Spotted Pony Casino Mystery Books 1-3: Spotted Pony Casino Mystery

POKER FACE

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Poker Face

Spotted Pony Casino Mystery

Book 1

Paty Jager

Windtree Press

This is a work of fiction, Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

POKER FACE

Copyright © 2021 Patricia Jager

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Windtree Press except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [email protected]

Windtree Press

http://windtreepress.com

Cover Art by Covers by Karen

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Published in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-952447-80-8

Chapter One

Dela Alvaro stood in front of a single wide mobile home older than herself. She was thankful Mimi Shumack, an elder on the Umatilla Reservation, was happy to help her look for a place to rent, but this wasn’t a place Dela could settle into. The single wide trailers along this street were less than twelve feet apart. Not only would her neighbors hear when she had a bad dream or cursed her missing leg, she’d be able to hear everything that they did. Judging from the overflowing bags of cans on the one side and cardboard window coverings on the other side, the nights around here could be pretty noisy.

Not that she was home much during the night since she’d taken over as the Head of Security at the Spotted Pony Casino.

No. This is not going to work. She headed toward her compact car as a jacked-up Ford truck came barreling down the road into the small community of mobile homes.

Something brown and gray darted into the road.

The thump, yelp, and screech of brakes were instantaneous.

Dela jogged out to the road. A large dog lay on its side, whining, as a male in his teens hopped out of the truck.

I didn’t see him! Damn dog ran in front of me! the teenager yelled.

Dela knelt on her bad knee and studied the dog. His back leg had several compound fractures. He was bleeding a lot. Get me something I can wrap around his leg to stop the bleeding.

The teenager ran to his truck and came back with a t-shirt. It had the logo of the local Nixyaawii Community School.

She ripped it in half and put a tourniquet on the leg. The dog whimpered and raised its head up as if to protest.

Shhh. I’m here to help you. Just hold on long enough I can get you to a vet.

I’m not paying no vet bill for a dog that ran out in front of me, the teenager said.

Dela glared at him. You wouldn’t have hit him if you hadn’t been going so fast.

The teenager cast a glance down the road and back to her.

Take a photo of him. While I take him to the vet, I want you to find out who he belongs to.

While the young driver had his phone out, she gave him her phone number. Call me when you find the owner. She nodded toward her car. Go open the back door so I can set him in.

Dela slid her arms under the dog, keeping her face away from his head, and using all the muscles in her good leg and what was left of her other leg, pushed to her feet. The dog clamped onto her upper arm. She felt the pressure of his teeth and hoped he didn’t break her skin.

He bit you! the young man said, staring at the dog’s bared teeth.

He’s in pain. Sometimes it helps to have something to bite down on. She knew how this animal felt. She’d clenched her teeth down on her dog tags as the medic tended to her wounds when her Jeep and fellow MPs had encountered a IED on a routine trip to check the perimeter of their compound at Camp Banzai.

She bent at the waist, setting the dog down in her back seat. As soon as the dog’s leg had something stable underneath, it released her arm.

Good boy. She straightened and closed the door. Find out who he belongs to and let me know.

The teenager nodded, staring at the bloody spots on her shirt where the dog had bit her.

Dela could tell the wounds weren’t severe. Her arm still ached and there would more than likely be a bruise but she didn’t blame the dog. She’d been in his situation. She slid into the driver’s seat and backed out of the mobile home parking space. A high school friend was now a veterinarian. She had a practice on the edge of the rez close to Pendleton.

Driving quickly, but carefully, Dela pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later. Rather than cause the dog anymore pain, she strode into the building.

The receptionist, her friend’s son, looked up and smiled. Dela, what are you doing here?

I have a dog in my car. He was hit. I’m pretty sure his left rear leg is toast.

He jumped up. I’ll get mom.

She nodded, staring at the photos and posters of cats and dogs for sale and to give away on the poster board.

Dr. Molly Taylor walked out of the backroom a syringe in her hand. Where’s this dog?

In the back seat of my car. Her heart thudded at the sight of the syringe. She pointed at it. You’re not putting him down, are you?

This is a sedative. We’ll knock him out, get him in here, and take a look at the damage. Then we’ll discuss putting him down versus fixing him. She patted Dela’s shoulder. I won’t put him down unless there isn’t any other option.

Dela thought of how the dog had trusted her. He had to have come from a good home. Someone would be missing him. She walked out to the car and opened the back door. The dog looked at her as Molly grasped his front leg and injected the sedative.

