Death of a Double Dipper Page 5

  She murmured that I had a good point about the fatal flaw in our exercise plan.

  I turned and looked in the direction I'd seen the McCabes walk away. “That is not the man I expected Quinn Baudelaire to marry.”

  “Who'd you picture her with?” She giggled. “Quick. Say the first name that pops into your head.”

  “Voldemort,” I said.

  She doubled over with laughter. “The wizard villain from Harry Potter? But we hadn't even heard of him when we were in high school.”

  I shrugged. “You told me to say the first name that popped into my head.”

  Her expression sobered. “It's actually a good match,” she said.

  Chapter 7

  Three hours later, after Jessica and I had partaken in many free food samples, played some games, toured the renovated areas of the resort, and even gotten two-for-one manicures at the beauty spa, we headed for the exit, exhausted and smiling.

  Roomies' Day Out had been a marvelous success, we both agreed as we admired our new nails. Jessica had gotten her fingernails painted pink, to match the flowers in her sundress, whereas I'd opted for the no-polish men's manicure with just a cuticle trim and nail-buffing.

  My decision to not get any polish was met with cheeky comments by Jessica, who thought I might be embracing the role of “macho film noir old-timey detective” a little too hard. Her jokes stung enough for me to allow the bubbly girl at the makeup counter to give me a quick makeover. I just had to prove I could still be a girly girl if I wanted.

  Now I had smoky eyes. Or as my father would have called it, raccoon eyes.

  Each time I caught sight of myself in a reflective surface, I looked over my shoulder to see who was following me.

  We were on our way out of the casino when we bumped into Samantha Sweet.

  “Wow,” she exclaimed as she took in my raccoon eyes. “Stormy, are you...” She struggled to find the right words. “Oh, it's makeup!”

  I squinted at the dark mark next to her eye. How ironic that the woman with an actual bruised eye had been upset by my fake ones.

  I turned to Jessica and said, “I told you my coloring doesn't suit dark eye shadow.”

  “You need more color on your lips to balance it out,” Jessica said.

  “It looks nice,” Samantha lied, wincing. She looked around at the crowd with tired, half-lidded eyes. “No wonder my open house was slower than molasses in January. The whole town is here.”

  Jessica asked, “How did the rest of the open house go? Did you get an offer?”

  “No,” Samantha said tiredly. “Have you seen Michael and Sophie around?”

  “We didn't see your family, but we did bump into Sophie's friend Q. She's really something.”

  Samantha raised her eyebrows. “Q is full of... confidence.”

  We were being jostled by the crowd, so we moved away from the door and toward what seemed to be an open area in the atrium. It turned out to be a gurgling water feature, a pint-sized replica of the waterfall Misty Falls was named for. The sound of the water crashing over the rocks created a powerful white noise that canceled out the din of the people around us.

  “Ooh, misty,” Jessica said, waving her hands through the air over the base of the water feature, which was surrounded by a rock wall with not-so-subtle signs reading DO NOT SIT, STAND, OR PLAY ON ROCK WALL.

  The three of us breathed in deeply, commenting on how pleasant the misty air was around the fountain.

  “It's like a misty oasis,” Jessica said.

  Samantha stuck her tongue out like a thirsty lizard.

  I handed Samantha an unopened bottle of water from my purse. She thanked me and drank it while giving me an appreciative look.

  A few minutes later, she had rejuvenated thanks to the hydration. Her emerald-green eyes were glowing again.

  “The power of water,” she said, smiling.

  “Sorry your open house didn't go well,” I said. “The home does show nicely. Maybe an offer is just around the corner.”

  Samantha pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and applied it using a compact mirror. Jessica and I exchanged a look. The pink lipstick was, without a doubt, the same shade I'd wiped off Colt Canuso's mouth earlier that day. Was she here at the casino to meet her husband, or was she hoping to see Colt again?

  Samantha put her lipstick and compact away. “Actually, girls, I did get a proposition today, but it wasn't the sort of offer I was looking for.”

