Murder by Chance (Betty Chance Mystery) (7 page)

Betty pushed open the exit door and stormed out of the conference room in a fury. As she hustled down the hallway, her heels made loud clicking sounds on the highly polished oak floor.

“Betty, wait up,” Tom yelled, following closely behind her.

She kept walking, her breathing labored and her lips tightly pursed. She didn’t have a history of panic attacks, but she felt one could be coming on. An inexperienced rookie was threatening both her and Take A Chance Tours.

Betty finally stopped moving when she felt Tom’s hand on her shoulder.

“I saw you bolt out of the room. What happened?” Tom asked.

Betty sighed. “I don’t know, Tom,” she said. “ Maybe everything’s hitting me all at once.”

He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze then let his hand drop to his side. “You’ve had a rough time, no doubt,” he said.

She responded, “First the murder, then the bus being declared a crime scene, not having slept in over 24 hours, and now the sheriff threatening to toss all of my clients into jail …”

Tom burst out laughing. “Have you seen this town’s jail? The holding cell’s the size of a clown car. Your clients would have to take turns.”

Betty smiled. “I guess I just don’t like being bullied, especially by a punk kid.”

Tom nodded in agreement. “Severson can be a jerk, but I think his heart’s in the right place.”

“What place is that?” she asked. “The Senior Prom?”

Tom laughed. Betty reminded him of his own mom, always willing to serve up a wisecrack or a slice of apple pie. He felt a kinship with her since the first day they’d met. Two peas in a crazy pod. “If you need help with getting a bus to take your people back to Chicago, I can make a few calls.”

“Thanks, but I’ll contact Lori. She should be able to get another bus here by the time we need to leave.”

“Say, why don’t I give your people tickets for the mentalist Boris the Baffler tonight?” Tom offered. “The guy’s a great showman; plus, I think he can actually read minds.”

She gave him a grateful thumbs-up. Her clients loved anything free. “That would be wonderful. Thank you,” she said and gently touched his arm.

The duo walked to the end of the hallway together, and reached the entrance to the casino. The electronic-sounding mimic of coins crashing onto metal assaulted Betty from all directions.

She glanced at her wristwatch. “I still have to schedule more clients for interviews.”

“I could have their names called over the intercom,” Tom suggested.

Betty shook her head. “I don’t think they’ll appreciate that. I’ll ask Tillie to give me a hand. Thanks for everything, Tom,” she said. Considering the trouble she brought to his door, she knew the head of security could have taken a very different attitude than that of a friend.

“The tickets will be at the box office,” Tom assured her as he walked away.

Betty headed toward the brown velvet settee that sat against the wall in the hallway. She needed to make a few calls and once she entered the gaming area, it would be too difficult to talk on her cell phone. She sat down and pushed 2 on her speed dial.

Her office phone rang. A high-pitched nasal voice answered, “Good Morning, Take A Chance Tours.”

Surprised, Betty asked, “Isn’t this your day off, Gloria? Is Lori sick again?” The fact that Lori wasn’t in the office again concerned Betty. She’d been taking off more than usual, lately. Betty was afraid there could be something medically wrong with her niece. Something Lori hadn’t shared. If so, that could explain why she’d been acting so secretive.

“Lori’s on her way to Moose Bay,” Gloria answered.

Although her niece was told to stay put in Chicago, Lori usually did what Lori wanted. Now that she knew, she wasn’t all that surprised.

“Is she driving up?” Betty asked.

“She’s decided to fly. She’ll be arriving soon.”

Betty was glad. It would feel good to have Lori around for support.

“Have the phones been busy this morning?” Betty asked.

“I’ve already taken six cancellations,” Gloria told her.

Lori’s theory had proven correct. News was instantaneous, especially if it was bad.

“Any of them give you a reason for canceling?”

“A few mentioned the murder,” Gloria replied, “but the others didn’t offer an explanation.”

