A Sleuth Is Born Read online

  “Oh, Paradise. Those poor folks. What a sweet little Gold Rush town. And those big trees! It was my cheap getaway when I first started writing as Betty. More like free, since I usually picked up a few bucks at the Indian casinos nearby,” she chuckled. In the years before she became a writer, Bea had scratched out a modest living as a small-stakes poker player. “But Angie, this has to be a scam. You haven’t seen as many scams as I have. Trust me.”

  “How about you trust me a little, Bea? I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know. I have already received a 50% deposit,” Angela said, sighing and crossing her arms. “That’s a fact, not a feeling. Cold, hard, factual cash is already in my hot little hand.”

  “OK, let’s say it’s not a scam. Aren’t you worried about putting this thing together so fast? The staff’s mostly gone for Christmas already. And I know how you love work Angie, but don’t you have any plans of your own for the holidays?”

  “She’s offered $50,000. We can afford to pay overtime. She says the players are big tippers, too. Two servers and two housekeepers have signed up already. Plus, we’re only providing continental breakfast—the chef will make dinners and a few snacks, but the hostess is even providing ingredients. If we pull it off, there’ll be a lot more to celebrate on Christmas. We’ll have a profitable year before we even open!”

  “She offered $50,000?! For some muffins and a few room nights? Yeah, that sure sounds like it’s on the up-and-up,” Bea snorted.

  “We’ve already got our $25,000 deposit. Even if she skips out on the balance, we easily break even. Plus, if we pull this off, we might become the place for exclusive VIP retreats. The potential is amazing!” Visions of posh events galore were already dancing in Angela’s ambitious imagination.

  Bea was about to remind Angela that the Inn was intended to be a place for Betty’s fans—not a playpen for the upper crust. But another set of gears was turning in her head. Millionaires, high-stakes poker, a sneaky scam of some sort—it was all sounding like inspiration for the wine country’s answer to Agatha Christie.

  “I guess if the $25,000 covers our costs, we can risk it. You should decide, Angie. You’re the president, right? Why don’t you tell me about the poker part.”

  “Hooray!” Angela said, pleased to win the argument, even if not sure how she did it. “What I know so far is they’ll play three tournaments over three nights: the 21st, 22nd, and 23rd. Each tournament has an equal winner-take-all prize pool, about $100,000 after our fee and the charity’s. Players each buy in for all three—$45,000 for the prize pool and a $5,000 donation to the charity.”

  “$45,000 buy-in? Holy guacamole!”

  “$50,000 altogether—the donation is mandatory. Would you like to play? They’ve got nine players and room for one more.”

  Angela knew that Bea had never played stakes like that. She could easily afford $50K now, though. Bea had banked millions from her Betty Snickerdoodle novels and spent almost none of it, living like a hermit in a modest little cottage for years. Besides, Angela figured, if Bea played, she’d probably win at least one of the three games and come out way ahead.

  “Maybe I should play. Someone needs to keep an eye on all that money. You’re talking about a half-million bucks sloshing around here. Will Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome be around to help? He could stand guard at the door in a tux, like a James Bond movie—provided you won’t go all weak in the knees,” Bea said. “I bet those millionaires expect a fancy-schmancy atmosphere.”

  Angela rolled her eyes. “You mean Aseem, I assume? Yes, I asked him to help get the place ready and add some security.”

  Bea’s innuendo annoyed her—mainly because it was 100% correct. Her knees were already a little wobbly at the thought of Aseem in a tux. But she knew Aseem had always seen her as just his friend—and now, as his boss.

  “Could you try to be professional for a minute? I need your help with the poker—tables, dealers, all that stuff.”

  “Yes, Madam President!” said Bea. She hopped down from her chair gave Angela a mock salute. “I’ll work on it. I’ll see if Perry can help.”

  Perry was the boss at a local card room and an old pal of Bea’s from her poker days. They went back decades. Angela suspected they’d been more than friends, but Bea was tight-lipped on the subject.

  “If he can’t help, he’ll know someone who can. By the way, do we have enough rooms done, Angie?”

