Murder or Bust (We're Not Dead Yet Club Book 3) Read online

  “Who has?”

  “The girl?”

  Hazel shook her head. “I didn’t see any girl.”

  Clara quickly explained about her anonymous visitor and the message of warning she had brought with her.

  “So…” Hazel mumbled, placing her fingers on her chin as she thought. “This girl thinks Steve was violent. Sounds like our man…”

  “He seems so,” Clara agreed, finally accepting defeat and ending her search. “She seemed terrified of what he might do to her…”

  “Can you blame her?” Hazel replied. “He’s already killed one girl. Who’s to say this other girl won’t be next…”

  “Hmmm.” Clara turned back to face the casino floor. She could hear the distance ringing and jangling from the slot machines a little way along the wall from them. “We need to find Ida May.”

  *****

  They found her quickly enough. But, judging from the paleness of her face and the frustration in her eyes, Ida May was in no mood to be found.

  “Go away, Clara,” she hissed, pulling on the slot machine lever. “This is a hot machine. It’s only a matter of time before I win big.”

  Hazel sighed. “How much have you lost?”

  “Shut up, Hazel.”

  “Fifty?” Hazel guessed, watching closely for Ida May’s reaction. “Seventy?” Ida May’s eyes flickered a little. “Oh, Ida May…”

  “I’ll have it back before the end of the afternoon, just you watch me…”

  “What happened to the slot machines are rigged?”

  Ida May paused and stared at Clara, her eyes squinting as they adjusted to something other than the bright flashing lights of the machine.

  “Who told you that?”

  “You did?”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, Ida May.”

  Ida May’s lips wobbled slightly. She scrunched up her face as she desperately tried to think of a good counter argument. After several moments of this rather unattractive expression, she finally groaned, and kicked herself away from the machine.

  “Don’t like the slot machines anyway,” she mumbled, as Hazel and Clara led her over to the bar where they brought her a stiff – and I mean a very stiff – drink.

  As Ida May sipped gratefully at the refreshment, the two girls explained what had just happened. Ida May listened with eager ears, although her eyes occasionally drifted back over to the slot machines, giving the impression – to Clara at least – that she wasn’t really listening.

  “What do you think, Ida May?”

  “Hmmm?” Her eyes darted back over to Clara. “I heard you: mysterious girl, boyfriend is violent, warned us to keep away – I got it.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think…” Ida May’s voice trailed away as her eyes caught a glimpse of something over Clara’s shoulder. “I think you have an admirer.”

  When Clara turned around to see what she was talking about, her eyes settled on a tall, broad shouldered man in a cheap black suit, who scowled down at her with such menace and disdain that it was surprising that Clara didn’t scream at the sight of him.

  “Are you Clara?” the man asked, his eyes darting between the girls.

  “I am,” Clara replied hesitantly.

  “Of the famous senior detectives?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say famous…”

  Clara was stopped by a short jab in the ribs by Ida May. “Yes, that’s us. What of it?”

  The suited man’s eyes flashed with anger. He took two very deliberate steps forward and glared down at the three ladies as his muscles seemed to ripple beneath his shirt. He leaned a little closer to Clara – so close that she could smell the dank sweat that coated his vile skin.

  “You need to back off this Ava Lemiux business,” he muttered.

  “Oh?” Ida May fired back, taking a step in between Clara and the suit, who – despite his obvious physical dominance over the little lady – felt compelled to retreat a little. “And who are you?”

  “That is not your concern. You will leave this alone or you will face the consequences…”

  Ida May chuckled. “I take it you’re Steve, then?”

  The suit’s eyes narrowed. They swooped between the three women before he finally stepped back once again, tightened his jacket around his chest and nodded to them.

  “You’ve been warned.”

  He then turned and strolled away, not looking back. The girls watched him as he moved into a passing crowd of casino-goers, vanishing in amongst them and not reappearing again.

  Hazel hummed nervously, her hands quivering with fear as she reached across and helped herself to Ida May’s stiff drink.

  “It’s funny,” she said between sips. “He doesn’t seem Canadian…”

  For the first time in their investigation, Hazel had hit the nail right on the head.

  Chapter Ten – The Small Man at the Big Table

  You might be wondering what had become of Percy during all of this. While the girls were dodging warning after threat and threat after warning, Percy had been doing what Percy has always done - and always will do – best.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Well, I say absolutely nothing. In actual fact Percy had been doing a great deal, just not anything that had any particular bearing on the case at hand. Had the girls decided to take note of the slight spring in his step when he greeted them on the second day, they might have realized that Percy’s foray into the world of poker was far more successful than any of them could’ve realized. And when I say successful, I mean he’d been cheating.

  As tends to happen when an otherwise odd, out-of-place and occasionally oblivious man wins big on the poker tables, Percy found himself elevated from the lowly tables of the main casino floor, to a private game hosted by none other than the famous British businessman, Ely Jacobson. Who Ely Jacobson was exactly, Percy couldn’t rightly say. He was certainly never anyone that Percy had heard of, but he seemed to be pretty thrifty with his money and held himself with an air of authority that suggested to Percy that he wasn’t used to losing. Had Percy not been so focused on trying to score one on him for the little man, he might have noticed that the famous British businessman’s accent had a definite southern-state twang to it, and that every hand he played was only done so after careful approval from a suited man who sat in the far corner of the room.

