“Lose tonight, I won’t be able to get his diamond collar out of hock.” Under the perfect coating of perfect pink blush that complimented her skin tone perfectly, Eve paled. “You hush, Annie. Don’t say it. Don’t even think such a thing. I pawned Doc’s collar for a good cause, so we had the stake to get me in this game. But I am not going home empty-handed.” She turned around and scooped the dog out of Jim’s hands so she could give him a hug. The dog, not Jim. “I wouldn’t do that to my sweet’ums.”
And really, I might not see the need to spell in front of Doc, but I wasn’t about to complain. That’s how grateful I was. Without Eve’s generous offer, we wouldn’t be here in the first place, not after we found out that it cost twenty-five thousand dollars just to get into Victor Pasqual’s Friday night Texas Hold’em game.
As to how it all happened in the first place…
I glanced to my left, and at the man in the tuxedo who waited for the elevator with us, and honest to gosh, if I didn’t know it was Norman under that dark, shaggy wig and behind the bushy, glued-on mustache, I never would have suspected a thing. I never argued with Norman when he said he wanted to come along. After all, he had as much right to be there as we did. More, really, since this was his chance to check out Victor Pasqual after all these years and see if the millionaire gambler looked anything like the man who walked into Très Bonne Cuisine and shot Greg.
I never questioned Norman when he said he would feel safer wearing a disguise, either. I understood exactly why he wanted to keep a low profile. Especially after Norman had finally talked to Tyler, been officially eliminated as a suspect-and officially put on notice that the killer who was still out there somewhere was probably still looking for him.
Besides all that, if it wasn’t for Norman, we wouldn’t be there at all. It turned out that he still had a few connections from back in the day. He knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who claimed he could get one of us into the game, and, true to his word (and after a goodly sum of money had exchanged hands thanks to Norman, who was more than willing to pay it), our invitation to the card game was couriered over the next day. Of course, all along, I had every intention of being the one who would sit in on the game. That way, I could get close to Victor Pasqual and make what Peter called “table talk,” in an effort to find out what he knew about Norman Applebaum-and Greg’s murder.
That was before reality sank in, and when it did, I saw the error of my ways. I was too conservative to win at poker. I was too hesitant, too cautious. Jim, on the other hand, was too emotional. It didn’t take an expert to pick up on his not-so-subtle body language he started signaling the moment Peter had us together for our how-to class. When he held good cards, Jim’s burr deepened almost beyond understanding. When his hand was bad, he had a way of tapping his fingers against the table, impatient to get things over with. He might as well have spelled out loser in Morse code. Over time, Peter assured him (and me, for that matter), there was a slim chance we both might actually turn into decent players.
But time was the one thing we didn’t have.
Eve, on the other hand, was one thing we did.
“Peter could have played for us. If I drummed it into his head enough, he might have asked Pasqual the right questions.” I kept my voice down when I said this to Jim and I didn’t have to worry, Eve was busy cooing to Doc.
Jim, too, spoke quietly. “You losing your nerve?”
“No. Yes.” I paced in front of the elevator. “This could be a disaster.”
“Aye.” When the elevator arrived and the doors swished open, Jim stepped aside so I could go first. “But think of how much more of a disaster it would be if you weren’t investigating. We wouldn’t know nearly as much as we do now, and Norman might not be safe. Plus-”
Just as the elevator doors closed, a man raced inside. “Investigating. Oh, I like the sound of that!”
“Peter?” I gave him a careful look because, let’s face it, I figured I was hallucinating. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be back in Arlington.”
“And miss all the fun?” Peter chafed his hands together. He looked Eve’s way. “You might need some pointers. And besides, I always wondered what it might be like to be part of the Scooby Gang. You guys are as close as I’ll ever get.” Peter leaned nearer to me. “Who’s the guy with the mustache?” he asked.
Luckily, I didn’t have a chance to answer. After a smooth, quick ride, the elevator doors opened and we found ourselves in a lobby even more sumptuous than the one downstairs. Walls of glass allowed us a bird’s-eye look at the Boardwalk and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Tiny lights twinkled on a terrace that overlooked the view. In front of us was another wall of glass and beyond that, we saw tuxedoed waiters and dealers getting ready for the game.
“It’s like something out of a James Bond movie,” Jim said, and I had to agree with him. The men around us were high rollers; I could tell by the way they were dressed and by the smell of their expensive cigars. Of course when Eve announced that she was there for the game, there were a couple of chuckles. And more than a couple of guys who couldn’t keep their eyes off her.
She, though, is nothing if not single-minded. Especially when it comes to being the center of attention. Eve held back, and when an elevator across the lobby opened, and Victor Pasqual stepped out, she made her move, jockeying for position and making her way through the crowd of dour, serious gamblers as easily as Moses through the Red Sea.
I recognized Pasqual’s face, of course, from seeing him on TV. He was a little older than middle-aged, a little shorter than average, and a little wider than large. He wasn’t an attractive man, and in a loud orange and brown plaid sport coat and brown pants in a shade that didn’t match, he certainly wasn’t the best-dressed fellow in the room. What he was, though, was larger than life.
“Hi, fellas!” Pasqual’s voice was a lot like Atlantic City, loud and brassy. He marched across the plush carpet like he owned the place and, since he did, I guess that was perfectly appropriate. He shook hands with a couple of the cigar-smoking men and stopped cold when he got to Eve.
“Well, good evening!” He grabbed her outstretched hand and kissed it with more enthusiasm than style. “It’s a little early for me to be dreaming. Don’t tell me you’re here for the card game, sweetie.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I don’t think my old heart could take it!”
Eve knew just how to handle comments like that. “Why, Victor, honey!” Her accent was more Southern than magnolias. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing.”
I left them at it, stepping into the hospitality room we’d been told was reserved for the guests of those playing in the game. As soon as we were out of earshot, I buttonholed Norman.
“Well?” I watched him watching Victor through the open doorway. “Is it him? Is that the man you saw walk into Très Bonne Cuisine and shoot Greg?”
Norman had to part the bangs on his dark wig for a better look. He squinted and stared. “I dunno.”
Before I could let go the breath I was holding, Peter was at my side. “You think Pasqual is a murderer? That’s what this is all about?” He was so hopped up on adrenaline and the excitement of being in the presence of a real poker hero, he could barely stand still. “You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you, Annie? No way Victor Pasqual would ever kill anybody.”
I hissed to remind him to keep his voice down and, grabbing his arm, I dragged Peter closer to the windows and farther from anywhere anyone could hear us.
“He’s a legend, Annie.” At least Peter got the message. He whispered, just like I did. “And he’s rich. Hey!” When he saw movement in the glass-enclosed room where the game would be played, Peter headed for the door. “They said we could watch from here if we weren’t any distraction. Oh, man, this is the most exciting night of my life!”