  “We’ll need 10 altogether for the nine players and the organizer. Should fill up the rooms we’ve finished renovating.”

  “Sounds like we might be short a few. Won’t we need rooms for Perry and Aseem? Plus I invited Pat Rogers to come for a visit.” Bea decided this was not the time to reveal she planned to put her holiday romance novels on pause to try her hand at mysteries. Better to be vague about her reasons for inviting Pat. “I invited her a few days ago—when I thought I’d be all alone here.”

  “Pat Rogers? The pushy PI who falsely accused you of breaking into Charlie’s office?”

  “Yeah, yeah, but she didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I kind of like her. She’s a tough broad. She reminds me of the fun we had crushing Cash.” Cash was a bumbling criminal who’d tried to get rich quick by stealing a manuscript from Bea months before, foolishly believing he was taking advantage of a meek, defenseless little old lady. Bea had loved serving Cash his just desserts (with Angela’s clever assistance). Cash had been arrested and charged and would soon be relocated to new digs, courtesy of the Department of Corrections. With any luck, he’d be their guest for the remainder of his 20s.

  “Bea, as I remember it, Pat almost gave Cash the upper hand. Plus, she stranded you in San Francisco without a ride back to Napa.” The incident was not something Angela would soon forget. The truth was, she’d been partly responsible for Bea being stranded in the city. The episode turned out to be a grand adventure for Bea, but that didn’t stop Angela from feeling guilty about it.

  “But where are your manners, Angie? It’s too late for me to uninvite her, I’m sure you agree. Bygones?”

  “I guess if you forgive her, I can, too. But that means we’re definitely short a room.”

  “Maybe Aseem will just have to sleep with you,” Bea cackled, slapping her knee.

  Angela’s face turned pink and grumpy. “Boundaries, Bea?”

  Eventually, Bea stopped cackling at her own joke. “OK, OK. What about one of the new casitas the crew’s been working on? We could put someone there. Not the charity lady, though—I think we should keep a close eye on her.”

  “There’s one almost completed. It’s not quite finished enough for a guest, but Aseem could stay there,” Angela agreed.

  “Speaking of the charity lady, what do we know about her? Who’s wrangling these poker-playing millionaires?”

  “Her name’s Lee Glastonbury. She didn’t say much about herself. I haven’t found much about her or her charity online, either. I guess we’ll learn more when she gets here.”

  With rare restraint, Bea bit her lip and suppressed the urge to blurt out “scam” again.

  “Have I got my marching orders? I’ll go call Perry right now.”

  “One more thing. You were right about fancy-schmancy. The evening events are black tie optional. We get to dress up! Isn’t that fun?”

  “Oh goody,” groaned Bea. “I’ll figure out something.”

  Chapter 3

  “Well if it isn’t my old gal Bea. Or should I call you Mabel? Or is it Betty?” Perry was possibly the one person on earth who knew all of Bea’s poker and pen names.

  “You can call me whatever you want. But how come you never call me?”

  “Phone works in both directions, dearest Bea. To what do I owe the honor of your call?”

  “We’ve booked a three-night private tournament for multimillionaires at the Inn—starting the night of December 21st, before we even open. You up for a last-minute tournament director gig?”

  “They’re just planning it now?”

  “That’s n
ot even the strangest part. It’s supposed to be for charity—real high-rollers. So the buy-in’s $50,000…”

  “You’ve got my attention.”

  “… and each night is a single-table tourney with a winner-take-all cash prize. $100,000+.”

  “Holy cow.”

  “Ever heard of a tournament like this?”

  “No.”

  “Sound legit?”

  “Hell no.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “It sounds like a scam,” Perry laughed. “But it sure sounds like fun.”

  “I was hoping you’d say so,” Bea said. “I figure we’ll need two tables—one for a side game, two dealers, and an ace tournament director—you, I hope. Short notice, but what do you think?”

