Murder by Chance (Betty Chance Mystery) (9 page)

And what about the jackpot that just happened to the retired Flamenco dancer? How could Boris have predicted that? Could this alleged mentalist actually forecast when a jackpot would be hit? Or could he somehow make a machine pay out?

Tom Songbird was right. Boris the Baffler was a great showman and his powers were beyond baffling. They were friggin’ scary.

It was only 11 a.m. as Betty returned to her hotel room for a fix. A glass cabinet was filled with items that could satisfy any impulse—at exorbitant prices. The alcohol held no interest for her. Chocolate was her drug of choice and the truffles called out to her. Their siren song was as irresistible as a Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru two blocks south of a fat farm.

Momentarily setting aside her frugality, she reached inside the cabinet and pulled out one of the twelve-dollar candies. When it came to chocolate, Betty had always been promiscuous. When she saw the size of the temptation that awaited her, there was no way she could have said no. It was the largest truffle she’d ever seen. Its sole purpose on this earth was to be devoured by someone like her. Betty carefully unwrapped the gold packaging, slowly peeling back the wrapping, allowing the bittersweet scent to drift upwards. She inhaled deeply as if capturing the musky scent for an eternity. Next, Betty took a moment to appreciate the sheer beauty and weight of the chocolate and raspberry cream delight that had been rolled in a layer of cocoa powder. She bent her head downwards as she lifted the god given morsel close to her lips. She opened her mouth and prepared herself for an invasion of mouth tingling pleasure. Her white teeth sank slowly into the dark, succulent globe. The candy burst onto her tongue and Betty shivered in delight. Belgium chocolate was better than sex. And the best part? She didn’t have to shave her legs to experience something better than an orgasm.

She set the second chocolate morsel on top of the armoire as a future reward. Once she created a spreadsheet of the murder—evidence, motives, suspects—she’d allow herself the pleasure of another truffle.

As she powered up her laptop three short knocks interrupted her.

“Room service,” called the voice on the other side of the door.

Betty headed for the door but didn’t bother to peer through the small, brass peephole. “What are you? Some freak who knocks on women’s hotel doors trying to seduce them?” she asked.

“I’m a freak who knocks on men’s hotel doors to seduce them,” the smooth voice said in an exaggerated whisper.

Betty yanked opened the door and said, “Too bad.”

The head of security stood outside in the hallway. “Got a few minutes?” Tom Songbird asked, his dark eyes sparkling.

“Sure,” she answered, motioning for him to come inside.

Though he was twenty-some years younger than Betty, the two had hit it off during her first visit to Moose Bay. When he met her niece Lori on the same trip they too became fast friends. If he wasn’t gay, Lori swore she would have married him the first day she met him. So did Betty.

Betty sat back down at the square table in the room, next to her laptop. Tom sat across from her, his long legs stretched out to the side.

“What’s up?” she asked, leaning back, eager to hear his response.

“I need to talk to you about a couple things. But first, I ran into Lori as she was checking in. She said she’d meet you at the buffet at noon.”

“Great,” Betty said.

He continued, “I find myself worrying about you. You have to be under a lot of stress right now. Are you doing okay?”

Betty pointed toward the empty candy wrapper on the desk. “I’m coping the best way I know how.”

“Have you been able to work on your blog?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I did a quick post, but that was it. I’ll manage to write more before the tour is over. If you’re concerned, the buffet will be given another five popped buttons.”

Tom shook his head. “I’m not worried. If we need to improve, we want to know. Just write the truth like you always do.”

She appreciated his reaction. She’d already been banned from two casinos because she wrote the truth. But, there was no way she’d give five popped buttons for sliced turkey that could double as retreads.

Tom leaned over and spoke quietly. “I promise you this will go no farther than this room, but do you have any idea what’s going on? Why someone was murdered on your bus? Or who did it?”

She said, “Honestly, I haven’t a clue. That’s why I came back to the room. I thought I’d go over the notes I keep on our clients. To see if anything came up as unusual.”

“Want another opinion for a couple of minutes?” he asked.