“You’ll probably have more calls,” Betty warned.

“Actually, I have two on hold right now, “ Gloria informed her.

Crap!

“After you help them, check with the Minnesota charter companies. See if you can arrange a bus to take us back to Chicago.”

“But, I’ve never …”

“Gloria, it’ll be easy. You’re a smart woman. I’ll call you in a few hours to see what you’ve found out. But take care of the customers on hold first.”

The second she hung up, Betty regretted doing so. She’d forgotten to tell Gloria not to talk to any reporters who might call. Not only was her occasional employee extremely talkative, she excelled in exaggeration. Gloria claimed her flair for creative chatter developed as a result of reading too many books while working as a librarian. There was no telling what would end up on the ten o’clock news if Gloria were involved.

Still, with all her chattiness, Gloria was one of Betty’s favorite people. If it weren’t for Gloria, Betty would never have listened to the audio books on positive thinking that changed her life.

Betty hit 6 on her speed dial. It took ten rings before Tillie answered.

Tillie said, “Sorry, I didn’t call right back. I saw your name on the ID, but I was in the middle of putting out a cigarette.”

At that very moment, Betty noticed Tillie walking toward her while talking on her cell.

Tillie grinned at her, waved, and continued speaking. “I lied earlier about having an appointment, I just wanted to get away from Hannah.”

Tillie clicked off her phone when she was within a foot of the settee.

Betty shrugged. “I can’t say I blame you. By the way, her son’s a lawyer.”

Tillie burst out laughing. “Ain’t that the icing on the pie? Did she threaten to sue?”

“Her son told her she might have a case.”

“A case of Jack Daniels,” Tillie quipped. “He sounds as nutty as she is. Know what really amazes me?”

“What?”

“That I’m not married to him. I’m just one big old refrigerator door magnet to lunatic women and their damaged offspring.”

Betty grinned as she stood up and handed Tillie a list of the passenger’s names. “Can you help me locate a few of these folk? I penciled in an approximate time for the interview next to their names.”

Tillie asked, “What if they refuse to show?”

“They can’t,” Betty said. “According to the sheriff, everyone’s a suspect.”

Tillie stared at the long list. “Crap on a Spanish cracker! My name’s numero uno. The sheriff might as well string the noose around my neck right now.”

“Don’t worry,” Betty reassured her. “He’s interviewing everyone, including me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to interrogate Farsi.”

“You think Baby Butt Severson knows what he’s doing?”

Betty hesitated. “You know I never want to speak badly about anyone in law enforcement …”

“That’s because you’re from a family of cops. Me? I’m from the family on COPS.”

Betty chuckled.

“Personally, I think the sheriff’s a blooming idiot,” Tillie continued, “and I don’t mind saying so.”

Betty couldn’t have agreed more but wouldn’t verbalize it. “Can you mention to our riders that we have free tickets to the showroom tonight?”

Tillie’s face lit up. “Boris the Baffler? The mentalist guy? Cool!” Unable to resist, she said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s ask him to channel the murderer’s name. And when he does
, voilà
!” She then added with pride, “
Voilà
is French, you know.”

Betty pointed toward the first carousel of dollar slot machines in the middle of the casino’s aisle. “There’s Arnie Holstein. He’s first on your list.”

“Okey doke,” Tillie said. As she stood up, she adjusted the V-neck of her top to its lowest position. Betty watched Tillie wiggle her way through the crowd. A smile spread across Arnie’s face as Tillie approached him. Ten seconds later he frowned. That’s one down, Betty thought.

Getting passengers to agree to be anywhere at any given time was always a difficult task. Gamblers tended to get lost in both time and fantasy. It was nearly impossible to get them to leave a winning machine or table. She knew of one bride-to-be who missed her own wedding because she was “on a roll”.