  “Have tables, will travel. We also got these fancy Christmas decks and tournament chips from our vendor as a gift. The Victorian designs aren’t much of a match for our, uh, unpolished cardroom crowd. Could be perfect for your occasion. I’ve even got the perfect detail cop if you need security help. Nice guy, not weighed down by excessive diligence about the law. Is your alter ego Mabel going to play in these big games?”

  “I think it should be my alter ego Betty, since her name’s on the door of this little guest house. I want to keep an eye on all that money. Bring the fancy cards. This thing’s all about fancy. And Perry, you’re welcome to stay here, but you might have to share a room with one of the staff—we’re running short.”

  “We could always bunk together, Bea. Like old times.”

  Bea groaned. “Tell me you’re not going all nostalgic on me.”

  “Can I help it if some of my fondest memories are of you robbing my cradle all those years ago? For a romance writer, you’re not very romantic.”

  “Truth is, the spirit willing, but the flesh is… not where it used to be,” snickered Bea.

  “I still see the old you.”

  “How do you know I’m not talking about you? But speaking of old you and old me, it’ll be fun doing a poker thing together again.”

  “Indeed. Can I get a partial stake? I like your chances.”

  “We haven’t even seen the competition yet.”

  “I always like your chances. Especially knowing those suckers will think they’re playing sweet little old Betty Snickerdoodle.”

  “I’ve got a hunch this tourney won’t be clean.”

  “Two sets of eyes on the action won’t hurt.”

  “One other minor detail. You have to dress ‘black tie optional,’ whatever that means.”

  Perry chuckled. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Can’t be a t-shirt with a tux painted on it. Think Casino Monte-Carlo.”

  “I’m more curious what you’re going to come up with. You seem to forget I wear a jacket and tie in my day job. You, on the other hand—”

  “That reminds me—”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  “I’m glad you’ll be wearing a jacket, because I think you should bring that gun of yours. Just in case.”

  “Already on my list.”

  “Oh, and Perry, one more thing,” Bea said. “It’s not robbing the cradle when the younger person is doing the pursuing. If you’re gonna get all goopy about ancient history, at least get it right.”

  “Tomayto, tomahto,” said Perry with a laugh.

  Chapter 4

  Angela stood precariously on top of a stepladder, reaching high to tack a bushy garland above the fireplace mantel. She’d already attached one side and draped the evergreen strand underneath the huge wreath hanging above the fireplace. Now she wanted to tack the other end on the left side to create an elegant swoop effect, like a picture she’d seen in a high society magazine.

  She groaned slightly as she stretched, standing a bit shakier on the tiptoes of her pristine white canvas sneakers. Just a smidge higher….

  A bright, familiar voice entering the ballroom broke her concentration.

  “Hey Angel!” Aseem said. He was heading toward her, holding up a ball of green foliage on a red satin ribbon. “Where would you like it?”

  Angela turned her head slightly, focusing on maintaining her balance. But the sight of Aseem, now standing right next to her and dangling the leafy ball over his head of thick, wavy black hair, was a distraction.

  “Is that—” she said as she began to teeter. But before she could say another word, she sensed herself falling. Thinking fast, Aseem reached out and deftly caught her in a classic threshold-carry position.

  “What were you saying, Angel?” Aseem said, calmly placing her back on her feet.

  “Thank you,” Angela croaked. “That green ball—is it mistletoe?”

  “Could be. Bea said you’d know what it was for.”

  Angela’s face reddened and her eyes narrowed as she imagined Bea’s cackling. Her knee was no doubt bruised from all the slapping.

  “How about over there? Above the center patio door?”

  “Perfect.” Aseem carried the stepladder towards across the big room to the three sets of custom French doors. More than a dozen feet high and topped by elegant transom windows, the doors led to a vast patio deck with sweeping views of the wine country. They were the capstone of the detailed renovation of the ballroom that Angela had completed just days before.

  “Let me help you hang that decoration after I do this one, Angel. I don’t want you falling off that ladder again. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to stand on the top step?” Angela wondered whether he was being chivalrous or commenting on her clumsiness.

  “Perry should be here soon to set up the poker tables. He wanted to know if you’ve got the video recording set up—and the safe.”