  Such details – when in the courtroom – were Percy’s bread and butter. But out here in Vegas, they were nothing more than trifles.

  Percy stared down at his hand. The jack of hearts and queen of diamonds seemed to wink at him from the cards. With a dribble of sweat forming on his brow, Percy glanced down at the four cards on the deck. This hand hadn’t been particularly kind to him – nor had it been to the other two players who had folded out shortly after the fourth card had been laid. Percy would’ve done the same thing himself had it not been for the overconfident smirking from the man in the corner and the irritating way that Ely Jacobson held himself.

  A ten and nine of hearts, a four of diamonds and a three of clubs.

  Percy had nothing and he knew it.

  He glanced up at Ely, who smiled coyly across the table at him.

  “Well?” he said, flashing a grin, which – for a successful businessman – was suspiciously lacking in teeth. “What’s your bet, Cecil?”

  For a moment Percy forgot who he was. Well, no – he didn’t forget who he was. Rather he forgot who he was meant to be. Percy wasn’t that old to forget his own identity. Not yet at any rate.

  It had been with a certain reluctance that he had chosen Cecil’s name as his alternate identity, but necessary in the circumstances. Ida May had warned him never to give his real name when invited into backroom games, although she had been very coy about the reasons why. And now that he was involved in one, he could see why. Although he had a tidy pot in front of him, he couldn’t help feeling that there was something a little amiss in his environment and was secretly grateful that – should an
ything go wrong – his fellow players would have a hard time tracking him down as Percy.

  Besides, Cecil the Vietnam Veteran seemed somehow more intimidating than Percy the Poodle-Loving Lawyer. And intimidation was one of the best ways to distract other players from their cards.

  “Hold up there, Boy,” he said, attempting and failing to do his best Cecil impersonation for it was neither suave nor cool. “I’m not so old that you can’t have your ass handed to you…”

  Ely Jacobson chuckled quietly. Percy was sure it was just bravado. At least he hoped it was.

  He slowly reached down and plucked a couple of chips from his pile.

  “Call,” he said, confidently. “A thousand dollars.”

  Ely sneered, his eyes drifting towards the dealer as he placed the last card down on the deck. Ely and Percy both leaned forward together – both of them trying to seem as relaxed and nonchalant as possible as they eyed the final card…

  King of Hearts.

  Drat!

  Percy had nothing and judging from the slight smile on his opponent's face, he did have something. Or wanted Percy to think he had something. Or rather, wanted Cecil to think he had something. Or only wanted Cecil or Percy to think he had something when actually he had nothing, when in fact he had something instead of nothing…

  Poker is rather complicated. I’m not entirely sure I get it…

  Percy sat back roughly in his chair, his mind working so hard that he was almost afraid that his fellow players could hear the gears turning and creaking. There was over six thousand dollars on the table. Two thousand of it was Percy’s. If there was ever a chance to win big, this was it.

  But with a losing hand…?

  He looked up. Ely was smiling across the table. He knew Percy had nothing, you could tell by the way he held himself. He was already celebrating his win – a win that would cause a not unsubstantial blow to Percy’s pot, and incidentally, his chances of continuing for much longer.

  He reached down and picked up several chips, tossing them casually into the center of the table.

  “Two thousand,” he said, his tongue licking at his missing teeth.

  Percy frowned.

  It was now or never.

  He folded up his cards and thought hard for a moment. As he did, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he used to wipe the sweat from his brow. With each dab on his skin, Ely’s smile grew wider. With each second that passed, his victory seemed certain.

  Percy placed the handkerchief back in his pocket and examined his cards one last time.

  Where once there had been a queen of diamonds, there was now a queen of hearts. And where once there was defeat, there was now certain victory.

  Without even hesitating, Percy reached down to his pile of chips and pushed them into the middle of the table.

  “All in,” he said, although even he could hear the quivering in his voice.

  Ely grinned again and shrugged. “Your funeral.”

  With that, he plucked up an equal amount of chips and tossed them casually on to the table.

  “Let’s see them then, Cecil.”

  Percy could see why Ely was quietly confident. He placed on the table two kings and chuckled greedily as he reached forward to take the winnings. The look on his face when Percy presented his flush was almost worth the cheating, although he had to admit the money was a very nice added bonus.

  Barely able to contain his smile, Percy pulled the chips towards him, muttering away about how he knew he had Ely from the start. He was so focused on his winnings that he didn’t even notice that everyone in the room was staring daggers into his skull…

  And that is the beginning. It was a shame really. Percy had done so well up to that point to keep out of this particular case. But that was how it all started.

  That was the beginning of how Percy got embroiled in the investigation into the murder of Ava Lemiux…

  Chapter Eleven – A Conversation with Steve

  At around the time that Percy was thoroughly irritating his fellow poker players, Cecil was still sat at the bar scribbling notes on a napkin. Although he hadn’t the investigative prowess of the three ladies, nor the same experience for that matter, he had nevertheless engaged his full heart and mind in the proving of Robert’s innocence. The inside of his pocket was lined with napkins, each one bearing a different theory and each as wild as the next.

