Smoke and Mirrors

100

Alexa dressed in the living room while Styer and Cynthia looked on.

“You are a very attractive woman,” he said.

She buttoned her blouse.

“I find women of small stature attractive.”

“Girls who look boyish.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, frowning. Styer’s eyes hardened for a few seconds, then softened.

“You don’t have to. Maybe psychotic young men like Jack Beals are more your speed. I’ll just use my imagination.”

“Jack…?” Cynthia said, startled. “He’s dead?”

“Males have never held any sexual fascination for me. Jack had a high opinion of his mediocre talents with a gun. He never allowed his targets to face him on even ground. He was a thief and a coward, who used a badge to get close.”

“Why did you kill him?”

“You killed Jack?” Cynthia asked, her lip trembling.

Alexa didn’t know that Cynthia knew Beals. She would have loved to ask her how she knew him.

Styer shrugged. “The young man was supposed to be helping me, but I discovered that he was trying to figure out what I was up to so he could tell certain people with interests contrary to those of my employer. All of this intrigue over the land, and so much duplicity swirling around. As it happened, his body was a convenient sign holder for Massey.” He smiled.

“Did you kill Sherry Adams just to draw Winter in?”

“File that under killing two birds with one bullet. Now, Cynthia, put on your parka. If you so much as look the wrong way, your fashion accessory will spread your lovely body, and unfortunately ours, too, all over the landscape. You get that?”

Cynthia nodded mutely.

Styer made Alexa’s skin crawl. She was fairly sure, despite his assurances, that he didn’t intend to leave her alive after she’d served his purpose. Time was running out, and she had to start looking for a weakness to exploit.

Alexa put on her coat and slipped her purse on her shoulder. After Styer fixed the do-not-disturb sign on the door, she walked beside him down the hall toward the elevators. His left hand, hidden in his coat pocket, held his cell phone. The valise in his right hand contained God knew what.

They didn’t speak as they rode down to the casino, now crowded with Saturday night gamers. The gamblers ranged from fat to fit, rich to poor, and their clothes reflected a wide range of fashion and functionality-from gowns to jeans and halter tops, Armani to hunter’s camouflage jackets and matching ball caps. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the insipid sounds of ringing bells, as the wheels of a thousand slot machines spun in place.

Alexa kept her eyes on the floor in front of her, thinking in ten directions at once. “We’ll take your vehicle,” Styer said. “Wouldn’t be good if Massey saw it sitting here, what with you supposed to be in Memphis meeting with those FBI agents.”

As they exited the casino, Alexa spotted Albert White climbing into a limousine. He stooped to get his considerable bulk into the Cadillac, reminding Alexa of a fat groundhog slipping into a narrow opening in a wall.

At Leigh’s pickup, Alexa unlocked the door and handed Styer the keys. He aimed Cynthia into the rear seat and placed the valise on the floorboard beside her feet. He watched as Alexa opened her door and climbed into the cab. She started the engine and backed out carefully.

“So what’s in the valise?” she asked.

“Maybe I’ll let you look if you behave yourself. Aren’t you going to try and use psychology on me? It’s a long drive out to the plantation, and I like entertainment where I can find it.”

She shook her head.

“Well, then, what’s your listening pleasure?” he asked, turning on the radio.