"Oh dear!" said Estelle, turning back to the slot machine. "Don't look, but the security man is heading this way." She thrust the cup at Taylor. "Grab some nickels and start playing like you believe you're about to win a million dollars."
Estelle fed nickels into the machine for several minutes, all the while waiting to feel a hand clamp down on her shoulder and a cold voice to order her to leave the premises. She finally risked a quick look over her shoulder. Mackenzie must have missed her and moved on, she concluded, allowing her hand to drop. However, she didn't know in what direction he'd gone. If he was wandering around the casino, sooner or later he'd notice her, especially if she was doing the same thing in hopes of spotting the bald man.
"Why do people do this?" asked Taylor as she put a coin in the slot. "It's about as exciting as picking beetles out of a sack of cornmeal."
"You can stop. Go on upstairs, then come back if Todd ain't there. We can go to the show and distract ourselves from our worries. El Vez is supposed to be something. We'll just let ourselves go and pretend we're seeing the real thing in person, except for Elvis being dead and this impersonator being from Mexico. Other than that, it ought to be entertaining."
Taylor slid off the stool. "I'm not in the mood. I think I'll take one more tour around the casino, then go upstairs and pray that Todd shows up with a reasonably acceptable excuse. If I get bored, I can throw up. I do that a lot these days."
"There's no reason to…" Estelle said, then stopped and tried her level best not to gawk. "Just go on to your room. Odds are Todd will be sound asleep in your bed, and by tomorrow, everything will be back the way it was."
Taylor grimaced and headed for the door that led back into the lobby of the hotel. Estelle automatically put nickels into the slot, ignoring the occasional clatter of coins in the tray, and tried not to stare as she watched Cherri Lucinda and the bald man settle down in leather chairs in the bar like they were bosom buddies.
She was still watching them when the machine erupted with dings, rings, flashing lights, sirens, and everything short of wild applause. That was provided by fellow gamblers.
Ruby Bee was still asleep. I tiptoed across her room, set the duffel bag on a shelf in the closet, then retreated out into the corridor. There was no reason to hang around; Ruby Bee was oblivious and Dr. Deweese was gone for the day. I could program a VCR with reasonable success, but I couldn't repair an ultrasound machine.
I was walking toward the door when a twentyish black woman in a green smock came trotting up behind me.
"Are you Arly?" she asked.
I admitted as much. "Is there a problem?"
"I'm Carlette, honey. Japonica called and said for you not to bother to come by the police department. She's gonna drive the folks back to the hotel herself."
"Why?"
"That's pretty much all she said. She didn't sound real happy about it, but she can be that way. She hates her job on account of the chief. He was obliged to hire her because of the affirmative-action thing. I suppose he does his best, but he acts like this is the nineteen fifties and gals like Japonica should be cleaning houses and sitting in the back of the bus. I look forward to the day he falls sick and has to stay here. There'll be some squabbling as to who gets to stick a needle in him."
"You have no idea why she's taking them to the hotel? She didn't mention anything else?"
Carlette shook her head. "That's all. Don't go worrying too much about your mama. I'll take real good care of her and let you know if she needs anything. Dr. Deweese is young, but he's smart."
"What does his wife do?" I asked ever so casually. "Is she a doctor, too?"
"He's divorced, but you'll have to get in line. Every unattached woman in the county is after him. Even though he's on the pale side, I could bring myself to pick up his dirty underwear and drink fancy wine if that's what it'd take. I was always a sucker for big blue eyes. Now you run along and get some sleep."
I had no idea why Japonica had offered to take Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber to the hotel, but it didn't seem worth the energy to think about it. I drove back, parked, and walked hurriedly across the lobby, my fingers crossed that Mackenzie was occupied with mundane chores such as skimming profits or blackmailing politicians.
No one shrieked at me. I rode the elevator to the eighth floor and went straight to my room, not bothering to check on Estelle, or anyone else, for that matter. The Elvis Presley Pilgrimage had resulted in nothing but misery for all concerned. Stormy was dead, Ruby Bee was in the hospital, Jim Bob was in jail, Estelle was on Mackenzie's list of anarchists, an elopement had been foiled, and Mrs. Jim Bob and Brother Verber were both sleeping in close proximity to yours truly.
I had a key to the room, having found one on the dresser. I let myself in and sank down on the bed. A glass with a lipstick smudge suggested Cherri Lucinda had come and gone in the last hour. In that she hadn't been sobbing outside Jim Bob's cell, I presumed she'd found a replacement in the casino-and, if the luck of the draw was with me, might remain with him for the remainder of the night.
I tossed my coat on a chair and was reaching for the remote control when someone knocked on the door. I dragged myself up and went to peer through the peephole. The man in the hallway stood far enough away for me to see the hotel logo embroidered on his shirt.
"Plumber," he said loudly.
Despite the fact he had thick brown hair, I put on the chain before I opened the door. "I didn't call."
"The trouble's on the ninth floor in the room directly above yours. A pipe broke and I need to make sure there's no water coming down the inside of the wall in your bathroom. I can wait if you want to call the desk."
"No," I said as I disengaged the chain and stepped back to open the door.
Wrong.
13
The door slammed into me. I staggered backward, fighting without success to keep my balance as pain ripped across my face and shoulder. I hit the floor with a thud. The man stepped over me as he came into the room and snapped the deadbolt. The sound was as loud as a gunshot. Bad sign.
"Where is it?" he said.
"It?"
"The bag." He dragged me onto the bed and looked around the room. "I ain't in the mood for a guessing game. Just give me the bag and live to tell your story in the morning."
"Help yourself," I said as I gingerly examined my nose. Blood was dripping freely, but the basic structure seemed to be intact. "Take the toothbrushes and plastic cups in the bathroom while you're at it. I only have twenty dollars in my purse, but you're welcome to every one of them. Need an extra pillow or blanket?"
"Shut up." He grabbed Cherri Lucinda's duffel bag and dumped its contents on the other bed. "Where's the other bag?"
In the tradition of Lady Macbeth, I pointed a bloody finger at my overnight bag. "It's yours for the asking. I'm sorry I didn't bring my red flannel pajamas or whatever it is you want so desperately."
"You got some nerve. Has it occurred to you that you might just be in a real bad situation? The last thing you need to be doing is making me mad, you know?" He emptied my bag on the floor, pawed through my underwear and shirts, then looked down at me. "I don't know why the fuck you think you can get away with this. You know who you're dealing with?"
"No, I don't," I said. "Any chance you're going to tell me?"
"I don't have time for this shit. Get up."
"Get up and what?" I countered, assessing my chances of overwhelming him and dashing out of the room. His age was difficult to pinpoint, but there was little doubt he was several inches taller than I was and more than fifty pounds heavier. I would have preferred to take on the ladies from Tuscaloosa en masse.