  So far, he thought of pretty much every eventuality. He had theories for Steve, Cardello, Robert – and although it was a rather begrudging attempt to say the least, he also had the bartender, the dance troupe, the bodyguards, the slot machine attendants, the roulette croupier with the lazy eye, the Black Jack dealer with the constant and suspiciously jolly smile, the little old man who’d sat next to him at the bar only five minutes ago and most of the other acts that were playing at the hotel over the past week. He’d even made up a napkin for Ida May – although admittedly that was more out of spite than for any actual belief that she may be responsible.

  And yet, for all his thinking, musing, pondering and writing, he was still nowhere closer to solving the case. How the girls did it so seamlessly, he’d never know…

  But they don’t do it seamlessly, he thought to himself, screwing up his napkin and tossing it on the floor. They barrel through it all as well. They jump from suspect to suspect until they finally get the right one. So why can’t I?

  He was being disingenuous, of course – hardly surprising considering the very sticky spot his friend was in. Although he couldn’t help but think that his foul mood was in some way being elevated by the rather burly looking man sitting at the far end of the bar, who stared daggers across at him while flexing his very large – and actually quite intimidating – muscles.

  Cecil was glad when the girls finally found him.

  “Cecil?” Hazel asked. “Where have you been?”

  Cecil could feel his eyes widening slightly. He felt suddenly awkward, but he couldn’t articulate precisely why. Not couldn’t – wouldn’t.

  “I’ve been here the whole time,” he replied. “Waiting for Robert.”

  Hazel looked confused for a moment.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “But…” Hazel turned to Ida May and Clara. “Weren’t we at this bar a few moments ago?”

  For a moment, Clara looked like she was going to say something, but Ida May quickly nudged her in the ribs and placed a gentle hand on Hazel’s shoulder.

  “This is a casino, dear. There is more than one bar…”

  “Oh… right…”

  Ida May turned towards Cecil. Her left eye closed into a subtle wink that passed her two companions by completely. Still looking thoroughly lost and confused, Hazel took the seat next to Cecil while Clara ordered a round of drinks. Ida May took the seat on the other side of him.

  “So, what’s the news?”

  Cecil shrugged. “Nothing new. Still no sign of Robert.”

  “A-ha.”

  Cecil knew instantly that Ida May didn’t believe him, but he didn’t care. For once she was keeping her knowledge to herself and – for the time being – that was just fine with him.

  “How about you?”

  “Well,” Hazel said, thinking hard. “I think we have our killer?”

  Cecil couldn’t believe his ears. “You do? Who?”

  “Steve.”

  “Steve?”

  “Yes, Steve. You know, Ava’s ex-boyfriend.”

  “But how do you know?”

  Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “Know what?”

  “Steve.”

  She opened her mouth slightly and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know a Steve…”

  “No,” Cecil replied. “How do you know it was Steve?”

  “What was Steve?”

  “The murderer.”

  “Steve was the murderer?”

  Cecil stared back at her dumbstruck. “That’s what you told me.”

  “No,�
�� Hazel replied, waggling her finger. “I said Steve was the killer. You said he was a murderer…”

  “It’s the same thing, Hazel.”

  Hazel opened her mouth a little wider and nodded her head slowly. When her head reached it’s lowest point she took a deep breath and asked: “What is?”

  Cecil nearly cried out in rage. At that moment, Ida May leaned across, placed a delicate hand on Cecil’s and tapped it softly.

  “Relax, Cecil,” she muttered quietly, a cheeky grin on her face. “She’s just winding you up.”

  Cecil turned back to Hazel. She now sat with a cheeky grin on her face, tapping her knees excitedly like a child who’d just outwitted an adult. Cecil was not in a playful mood.

  “It’s not funny, Hazel. This is serious…”

  He relaxed quickly as Clara plonked a large, bright purple cocktail in front of him. As Cecil sucked on the straw and tried to avoid getting the cocktail umbrella up his nose, Clara dished out the rest of the drinks before saying:

  “She’s right though. It does seem like Steve is the murderer.”

  Cecil finished sipping and turned back towards her. “Do you have proof?”

  Clara hesitated. “Not as such. But there was a girl who warned us to be careful of him…”

  “Who vanished…” Hazel added unhelpfully.

  “Yes, thank you, Hazel. And there was a strange suited guy who threatened us if we didn’t back off…”

  “Who also vanished…”

  “Yes,” Clara agreed, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Who also vanished. Basically everyone we’ve spoken to seems to think he’s our man.”

  “Hmmm,” Cecil replied, taking another sip of his drink. “But it’s not enough is it? I mean, we can’t convict a guy just because everyone thinks he did it, can we?”

  “Can’t we?”

  Cecil eyed Ida May with irritation. “Don’t you start…”

  “I’m serious. Can’t we?”

  Cecil thought about this for a second. “Can we?”

  “Why not?” Ida May smiled mischievously. “What do you think juries are for…?”