Smith's Monthly #22 Read online

  Annie stared at the handsome face of Doc yet again, stunned.

  “Your father had a key like Jeff Taylor’s?” she managed to ask.

  “Yup,” Doc said. “Let me tell you what I know.”

  “Please,” Annie said.

  “The NTSB is convinced my father’s plane crash was not an accident. They are keeping that fact secret, so please do the same.”

  She nodded, but the news bothered her a lot. Something very big was happening, that was for sure, and the grave robbery was looking like just the tip of a very ugly iceberg.

  “I found my father’s key yesterday morning while I was playing cards with some old friends of my father’s. It was locked inside his card capper. Verne Adkins was at the table and saw the key. He told me to put it away, that it was dangerous. Seeing it really upset him.”

  Annie’s breath caught in her throat with the mention of Verne Adkins’ name. Oh, God, he didn’t know about Verne.

  “I locked the key in a safe deposit box here in the cage,” Doc said, going on, “then went to Carson’s house where I met this big guy with a big gun who wanted the stupid thing. His plan was to take it and then kill me.”

  Annie nodded and said nothing. She could feel her stomach twisting tighter and tighter with every word. Clearly Doc had come down to breakfast from his room. He hadn’t gone to the poker room and heard the news. She had to back him up a moment.

  “Verne Adkins?” she asked.

  Doc nodded. “Why? What happened?”

  “Verne tried to commit suicide last night,” Annie said as softly as she could. “A neighbor heard a gunshot and found him.”

  Doc sat back like someone had shoved him. His gaze stared off into the high ceilings of the restaurant. She let him sit like that for a moment, then she cleared her throat to get his attention. She needed more information.

  “Did Verne say anything about what happened to your father?”

  Doc nodded and came back into his eyes and sat back up, closer to her across the table. “He said that Carson might have been murdered for the key.”

  “Your father had a key, Taylor had a key,” Annie said. “So maybe Verne has a key as well. Maybe there are even more keys than that, more people.”

  “Possible,” Doc said, “but for what? Verne told me the key was to hide the truth, just as Jeff Taylor told his son. And that it was deadly. I have no idea what he meant and I couldn’t get another word out of him.”

  “Something important?” she said. “Worth a lot of money maybe.”

  Doc shook his head. “I doubt it. Carson’s home was searched for his key before I got into town. There was almost a million in the house at the time and none of it was touched.”

  “So, what number does your father’s key have on it?” Annie asked, starting to get an idea.

  “Four,” Doc said.

  “Taylor’s was three,” Annie said. “So there might be four keys, maybe more, which means more people are involved in whatever is going on.”

  Suddenly Doc leaned forward. “You said that Verne attempted suicide. Is he still alive?”

  Annie nodded. “He tried to put a bullet in his head, but my old partner caught the case and told me he’s going to live. He’s actually awake and talking. The small caliber bullet just went in at a crazy angle, went around the top of his skull and came out his ear.”

  Doc suddenly went into motion. He pulled out a cell phone and flipped it open.

  “Excuse me,” he said to her as he dialed.

  Annie watched as Doc asked someone named Fleet for a phone number, nodded, said thanks, hung up, and dialed another number.

  The mention of Fleet’s name made her realize just how little she actually knew about this famous poker player sitting across from her.

  “Heather,” Doc said, “A man by the name of Verne Adkins told me yesterday that my father might have been murdered. That man was shot last night. He’s in the hospital, and I have a hunch he needs some protection. Can you do it?”

  Annie was stunned at Doc’s assumption that Verne hadn’t attempted to kill himself, but had instead been assaulted.

  “No,” Doc said into his phone, as if answering her unspoken question. “Professional poker players don’t kill themselves. Especially someone as solid as Verne Adkins. I’ve known him for years. Trust me, he didn’t try to kill himself.”

  Silence for a moment.

  “Good, thanks,” Doc said, then flipped the cell phone closed and put it back in his pocket.

  “Verne left a signed note,” she said. “Gun was in his hand, gunpowder on his hands.”

  “What looks like a suicide is a suicide every time. Right?” Doc asked.

  “Not always, but most times,” she said.

  “And what looks like a plane crash is always an accidental plane crash, right?”

  “I get your point,” she said. “So who’s going to protect Verne if that actually was a murder attempt on his life? You know you have the Las Vegas Police sitting right here. I still am a detective and work half time.”

  Doc smiled. “I know, but I think it makes more sense for the person I called to do it. I’m sure she’s going to work with your people as well. In fact, I’ll bet on it.”