We’ll give him a few minutes to let that take effect. Molly motioned to her son. Travis, keep an eye on him.

Come back inside and tell me what you know about the dog. Molly looped her arm with Dela’s and led her into the small building that smelled like animal and antiseptic.

As Molly poured them both a cup of coffee, Dela relayed the animal darting in front of the pickup and not knowing who the animal belonged to.

There are a lot of strays around here. Molly sipped her coffee. If you don’t find the owner and have them agree to pay for an operation, I’ll have to put him down.

Dela’s gaze landed on her friend. If I don’t find who owns him, I’ll pay for whatever you need to do.

Are you sure? If I have to set his leg in several places it will be an extensive surgery.

Her mind went to the moment she’d been stabilized. She’d looked down at the bloody bone sticking out from her leg mid-way down her shin. She’d started to shake and the medic yelled she was going into shock. Later waking up in the hospital, her lower leg wrapped up, she’d realized she was alive. Something that few could say after their Jeep ran over an IED.

Dela? Molly’s soft voice entered her memory. Are you okay?

She snapped out of the memory. Yeah. Fine. If the leg can’t be repaired, remove it. I’ve seen lots of three-legged dogs. Grandfather Thunder has had Three-leg for years.

Molly grinned. I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll get the dog now and you can go about looking for a place to stay. As they walked out to the car, Molly asked, What’s wrong with living with your mom?

She gets worried if I don’t come home when she thinks I should. She is overprotective. I was in the army for seventeen years. Most of that time I was in a foreign country we were at war with. You’d think she’d realize I can take care of myself.

Take it from me. Mothers never stop worrying. She walked up to the car and put a hand on the dog. He’s sedated. Let’s get him in the operating room and take some x-rays. I’ll give you a call when I know anything.

Dela patted the dog on the head. I’ll let you know what I find out as well.

Driving back toward Mission, she wished she had gotten the teenager’s name and phone number. There was only one way to find him. She headed back to the area where the dog had been hit. The teenager had to have been going home or picking up someone.

♠ ♣ ♥ ♦

Frustration at not finding the young man and running late to get back to work nearly caused Dela to hit Grandfather Thunder. He stood on the side of the road a mile from his home. She’d been splitting up her shift at the casino. Going in from seven to two at night and then following up with a couple hours from nine to eleven or some days noon, depending on if the security guard schedule needed changed or security issues came up.

She slammed on the brakes and backed up to where the eighty-something Umatilla elder stood beside the road.

Are you going home? he asked.

Yes. Can you give an old man a lift? His infectious smile and nod, made her smile back.

Yes, I can give you a lift. What are you doing so far from home? He no longer drove, but would on occasion walk to Mission Market to purchase a cold drink and chat with anyone who would stop and talk.

I thought I was feeling well enough to go to the market, but my bones are telling me different. He walked around to the passenger side of the car and eased down onto the seat.

When the door was closed, Dela continued on.

Why were you driving so fast? he asked.

My mind was off somewhere else. She told him about the dog and how she should have taken down the teenager’s phone number because she couldn’t find him and he hadn’t called her to let her know who owned the dog.

Where did this happen? Grandfather shifted in his seat to watch her.

Dela told him the area.

Describe the dog to me.

She glanced at him. How would he know a dog over in that area of the reservation when he didn’t travel any farther than the Mission Market and the casino?

He is about forty pounds. His head is shaped like a German Shepard but his body is fuller. Mid-length brown and gray fur.

I’m not seeing what he looks like. Do you have a photo? Grandfather Thunder asked.

Pulling into the old man’s driveway, Dela pulled out her phone. I’ll have Dr. Taylor send me a photo and I’ll show it to you before I go to work.

Good. Good. Thank you. He opened the car door and pulled himself up using the handle by the windshield.

You’re welcome. Talk to you before I leave. She and her mother had been neighbors to Silas Thunder before Dela was born and her mother started teaching at the community school. Silas was the only grandfather she’d ever known and he wasn’t blood related. Her father died before he and her mother married. Dela was growing inside her mother when she applied for teaching jobs at schools all over the state. Even though it was 1986, her single mother with an illegitimate child found it hard to find a school that would employ her. Her mom had heard Indian reservations needed teachers. She started applying, and this one, Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla, accepted her without questions. They treated Dela, a Latina Swedish mix, like she was one of them.

She texted Molly asking her to send a photo of the dog, and then drove the forty feet over to her mother’s driveway.

Where have you been? Debra Bolden asked as Dela walked up to the porch.