“Sure, you can help me with my suspect spreadsheet. A rating of ten bullets puts the suspect on the same level as Jack the Ripper. One bullet means they’re as pure as Snow White.”

Tom gave her a sideways grin. “Really? Snow White, pure? She was shacking up with seven men.”

Betty quipped back: “They were short. Add them all up and you’ve got one NBA center.” With a click of the mouse, Betty opened her copy of the current junket’s file. Inside were individual documents on every passenger. Her eyes scanned the list of names. The cursor landed on a document. She clicked it open.

She said, “As far as Severson is concerned, everyone on the bus is a suspect. So let’s start with seventy-seven-year old Lydia Browne. Widow, chain smoker, and retired kindergarten teacher. She likes video poker and prefers restaurants to buffets. And Mrs. Browne douses her body in White Diamonds perfume.”

Tom asked, “Is that the Elizabeth Taylor brand? I think my mom wears it.”

Betty nodded. “I made that notation because I’ve had complaints. I try to sit her next to someone who won’t mind being assaulted by fragrance.”

“Anything else about her?” Tom asked.

Betty continued, “She walks twenty minutes a day while carrying portable, water-filled dumbbells. This is her sixth trip with us. Her astrological sign is Taurus, and I notify her two hours before any departure or she’ll forget about it.”

“I’d give her a rating of two,” Tom said, folding his muscular arms behind his head.

Betty’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Not a 1?”

“She’s a smoker. You never know what they’ll do if they run out of cigarettes. Tell me about someone who hasn’t traveled with your company before.”

Betty’s eyes scanned down the list of names and clicked on a document. “Here’s a newbie. His name is Marcus Slevitch. He’s sort of an odd duck.”

Tom sat forward. “How so?”

“I was in the office the day he signed up for this trip. He was barely communicative. When he paid, he just threw the wad of cash on the counter. He was very abrasive.”

The security chief’s brow furrowed in thought. He asked, “What else do you have on him?”

“He lives near Midway airport. He’s sixty-four years old and single. He checked off Blackjack as his game of choice. He has no known allergies or medical needs, and is not on any prescription drug, which is kind of amazing considering how big he is.”

“How big?” Tom asked.

“Three-fifty, maybe four hundred pounds. But, he’s tall so he carries it well.” Betty answered, not knowing if that were even possible. But, as a plus size adult herself she felt she had to stick up for the man. If there was a global tribe of fat people, he was an honorary member of it, just like her.

Betty picked up her cell and texted Slevitch’s name and address and hit send. When Codey received the message he’d check on Slevitch’s background. Like Farsi, perhaps Slevitch wasn’t who he claimed to be either.

Tom checked his watch and said, “I need to get back downstairs, but I have some information to share with you about Farsi.”

The tone of his voice scared Betty. “Go on,” she said.

Tom announced, “Severson discovered Farsi’s identity.”

Betty breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s great news.”

Tom continued, “His real name is Danya Novikov. In his twenties he was arrested for scamming casinos in Vegas. He served six months for using a monkey paw at the Stardust.”

“What’s a monkey paw?” Betty asked, knowing it probably had nothing to do with an actual primate.

“A monkey paw is a foot long piece of bendable steel that has a claw-like end. A gambler inserts it into the payout shoot and it triggers the coin counter to release coins,” Tom explained.

“Did he go straight when he was released?” Betty asked.

Tom said, “Not at all. Two years later, he was caught fishing at a dollar slot on the strip. You know what fishing is, right?”

Betty nodded. “With the older mechanical slots, someone could tape a piece of string to a coin and drop it into the slot. The coin would register as a credit and then be yanked back out. If they did it enough times, they’d build a small fortune in credits they could turn into cash.”

“That’s right,” Tom agreed.

“I suppose he did another six months?”

“No,” Tom smiled, “but he did mange to accidentally break his legs.”

“You mean someone broke his legs for him,” Betty said. She shook her head. “He had to be either really stupid or really lucky to think he could cheat a mob-owned casino and get away with it.”

Tom shrugged. “He was both. It wasn’t until the late 70s that organized crime lost control of the city to corporations. The guy could have ended up in an unmarked grave in the desert, instead of a hospital.”

