Deadly Gamble (9 page)

“Don't go,” I whispered. “Don't leave me.”

He did.

It wasn't a poof—nothing as dramatic as that.

He just dissolved in my arms, between one moment and the next.

One of these days, I knew, Chester was going to pull his vanishing act for good, and I would never see him again.

I
was standing there in my kitchen, wondering what to do with the rest of my life, never mind the remains of the day, when the telephone rang. It's funny how fate answers questions like that, even when I don't consciously ask them.

I checked the caller ID in the wild hope of heading off a conversation with either Heather the Stalker or Geoff the Parent/Cat Killer, and saw Clive Larimer's name and number in the little window. With only slight trepidation, I pressed the talk button. “Mojo Sheepshanks,” I said.

My uncle responded with his name, in a businesslike tone, and then a smile sneaked into his voice. “Mojo Sheepshanks, is it? I guess I'll have to get used to that, but you'll always be Mary Jo to me.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. If things fell out right, though, I decided I
might
get around to telling him about last night's casino encounter with the mad killer. I was used to playing my cards close to my vest, and it would be a hard habit to break.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” my uncle went on. I liked the warm, confident timbre of his voice. “Barbara—that's my wife—and I are hoping you'll drive down to Cactus Bend for a visit today or tomorrow, if it's not too short notice. We have a guesthouse, so you'd have a little privacy. We don't want this to be too much, all at once.”

I knew Larimer's voting record in the state senate, and his surface stats—married to Barbara, four beautiful offspring, gracious mansion just outside of Cactus Bend. He was considered a contender in the upcoming governor's race, too. Beyond those public-consumption details, though, he was merely a misty figure from a past plunged into oblivion one horrible night in 1983.

I hadn't been back to Cactus Bend since the day Lillian and I went on the lam. I couldn't help passing it whenever I went to see Jolie in Tucson, but I always whizzed by the freeway exit with my jaw clenched and my gaze fixed straight ahead.

An old, nameless fear gripped me, all of a sudden; Jolie and six or eight different therapists had suggested, more than once, that I had deliberately chosen
not
to remember the murders. Now, scared as I was, I was also curious, and I needed some answers. Maybe it was time to bite the bullet and wade in.

“Okay,” I heard myself say. It was Thursday; the weekend was coming up. I could check out Clive and Barbara, in their native habitat, ask a few questions and answer a few of theirs. In case of cataclysmic anxiety, I could always either speed back north to Cave Creek or pay Jolie a visit in Tucson. Come to think of it, the latter wasn't a bad idea. I hadn't seen my foster sister in two months.

“Will I be meeting the children?” I heard myself ask. I hadn't given the Larimer sibs a conscious thought, but my shadow side wasn't up for the inevitable comparisons between their lives and mine. They were professionals, no doubt. I, on the other hand, lived over a bar, read
Damn Fool's Guides,
and did billing and coding for half a dozen doctors to scrape out a living.

Greer could be right, I conceded silently. There was a good chance that I needed to get a real job.

Hell, I needed to get a
life.

Uncle Clive chuckled warmly. “The ‘children' are thirty-two, twenty-nine, twenty-six and twenty-four respectively, and scattered all over the country. We'll show you their pictures and tell you all about them—probably more than you want to know. Anyway, it's better if you just have Barbara and me to contend with on this first trip.” He paused, waiting for me to agree.

“You're right,” I said.

“You'll join us, then?”

“Yes,” I decided, in that moment. It would be good to get out of town for a few days. I was caught up on my work, Tucker and I were on hold, and here was an opportunity to put some miles between myself and my half brother.

Unless, of course, he decided to follow me.

Don't be paranoid,
I told myself.

“When should we expect you?”

I glanced at the clock on the stove. It was barely eight-thirty, but I was running low on clean clothes, so a trip to the Laundromat was critical. I needed some cash, too, and I wanted to stop and look in on Lillian before I left the area. “Four o'clock?” I ventured.