I told you I was looking at a place that Mimi Shumack told me about. She brushed by her mom and into the house. Her phone dinged. A picture of the dog appeared in the comments.

Whose dog is that? Why is it hooked up to all those tubes? Her mom peered over her shoulder.

A kid hit it by the house I was looking at. I took it to Molly. She knew how the animal felt. Lying in a sterile environment, not knowing what was happening. She’d been wheeled into surgery three years ago after the doctor had told her, they’d try to save her leg, but no guarantees.

Dela, you can’t have a dog like that. He’s too big. He’ll knock you down. Her mom pointed to the phone.

He’s not my dog. Grandfather Thunder is helping me find his owner. She dropped her purse on the couch, wishing she could plop down and watch a movie. That wasn’t happening. Not until Monday or Tuesday, her days off.

I need to get ready for work. She headed toward the hall and her bedroom.

Don’t you need to rest before you go in? Surely, they can do without you for a few hours more? Mom hurried down the hall behind her.

Mom, right now things are up in the air whether the Board of Trustees will keep me on as head of security or give it to someone else. I have to work and keep things running smoothly if I want to keep it. She faced her mom and wrapped her arms around her. I’m not your little girl anymore. I know when I’m at my limit. I had to in Iraq and Syria. I’m fine. I won’t work more than I can handle. If I do, I’ll be no good at my job. She released the woman who had taught her to be confident and work hard.

I wish you weren’t looking for a place to live. I like having you around. Her mom had told her the same thing before she left to look at the mobile home.

I know. But I’ve been out on my own as many years as I’ve lived at home. I love you, but I need my space. She stepped into her room and closed the door. If only the rest of her life could be dealt with by closing a door.

Chapter Two

Rubbing the back of her neck, Dela walked into the security room of the Spotted Pony Casino. Instead of going home at two a.m., as she’d been doing since the head of the casino’s security was arrested for aiding a human trafficking ring, she’d ended up spending all night due to a glitch in a bank of slot machines. After the cashier noticed a machine had paid out more than it took in three times, she’d called Dela.

Not wanting to leave the premises until the technician checked out what had caused the glitch, Dela had grabbed a couple hours of rest in a small room off the security suite.

The ear bud connected to her shoulder mic buzzed and Kay James, one of the surveillance members, voice said, Something odd is happening on the tenth floor.

What do you see? she asked, heading toward the door.

Kara is standing just outside the door of the supply room on the tenth floor. She looks like she’s seen something awful. And there is red streaked on the bottom of the wad of sheets in her arms.

Dela’s gut twisted. That didn’t sound good. I’ll grab Kenny and head up there. Keep an eye on things. She hurried across the casino as quickly as her swollen lower limb would allow her to travel. She’d been warned too many hours on her feet would inflame the still tender nub where her leg was amputated.

Shoving the pain and irritation to the back of her mind, she glanced toward the entrance and found Kenny. She motioned to the big Umatilla man who had moved into her second in command since she’d become the head of security.

He fell in step with her. What’s up?

Her phone buzzed. Housekeeping. Dela, she answered.

Kara says there is a body in the laundry chute on ten. Mrs. Young’s voice faltered as she relayed the message.

I’m on my way. She punched the up button on the elevator, ticking off the seconds until the doors opened.

Did I hear her say a body in the laundry chute? Kenny asked, following her onto the elevator.

That’s what she said. From what Kay said, I have a feeling that’s what we’ll find.

The elevator doors opened. They made a right and a left.

Kara still stood outside the supply room.

Give me those. Dela grabbed the sheets, avoiding getting any blood on her gold colored polo shirt and navy slacks. She set them on the housekeeping cart inside the door and walked over to the laundry chute door. The metal panel stood open. She eased her head close enough to see the bottoms of a pair of shoes, small hands, the top of a head and bloody sheets around the body. From the crew cut and loafers she’d say male, but these days, one couldn’t be too sure.

Dela called housekeeping. Make sure no one on the eleventh and twelfth floor put laundry in the chute.

I already called up, Mrs. Young said.

Good. Thanks. And call the tribals. We have a homicide. Dela sighed. Have someone meet them out front and bring them up the employee elevator, please. She didn’t need this just as she was trying to convince the casino Board of Trustees she was the right person to replace their discredited head of security. When Godfrey Friday was convicted as an accessory to a human trafficking ring, the board told Dela she had six months to prove she deserved the job. In the meantime, they would either be looking to hire someone to be the head or to take over as the second in command, what she had been to Godfrey.