“I guess his luck ran out when he signed up for our tour,” she noted. It wasn’t a joke. Remembering the knife in her passenger’s back still made her tremble.

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” she asked, knowing the security chief was on a tight schedule.

He nodded. “There is one more thing. Well, actually, two million things.”

The corners of Betty’s eyelids crinkled into a look of confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Tom answered, “Two million dollars were hidden inside Farsi’s luggage.”

Tillie waited until the elevator doors closed before exclaiming, “I never thought I’d be tempted to break the law again, but gheesh for two million buckaroos!”

“You’re kidding aren’t you?” Betty asked, as the elevator began its descent. Tom Jones’
She’s A Lady
thumped through the overhead speakers and bounced around the compartment. The sleep mahogany walls were polished to perfection. A glass picture case on the back wall featured the showroom’s upcoming headliners. Jay Leno would be at Moose Bay the next week. On the walls, a slim ceiling to floor mirror accented the cubicles. Mirrored tiles dotted the ceiling. Behind the glistening glass, security cameras were capturing their every move.

Tillie shrugged her shoulders, “Maybe. But it’s a good thing I didn’t know Farsi had that kind of money on him. I wouldn’t have been able to drive while I was sitting in his lap.”

Betty laughed. “Actually, the money wasn’t on him. It was in his luggage.”

In an exasperated tone Tillie added, “It was underneath my butt the entire trip? I was sitting on a fortune and I didn’t even know it.”

“I think someone else did, though. I’m sure that’s why he was killed.”

Tillie asked, “Do you remember how the casino staff put all of our passengers’ luggage inside the lobby when we arrived?”

Betty nodded, wondering what Tillie was hinting at.

Tillie said, “The bags just sat there unguarded. Anyone could have walked off with Farsi’s millions.”

“That’s true. For that kind of loot,” Betty said, “there are people who’d certainly commit murder.”

The shiny brass doors opened and the two women stepped out into the corridor. The tinny, clinking sounds of electronic coins being dropped into—and pouring out of—mahcines was heard through the casino doors. A joyous “Yahoo!” and an exasperated “Oh Crap!” or two intermingled. A live band played R&B in the distance.

Betty and Tillie headed toward the buffet.

As they approached the restaurant, Betty placed her hand gently around Tillie’s waist and asked, “You were kidding about breaking the law, weren’t you?”

“Are you nuts? I wouldn’t go back to jail for a measly two million.”

Betty breathed a sigh of relief right until the driver added, ”Now, if we were talking three mil …”

“Aunt Betty!” The sound of Lori’s voice interrupted them. Her niece stood near the entrance to the buffet, dressed in a form-fitting, tailored black pantsuit. A hint of a pink lace-trimmed camisole peaked from beneath the buttoned lapel. Her long blonde hair cascaded over the jacket’s shoulders.

She hugged her niece. “Thank you for coming.”

Lori embraced her back. “No problem. Is there anything new I should know about?”

“About two million new things,” Tillie taunted, as they joined the diner’s queue.

By the time they were seated at their table, Betty and Tillie shared everything they knew about the homicide.

As the server filled their cups with coffee, Betty said, “Tillie and I have decided to still call the victim by his fake name, Farsi.”

Tillie added, “Farsi rolls off the tongue better than Novikowicky-wacky, or whatever his name really was.”

Lori said, “So, if Farsi served time for tampering with slots, it’s hardly unusual that he ended up on a gaming tour.”

“I agree,” Betty answered.

Lori’s eyes shifted toward the food station. She asked, “Could we start eating soon? I’m famished.”

The three stood up and headed in different directions. Lori walked straight to the dessert bar where dozens of fruit tartlets were being offered at Dessert First. Lori could eat eight of them and never gain a pound. Tillie travelled to Around The World in 80 Bites, and loaded up on bits and pieces of global entrees.

Betty trudged to the food station called It’s So Easy Being Green. She was feeling the effects of being sleep deprived and knew that one too many carbs would knock her out. To help keep her eyes open, she’d munch on green lettuces and crisp veggies. Maybe she’d even write about her choice on her blog. She’d title it ‘Low Carbs and Casino Highs’.

