Deadly Gamble (27 page)

I sighed.

Picking up the receiver, I heard the familiar signal, punched in my voice-mail code.

First message: “Mojo, this is Margery DeLuca. I hope the check I sent over convinced you that I'm sincere. I'd still like to meet with you in person—please call me back as soon as possible so we can set something up.”

Delete. Call me ungrateful—the woman had given me three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. She'd also made my life miserable before, during and after my marriage to her son.

Second message: “Hello, Mojo. Alex Pennington here. I just wanted to tell you that you're fired, and if you know what's good for you, you will stop poking around in my private life.”

Save. If he killed me, the recording would be evidence.

Third message: “Ms. Sheepshanks, this is Dr. Alice Bilbin at Sunset Villa Nursing Home. I tried calling your cell, but I must have the wrong number. No one answers at Mrs. Pennington's residence, or at Miss Travers's, either. Your mother is in crisis, and I think you should come as quickly as possible. I do hope you're not out of town or anything.” She left a number. I scribbled the digits on the heel of my palm, hung up the phone, and yelled.

“Jolie!”

I
called Sunset Villa on my cell phone from Jolie's Pathfinder, as we raced down the 101. The receptionist was not helpful; she informed me tersely that:

1 -Dr. Bilbin was gone for the night, and could not be disturbed at home.

2 -No information about Mrs. Travers's condition would be released over the telephone, because, well, Jolie and I could be
anybody
, couldn't we?

3 -We should turn around and go home because we would not be admitted to the patient's room outside of visiting hours, and it was now after midnight.

I
informed
her,
just as tersely, thank you very much, that we would be there within forty minutes and we
were
going to see Lillian. Not the next day at 2:00 p.m., but
now
.

The receptionist hung up with a bang. The phone was on Speaker, and Jolie had heard the whole thing.

“That woman is probably calling security at this moment,” my sister observed practically. “Hanging around with you, I'll be lucky if I don't get fired from the department before I set foot on my first crime scene.”

I would have rubbed my hands together in anticipation of a knock-down-drag-out confrontation if I hadn't already been dialing Greer's number. “Security? Please. I've seen the day guy, and he's at least a hundred and fourteen years old. We can take him easy.”

Jolie smiled at the prospect. “I should have brought my makeup. Now I'm going to look bad in my first-ever mug shot.”

Greer didn't pick up on her landline, so I tried her cell.

She answered with a blurted, “Mojo! Lillian is—”

“I know,” I broke in quietly. “Jolie and I are on our way to Sunset Villa now. ETA, about thirty-five minutes.”

“I just pulled into the nursing home parking lot,” Greer answered.

I raised an eyebrow. “It would have been dandy if you'd called us,” I said evenly.

Jolie, concentrating on the relatively light traffic, slanted me a sidelong look. The message was clear enough:
Not now
.

“Well, I assumed you knew,” Greer said, with a sort of impatient desperation. I heard her car door slam, the sound bouncing, night-muffled, from her phone to the satellite to my cell. “I'll meet you in Lillian's room.”

“Look out for security,” I said.

“Security,” Greer countered, sounding breathless now, as though she'd run part of the way from Scottsdale, “had better look out for
me
.”

I clicked off. “I wonder if they do group mug shots. You, me and Greer, booked and fingerprinted, holding up our little letter-boards. We could scan the picture and use it for a Christmas card.”

“I would appreciate it,” Jolie said evenly, “if you would not make jokes.” A tear slid down her cheek, glittering in the freeway lights. “Lillian could die. She might
already
be—”

“Sorry,” I said, for the sake of the peace. I loved Lillian as much as Greer and Jolie did, and I was only trying to cope. Sometimes my methods leave something to be desired, though, when it comes to sensitivity.

Jolie dashed at her cheek with the back of one hand. “I didn't mean to snap, Moje,” she said. “I'm just scared.”

“Me, too,” I replied.

Jolie put the pedal to the metal, and we streaked south. In the Sunset Villa lot, we screeched to a crooked stop next to Greer's luxury vehicle, popped our seat belts and bolted.