Do we pull him out? Kenny asked.

No. We need to leave him there until the police arrive. She turned to Kara. Do you want to continue working until they arrive and take your statement, or do you want to go to the breakroom and wait?

Can I just...just stand here? The woman’s face had drained of color.

Dela had to remember she was one of a handful of women from the rez who had gone off to war and had seen death up close before. Especially violent death.

Sure. Do you want Kenny to get you a chair? As the words came out, Kenny was already headed out of the room to find one.

She hollered after him. See if you can get a flashlight brought up. She wanted to know if this was an employee or a guest. A flashlight would be needed to see the man’s face in the dark chute.

While she waited, Dela walked back over to Kara. Did you see anything when you came up and grabbed your cart?

The woman, nearly ten years younger than Dela shook her head. I came in as usual, turned the light on, loaded my cart, and headed out to clean rooms. I came back to toss the trash and shove the bedding down the chute... Her lip quivered. When the bedding wouldn’t go down, I tried shoving it. That’s when I smelled something funny and pulled the sheets out. I looked in and... She stifled a small cry. I think I shoved him in farther.

Dela patted the woman’s shoulder. That’s okay. He didn’t feel anything.

Kara stared at her open-mouthed before snapping it shut and saying, How can you say such a thing. A man is dead.

You didn’t make him any deader by shoving on him.

Kara’s body made that involuntary jerk of something being rejected in the stomach.

Dela spun her into the room and leaned her over the large sink used to fill buckets.

Her friend lost what was left of her breakfast into the sink.

Dela turned on the faucet washing it down the drain. She grabbed a wash cloth off a shelf and handed it to her friend. Use this.

What’s wrong with her? Kenny asked, handing Dela a flashlight.

Shock caught up with her. Help her out to the chair. Dela walked over to the chute, turned on the beam of the flashlight, and shined it down into the hole.

There was no way to see his face with the body folded in half and wedged into the chute. All she could tell was his general build. He was a smaller framed man. His shoe looked about the same length as her size eight.

She pulled out her phone and dialed their head of surveillance.

Hey, what’s up? Marty Casper asked.

Pull up the video footage from the hall outside of the supply room on the tenth floor from midnight until this morning when Kara is standing in front of the door looking terrified. I want to know how a body was put in the laundry chute and no one on duty saw it.

I’ll get right on it.

The line went silent. She glanced at her watch. It had been about ten minutes since Mrs. Young called the tribal police. The idea of a homicide on the reservation should get them moving faster. Especially one at the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla’s largest employee and money-making enterprise.

Since the Casino opened, half of the tribal members had been employed at the casino. Not only did it supply jobs, the profits were used to build the community, adding new businesses, cultural buildings, and improving roads and schools.

The casino had helped the Confederated Tribes of Umatilla progress with the times and live a better life.

How long do you think it will take the police? Kenny asked, breaking into Dela’s thoughts.

I would think they’d be showing up any time. Why don’t you get a list of the people staying on this floor last night? If they are still around, I’d like to find out if they heard or saw anything. Dela had participated in murder investigations as part of the military police during her years in the Army. She’d planned to make it a career and retire after thirty years. However, an IED had shortened her career plans. Months of recovery and rehab had her cooped up on base until her discharge papers came through. From there she came back home to live with her mom.

Dela walked out of the supply room to check on Kara. How are you doing?

Better. Am I going to get paid for sitting here? If not, I need to get back to work.

You’re fine. You’ll get paid. I’ll make sure payroll doesn’t dock you. While she didn’t have any authority over in payroll, she did know the person who cut the checks, and she’d make sure no one docked Kara’s pay.

The service elevator dinged, the door whooshed open, and Detective Dick stepped out followed by a tribal officer who was the reservation coroner. Dick wasn’t the detective’s name. It was what Dela and a couple others called him. His real name was Detective Richard Jones. But he always talked down to the Umatilla people as if because he was white and a detective, he was superior.

How do you know this is a homicide? he asked, walking up to Dela, his eyes on Kara.

The five-eight, bald headed man in his fifties had only one thing going for him, he was one of the few white officers on the tribal police who didn’t carry around an extra forty or more pounds.

I doubt he accidentally fell ass first into the laundry chute. And no one, even someone wanting to end their life, would jam themselves in there as a way to commit suicide. Not to mention the blood. Dela led him into the supply room and pointed to the chute.

Dick stuck his head in the opening and peered down. Got a light?

Dela handed him her flashlight.