Betty surveyed the gaming area that stretched in front of her with its twenty-five hundred machines. The machines ranged from very basic video poker to electronic slots featuring fairies, monsters, celebrities and popular television shows from the sixties. Ninety percent of the machines had morphed from mechanical rolls of a single line of three cherries to high-tech high-resolution digital images featuring up to two hundred and forty-three possible wins.

The slots at Moose Bay were ticket-in, ticket-out slots. Inserting a coin into a machine was history. All of the machines—even the ones called “penny slots”—accepted only paper currency or paper tickets.

Betty walked toward the first machine where one of her regular clients sat. Twenty multi-lines of forest creatures were flashing by in front of Bernice Lang’s eyes. The woman was working a penny slot machine and was ahead two hundred and thirty-four dollars.

“Looks like you’re doing pretty good,” Betty said, placing her hand on her client’s shoulders.

Bernice sat mesmerized by the spinning screen in front of her. “I’m doing okay.”

Betty said gently, “The sheriff would like to schedule a meeting with each of the passengers.”

Bernice hit the play button like a judge pounding out a guilty plea with his gavel. “I don’t know a thing about the murder or that Farsi guy.”

“It’s just a formality,” Betty comforted.

“I don’t want to leave this machine. I’m winning. Someone else will start playing it as soon as I get up.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to. Can you be at Conference Room B at ten-thirty?”

“Fine, but if I end up losing money on my next machine, you’ll owe me one of those buffet coupons you carry around.”

Betty unzipped her purse and pulled out a vinyl coupon carrier.

“This is the best I can do for now,” Betty said, handing a fifty percent off coupon to Bernice. “But, you’ll be glad to know the casino is giving us tickets for Boris the Baffler.”

“You can give my ticket away. I don’t want it,” Bernice snapped.

Betty was surprised. “Are you sure? I hear he’s wonderful.”

“Mind readers scare me. I don’t want anyone to know what I’m thinking. What if I have a dirty thought during the show? No thanks.”

“Well, I don’t think he can actually read …”

“Even if he can’t, he’s still creepy. Just take a close gander at him.” Bernice pointed at a poster hanging on the wall.

“I will,” Betty promised. “Remember, Conference Room B …”

“Yeah, yeah. Ten-thirty,” Bernice barked irritably, not taking her eyes off the screen.

To show her client she always kept her word, Betty immediately walked over to the life size poster of the entertainer.

Standing six inches in front of his photo, Betty found it impossible to tell his age. Airbrushing may have blurred decades of life from his face. Boris could be in his twenties or edging toward his sixties.

His hair was not only a brassy bleached blond but was cut into a 80s mullet that screamed Euro Trash. His muscular body strained against his skintight white silk jumpsuit. Starburst patterns of red, black, green and clear rhinestones adorned an ensemble that would make Liberace’s ghost green with envy.

Unlike most casino headliner’s publicity photos, The Baffler was not surrounded by a bevy of barely-dressed babes. Instead, three men in security uniforms encircled him, holding tightly onto their nightsticks, while Boris held his hands cuffed over his head.

Blazoned across the top of the poster were the words, “Even the Casino Is Afraid of His Powers!”

How hokey, can you get? Betty thought, happy in knowing no one could actually read another person’s mind.

Betty believed there were two types of homicide detectives: those who talked about their work when they got home, and those who didn’t. Her husband Larry had been a talker.

In the beginning of their marriage the two of them would sit together at night in their pine-paneled den. She’d sip her way through a half glass of Cabernet while Larry downed three or four brews.

She’d tell him briefly about their son or the volunteer work she did that day. He would belch out sighs of boredom.

All Larry wanted to do was discuss his work. Betty attributed his self-absorption to stress. Later, in therapy, her psychiatrist referred to him as a megalomaniac, a polite way of saying “The guy’s an asshole!”

Now, when people asked why her marriage ended she’d repeat an old joke she once heard; she and her husband divorced over religious reasons; he thought he was God, and she didn’t.

