Death Plays Poker (36 page)

ELIZABETH

Elizabeth looked at the chips stacked in front of her. The game of poker seemed as significant as the pimple she felt forming on her forehead. Whoever said pregnancy was good for your complexion was lying through their teeth.

The young reporter who had replaced Fiona moved through the room like she was terrified of knocking something over. She conducted interviews apologetically, as if she thought she was bothering the players. Elizabeth surprised herself by actually missing Fiona.

Elizabeth looked at the other players. It was a good final table: Mickey, Joe, Tiffany, Nate, T-Bone, herself, and four unknowns. Elizabeth ranked herself third in terms of raw skill, after Mickey and Joe. T-Bone might have been better once, but his recent track record made him a clear fourth. But poker was full of surprises. With all the books and online coaching sites available to any Joe Schmoe, any of those four unknowns could be a genius waiting to spring his first public trap. Hell, even Tiffany could luck out and win.

And then the room turned silent. Elizabeth looked up to see two uniformed policemen approaching the table. She couldn’t tell if it felt like slow motion or superspeed as they asked Joe to stand up, handcuffed him, and told him he was being arrested for the murders of Josie Carter, Jimmy Streets, Willard Oppal, and Loni Mills. All the Choker victims except Fiona. One cop explained that the only reason he wasn’t being arrested for Fiona’s murder was because it wasn’t
RCMP
jurisdiction. Like that mattered.

Of course Joe was the Dealer. Elizabeth had known it all along, and yet she hadn’t. How he always made the final table, but never came first. Of course he wouldn’t come first — why attract the attention? Consistently coming in third or seventh paid well enough to meet Joe’s needs. And knowing it was consistent would address that whole security thing.

Elizabeth looked at Joe, who was staring vacantly through her and everyone else at the table. He was still wearing the furry ears and dog nose he’d had on before he’d been handcuffed, and he said nothing as Elizabeth reached forward and took both off for him. He neither confirmed nor denied the charges as he listened to the cops and allowed them to lead him away.

Elizabeth picked up her purse and left Joe’s costume remains on the table. Nate and Tiffany both reached for the props simultaneously. She found that odd, but didn’t have the energy to care.

She followed the cops as they led Joe outside. She had tears on her face, but she couldn’t feel them falling. She watched as Joe’s head was pushed down into the police car, and stared as he was driven away.

She felt blood. She’d been cramping all morning, but she’d ignored it. She looked down; her beige pants were covered with red. She got into a taxi and asked the driver to take her to Richmond Hospital.

“Which entrance?” said the driver.

“Emergency. I’m in the middle of a fucking miscarriage.”

NOAH

Noah sat stiffly in Clare’s armchair while she packed. “Joe’s not going to confess,” he said.

“No kidding.” Clare frowned at a pink sweater while she made a couple of unsuccessful attempts at folding it. “But Oliver will testify about being Snow White. George will testify about Fiona saying she received all the notes. And we’ll hopefully get some hotel surveillance footage of Joe dropping off those notes to Fiona’s rooms in different cities along the tour. I’m surprised Joe didn’t kill Oliver right afterwards.”

“He was probably next to die.” Noah fingered his cigarette pack. He should quit smoking soon. He was too old for the shit, and there were too many places you couldn’t light up. Like in this fucking Canadian hotel room. “But Joe wasn’t impulsive about any of the murders. He would have planned Oliver’s death for a time he’d get away with — maybe later in the afternoon — maybe once the tournament was over, so Oliver could keep up his end of the hole card scam.”

Clare got the sweater in line and placed it in the suitcase. “You don’t think he was ready to call it quits on the scam? I think he never meant to kill anyone, just the scam got out of hand and he felt he had to get rid of people for his own protection.”

Noah shrugged. “I have no idea what makes a guy like that tick. It’s scary how few tells he had. Everyone else was freaking out when we sent them their fake Dealer notes. Joe was the only guy who had an even reaction. He walked around like the same old guy, relaxed and cocky and like he owned the world. Not like his life was suddenly in danger.”

“Duh,” Clare said. “Why do you think it was so obvious that it was Joe?”

“
That’s
how you put it together? Because he didn’t react to his note?”

“Sure. That’s what I thought we were looking for in the first place — the one person who reacted differently from the rest.” Clare looked at Noah. “What were you looking for?”

Noah didn’t know the answer, so he asked another question. “You think Oliver knew it was Joe asking him to dress up as Snow White?”

“I don’t know.” Clare tilted her head to one side. “I’m sure it was done with notes, or texts from a blocked number. Joe probably hid the costume in a bathroom and told Oliver when to put it on, then Joe made his exit from the same bathroom in his own clothes. Anyone watching sees Snow White Joe going in, Snow White Oliver coming out. In costume, they’d look damn near identical. No one thinks to question seeing regular Oliver going in and regular Joe coming out; they both belong to the scene.”