“Just in time for cocktails,” Uncle Clive said, and gave me unnecessary directions. I hadn't been to Cactus Bend in a lot of years, it was true, but I still knew the general layout of the town. Guess it was sort of like riding a bike—one of those things you don't forget, no matter how traumatized you are.

After Clive and I hung up, I immediately put a call through to Jolie.

“Travers,” she answered. Evidently, her assistant, who usually screened calls, either hadn't come in yet or was otherwise occupied.

Sweet memories washed over me at the sound of Jolie's no-nonsense voice. My life changed for the better when I was thirteen, and Jolie was a major factor in the turnaround. Lillian met Jolie's dad, Michael “Ham” Hamilton, a recently widowed security guard, in Ventura Beach, California. They'd fallen madly in love, and Lillian had finally settled down. There was never a wedding, as far as I know, but Lillian took Ham's last name, and it was definitely a good match. Jolie hadn't accepted Lillian, Greer and me right away, but in time we'd melded into a family.

Lillian had loved Ham so much that, when he'd decided to take a job in Phoenix, she'd willingly followed him. Jolie, Greer and I had all come along, of course, though Lillian had insisted on home schooling Greer and me. I don't know if she ever told Ham the whole truth, or any part of it. I
do
know that she was happy with him, and when he died nearly a decade into their relationship, she went on the emotional skids.

“Hell-ooo,” Jolie prompted.

I laughed. “Don't hang up,” I said. “It's Mojo.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't
slam
this phone down in your ear,” Jolie shot back. “I haven't had so much as an e-mail from you in three weeks.”

“I'm heading down that way, and I'd like to see you.”

“Really?” Jolie sounded pleased. “You wouldn't jerk a girl around, would you?”

“It's for real. I'm sorry about the e-mails—I've just been…well…distracted.”

“By what?” Jolie demanded suspiciously.

“Things,” I said evasively. “I'll tell all when I get there, I promise.”

“Freakin'A,” said Jolie.

“I have some business to attend to tonight, and you've got work in the morning. How about tomorrow night?”

“I'll even change the sheets on the hide-a-bed,” Jolie said, with one of her rich laughs. Jolie's voice matched her dark-chocolate skin. She was smart as hell and beautiful enough to be a model or a TV star. If she hadn't worked an average of eighteen hours a day, she'd have had men making pilgrimages to her door on their knees.

“Anybody sharing
your
bed these days?” I ventured hopefully.

Jolie's sigh was telling. “No. How about you?”

“Tucker and I are on hiatus.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed skeptically.

I let that one pass. “It's really okay for me to crash at your place? I wouldn't want to impose.”

Jolie gave a snort. “Just don't sneak off in the middle of the night, like you did last time. I swear, Mojo, sometimes I think you turn into a she-wolf at the full moon, or something.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I retorted, hedging. I knew exactly what Jolie was talking about. It hadn't happened in a while, but occasionally I had nightmares, full of faceless characters in black hooded robes, grabbing at me with skeletal fingers. My own personal crew of Dementors. On the referenced occasion, I was staying at Jolie's place. I'd gotten out of bed at roughly 1:30 a.m., pulled on my clothes, left a hasty note, and booked it back to Cave Creek.

“Let's not get into an argument before you even get here, all right? You may be white, and you may be crazy, but except for Sweet Lillian and Greer, you're all I've got. How
is
Lady Bountiful these days, anyway? Still livin' the high life in Scottsdale? And before you answer—how's Lillian?”

“I'll bring you up to speed on Lillian when I get to your place. I'm planning on stopping by Sunset Villa on my way south to make sure she's all right.” I paused. “As for Greer—well, she's Greer.” There was something off about Mrs. Pennington, but mentioning that could wait until Jolie and I met in person.

“I'll be looking for you Friday night, then,” Jolie said. “Call my cell if I'm not at the apartment when you get there.”

