Step To The Graveyard Easy Part 9

"They claim to be brother and sister, but they're either married or shacked up. Cardsharps working the convention circuit. He's the mechanic, and a pretty good one. She does the roping and steering. Marked cards-shaded decks."

Mahannah seemed to be looking at him in a new way. "How'd you meet these two?"

"I got roped into one of their poker cons, spotted the gaff before it was too late."

"And did what about it?"

Cape told him.

Mahannah said, "So you left Frisco with the satchelful of money."

"No. I divvied it up, took my share, and returned the rest to the other players."

"Did you, now. How big was your share?"

"Exact amount of my losses, plus a sixth of two thousand that belonged to the Judsons."

"No more than that?"

"Not a penny more," Cape said.

"Good for you." Mahannah's smile was all mouth; the eyes, unblinking in the half-light, were an almost reptilian black. "This Boone mentioned something about Tahoe and seed money, you said. Is that all he let slip?"

"The woman cut him off before he could take it any further."

"What else was in the satchel besides the money and photos?"

"Nothing."

"Describe the Judsons."

Cape did that, in detail.

"Neither one is familiar," Mahannah said. "If I'd seen them, I'd remember."

"Question is, what kind of scam could they be planning with you and the Vanowens?"

"Same kind you caught them doing, maybe. I host a private poker game once a month at my home. Friends, mostly-Andy Vanowen's one. Now and then, when we can't round up enough players, we let a stranger sit in."

"High stakes?"

"It can be that kind of game, yes."

"Next one coming up soon?"

"Sat.u.r.day night. These grifters might've gotten wind of it somehow, figured to worm the Boone character into the game. But he couldn't've pulled off a shade-work gimmick with us. No way anybody brings his own decks into my game." The mouth-stretch, the reptilian stare. "No way anybody cheats in my game, ever, if he knows what's good for him. He'd have to be a d.a.m.n fool to even try."

"Does Mrs. Vanowen sit in?"

"Stacy? h.e.l.l, no. Down-and-dirty poker's not her style."

"A lady," Cape said.

"That's right. A lady."

"So why did the Judsons have the photos of her? Where does she fit into a poker con?"

"She couldn't fit in. No way."

"Could be she knows the Judsons from somewhere. Or they know her."

"The last people she'd be likely to rub elbows with are short-con artists," Mahannah said. "But I'll ask her. You have those photos on you?"

Cape laid them on the table, watched Mahannah study each one in turn. Nothing showed in his face; the cold eyes still didn't blink.

"The studio portraits of you and Vanowen," Cape said. "How would the Judsons have gotten hold of them?"

Mahannah thought about it. Shook his head and said, "I don't know." He put away some of his cognac. "I'd like to keep these."

"The one of you, sure. I'd prefer to deliver the others to the Vanowens personally."

"Why? You don't trust me to do it? Tell them what you told me?"

"That's not it. I like to finish what I start."

"If you're thinking of some kind of reward-"

"Money's not an issue. I wouldn't take it if it was offered."

"A man with scruples, to a fault," Mahannah said. "You interest me, Cape. I don't run across many selfless men."

Cape said, "I used to be selfish as h.e.l.l. I figure it's time to find out how the other type lives."

Mahannah's chuckle was almost genuine. "Suppose Andy and Stacy don't want to see you."

"That's up to them. I'll be here one more day. If I don't connect with either of them, I'll leave the photos in an envelope at the desk with your name on it."

"Fair enough." Mahannah finished his cognac, fished a couple of bills out of his pocket, tossed them on the table. He stood up. "If you're all you seem to be, I owe you a favor, and so do the Vanowens."

"Forget it. I won't be around long enough to collect."

When Mahannah was gone, Cape looked at the bills on the table. A twenty and a ten. Whatever else he might be, Vince Mahannah was no piker.

11.

The phone was ringing when Cape stepped out of the shower. He swung a towel around himself, went out dripping to cut off the noise.

"Mr. Cape?" Woman's voice, low-pitched, tentative.

"Yes?"

"This is Stacy Vanowen. I understand you want to speak to my husband and me about some photographs."

"I didn't mention the photographs in my note."

She said coolly, "Vince Mahannah is a good friend of ours."

"So I understand."

"I... don't know those people you met in San Francisco. Andrew says he doesn't, either."

"Let's hope you never have anything to do with them."

"Yes." Pause. "We'll be lunching at the Lakepoint Country Club today. Andrew asked me to invite you to join us."

"A brief meeting is all that's necessary-"

"He insists. The Lakepoint is in Stateline, not far from your hotel. At the end of Lakepoint Drive."

"I'll find it."

"Twelve-thirty. The reservation is in his name."

The breakfast buffet was crowded, a line of people waiting for seats. Cape paused, glancing around. He hated standing in lines, even short ones. Skip breakfast? He wasn't hungry, but he could use some coffee.

His gaze caught and held the occupant of one of the two-person booths in the middle of the room. The Eurasian woman from Milady's Pleasure. In her purple-and-gold outfit, eating alone.

He walked over to her, bypa.s.sing the hostess. "Good morning. Justine, isn't it?"

"Yes? Oh... the man with the photographs."

"Cape, Matt Cape. Would you mind if I joined you?"

"Well..."

"No other available seats. And the line over there is getting longer."

The striking almond-shaped eyes studied him. "I won't be here much longer, so I guess it'll be all right."

He sat. The table was small and mostly covered with her breakfast-scrambled eggs, bacon, hotcakes, orange juice, coffee.

"You must be hungry," he said.

"Well, free breakfast is one of the perks of my job."

"Nice perk."

"It's a good job. Did you find Mrs. Vanowen?"

"Yes. I'm having lunch with her and her husband today."

Smile, shrug. She reached out for her orange juice. Light glinted off the bracelet on her wrist: patterned silver, with a heart-shaped clasp.

Cape said to the waitress who had just come up, "Just coffee, thanks." Then, to Justine, "What're the Vanowens like?"

"You don't know?"

"Nothing much about either of them."

"I only know Mrs. Vanowen as a customer," Justine said carefully. "She doesn't say much, but she seems nice."

"She have a job or profession?"

"Not that I know of."

"How about her husband?"

Justine's gaze flicked away, flicked back. "What about him?"

"I understand he's a venture capitalist."

"Oh... yes. Very successful, very high-powered."

"You don't like him, do you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The look on your face yesterday when I showed you his photo. The look on your face right now."

"I really don't know the man."

"Or want to?"

"Or want to. He's too... aggressive."

"Man who won't take no for an answer?"

"That type, yes."

"If I'm not getting too personal, you make him take no from you?"

Her gaze slid away again.