She headed back to the table with a plate overflowing with organic spring mix and fresh broccoli. Tillie and Lori were already seated. Lori’s plate held two fruit tartlets and a half-consumed slice of blueberry cheesecake. In front of Tillie were five mounds of international goodies.

As she spun strands of pesto laden pasta round and round on her fork, Tillie said, “Lori, wait till you get a look at Sheriff Severson. You’ll wonder why he’s not at band camp.”

“He is kind of young,” Betty explained.

“Kind of?” Tillie shot back. “He should be a Cub Scout, not the town sheriff.”

Betty reminded her, “Like it or not, Severson is who we have to deal with.” She glanced down at her plate. She felt her resolve to restrict her calories weakening.

Tillie asked, “Why hasn’t the FBI been called in? I drove across two state borders getting here. On Matlock, when state lines were crossed the FBI was always brought in to investigate.”

Betty took a swig of coffee. “I don’t think they would be interested unless Farsi was connected to terrorism, forgery, or some other federal crime.”

A glimmer of insight registered on Tillie’s face. “Maybe the money’s fake! Maybe Farsi planned on using counterfeit bills to gamble with on the slots?”

“$2,000,000 on slots?” Betty questioned.

Tillie reminded her, “Not everyone plays the penny machines like you do. What’s the highest limit machine here?”

“There are several ten dollars machines in the high roller area, as well as two twenty-five dollar ones,” Betty answered.

“Twenty-five dollars at one time?” Lori asked, while her fork balanced a thick wedge of cheesecake.

Betty nodded. “Twice that much if you play the max.”

“Gheesh! Wait a minute,” Tillie grabbed her purse and started rummaging through it. She pulled out a bottle of sparkly fingernail polish, one compact, three lipsticks, a manicure set, and a sewing kit. She placed them all on the table. Finally she found what she had been looking for, a small hand calculator.

Tillie said, “A slot player makes a bet every four seconds. That’s fifteen bets a minute.” She started playing with the buttons on the calculator. “Gosh, that’s nine hundred bets every sixty minutes! At fifty dollars a bet, that’s forty-five thousand dollars an hour. Farsi could go through $2,000,000 in less than forty-five hours of gambling.”

A wicked smile crossed Lori’s face. “True, but he’d probably score a free buffet out of the deal.”

The trio couldn’t stop laughing until Betty put her hand over her mouth. She said, “I can’t believe I laughed at a joke about Farsi in public. I hope no one heard us.”

Betty looked around. No one was paying any attention, expect for a lone man standing at the buffet entrance. His eyes were directed straight at Lori.

“Lori, I think you have an admirer.” Betty gestured subtly toward the impeccably groomed man. He looked as out of place at an all-you-can-eat buffet as a G Q model buying hair gel at Wal-Mart.

“Actually, she has two admirers,” Tillie said pointing without any subtlety at Sheriff Severson, who stood only twenty feet from their table. He was holding a plastic tray piled high with food.

Each noticed each the other gazing longingly at Lori. The two glared at each other.

Tillie asked, “What is this, a stand-off at the OK Corral? They look like they’re positioning themselves for battle.”

“They are,” Betty said, all too familiar with the idea of men fighting over her stunningly beautiful niece. “Lori, do you know the guy in the doorway?”

“He’s just someone I met at the airport,” Lori answered nonchalantly, though her eyes sparkled. “Actually, he just looks like every other gorgeous man out there. In fact, that’s what I nicknamed him—Mr. Gorgeous.”

“He’s more than that,” Betty explained. “I’ve seen him win poker tournaments on television. I just can’t remember his name right now.”

Tillie added, “I think the name Lori gave him fits him perfectly—Mr. Gorgeous. Lori, if you haven’t already guessed, the other gawking fool is Tiny Town’s Sheriff Severson.”

At that precise moment, the sheriff managed to knock his silverware off his tray. It clanged loudly as it hit the tiled floor.