  “Do you mind if I tell my old partner what you are saying about the possible murder?”

  “No problem,” Doc said. “Just keep the keys out of it for now if you could.”

  “Understood,” she said. Then she looked into Doc’s eyes. “And that’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?”

  “For the moment,” Doc said, smiling.

  God, she loved that smile, but the fact that he was holding something back from her made her angry. She needed to drop the in-lust schoolgirl attitude with him and start thinking like a cop, or someone was going to get hurt.

  The waitress let him off the hook by bringing their food.

  As they ate, Annie decided she wasn’t going to push him just yet, but Doc went ahead and filled in a few of the smaller holes on what he had told her, like how he had overpowered the guy with the gun.

  She smiled at that, since it sounded a lot like how she had taken down the guy down at the station. And her foot still hurt from it.

  From what he had said, she had no doubt she could find the guy right now in a hospital somewhere. Spending that much time on a hot Vegas sidewalk meant the burns would be bad, not even counting the concussion, the damage to his crotch, and the broken wrist. She just might have a really large, imposing-looking detective do a stop-by to see if there was a little more information to be had from that guy.

  Even though Doc wasn’t talking with her about something he knew, she decided she would keep him up on what she was doing.

  “I sent a few cops to put a scare into Brent Taylor’s ex-wife last night.”

  “Jeff’s son?” Doc asked.

  She nodded. “Brent told me the ex knew about the key buried on Jeff. Brent said he thought his ex-wife might have come into a little extra money suddenly. It seems she had. Ten grand for telling someone she never saw about the key. She figured since it was buried, it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “So, that part of the mystery is solved,” Doc said, “which means your case is now connected completely with what happened to my father.”

  “I’m in this thing right up to my chin,” she said. “So, knowing that, is there anything I can do to help you? You’re the target it seems.”

  “Win that tournament today,” Doc said.

  She shook her head, not following. “What?”

  “I’m going to go visit Verne in the hospital. I doubt I’ll be back in time to play. You entered yet?”

  “Hoping to win a satellite before it started,” she said, feeling odd that she hadn’t paid the two thousand entry fee. It was just too much for her stomach to handle. “But now, after this discussion, I think I have better things to do. You know, like trying to figure out who’s trying to kill you.”

  “And you might get that kind of information playin
g in the tournament,” Doc said. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a paid entry form. “Let’s go to the desk and I’ll transfer this over to you. I’ll sponsor you.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” Annie said, stunned. “But just the offer made my day.”

  “I do it all the time for promising new players,” Doc said. “I’ve seen you play a number of times now, and you’re good. If you win, give me my two thousand back and 20% of everything you earn over that. Come on, you’ve been around long enough to know that’s a standard sponsor offer.”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She didn’t really know what to say.

  “Do we have a deal?” he asked, sticking out his hand over the dirty breakfast dishes for her to shake.

  She hesitated for a moment, then took Doc’s hand and shook it. “We have a deal. And thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. This is a business deal. Go make us both some money. I’ll talk to Verne, maybe run a few errands, and come back, tell you what I’ve found out, and see how you’re doing.”

  She nodded and smiled. One of the best poker players in the world had just shown faith in her ability in a big tournament.

  No matter what else was going on, she was going to enjoy every minute of this. And with a little luck, prove that his trust had been warranted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Las Vegas, Nevada. August 24

  I STOOD IN the window of the ICU, stunned at the sight of the man I had been playing cards with yesterday. Verne had a bandage around his head and one side of his face was a nasty dark blue. He was attached to what looked like an entire wall of monitors and equipment, most of it on and blinking like a control panel of a large jet.

  I had no idea if my finding Carson’s key had led to this or not. I sure hoped it hadn’t. But I had to find out if it did, and what was going on. Verne knew. I just hoped that now he would tell me.

  FBI Agent Heather Voight appeared at my elbow, staring in the window beside me. I glanced at her and nodded. She looked very official in her light blue jacket and dark slacks. She had her blonde hair pulled back tight behind her head giving her face a tight, take-no-prisoners look. Every time I saw her, she looked harder and harder.

  “His family has been here and are now down in the waiting room,” she said without a hello. “The doctors say he’s going to have very little brain damage. He was lucky.”

  “Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

  “You were right,” she said. “Even though he’s not saying just yet, my people, working with the local police, are finding a number of very fishy things about all this.”

  “Such as?”

  “Verne didn’t own a gun and hated them, for starters. He wouldn’t even touch one. He had a phobia about them. There is no record of him buying one lately, let alone one that can’t be traced liked the one that was used.”

