?”
“Cindy’s a leech, always borrowing things and forgetting to return them. Made Victor store her stuff when she moved so she wouldn’t have to pay for storage. Cheap is what she is—with her own money. When she had Victor’s, she spent it like crazy.”
“They’re quite a trio, aren’t they?”
“You could say for a bright guy, Victor didn’t have a lotta luck with his wives—except his last one.”
“Unless she’s the one who killed him,” a soft voice said. They were the first words I’d heard from Wmnie.
Chapter Thirteen
I left Betsy’s apartment with her green scrapbook under my arm. She had insisted I take it. “I’ll look it over and send it back to you,” I told you.
“No hurry. You don’t have to look at it right away. Take it home, and when you have nothing to do, page through it. You’ll love my pictures, I know it. But if you don’t, I won’t be offended. Don’t worry about that. We can still decide together where to send it. With your connections in the publishing business and my talent, that book’ll be on our coffee tables in no time. You’ll see.”
On the way back to the Bellagio, I stopped at Matt Jenkins’s Gamblers’ Heaven. The store was in a strip mall not far from the Las Vegas Convention Center, which must have added greatly to his clientele. It was the largest store in the shopping center, located between Clean ‘n’ Carry, a Laundromat, and Healy’s, a sandwich shop. When I walked inside, instead of bells on the door or a buzzer under the carpet, my arrival was announced by the recorded sound of coins hitting the metal receptacle of a slot machine.
“Be right out,” a voice I recognized as Jenkins’s called.
“Take your time. I’m just browsing,” I called back.
The shop was filled with new and used slot machines, large and small, slot machine banks and key chains, and images of slot machines on T-shirts, ball caps, windbreakers, coffee mugs, money clips, magnets, beer steins, souvenir spoons, and myriad other items. I wandered through the souvenir area, looking for the selection of slots gloves, and found them on a shelf above a rack of “lucky shirts,” which had four-leaf clovers stitched onto the breast pocket.
Jenkins carried three styles of gloves: black cotton with
Jenkins’s Gamblers’ Heaven
stenciled in green on the back, a white version of the same gloves, and the silver lamé. I pulled the last box of silver gloves off the shelf.
“Those have been going fast ever since the trial’s been on Court TV,” Jenkins said from across the room. He had changed into a different Western style shirt, this one blue with silver tips on the points of the collar.
“I took your last pair,” I said.
“That’s okay,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got more on order. Got a lady who makes ’em for me. Been getting quite a few calls today since I appeared on TV. Knew I would, so I ordered a couple of dozen extra.”
I slid the gloves out of the box and examined them. They looked like the ones on the evidence table in the courtroom, but these were smooth, without wrinkles or other signs of wear. I turned one glove over in my hand. Only the tops of the gloves were silver lame. The palms were a different fabric and had tiny dots all over them that felt like rubber, allowing, no doubt, for a firm grip on nickels, dimes, and quarters, and on dollar chips. I pulled one glove on and flexed my fingers. The fit was loose, and while the intended customer was probably a woman, I was sure the glove could be worn by many men, even if it didn’t fit someone as large as Matt Jenkins.
“Say, didn’t I see you in the courtroom this morning?” he said.
“Yes. I’m working for Martha Kildare’s team.”
“Thought you looked familiar.” His smile faded and he shook his head. “You know, it’s a shame about that lady. Her husband was so tickled to buy her the gloves. Smitten, he was. Real ironic that she wore them to kill him.”
“Mr. Jenkins, just because a person is accused of a crime isn’t proof she committed it. I don’t believe Martha Kildare is guilty and I fully expect that she’ll be exonerated.”
“The Las Vegas police wouldn’t have arrested her if they didn’t think she killed him.”
“I don’t doubt for a moment that the Las Vegas police sincerely believe they arrested the right person. However, they were mistaken. It’s not unusual for police officers to arrest people for crimes they didn’t commit. It happens all the time. That’s why we have the court system, a system that recognizes that mistakes can be made. And in our country, a person is innocent until
proved
guilty.”
“Yeah. Well, they may get off, but that don’t mean they didn’t do it. You want those or not?”
“Yes, I’ll take them,” I said, trailing him to the cash register. “I can understand your skepticism. The court system isn’t perfect. Some criminals go free and some innocents are sent to prison. I hope in this case you keep an open mind, at least until the defense has had an opportunity to present its side. That’s only fair.”