Mr. Gorgeous winked at Lori before walking out of the buffet. Meanwhile, Sheriff Severson bent over to pick up the fork he dropped and a cake plate slid off his tray. He managed to catch it in the air. Half the room broke into applause. The sheriff’s face turned beet red as he walked to Betty’s table.

“Would you care to join us?” Betty asked.

“No, I’m heading back to the interrogation room. Gotta’ keep working,” he said, before asking, “Is this your daughter? She sort of looks like you, except a lot younger.”

Betty replied, “This is my niece, Lori Barnes.”

“I’m Sheriff Severson,” he said, his voice deepening right before it cracked.

“I thought you might be,” Lori acknowledged, a sly smile turning her full lips upward.

“Okay, well—then—goodbye,” he said, and sped away.

When he was out of earshot, Lori whispered, “Oh, my.”

“My feelings exactly,” Tillie added. “Except I’d add ‘what an ass’ to the end of that phrase.”

“Still, he is kind of cute,” Lori added. She shifted to focus on her aunt. “Aunt Betty, I know how you like to solve any problem that comes your way, but you do not have to find out who killed Farsi, even if he was one of our passengers. That’s what the police are for.”

Betty answered, “I realize that. But as long as the case remains unsolved, I’m terrified one of our other riders will be hurt.” Or more concerning, she thought to herself, one of them could actually be the murderer.

Tillie added, “Betty does have a point. If the murderer’s still out there, who knows who’ll be their next victim? It could even be one of us.”

Lori’s eyes widened. “Are you really scared there’s going to be another murder?”

Betty answered honestly. “I think we definitely should be afraid, if only to remember to be cautious.”

Tillie said, “The killer could be anyone in this room. Or could be an international hit man.”

Betty asked, “Why do you think Farsi’s death may have global implications?”

Tillie answered, “Oh, I haven’t decided anything, yet. I never make rash decisions.”

Betty and Lori exchanged looks.

“I just said it
could be
international,” Tillie added defensively. “But I do know it doesn’t have anything to do with extraterrestrials.”

Betty looked bemused. She was fully aware of Tillie’s obsession with anything from beyond.

Lori asked, “Are you talking about aliens from outer space?”

“Of course,” Tillie answered, “but there’s not a shred of evidence that ETs harm humans. Although I don’t think the probing thing they do is not very nice.”

Betty interjected, “So if you don’t think the killer is from Mars, what are you thinking?”

Tillie answered, “Canadians. The border is only a few hundred miles north of the town Farsi was stabbed in. The murderer could have come straight down from Canada and then gone back up again. According to the radio shows I listen to, terrorists border-hop all the time, just to practice for the Big One.”

“What Big One?” Lori wanted to know.

“The attempted overthrow of the United States of A. But you have nothing to worry about,” Tillie comforted. “They will not succeed.”

Without a hint of judgment in her voice, Lori asked gently, “Do you listen to a lot of talk radio while you drive?”

Tillie answered, “Yep, that’s what got me interested in ETs, terrorists, remote viewing, and the fact that for only thirty dollars a month there are vitamins that are guaranteed to add seventy-five years to your life.”

Betty interrupted, “But Tillie, Minnesota is probably fifteen hundred miles north of Mexico. The murderer, or terrorists for that matter, could easily come up from Mexico instead of coming down from Canada.”

“See what I mean? International possibilities!” Tillie sat back proudly.

“I’m going with a crime of passion,” Lori decided. “Farsi was probably killed by a jealous husband. In romance novels, stabbing is always a crime of passion.”

Betty added, “Statistics do indicate that if you’re going to be murdered, a relative is going to do it.”

“And that’s why I avoid family reunions,” Tillie smirked. “But I’m not forgetting that any old nutcase hanging around the truck stop could have done it as well. Or it could have been a lover’s triangle like Lori suggested. Farsi wasn’t the best-looking man but, as they say, all dogs are grey in the dark.”

“Doesn’t the saying go,
all cats are
…” but before Betty could finish her question, an eardrum piercing series of siren blasts screeched, warning everyone to immediately evacuate. The building was on fire.