  “Oh?” I tried to keep my face neutral. If she was going to tell us what happened with Colt, I didn't want to overreact.

  “And what an offer it was,” she said, laughing. “A ninety-five-year-old gentleman offered to give me a ride on his electric scooter.”

  I said, “Sounds like you had quite the eventful day.”

  Samantha's emerald-green eyes darted around nervously, and she reached up to fix her hair but succeeded only in making the blond fringe at the front stick straight up.

  “The guy on the scooter wasn't even the weirdest part of the day,” Samantha said.

  “Oh?” Here comes the confession about kissing Colt. I leaned in expectantly.

  She fluffed her hair again, sending more blond fringe straight up. “At the end, when I was closing up, I walked into the kitchen and found a guy in there. By himself. Just standing there.”

  “Creepy,” Jessica said.

  Samantha nodded. “And he was clutching an enormous knife.”

  Jessica gasped and covered her mouth. “What did you do?”

  “I screamed,” Samantha said matter-of-factly. “As one does when they encounter a man in the kitchen with a big knife. But then he screamed, too. And he immediately dropped the knife. Then I started apologizing to him for scaring him! Can you believe it?”

  Jessica slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. “Was this the ninety-year-old with the scooter?”

  “No, just a regular guy, about our age. I didn't know him. He said he just moved to Misty Falls.”

  I asked, “What was he doing with the knife?”

  “Cutting a cupcake in half,” she said. “It turned out he only wanted to have half a cupcake. Isn't that bizarre?”

  I shook my head. “Those mini cupcakes are already pretty small. That is suspicious. You should put in a report with the police. I can ask around for you. Dimples is always at my father's house.”

  “No need,” Samantha said. “The guy seemed harmless enough. We chatted for a few minutes. He said he was on a low-carb diet and it was making him crazy for sugar. But on the plus side, he said he might come back to take a second look at the house.”

  “Make sure you bring Michael with you,” I said. “You shouldn't be alone with this guy. It could be dangerous.”

  Jessica said, “Next open house, we're staying for the whole thing. I'll be quiet, I swear.”

  “I'm not an idiot,” Samantha said with some irritation. “We do have security. We always get people to sign in and out of the visitor's book.”

  I shook my head. “A book? Someone could kill you and then rip the page out of the visitor's book.”

  Her emerald-green eyes widened. “Really?” She swallowed. “I guess you're the expert on these things.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” I said. “A logbook is not security.”

  Jessica cried out in alarm.

  Someone in the crowd had bumped into her, nearly sending Jessica tripping over the rock wall into the fountain. I caught her by the arm and hauled her back to safety.

  “Speaking of safety,” Jessica said with a laugh. “Maybe we should move this party out of here to the relative safety of home.”

  “We were just heading out,” I said to Samantha. “Can we help you here with anything? Are you looking for someone?” Like, say, Colt Canuso?

  “Michael wasn't at home, or answering his phone,” she said. “I thought he might still be here with Sophie and the McCabes. They all came down here as a group to have the girls audition for that acting role.”

 
I said, “Speaking of the McCabes, did you know that Chip is my father's mailman?”

  “Mail carrier,” she corrected. “That's the preferred term. Not that Chip cares. Chip marches to the beat of his own drum.”

  “His daughter seemed confident about getting a starring role in House of Hallows. She reminds me a lot of her mother, Quinn, as a teenager. A chip off the ol' block.” The word chip rang a bell. I couldn't help myself. “You could say she's a chip off the ol' Chip.”

  Jessica gave my bad pun a pity chuckle.

  Samantha gave me a blank stare. “I wouldn't know,” she said. “I didn't grow up here like all of you did. I've only known Quinn the last five years, since our girls met in school and became inseparable. Those two are like sisters.”

  “Like us,” Jessica said, looping her arm around my back.

  “You're better than a sister,” I joked. “I actually get along with you.”

  The three of us chatted for a few minutes about little girls and sisterhood before the sound of an angry altercation distracted us.

  “Oh, no,” Samantha said. “Does that sound like my husband to you?”

