Murder In The Cards

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Murder In The Cards - book excerpt

Chapter One

Carol Robertson was on a roll. Never had the poker gods been so kind to her. And at such a big tournament. The schoolteacher could not believe her success at the Louisiana Women’s Poker Open in St. Francisville. When she needed a seven of clubs, it came. When she needed the ace of diamonds, the dealer turned on the river card.

At the end of this unbelievable opening day, she transformed a ten thousand dollar entry fee into one hundred eighty-five thousand in chips. Enough to pay off her small two-bedroom house. Only eighty other players remained for a run at the final table.

After some bad luck, including two acrimonious divorces, Carol felt like celebrating. She rarely drank and then only in moderation. But tonight was different. She had a reason to get excited. One hundred eighty-five thousand of them. She wanted to extend this day for as long as possible.

Many other players started at the bar much earlier. Especially those that were knocked out of the tournament. Some of those by Carol. They turned to greet the petite educator on her arrival.

“Hey, look who we have here,” one said. “Can you make a bloody Mary appear out of nowhere like you did those cards?”

“I wish,” Carol said. “I’ve never been so lucky in my life.”

“No, dear,” another said. “Once or twice a day is lucky. To get the right card every time on the river is something else.”

Carol could only nod. The river card was the last card revealed of the five on the board. Each player used those and the two individual cards they held to make a hand. The majority of river cards dealt in the tournament improved her hand immensely.

“What are you saying?” Carol asked.

“Who are you sleeping with to get the perfect card every time?” The woman smirked. “You must be better in the sack than you look.”

Carol could not control her temper. That had been an issue in her failed marriages. Now it was an issue here. She had just had one of the best days of her life, and this lady, Ann Clement, made it sound as if she had cheated.

“Ann, take that back this minute,” Carol shouted. “I had a tremendous day. Maybe if you weren’t such a whore who slept with anything in jeans, you’d have one now and then.”

The only apt description of the action that followed could only be called a pure cat fight. The dozen women backed up clawing and scratching with loud screams and curses. They pulled hair out by the roots. They gouged eyes. They tried to choke each other. A lot of frustration vented. None of them knew why they fought. It just seemed the thing to do. 

Chapter Two

Carol awoke the next morning with drums pounding between her ears and behind her eyes. She had not felt this bad since Jim LaFleur spiked the punch at her senior prom and persuaded her to drink half a dozen cups. She was much younger then and recovered after regurgitating the poisoning.

She dragged her body out of bed and glanced at the alarm clock. Seeing the numbers did more to sober her than throwing up. The schoolteacher had only twenty minutes to get to the resort for the poker table. She threw on some clean clothes, grabbed some breath mints, and headed out.

The road played tricks with her. The curves appeared to never end and suddenly broke. Carol’s Ford Mustang weaved all over the highway and sometimes on the shoulders. How she avoided a wreck had to be a miracle. Maybe the poker gods were still with her.

Carol stumbled into the giant hall ten minutes late, her eyes like red road maps. On the third attempt, she located the cashier.

“Good morning, Ms. Robertson,” the cheerful young man behind the cage greeted her. “Are you ready for another great day?”

Her voice grated on her own ears. Someone driving nails in them would have been less painful. The chatter never stopped at a woman’s table while playing poker. Carol knew she could not stand the endless banter in her condition. Unfortunately, she would not have to endure it. 

Chapter Three

“Ma’am.” A gentleman dressed in a gray pinstriped suit appeared at her side. He was too well-dressed to be a member of the house security detail.

Carol turned the wrong way at first. Then the corrected and faced the man.

“Sorry, I don’t have time to talk. I’m already late getting to my table.”

“Are you Carol Robertson?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” Carol responded. “And who the hell are you?”

“I’m Steve Harris with the West Feliciana Parish Sheriff’s Department.” He pulled out a badge and flashed it. Her blurry eyes could not focus on the star. She could barely make out his features. She nodded.

“I need to ask you some questions, Ms. Robertson.”

“Fine, but not right now,” Carol replied. “IF this is about that fiasco in the bar last night, then I’m not the one that started it. I’m just the one that finished it.”

“My questions involve one participant. Do you remember hitting Ann Clement?”

“Yeah. I hit the whore as many times as I could before they pulled me off her. I hate her guts and you can tell her that for me.” Carol tried to push by the detective.

Steve Harris held his ground.

“How was Ann the last time you saw her?”

“Like the whipped bitch she was. I knocked her fat ass all over the bar.”

“But she was alive and well the last time you saw her?” he asked.

“Sure was, but not because I didn’t try. I hit the bitch with everything I had as many times as I could.”

Harris smiled and removed a set of handcuffs from his belt.

“That sounds like a confession to me.”

“But I told you she started the fight. Ask her yourself.”

“I wish I could,” Harris said. “Ann Clement is dead.” 

Chapter Four

Ham Alvarez swung the lumbering roundhouse right at Niki Dupre’s head. It his nothing but air. The strawberry-blonde’s head was already behind the eldest of the three brothers.

Ham, Sham and Bam Alvarez broke into a warehouse, hoping to steal something of value. Anything that could help pay for more meth. Addiction is terrible, and the brothers had a terrible addiction to the drug.

Their mistake was picking a warehouse insured by Red Stick Insurance. This firm kept Niki, a private investigator, on retainer to investigate any losses, whether through fraud or theft. When the alarm sounded, they immediately called the long-legged detective.

Niki arrived as the trio stumbled out of the building. If sober, they might have recognized the famous detective. Her exploits on Spirit Island earned national acclaim. But addicts high on meth have no fears. When they saw the slim lady, they laughed.

“Stop right there guys,” Niki said, no weapon is sight.

“And who’s gonna stop us?” Ham slurred.

“I am.” Niki took a step closer.

“You ain’t nothing but a little bitty woman. You got a gun or something?”

“I have one, but I promise I won’t use it,” Niki said.

Ham looked at his brothers and giggled like a pre-teen even though they were all over thirty.

“Boys, we’re about to have dessert.”

Then he lunged at Niki with the slow right. By the time he realized she was not there in front of him, Sham and Bam were writhing on the pavement. When Ham turned around, Niki’s foot caught his chin, snapping his neck backward.

Before Niki could do more damage, her cell phone rang.