The reception area was completely empty, which could be either a very good sign or a very bad one. We didn't stop to deliberate.

Three women in too-cheerful print scrubs hovered in the corridor outside Lillian's room, murmuring to each other. Jolie and I zipped past them and came upon one of those scenes that stick in a person's memory forever.

Greer stood next to Lillian's bed, a metal pitcher in one upraised hand, ready to swing. She looked unbalanced, her eyes glittering with ferocious purpose. An octogenarian security guard faced her, his back to us.

It was a standoff, but that wasn't the most interesting thing.

Lillian was sitting up in bed, her eyes bright, a crooked but cognizant smile on her mouth.

“My—daughters—” she said, laboriously but with proud clarity.

Greer slowly lowered the pitcher and turned to stare. Jolie and I brushed past the befuddled guard on either side, like water flowing around a rock in a rushing stream.

“Lillian!” I gasped. “You can talk—”

She shook her head. “Too—hard—” she said, gargling the words like mouthwash. “Soon—though.” With that, she raised both her arms, and Greer and Jolie and I all scrambled to do the huddle thing.

Lillian clung to us, managed somehow to plant awkward kisses on each of our faces. I felt tears against my cheek, and couldn't have said who they belonged to, because we were all crying.

“This is highly irregular,” one of the nurse's aides protested.

“Get lost,” Greer sniffled.

Lillian waited until we all receded. Then, eyes shining, she cupped our faces in her withered hands, each in our turn.

I came last, and by then she looked serious again.

“Be—careful—” Lillian said fiercely. “Queen. Page. Death.”

I knew she was referring to the Tarot cards she'd given me during that earlier visit. “I don't understand,” I whispered, frustrated to the point of desperation.

Her hands tightened on either side of my skull. She kissed my forehead, closed her eyes and sighed.

For a moment, I was electrified with fear. I thought she'd died.

“She's sleeping, Moje,” Jolie reasoned gently, pulling me away. “She's just sleeping.”

Greer remained close to Lillian's bedside, took one of her hands, held it tightly in both her own. She looked terrified, as though she thought she would sink into some abyss if she let go.

Jolie tugged me out into the corridor.

The trio of nurse's aides and the security guard receded a few steps, like a sluggish tide, wide-eyed with alarm.

“How long has my stepmother been awake?” Jolie demanded.

One of the women took a half step forward, a reluctant volunteer. Her eyes were huge, and her chin wobbled a little. “She just woke up a few minutes ago, far as we know, right while you was in there. Till then, she was in a coma. That's why Dr. Bilbin called you all.”

I put a hand to my heart; it was pounding so hard it made my head swim, and I couldn't seem to catch my breath. I must have looked pretty bad, because the prehistoric security guard shuffled over, took my arm and steered me to one of the plastic chairs along the hallway wall.

“Lillian was
comatose?
” I swayed from the effort of speaking.

“Drink this water,” ordered the ancient one, shoving a flimsy cone-shaped paper cup under my nose.

I grabbed it so hard that the contents spilled over my hand, splashed onto the floor.

“Oh, dear,” said the rent-a-cop. He looked so upset that I was afraid he'd end up as a patient at Sunset Villa, instead of an employee.

“It's okay,” I told him.

He sank into the chair next to mine, breathing audibly.

“Now look what you've done,” one of the nurse's aides scolded. “Fred, are you all right? Rotika, get me some smelling salts.”

Rotika hurried off, returned with a small bottle, unscrewed the lid and waved it under the old man's nose. The stuff was so strong that it revived me, as well as the intended victim, and after a shared whiff, both Fred and I were good to go.

Greer meandered out of Lillian's room, looking dazed and, to be frank, slightly peculiar. “She's going to be all right,” she murmured.
“Lillian is going to be all right.”

“You need to go home now, the lot of you,” Rotika said. She'd put the cap back on the stink bottle, but traces of genie b.o. still lingered. “You come see Mrs. Travers in the morning. She got to rest now.”