  Jessica leaned from side to side, trying to peer through the crowd in the atrium. “You mean the guy yelling? I can't tell. Just sounds like an angry man to me.”

  The three of us cocked our heads and listened.

  Over the noise of the crowd, I heard a male voice yell, “You dummies spent a fortune to class this place up, but it's just lipstick on a pig! You can't polish a turd!” And then he followed up with a few racial slurs for good measure. The casino and lake were on reservation land, and he had a few opinions about that.

  Samantha's eyes widened and her skin paled, like it was covered in a fresh snowfall.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, and then she used a few stronger words.

  Jessica gave me a grim look. “That does sound an awful lot like good ol' Mikey Sweet.”

  “He must be drinking,” Samantha said. “He gets belligerent after a few drinks.” She made a high-pitched, keening noise. “I told him not to drink today!”

  I jumped up onto the rock ledge surrounding the water feature to get a better view over the crowd. “I see him,” I said. “He's by the pretzel stand.”

  And there was Michael Sweet, red-faced and belligerent, being held by two of the casino's security guards. I couldn't hear what he was saying at the moment, but based on what I'd already heard, it was probably for the best that his speech wasn't being broadcast clearly.

  Samantha was frozen in horror. Their real estate business was based on their reputation and trustworthiness in the town. Michael yelling and making a scene in front of the whole town was bad news on many levels.

  I reached down for Samantha's hand to pull her up onto the stone ledge with me, but she wouldn't budge. She put her hands around her mouth and called out, “Michael! Where's Sophie?”

  I'd forgotten about their daughter. I scanned the crowd near Michael and the guards, looking for a small blond girl. I spotted a dozen kids who could have been Sophie. The place was packed with children who'd come for the open auditions. The kids couldn't go into the gambling areas of the casino, but there were plenty of little girls here in the atrium, where the free food samples were.

  Samantha screamed again for her husband and daughter.

  Michael swiveled his head and glanced in my direction. There was about fifty feet between us. He looked at me and then through me. As Samantha screamed his name again, he yanked away from the two security guards. The crowd reflexively pulled away, giving them room. I watched helplessly from my elevated position on the rock wall as Michael wound up his fist and punched one of the guards in the face.

  A shockwave of gasps went through the crowd. The few people who'd been minding their own business were now paying attention.

  A hand tugged on mine. It was Jessica, wanting to join me up on the rock wall. I took her hand and pulled her up to stand beside me.

  Samantha had left our side. I saw the back of her head as she wove through the crowd toward her husband, who was still yelling while fighting with the uniformed men.

  The crowd moved as though choreographed, stepping back to give Michael and the two security guards space to fight.

  Here we go again, I thought. This was a familiar scene, indeed, right down to me observing the fight with a raised view. Jessica and I had climbed up on cafeteria chairs back in high school. History was repeating itself. Once again, Mikey Sweet was goading other guys into fights and taking on anyone who stood up to him. Once a bully, always a bully, I thought grimly.

  Michael and the two security guards circled each other within the makeshift boxing ring.

  Suddenly, a new person entered the fight zone.

  Colt Canuso.

  He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it at a woman wearing a casino uniform. He entered the ring, fists raised. Now it was three against one. Michael was a big guy, but even he couldn't take on three grown men. And Colt had muscled up since high school. He was no longer a slouching, scrawny teen who could be pushed over by a strong breeze.

  The crowd got quiet—so quiet, I could hear a small child, unaware of what was happening, demanding more ice cream, and the parent shushing them.

  In the center of the ring, Colt pointed an angry finger at Michael.

  “Mikey, this is not your domain,” Colt said coolly. “This is Canuso territory. Our land, our rules.”

  Michael straightened up and ran one hand over his fair hair defiantly. “Isn't it enough that you and your family don't pay your fair share of taxes?” Michael rolled up his sleeves and raised his fists. “You need to stay out of my business.”

  Colt cracked his knuckles. “You stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours. I'll make it easy for you. Michael Sweet, you are hereby banned from entering these premises. For life.”