I promised I would and hung up.

Breakfast was a Lean Cuisine. I kept hoping, as I went through my wardrobe for clean and presentable items of clothing, that Chester would pop in—it would even have been worth another round with Nick to see my cat—but he didn't show. Maybe he'd hopped one of those trains out of the heavenly depot, bound for feline glory.

I had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, Chester deserved Cat Paradise. On the other, I'd have to start missing him all over again.

I packed my toothbrush and cosmetics, stuffed what I intended to wear into a black garbage bag, and left the apartment. Next stop, Maggie's Spin-N-Dry.

Bert's bike wasn't in the lot, and I could see the padlock gleaming on the side door, still fastened tight. I wanted to let him know I was going to be away for a few days, both so he wouldn't worry and as an incentive to keep an eye on my apartment. I decided to stop by after my laundry was done.

A chill tiptoed up my spine and did a moon-walk at my nape.

I looked around again. Nobody in sight, but I would have sworn I was being watched. Seriously creepy feeling.

I opened the rear door of the Volvo, on the driver's side, and tossed in my trash bag. Something drew my gaze upward, to the apartment, and I saw Nick's face, framed in the kitchen window. I couldn't read his expression from that distance, but I knew he was trying to push my buttons.

I'm a poor lonely ghost. How can you leave me like this?

I actually considered going back upstairs to keep the dead ex company for a little while—and maybe Chester was with him—but I wasn't going to get my laundry done and make Cactus Bend by four o'clock if I tarried. So I smiled and did a waggly-fingered wave, then got into the Volvo and sped away.

I felt only mildly guilty.

Things went okay at Maggie's. I folded my blue sundress, clean jeans, fresh underwear and T-shirts, put them back in the garbage bag and made for the Volvo. One of these days, I was going to have to invest in a suitcase.

The lot was full at Bert's when I got back, and the kitchen window was empty.

I decided not to go upstairs and conduct a paranormal investigation. If Nick's business, whatever it was, suddenly became urgent, he could probably haunt me even if I was on the move.

Bert was busy behind the bar as I entered, so I stopped to pet Russell, who was on his bar stool, licking his chops after a pepperoni donation. A few scraps remained, but I predicted he'd make short work of those, and I was right.

“Hey, Mojo,” Bert said. “Trying to score a free coffee?”

“I wouldn't mind one for the road,” I answered, and zeroed in on the coffeemaker.

“You goin' somewhere?” Bert asked.

I lowered my voice, although the jukebox and the steady click of pool balls were so loud, the risk of being overheard was minimal. “Cactus Bend,” I said. “Then a day or two in Tucson, with my sister. I ought to be back by Monday afternoon. Would you mind trying my apartment door a couple of times, just to make sure it hasn't been kicked in or jimmied open?”

“Sure,” he said, and the old baby blues twinkled. “Sheila's after me to shut down the bar for a few days next week, so we can go camping up at Oak Creek Canyon. You mind dog-sitting while we're gone? Russell isn't much for sleeping under the stars.”

I grinned, touched Bert's shoulder as I passed with a large coffee to go. “I'll bet he doesn't mind camp food, though.” In my opinion, Sheila was right—Bert needed some time off. In the two years I'd lived over the saloon, he'd never turned away a day's business. In fact, last Christmas morning, he and Sheila had thrown a party for their customers, right there on the premises. I stopped to ruffle Russell's ears. “I'd be happy to look after the fur-face.”

Bert's smile broadened with gratitude. “He farts,” he said, in farewell.

“Great,” I said, in mock horror. “I'll lay in some air freshener. See you Monday.”

Bert nodded, and I ducked out.

I gave the parking lot a quick sweep of the eyeballs, but I was basically over yesterday's fright. Anyway, if Geoff appeared, all I'd have to do was yell for help and half the bikers in Maricopa County would spill out of the saloon and be all over him like liberals on a budget cut. As for Heather—well, I could handle her myself.