“Never met the guy.”
“My notes say he was killed about a month before you bought in, even though no body was ever found. I guess I sound like a bad spy novel, but do you think it’s possible his murder had something to do with this project?”
John’s teeth gleamed. “You do sound like a bad spy novel. The truth is, I have no idea why Paul Everett was killed. Like I said, we never even met. Most of the contractors I’m dealing with are the same ones he hired, since they’re the best in the area. They all have spotless records. And none of them has spoken badly of Everett, or implied that he was shady in any way, if that’s what you mean.” A shrug. “But who really knows the private life of another person? He could have been killed over anything. I feel bad for the guy, but I’m not worried about my contractors. They’re all insured, well respected and highly recommended.” It was Morano’s turn to look quizzical. “Why do you ask?”
Marc shrugged. “Just an overactive imagination, I guess. It’s certainly not on my list of questions. Part of me was just wondering if you ever worried that the project was jinxed.”
That elicited a rumble of laughter. “Jinxed? Hardly. This project is a grand slam. The casino will boom, the hotel will be sold out year-round, tons of vacationers will reap the benefits and I’ll be a very rich man.”
“Sounds good to me.” Marc scribbled down a few final notes. “In fact, I wish I’d come up with this idea. My job doesn’t even pay enough for me to stay in your hotel overnight.”
“I tell you what,” John said, rising from his chair. “I’ll arrange for you to enjoy a complimentary weekend as soon as we open. In return, you can write a follow-up article describing your experience, which I have no doubt will be incredible.” He stuck out his hand.
“I can’t wait.” Marc grinned, shaking Morano’s hand. “Interviewing you has been a pleasure, John.”
“Thanks. When will the article appear in the magazine?”
“Either next week or the following week’s issue would be my guess,” Marc replied. “Do you have a business card with your contact information on it? I’ll email you the specifics once I know them.”
“Certainly.” Morano fished in his pocket and pulled out a card. “There you go.”
“Excellent.” Marc gathered up his writing materials. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You do the same.”
Morano’s smile faded the minute the door shut behind Marc’s retreating figure. He waited until he heard the car drive away. Then he picked up his cell phone and punched in a number.
“We’ve got a problem,” he informed the person at the other end. “And it could mean trouble.”
CHAPTER NINE
Casey spent the morning leaning over Ryan’s shoulder, then following up on anything he produced. Intermittently, she called Amanda to check on the baby’s condition. What she heard didn’t sound good. Neither did Amanda. She sounded as if she were coming apart at the seams. And who could blame her?
The clock inside Casey’s head ticked loudly.
They needed more time. They didn’t have any.
Her lips tight with frustration, Casey paced back over to Ryan, folding her arms across her chest and tapping her toe on the floor.
That did it.
“You know, I don’t work well with people breathing down my neck, boss,” Ryan flat-out stated. If he didn’t speak up, he’d lose his mind. “Not only does it drive me nuts, it also slows me down.”
Exhaling sharply, Casey walked away and began fiddling with one of Ryan’s gadgets. “Sorry. I just hear the sheer panic in Amanda’s voice and I feel helpless. I don’t do helplessness.”
“I hear you. But I’m on the verge of hacking into John Morano’s bank accounts. I want to see if he’s got the same kind of pattern going as Paul Everett did—whopping bank balances, equally whopping withdrawals. I also want to see if he’s paying the same twenty grand at the same six-week time
“My notes say he was killed about a month before you bought in, even though no body was ever found. I guess I sound like a bad spy novel, but do you think it’s possible his murder had something to do with this project?”
John’s teeth gleamed. “You do sound like a bad spy novel. The truth is, I have no idea why Paul Everett was killed. Like I said, we never even met. Most of the contractors I’m dealing with are the same ones he hired, since they’re the best in the area. They all have spotless records. And none of them has spoken badly of Everett, or implied that he was shady in any way, if that’s what you mean.” A shrug. “But who really knows the private life of another person? He could have been killed over anything. I feel bad for the guy, but I’m not worried about my contractors. They’re all insured, well respected and highly recommended.” It was Morano’s turn to look quizzical. “Why do you ask?”
Marc shrugged. “Just an overactive imagination, I guess. It’s certainly not on my list of questions. Part of me was just wondering if you ever worried that the project was jinxed.”
That elicited a rumble of laughter. “Jinxed? Hardly. This project is a grand slam. The casino will boom, the hotel will be sold out year-round, tons of vacationers will reap the benefits and I’ll be a very rich man.”
“Sounds good to me.” Marc scribbled down a few final notes. “In fact, I wish I’d come up with this idea. My job doesn’t even pay enough for me to stay in your hotel overnight.”
“I tell you what,” John said, rising from his chair. “I’ll arrange for you to enjoy a complimentary weekend as soon as we open. In return, you can write a follow-up article describing your experience, which I have no doubt will be incredible.” He stuck out his hand.
“I can’t wait.” Marc grinned, shaking Morano’s hand. “Interviewing you has been a pleasure, John.”
“Thanks. When will the article appear in the magazine?”
“Either next week or the following week’s issue would be my guess,” Marc replied. “Do you have a business card with your contact information on it? I’ll email you the specifics once I know them.”
“Certainly.” Morano fished in his pocket and pulled out a card. “There you go.”
“Excellent.” Marc gathered up his writing materials. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You do the same.”
Morano’s smile faded the minute the door shut behind Marc’s retreating figure. He waited until he heard the car drive away. Then he picked up his cell phone and punched in a number.
“We’ve got a problem,” he informed the person at the other end. “And it could mean trouble.”
CHAPTER NINE
Casey spent the morning leaning over Ryan’s shoulder, then following up on anything he produced. Intermittently, she called Amanda to check on the baby’s condition. What she heard didn’t sound good. Neither did Amanda. She sounded as if she were coming apart at the seams. And who could blame her?
The clock inside Casey’s head ticked loudly.
They needed more time. They didn’t have any.
Her lips tight with frustration, Casey paced back over to Ryan, folding her arms across her chest and tapping her toe on the floor.
That did it.
“You know, I don’t work well with people breathing down my neck, boss,” Ryan flat-out stated. If he didn’t speak up, he’d lose his mind. “Not only does it drive me nuts, it also slows me down.”
Exhaling sharply, Casey walked away and began fiddling with one of Ryan’s gadgets. “Sorry. I just hear the sheer panic in Amanda’s voice and I feel helpless. I don’t do helplessness.”
“I hear you. But I’m on the verge of hacking into John Morano’s bank accounts. I want to see if he’s got the same kind of pattern going as Paul Everett did—whopping bank balances, equally whopping withdrawals. I also want to see if he’s paying the same twenty grand at the same six-week time
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