Yet, though he didn’t want to listen to her stories, Larry bragged about her ability to analyze a crime. Of course he never told her personally how proud he was of her talent. She’d only heard about it at the precinct’s annual holiday party. Two of Larry’s subordinates whispered loudly over beers that Betty was the brains behind the beast. One of them actually said it was too bad Larry wasn’t a stay-at-home-cop and Betty the working detective.

But she never told Larry what she heard. She knew he’d crucify the two men if she did. Larry didn’t take kindly to criticism or praise. Nor was it easy for him to compliment anyone, even his own son. He’d grown up in a family that believed in discipline, not rewards. As always, she forgave Larry for his faults, convinced he would eventually change into the husband she convinced herself he could be.

After all, she was only the way she was because of her own family. Betty knew her uncanny skill was due partially to having a law enforcement dad. The other reason was her family’s habit of playing mind games, the good kind. Puzzles, math problems, crosswords, board games, and chess were all part of her daily life while growing up.

She’d thought about being a law officer herself, but when she fell for Detective Chance, she decided otherwise. Having two cops as parents doubled the possibility for a child being orphaned. Betty didn’t like the odds.

Still, her family’s obsession with games of strategy taught her that life could not only be fun, but tricky. But if one searched long enough, and hard enough, there was usually a solution to any problem.

Betty hoped she’d passed on that little bit of wisdom to her son. She hit 1 on her speed dial. Codey answered on the third ring.

“Hey Kiddo, doing the crossword?” she teased, knowing full well he wasn’t. Codey was in his office, doing the one thing most cops hated most. Paperwork.

Her son’s response didn’t return the warmth in her voice. He answered gruffly, “I’ve left you four messages that you haven’t returned.”

“I’m sorry, Codey,” she began before being interrupted.

“Don’t you know how worried I am about you?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. I’ve told you before, you don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

When it came to protecting his mom, Codey was a bear. It was sweet, Betty thought, but unnecessary.

Frustrated, Codey lectured: “Mom, this isn’t about your being able to change a flat tire or shovel snow off your roof. You’re involved in a murder.”

Betty put on her best mom’s-still-in-charge voice. “And that’s why I’m calling you song, to see if you know anything, or may have hard anything while on duty. Or if you do hear something, let me know ASAP. Okay?”

“The Chicago Police Department is 400 miles away from Moose Bay! What do you expect us to hear? Who the murderer was? His motive? Where he bought the weapon? And maybe what he had for lunch? You’re the one who should know these things. You’re the one driving around Minnesota with a corpse in your bus.”

“Bathroom of the bus, actually,” she corrected him, not bothering to tell him he really shouldn’t talk to his mother in that tone of voice. She knew his heart was in the right place. She would mention it later, once the killer had been arrested.

“Did the police say how long he’d been dead?” Codey asked with exasperation.

“A while I guess,” Betty answered, preparing herself for a barrage of ‘moms!’ “Since Tyler Falls.”

“Wait a minute,” Codey said. Betty could tell by the silence that he was googling the distance between Moose Bay and Tyler Falls. After a few seconds he yelled, “That’s over an hour’s drive away. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that someone was in the can for that long?”

“Seniors take a long time in the bathroom,” she explained. “It’s one of the things that you get used to as a tour host.”

If she were video chatting with him, Betty knew she’d see him shaking his head in disbelief.

After a brief pause, Codey asked, “How is the passenger that found the body? I know how traumatic that can be. Are they okay?”

Reluctantly, Betty admitted, “We’re fine.”

“Huh?”

“Tillie and me,” Betty said. “We’re the ones who found the body.”

“Cripes, Mom!” Codey yelled into the phone.

Betty sighed in understanding. “Codey, honey, finding a body like that made me realize again how hard your job is.”

“So is yours, I guess,” he said. “Do you need me to come up? I still have a few vacation days left. I can be there in a matter of hours.”

