Double Whammy (A Davis Way Crime Caper) by Gretchen Archer Page A

me.”
      
    *    *    *
      
    “Do whatever you want, Davis.”
    Natalie wasn’t very happy with me.
    “But don’t ask for a housing allowance.”
    She poured herself a cup of coffee. She didn’t offer me one.
    “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the executive-apartment offer, Natalie,” I lied, “it’s that, you know,” I stumbled around, “the ocean and all. I’d like to be closer in.” And have a little privacy, I didn’t say.
    “It’s February, Davis. Not exactly ocean weather, and we call it the Gulf. Not the ‘ocean.’”

    We had a little stare off, the stiff-smile variety.
    “If I were you,” she said, “I’d think carefully before signing a lease.”
    Funny she hadn’t had any advice for me when she’d given me three seconds to sign the encyclopedia she called an employment agreement. “I’ll keep that in mind, Natalie. Thanks.”
    “Do that.” She drummed her fingers on her desk with one hand and reached for her coffee with the other.  “As long as you’re here,” she said, “you might as well get to work.” She pulled a file from somewhere behind her desk, opened it, and a photograph of a man appeared. “The husband, Hank, is a slot tech.”
    She seemed rattled, jumpy, not her usual perky self, and that was in addition to being irritated at me. I think she hadn’t wanted me to know just yet that I was a dead ringer for the boss’s wife.
    “What’s a slot tech?”
    “Technician. He repairs and maintains slot machines.”
    “And the wife?” I asked.
    “She’s a casino host. Beth Dunn. She was here first. He came onboard five or six months later. They were married a year after that. And now we’re six years down the road.”
    “What’s the problem?”
    Nattie reached up and pushed hair out of her eyes. “Her clients win too much money.”
    “How much?”
    “A better way to put it might be that an unusually high percentage of her clients don’t ever lose.”
    “Gotcha,” I said. “What else do you already know?”
    “Well, just like with the room safes, we looked into it. We assigned surveillance to the Dunns, but that’s tricky. When we shadow one of our own, they figure it out or the guy next to them does, which gives them time to stop whatever they’re doing and cover their tracks on anything they’ve already done. We wasted a hundred security hours on the Dunns and came up with nothing. So we put our internal auditors to work on it, and they came back agreeing that a high percentage of her clients had unusually profitable play, but nothing jumped out at them.” Natalie shrugged. “So let’s get you in there, Davis. Let’s see what you can dig up.”
    This could go one of several ways. I sure hoped it didn’t go the slot technician way. I could barely change a light bulb.
    Reading my mind, Nattie said, “Our plan was to register you as one of Beth’s players, but with Heidi Dupree’s exit, there’s a seat to fill at her elbow.”
    I nodded along with it all, catching every tenth word: auditors, technicians, elbows.
    “I’ll get the paperwork run through HR,” she said, “and you be here at seven-thirty Wednesday morning.” She shot me a look. I crawled under the chair.
    “Any ideas about where you’re going to set up camp?” she asked.
    “I’ll get a newspaper and figure something out.” I tucked the two files into my gigantic tote bag and stood.
    “Let me know where you’ll be and I’ll have some things delivered.”
    The most promising thing I’d heard all morning. “Oh, hey, Natalie.” I turned at the door.
    She looked up.
    “What’s the deal with Mrs. Sanders?”
    One of her eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
    “What do you mean, what do I mean? Isn’t it obvious?”
    The other eyebrow rose. “I’ll see you Wednesday morning, Davis.”
    I stumbled out mentally checking box four (times this job has sent me reeling) and calculating my debt against my paycheck (still the largest reel).
    I couldn’t quit just