Noah watched her quick, lithe movements. When he’d met Clare as Tiffany, he’d seen her as too skinny. Now he thought her small size suited her; it matched her speedy mind and temper.

“But,” Clare said, “Oliver was no idiot. Who else would be playing dress-up, other than Joe? And people at the table would have called him Joe, naturally. So even if the exchange was anonymous, he must have known who he was impersonating. If Joe hadn’t have been arrested this morning, my guess is Oliver would have been dead by the end of today.”

Noah leaned forward in the chair. “Have you thought about Bert’s offer?”

Clare fastened one suitcase and set it on the floor. She still had one on the bed. “Yeah.”

“Um . . . have you made a decision?”

“Mm hmm.”

Noah’s insides were screaming. “Will you tell me what it is?”

Clare nodded. “I want to go to New York.”

GEORGE

George walked out of the police station where he’d spent the past twenty-four hours. They hadn’t told him much; just that he was no longer under arrest, but he’d have to advise Canadian authorities of his travel plans and make himself available for questioning. Since he was American, he was allowed to return to the States without issue.

But George wondered if his New England writing cabin could as easily be here in B.C. The Sunshine Coast was isolated enough. The Gulf Islands were, too. New England was where he’d grown up; it could foster his old snobbery, make him write less freely, edit himself more harshly. And the story kind of belonged here, in the Pacific Northwest where Fiona had died.

He came to a coffee shop advertising wireless access and went inside.

The strong odor of coffee beans made him feel at home. He ordered a large dark roast and flipped on his computer.

He typed
rental cabins British Columbia
into Google.

CLARE

I’m moving to New York.” Clare was wrapped around Kevin. She held on a little longer than she knew she should. His body felt warm and strong as he returned her embrace. She wondered if she was making a huge mistake.

“For how long?” Kevin’s voice was even, but Clare felt his muscles tense.

“For . . . a while. I guess. Until I move somewhere else.”

“I don’t understand.” Kevin eased himself out of her grasp. “Are you being sent on a permanent assignment?”

Clare shook her head. “I’m moving.”

His eyebrows lowered. “You mean it’s your choice?”

“The
FBI
offered me a job. I’m currently being scrutinized by their crazy security check, but assuming they don’t find out anything horrible about me, I’m going to take it.”

“Wow.” Kevin exhaled and stared at the ceiling. “Congratulations.”

“I’m sorry, Kevin. I really liked you. It isn’t —”

“Liked me?” Kevin rolled back onto his side and met her eyes. “We can make this work long distance.”

“It’s across a border. We’ve only been together for six months.” Clare didn’t want to tell him about Noah. She needed an out, in case she realized in a day or two that she was making a mistake.

“I could move, too,” Kevin said. “All I have is business cards. I can throw those out and start my company in New York.”

“What about the synergy with your dad?” Clare said. “Findlay and Son and all that . . . and you don’t have a green card.”

“Do you need one if you start your own business? Anyway, I can get that figured out.”

“I think anything to do with construction is run by the mob in New York. You’d have to pay them off. It might not be worth your time.”

“Clare!” Kevin laughed, but he looked confused.

Clare looked at the sheets, messy from their recent sex.

“You’re not telling me everything.”

Clare didn’t answer.

“Have you met someone?”

Clare chewed her lower lip.

“I guess I should have known.”

“Why should you have known?” Clare frowned.

Kevin shook his head. “It’s who you are.”

“A cheater?” That wasn’t fair.

“If the shoe fits.”

“It doesn’t fit.” Clare scrambled out of bed and began to collect her clothes from the floor. She found her cigarettes and lit one. “I’ve never been anything but honest with you. Except when I’ve had to lie for work.”

“Really? Why did you sleep with me just now if you came over here to break up with me?”

“Because I couldn’t say it.”

“If you’d wanted break-up sex, I would have obliged. It’s just nice when both parties know when it’s happening.”

“I didn’t want break-up sex. I’ve been awake for too many hours and my brain isn’t functioning normally. I woke up in Vancouver and sent a guy to jail this morning. It’s kind of surreal being here with you now. Breaking up.”

“So you wanted relationship sex because it’s more comforting after a long work day? How was it for you? I hope I could keep you awake.”

“Sex is always good between us.”

“You mean was.”

“Yeah. I guess I mean was.”

“Jesus, Clare.” Kevin’s eyes went wide. His anger seemed to leave all at once.

“I’m sorry.” Clare slid one leg through a lacy pair of underwear, then the other. Two weeks ago it would have been shapeless cotton, and definitely not a thong. She wondered briefly if Noah would have even liked the other Clare.

The real one?

No, the old one.