Cloutier shook his head from side to side, like a bobble-head toy. “I think you’d have to be fucking mental.”
“And I want to take a closer look at Loni Mills.”
Cloutier ashed his cigarette, this time out the window and on purpose. “Why?”
“Because she’s everyone’s ho. I’d put money on her playing a supporting role.”
“You’d put money on it, would you? Because now you’re a professional gambler.”
Clare rolled her eyes. “You want to hear my theory?”
“Why not? We have half an hour before we’re in Toronto, your job’s still up in the air, and there’s not much on the radio.”
“I’m trying to figure out why I thought I’d miss you.”
“Because you’re an excellent judge of character.”
“True,” Clare said. “But for some reason I like you anyway. I don’t think Loni’s the instigator, but my guess is she’s been brought in by whoever is.”
“Hold on.” Cloutier put his hand in the air like a stop sign. Clare was impressed that he could do this and not look like a choreographer. “Brought into the murders, or the cheating?”
“Cheating,” Clare said. “Because the way Mickey thinks the scam is working, it needs at least two people to operate. My guess is the killer is only one person.”
Cloutier nodded.
“Loni’s on the sidelines, Loni knows the winning players . . . and according to Mickey —”
“Who might be lying.”
“Sure. Might be. But according to him, the scam needs someone who isn’t playing to coordinate it. And who better than the woman who walks around the Players Only zones like she was born there? Security doesn’t blink if she crosses the little red rope.”
“You always ramble when you talk, or did that actually make sense in your mind?”
“It makes sense in yours, too. Stop pretending you’re obtuse.”
They drove in silence for the next several minutes. They turned north on Highway 427 and east onto the 401. Clare was trying to figure out Loni’s connection, and presumably Cloutier was off in his own thoughts as well. She’d barely noticed they’d come into the city when Cloutier pulled to a stop on Dundas West in front of the antique store she lived above.
“So are you letting me go on?” Clare chewed at her lower lip.
“Yeah, kid. I think I am.”
“Will the RCMP be fine with that?” Clare couldn’t stop her mouth from widening across her face.
“Should be. I haven’t said anything to them about pulling you yet.”
“Because you thought I’d come through?”
“Because I thought you deserved the chance.”
“What do I do now?”
“Lay low for today. Grab a cab to the airport in the morning. A Town Car, in case anyone sees you arrive.”
TWENTY-THREE
ELIZABETH
Elizabeth picked at some fluff from the seam of the leather couch. She squeezed Joe’s hand. Neither of them wanted to be at this viewing, but she thought it was important, and Joe, for once, had listened.
They were gathered in the players’ lounge — the one where the players really hung out, not the fake VIP room where players put in appearances so fans would think they were partying with the stars. Everyone’s attention was glued to the giant flat-screen.
Normally Elizabeth couldn’t be bothered to watch tournament footage. There was always a better way to spend the last night in a new city than sitting around rehashing every play through the lens of Fiona Gallagher’s narcissism. Even the Criminals Hall of Fame wax museum would be more entertaining. But tonight, Elizabeth was convinced that she and Joe could learn something.
“Okay, guys, you know this is rough still.” Fiona said. “Feel free to give commentary — what you like, what you don’t think we should air. I don’t get final say, but the producers listen to my feedback.”
“I think you should wear a lower cut dress,” T-Bone said from his armchair.
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Maybe you could get them to CGI the neckline. And you know, fill it in with Loni’s
“And I want to take a closer look at Loni Mills.”
Cloutier ashed his cigarette, this time out the window and on purpose. “Why?”
“Because she’s everyone’s ho. I’d put money on her playing a supporting role.”
“You’d put money on it, would you? Because now you’re a professional gambler.”
Clare rolled her eyes. “You want to hear my theory?”
“Why not? We have half an hour before we’re in Toronto, your job’s still up in the air, and there’s not much on the radio.”
“I’m trying to figure out why I thought I’d miss you.”
“Because you’re an excellent judge of character.”
“True,” Clare said. “But for some reason I like you anyway. I don’t think Loni’s the instigator, but my guess is she’s been brought in by whoever is.”
“Hold on.” Cloutier put his hand in the air like a stop sign. Clare was impressed that he could do this and not look like a choreographer. “Brought into the murders, or the cheating?”
“Cheating,” Clare said. “Because the way Mickey thinks the scam is working, it needs at least two people to operate. My guess is the killer is only one person.”
Cloutier nodded.
“Loni’s on the sidelines, Loni knows the winning players . . . and according to Mickey —”
“Who might be lying.”
“Sure. Might be. But according to him, the scam needs someone who isn’t playing to coordinate it. And who better than the woman who walks around the Players Only zones like she was born there? Security doesn’t blink if she crosses the little red rope.”
“You always ramble when you talk, or did that actually make sense in your mind?”
“It makes sense in yours, too. Stop pretending you’re obtuse.”
They drove in silence for the next several minutes. They turned north on Highway 427 and east onto the 401. Clare was trying to figure out Loni’s connection, and presumably Cloutier was off in his own thoughts as well. She’d barely noticed they’d come into the city when Cloutier pulled to a stop on Dundas West in front of the antique store she lived above.
“So are you letting me go on?” Clare chewed at her lower lip.
“Yeah, kid. I think I am.”
“Will the RCMP be fine with that?” Clare couldn’t stop her mouth from widening across her face.
“Should be. I haven’t said anything to them about pulling you yet.”
“Because you thought I’d come through?”
“Because I thought you deserved the chance.”
“What do I do now?”
“Lay low for today. Grab a cab to the airport in the morning. A Town Car, in case anyone sees you arrive.”
TWENTY-THREE
ELIZABETH
Elizabeth picked at some fluff from the seam of the leather couch. She squeezed Joe’s hand. Neither of them wanted to be at this viewing, but she thought it was important, and Joe, for once, had listened.
They were gathered in the players’ lounge — the one where the players really hung out, not the fake VIP room where players put in appearances so fans would think they were partying with the stars. Everyone’s attention was glued to the giant flat-screen.
Normally Elizabeth couldn’t be bothered to watch tournament footage. There was always a better way to spend the last night in a new city than sitting around rehashing every play through the lens of Fiona Gallagher’s narcissism. Even the Criminals Hall of Fame wax museum would be more entertaining. But tonight, Elizabeth was convinced that she and Joe could learn something.
“Okay, guys, you know this is rough still.” Fiona said. “Feel free to give commentary — what you like, what you don’t think we should air. I don’t get final say, but the producers listen to my feedback.”
“I think you should wear a lower cut dress,” T-Bone said from his armchair.
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Maybe you could get them to CGI the neckline. And you know, fill it in with Loni’s
Similar Books