  “Tech’s good to go. See the camera up in the corner? Discreet, but visible enough to let everyone know they’re on camera. It’s motion-sensitive, too. Anyone who tries to tamper with it will end up being recorded.”

  “Perfect. Perry says it’s mostly about deterrence, but it’s good we’ll also have evidence if we need it.”

  “The new safe’s in the control room to the left of the stage. The computer server that will store the videos is tucked in there, too. It all fit perfectly—want to check it out?”

  “No need, as long as it’s Perry- and Bea-approved, it works for me. I’m so glad you know how to pull all this tech together so fast. Can the safe hold all that cash?”

  “Yep. Turns out money doesn’t take up much space at all. It would all fit in a shopping bag. Plenty of room for the chips, too.”

  “Bea’s hoping you’ll be standing guard at the door. She has this idea you’ll be all dressed up in a tux, like Monte Carlo or something.” She was stammering again. Damned visions of Aseem dressed up like a suave superspy.

  “I wouldn’t miss it—even if I have to rent a penguin suit. How often do you get to hang out with a bunch of multimillionaires throwing stacks of hundred-dollar bills around? Are you ready—I can help you get that garland tacked up now.”

  Angela was staring at the ginormous flat-screen monitor hanging on the wall at the back of the stage. The display would be impressive at their upcoming BettyCon fan event, but didn’t really fit the vibe of their posh poker retreat. It would be hard enough to create a cozy and exclusive ambience in such a large room without the party being dwarfed by such a large piece of technology.

  “Don’t suppose we can take that screen down, can we?”

  “I doubt it. It took six guys to install it originally.”

  Angela sighed. “It’s not very elegant. Can we decorate it to make it fit in better?”

  “Sure,” said Aseem. “Let me try.” Aseem picked several garlands from the box on the floor and looped them around the rim of the monitor. He paused for a second near the top of the screen, where a miniature camera was barely visible. He tucked it in the garland.

  “Looks better already. Can you add these?” said Angela, handing him two bows.

  “Hey, here’s an idea: What if we use it to show a Yule log?”

&n
bsp; “We sell a Treacle Town Yule Log DVD in the gift shop.”

  “I’ll download that video and get it going right now.”

  Angela beamed and clapped her hands softly. “Yay! It’s all coming together.”

  §

  As she paced the lobby, her cell phone at her ear, Angela looked sharp in a crisp white blouse, dark jeans, and patent leather flats. Her glossy hair was tied into a low ponytail with a Christmassy plaid ribbon.

  “I got the ideas for the ballroom from Hearst Castle,” Angela said to her mother, who was on the other end of the call. “And the lobby tree was inspired by the Plaza.”

  Fussing over the décor helped calm her nerves about meeting her mysterious new client, who was scheduled to arrive any minute. She needn’t have worried, though: Her amped-up decorations made the Inn look like a photo spread from a luxury lifestyle magazine.

  Leafy red poinsettias adorned the front desk; a fragrant, oversized wreath hung on the wall behind it; and a tall Douglas-fir, perfectly trimmed in silver, gold, and red ornaments, stood tall in the corner. Mid-morning sun was warming the Saltillo tile floors and reflecting off the delicate decorations.

  “I got your picture,” Maria said. “Stop fiddling. It’s perfect. It’s fit for royalty. Or a bunch of sophisticated millionaires.”

  “Thank you, Mamá! Now wish me luck. The client will be here any second.”

  Outside the lobby entrance, a lean, statuesque woman had just stepped out of an imposing black SUV. From a distance, Angela had trouble guessing her age, but her posture and attire suggested she was at least in her early 50s.

  “Jackson, will you help her with her bags?” Angela said to a chipper staff member. He wheeled a cheerfully decorated bell cart out the doors.

  “You must be Angela,” the woman said, extending a listless hand mid-stride as she entered the lobby. “I’m Mrs. Lee Glastonbury. Shall we run through our agenda? The others should arrive within a few hours.” Despite Angela’s snappy appearance, the client looked her up and down as if she were wearing a pair of ripped overalls and a crop top.