He shone the light down for several minutes before pulling his head out and waving to the hole. Get several photos, then we’ll pull him out.

Dick stepped back and the tribal officer held a camera in the opening, clicking and flashing light down the hole. The officer pulled his camera out of the opening, set it on a stack of sheets on the rack, and grabbed an arm and a leg.

The officer pulled and tugged, but the body wasn’t coming loose.

Let me do this. Dick shoved the officer, who was shorter than him, out of the way and grabbed into the chute, pulling on the victim’s feet.

Kenny returned with the list of guests still at the casino.

Would you help Detective D-Jones pull the body out?

The security guard’s eyes sparkled at her near slip of the tongue. He walked over, grabbed a hand and foot, and motioned for the detective to do the same. After back-and-forth tugging, the body popped out of the opening. They laid him down face up.

That’s Tristan Pomroy from accounting, Kenny said.

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Chapter Three

Dela grabbed her ringing cell phone as the tribal coroner handed Detective Dick his observations. Glancing at the name she sighed. Her mom.

Hi Mom. Not a good time to talk, she answered.

Sorry. I was worried because you didn’t come home last night. The reproach in her mother’s voice made Dela’s eyes roll. This was why she was looking for a place to move into. On the reservation, but far enough from her mom that she didn’t know her every move.

We had an emergency. I don’t know when I’ll be home. Don’t worry about me.

You can’t keep putting in these long hours, her mother said.

We’ll talk about this later. Dela hung up on her mom and spied Kara, Kenny, and Detective Dick all watching her.

That’s not good to hang up on your mom like that, Kenny said.

She glanced at Kara, hoping for a little help.

He’s right, Kara said. You should respect your elders.

Dela wanted to say, I’m not Native like you two and I do respect her, but she doesn’t respect I’m thirty-seven and can take care of myself. But she didn’t say a word. Not with Detective Dick giving her a smug smile as if he thought her mother calling her at work was funny. After dismissing Kara, she asked Dick, Where’s the body going?

Waiting for the wagon to pick it up and take it to Clackamas. The State Medical Examiner.

She nodded. That would be the best facility to check it out. She wondered at the lack of blood in the room. When the body had been unfolded it was apparent Tristan had been stabbed in the neck. Blood covered his neck and right shoulder. The carotid artery had been severed, given the amount of blood on everything. Yet, there was no sign of blood anywhere in the room. It was as if the body had been folded and shoved in the chute then the wound inflicted. No mess, no fuss, just getting the job done. Which didn’t make any sense at all. How would you fold a man in half without him fighting you?

Footsteps in the hallway drew all of their gazes toward the door.

FBI Special Agent Quinn Pierce stepped into the already full room. He stood by the door studying the body before he raised his gaze and locked on her. What happened?

Detective Dick held out his hand. Special Agent Pierce, you must have got the call.

Quinn shook hands with the tribal detective but his gaze remained on her.

One of the casino employees was stabbed and shoved in the laundry chute, she said, ignoring the glare Dick shot her way.

Which area did he work in? Quinn asked.

Accounting. Tristan Pomroy. She glanced at the body. She didn’t know him well. He had a wife and child, she thought.

Quinn pulled out a notepad and wrote. He shifted his attention on the detective. Was the coroner able to give a time of death?

The best he could say given the shape of the body, sometime after midnight.

Dela’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the number. Marty. She walked by the body and the two men out into the hall. What did you find?

Someone turned off the camera from midnight until two.

Double frickin’ shit! she swore under her breath. Why didn’t someone see that?

I’ll check into who was watching that camera and get back to you. The line went silent.

She muttered the same words again.

What’s wrong? Quinn asked, stepping out of the room.

Someone turned off the camera in this area from midnight to two this morning. She didn’t like the idea they had another criminal working for the casino. With eight hundred employees there was always a good chance someone who worked here could be approached to do something illegal for monetary gain. But she didn’t like the thought. She knew most of the employees. It came with being head of security.

That means it was most likely someone who works in the surveillance department. He stared into her eyes. You ready to take on something like this so soon after the last problem?

I have to be, if I want to keep my job. She shook off her dread and gave him her best business face. Did you learn anything of value from Detective D-Jones.

Quinn chuckled. You really need to use his real name in your head before he realizes what you think of him.

Oh, he knows. She flashed a smug smile.

Take me down to accounting. I want to talk to the people our victim worked with.

She glanced at the supply room. One second. She walked back in and nodded for Kenny to come to her.