  Michael puffed his chest out. “I go where I want. I'm a free man.”

  Colt shook his head and backed away slowly. “We're done here.” He pointed his finger at Mikey again. “If you ever show up here again, on my turf, it'll be the last thing you ever do.”

  A shocked murmur rumbled through the crowd. That was a threat, for sure.

  As Colt backed away, he nodded to the incoming wave of reinforcements dressed in black security uniforms.

  Michael hurled another racial slur at him, but Colt didn't take the bait.

  Colt said to the new wave of security, “Show Mr. Sweet to the exit, please. Make sure he gets all the way to his vehicle safely. We wouldn't want him to trip and mess up that pretty face.”

  Colt started to put on his jacket and then seemed to think better of it. He lay the jacket neatly over his left forearm then whipped around and sucker punched Michael Sweet in the stomach.

  The whole crowd collectively gasped.

  Jessica made a strangled sound next to me on the rock wall.

  Back in school, Colt had never hit Michael back. Not once, despite all the times he'd been picked on. But today, after years of simmering rage, he had. And what a punch it had been.

  Outwardly, I was calm as can be, but on the inside, I had to cheer. It may have taken fifteen years for the karma to come around, but Mikey Sweet truly did deserve at least one punch in the guts. There was a poetic beauty in that it had come courtesy of Colt Canuso, who'd grown into such a powerful, self-assured man.

  People started talking, murmuring to each other. Kids started pestering their parents for more ice cream and mini donuts.

  Over the fray, I heard Samantha again. She was yelling for her daughter. “Sophie! Michael, where's Sophie?”

  Michael was still reeling from the gut punch. His head swiveled around, looking for his wife or his daughter or both. Two security guards had him by the arms. He tore away from them and rushed forward, into the crowd of people. He wasn't being careful about where he was going. Elbows flailed as people bumped into each other and got knocked over.

  The crowd's noise got louder. People were getting
out of the way now, trying to get their little kids to safety, but they didn't know what was happening or where to go. The atrium was even more packed than it had been minutes earlier. A brawl always draws spectators. As panic levels rose, more people went sprawling. I watched helplessly as the crowd turned into a stampede.

  Panic turned to terror. People screamed. The stampede changed direction, and before I could formulate an escape plan for myself and Jessica, a group of people started tipping over toward me, like a chain of dominoes.

  Arms, heads, and bodies struck me from the waist down. I couldn't keep my feet under me, and I had nowhere to go except... straight into the splashing fountain.

  I reached out to steady myself, but all I caught with my hands were the red braids of Jessica's hair. I tried to let go, but my fingers curled in reflex.

  I tried to warn her, but another body from the crowd hit me hard enough to knock the words from my lips.

  Over we both went, straight into the misty, rushing water beneath the replica waterfall.

  Chapter 8

  After the security guards fished us out of the water feature, they took us to a staff area for a towel-off and a talking-to.

  The casino's head of security, a jowly man with dyed black hair, gave us a stern lecture about not standing on ledges that were clearly marked with signs reading DO NOT SIT, STAND, OR PLAY ON ROCK WALL.

  We asked about the Sweet family and were assured that everything was under control.

  I asked, “Did Samantha find Sophie in the crowd?”

  “She's just a little girl,” Jessica said. “I hope she didn't see her father getting beat up.”

  The jowly man snorted. “Nobody got beat up.”

  “I know what I saw,” I said evenly. “Michael Sweet better have made it to his vehicle without further incident.”

  The man lifted his jowly chin defiantly. “He strikes me as the clumsy type.”

  I shook my head. “This may be private property, but the laws regarding assault are still applicable here.”

  The man raised his gray-specked eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

  I explained, “Fourth degree assault is a Class A misdemeanor, carrying up to one year in jail and a fine up to six grand. But if one were to commit this offense in front of a child, it could be elevated to a Class C felony. And Class C felonies can carry up to five years in prison and much higher fines.” I gave him my steeliest look, which took serious effort with fountain water dripping down my face. “And the atrium was filled with families and seven-year-old girls.”