Betty replied, “Thanks for the offer but I don’t think the Boy Wonder would approve.”

“Who?”

“The town’s sheriff. Severson. He’s like twenty-four years old,” Betty told him.

“You’re kidding? Is he any good?” Codey asked.

Betty stated, “I’m not too impressed, but in my eyes, no one’s as good a cop as you or your dad.”

After an uncomfortable silence Codey replied, “Yeah, dad is a pretty good detective.”

Betty was glad he didn’t add his usual rant--but as a husband and father he sucks.

Betty had often wondered if Codey had chosen “vice” to keep an eye on his father. Turned out, her ex-husband Larry was actually one of the worst of Chicago’s finest. He may have maintained fidelity to his police oath, but his marriage oath was another matter. That was another little fact she discovered after the divorce. Not only did he fall in love with another woman, but he enjoyed an occasional working girl as well.

Codey continued his inquiry. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

Betty admitted, “Actually, I do. It’s one of the reasons I called. I was wondering if you could do background checks for me.”

“Mom! By ‘anything’, I meant like sending you a pick-me-up bouquet. You’re not thinking about working the case, are you? I know you helped Dad solve homicides but I really think that ...”

“Of course not,” Betty interrupted him with a lie. “It’s just that there are a few clients I know nothing about.”

Over the phone, she could hear him slurp down coffee before answering.

“All right,” he said. “You want me to look into the victim’s background first?”

“You can’t. Seems like the name he used with our company isn’t real. They’re running tests this morning to see if either his prints or DNA turn up anything.”

“Mom, don’t tell me you don’t check IDs?” Codey groaned.

“You and Severson weren’t partners once, were you?” Betty replied. She didn’t bother to answer his question because it was a moot point. From now on Take A Chance would check everyone’s ID. Well, maybe not Hannah’s. Even Homeland Security would probably give her a pass.

“So, if I text you a few names, will you run a search for me?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess. Promise me you won’t put yourself in any danger?” Codey begged.

“Of course not,” Betty said. “Anyway, Lori’s on her way here to watch out for me.”

“That’s good to know. Are you worried about the sheriff questioning your driver?” Codey asked.

Betty felt herself stiffen. She loved her son more than anyone in the world but sometimes he was just too conservative and judgmental. He never trusted Tillie, once Betty informed him about her history.

Betty answered in a firm voice, “Tillie will be fine. She’s a terrific bus driver, a great traveling companion …”

“And an ex-con with a temper.”

**

Tillie stared up at the small jet overhead in the distance. It was circling the landing strip at Moose Bay’s airport. She leaned back against one of the ornate pillars that decorated the casino’s entrance and pulled a pack of menthol cigarettes out of her coat pocket. Yanking a glittery plastic lighter out of her other pocket, she lit the cigarette. The first drag spread through her body, calming her.

She could have stayed inside to smoke. A casino was one of the few places left where a smoker felt welcomed, but Tillie never broke her own rules.

While in prison, Tillie wrote down a set of simple life instructions that her counselor said would keep her from becoming a repeat offender. Smoking outdoors fit in perfectly with Rule #7—think of others, not just yourself.

Tillie watched the plane descend toward the earth. Before going back inside, she would take the list from her pocket and read each rule three times. The guidelines had become a daily mantra. The ritual of repeating the words helped her remain centered.

As long as she followed the rules, she knew her life would be fine. It was only when she became anxious that her brain misfired, causing her to quickly forget any promise she’d made to herself.

When you’re under extreme stress you have poor impulse control her counselor had repeated over and over.

As Tillie took her final drag, she told herself to stop worrying that the sheriff could connect her to Farsi’s murder. She couldn’t allow herself to think about that, at all. If she did she knew her anxiety level could reach an all-time high. Then there was no telling what she’d do.

There was only one thing Tillie knew for certain. No matter what it took, she would never allow herself to be sent back to jail. Not in this lifetime.