I must have looked rebellious as I came to my feet, and Greer was still smiling that odd, befuddled smile. Jolie took each of us by the arm and said, “Rotika's right. We'll come back tomorrow.”

“I don't want to leave,” I said.

“Too bad,” Jolie replied, marching Greer and me down the corridor, past the reception desk and out into the warm Phoenix night. “You're not driving,” she told Greer, and hustled her into the back seat of the Pathfinder. Jolie's gaze swung to me. “Get in, Mojo.”

“But, Lillian—”

“Get in,”
Jolie repeated.

I glared at her.

She glared at me.

A person has to choose her battles in this life. I got into the passenger seat, though I did slam the door.

“My car,” Greer said, from the back. And then she burst into tears.

“Your car will be fine,” Jolie told her, tossing back a box of tissues as she spoke. “You can pick it up tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm taking you home. Mojo and I will spend the night with you.”

I thought of the two break-ins at Bert's, the text message, the death threat and the poisoned chow mein. “I can't leave Russell alone all night,” I said.

“Russell,” Greer rallied enough to say, “is a
dog
.”

I had an uneasy feeling, not only about Lillian, but about Russell, too. Part of the magic that is Mojo, I guess. “You can both stay at my place.”

“Right,” Greer said snippily. “Jolie and I will just share your
couch
.”

Under other circumstances, I might have reminded Greer that she'd slept on bus-station benches—among other unsavory places—in her time, and my
couch
would probably compare favorably with any of them. The problem was that Greer was obviously on the ragged edge and she needed some slack, whether I felt like cutting it or not.

“Drop me off at the apartment, then,” I said quietly.

“It's nice to know where your loyalties lie,” Greer retorted.

“Greer,” Jolie said, “put a sock in it.”

Everybody fell silent, and that's how we left it.

The trip back to Cave Creek was a long one.

Back at Bert's, Greer waited in the car, and Jolie came upstairs with me to collect a nightgown, her toiletries and a change of clothes.

Russell greeted me with sleepy gratitude. If Nick and Chester were around, they weren't showing themselves. God only knew where Tucker was and what he was doing. The apartment felt overwhelmingly empty.

Jolie paused, coming out of my bedroom with her things. “You'll be okay here?”

I nodded, bit my lower lip. I wasn't usually fragile, but, hey, I'd been through a lot in the past week. I felt like somebody who'd just been flung off some hyped-up merry-go-round, and my equilibrium was disturbed.

Jolie approached, touched my shoulder with her free hand. She balanced her stuff in the curve of her arm, deodorant, toothpaste and brush resting on top of the pile. “Greer's not herself, Moje,” she said softly. “I'm trying to be more patient with her. Are you in?”

I grinned wanly. Nodded again. “I'm in,” I said.

“Be sure to lock up behind me,” Jolie said.

I followed her to the door, Russell at my heels, and stood on the landing until she was safe in the Pathfinder again. As Jolie and Greer drove away, I put on the chain and turned the dead bolt.

I was almost relieved when I turned around and found myself practically standing on Nick's toes.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Long enough,” he said. He studied my face, his eyes thoughtful, and I knew he was getting a virtual tour of the inside of my brain. “I thought you'd be happier, once I scared my mother into forking over the life insurance money.”

I laughed, sounding a little raw, and shoved my hair back from my face with one hand. “I need tea,” I said. “Feel free to join me and sniff a few Oreos.”

He followed me into the kitchen, Russell trotting at our heels. “Your head is a real jumble. Lillian's awake. Greer's acting weird. And you wish you knew where the cop is, and whether or not he's sleeping with his ex-wife.”

I thought hard about Lillian, since I didn't want Nick viewing anything
else
that might pop into my head, especially where Tucker was concerned.

He sighed. “I've accepted it,” he said. “You're boinking the cop.”

I whirled on him, in the kitchen doorway. “You didn't—?”

“Watch?” Nick grinned. I was blushing like mad, and he clearly enjoyed my discomfiture. “Nope. Too much male ego for that. And give me credit for a
little
class, will you?”