When he stood close, she whispered, Once the detective leaves, start interviewing all the guests on this floor. But don’t leave until the body is gone and the detective leaves.

Kenny nodded and went back over to stand guard over the body.

Dela joined Quinn out in the hallway. Are you going to interview the guests?

I figure you have that handled. Less rumors if your staff does that.

Thank you. The less hotel guests know about this the better. She walked over to the employee elevator and punched the down button.

How you holding up? Quinn asked.

Her gaze shot to his face. He looked like he really wanted to know. She didn’t want to like the man. He’d let a rapist go free in Iraq. One that was her prisoner. A man who had spit on her when she’d arrested him for raping a young Iraqi woman. She’d harbored a dislike of, then Lieutenant Quinn Pierce, for many years. When he ended up the Special Agent in charge of the FBI Field Station in Pendleton, Oregon, she’d thought the gods were against her. Now, staring into his eyes, she realized he might be on her side. He’d proven it a month ago when Mimi Shumack’s son, an Oregon State Trooper, had shoved himself into an investigation to find Sherry Dale a missing Umatilla woman. Quinn had followed Trooper Hawke’s leads and together, the three of them, had found Sherry and brought down a human trafficking ring.

The elevator doors opened. Dela stepped in. Quinn followed. She punched the button for the bottom floor.

Why did you stay?

He faced her. You mean in Pendleton?

Yeah. After bringing down that trafficking ring, I’m sure you could have had your choice of assignments. Why here?

He shrugged. I like the laid-back environment and helping the Umatilla people. His gaze drifted from her face down her body and back up. And I like working with you.

Her chest hitched for a second. She knew better then to let his words influence her feelings about him. He had worked intelligence. You couldn’t believe a word intelligence officers said.

The elevator hit the end of the cable, sprung up a little, and settled. The doors opened and she hurried out. Crossing through the breakroom, she fielded questions about the laundry chute and moved as quickly as she could without limping into the hall near the accounting office.

She opened the door and asked the secretary to call the compliance officer and whoever worked with Tristan Pomroy to the front. Dela and Quinn stood inside the door as two people walked into the front office.

Her phone rang. Molly. I’ll be right back, she said to Quinn and the others, before stepping out into the hallway.

Hi. How’s the dog? she asked, wanting to get the conversation over quickly to get back to work.

Hello to you. Grandfather Thunder called and said he found the owner, but they don’t want anything to do with the dog. They can’t afford to pay his bills or feed him. What do you want me to do?

Can you save the leg? she asked as Quinn poked his head out.

His eyes widened.

Just a minute, she told Molly. I’ll only be a couple of minutes. Can you wait to ask questions until I get back in there?

He nodded and disappeared.

No. The leg was smashed. I can amputate this morning. He’ll need to stay here about a week to keep him sedated so he doesn’t move around too much, but then you’ll have to take him off my hands.

She sighed. I’m still at work from last night, and I don’t see getting over to your clinic until tomorrow. Is that soon enough to settle up and find out what I need for his recovery?

That’s fine. See you tomorrow. Molly ended the call.

She wanted to sit down and figure out how she could bring a dog her mother thought was too large into her home and help it with rehab when she had a job that required so much of her attention. Especially now, after finding a body in the laundry chute.

Dela reentered the office.

The compliance officer was the first to speak. Does this have to do with Tristan not showing up for work today? She was an older Umatilla member. Brenda started when the casino first opened. She had moved from the gift shop to this position.

Dela took the lead knowing the casino employees would look more favorably on her asking questions than the outsider FBI agent.

Yes. Can you tell me when you each saw him last? Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Quinn pull out a notepad.

Brenda started. He left here his usual time last night. Shortly after six.

The secretary nodded.

Did he say anything about where he was going? Dela asked.

He left his usual time. I figured he was going home. What happened? Brenda let her gaze pass over to Quinn and back to Dela.

Someone killed him last night and dumped his body on the tenth floor. Dela watched each person. While they looked shocked, they didn’t appear overly disturbed by the announcement. Anyone know why he would have been back here last night?

The two women shook their heads. The only male, Luis Page, looked thoughtful. He was in his early thirties, the last hire in this department.

Dela zeroed in on him. Did Tristan tell you about coming back here last night?

He shook his head. No, he didn’t say anything about coming back to the casino. But he’d been antsy all week. When I asked him about it, he said he was coming into some money. He shrugged. Maybe he came back to gamble and get rich?

The women twittered then stopped when she and Quinn stared at them.

What would be funny about Tristan getting rich from gambling? Dela asked.