  “Looks like someone missed a little homework.”

  She nodded and said nothing more.

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “I assume it would be about why someone would want to kill him, you, and your father,” Heather said.

  “It is.”

  “I’d like to listen.”

  “How about I just tell you what he tells me?” I had no doubt that she was just going through the motions. If there wasn’t a listening device already planted in that room, I would be surprised, and she wouldn’t be doing her job.

  “Deal. I’ve already cleared you with the doctors to talk to him for a few minutes. Go easy.”

  I nodded and stepped into the intensive care room. The sounds of the machines and the odor of ammonia come up and wrapped around me like an unwanted hug from a smelly stranger. I was used to the noise and smoke in a casino, and the roaring sounds of the river combined with the smells of pine trees and summer rains. These machine sounds and cleaning smells were alien to me. In all my life, I had never been in an intensive care room before.

  I didn’t like them.

  But right now I was glad Verne was in this one and getting the care he needed.

  I moved over and stood uneasily beside Verne on the side that wasn’t bandaged. I had no idea what to do next. What looked like a heart monitor was beeping constantly, and an IV drip was attached to his arm. Up close, his face looked even worse, with the swelling closing his right eye completely.

  “Verne, it’s Doc Hill.”

  Verne opened his left eye and blinked, then looked around and focused.

  “I really liked your father,” he said, his voice rough and raspy. “Did I ever tell you that?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Good.”

  He sighed and closed his one good eye.

  Clearly talking was very hard on him. I was going to have to keep this short today. But I had to know if what I had done caused this, or if he was a part of the group that had keys. So I decided to just ask directly.

  “Did whoever did this to you get your key?”

  Verne blinked for a second, then said with almost a sigh, “Yes.”

  “What was the number on your key?”

  “Seven.”

  That rocked me. “Seven people, seven keys?”

  “Nine keys,” Verne said, his voice choking slightly.

  “Nine keys, nine people?” I asked.

  “Ten people, nine keys.”

  I had no idea why the difference, why one didn’t get a key, but I decided I could ask that question later.

  “What do the keys go to?”

  “A box,” Verne said softly.

  “What’s in the box?”

  “Secrets. Ugly, stupid secrets.”

  With that, Verne seemed to just run out of energy and shrink down into his bed. I would have to wait to ask him more questions, even though his answers so far had only created more questions.

  “Thanks, Verne,” I said, leaning down and patting his arm. “Do what the doctors tell you to do. And tell the police exactly what happened. They can protect you.”

  “I’m not in danger anymore,” Verne said softly, not even opening his good eye. “I gave him my key.”

  “You saw him?”

  Without moving his head he said, “Yes.”

  “Then you’re in danger. I’ve got some extra forces helping to watch over you.”

  Verne seemed to think about that for a moment, then he motioned me to come down close to him.

  “Protect your family and friends as long as you have that key. Get Ace and your mother and your close friends safe right now. Don’t wait one extra minute.”

  Then he pushed me away, a dismissal.

  I sort of staggered out of the room in shock, trying to take in the warning that he had just given me.

  Ace. My mother. Fleet.

  Could they be in the same danger I had faced yesterday?

  For some reason, I just hadn’t thought of that possibility. But if these keys were valuable enough to kill Carson and attempt to kill me and Verne, then Verne was right, everyone around me was in danger as well.

  I had to get them protected.

  My heart felt like it was going to race right out of my chest.

  I stopped beside Heather, trying to clear my head and catch my breath. I felt like I had just been sucker-punched. All I wanted to do was run from the hospital, get on the phone to Fleet, Ace, my mother.

  “Anything?” Heather asked.

  “Nine, possibly ten men are involved in something that is killing some of them. Verne didn’t tell me why or who.”

  “Not even a clue?”

  “I’m not sure he really knows. I’ve got to run. Thanks for protecting him.”

  With that, I turned and headed down the hallway toward the main entrance. The more I learned about Carson’s death, the more confusing it got. But no matter how confused I was right now, I was going to take Verne’s warning very, very seriously.

  Nine keys, for some reason, were all valuable enough to kill for.

  And I had one of them.

  CHAPT
ER THIRTY-SEVEN

  White House, Washington, D.C. August 24

  “THE LINE IS secure, sir,” Paul said to the president, pointing to the blinking light on the phone.

  “Thank you,” President Dolan Chase said. “Recording devices off in here?”

  Around him, the Oval Office felt smaller than it normally did. He sometimes didn’t much like this place, when the days got long and the decisions got ugly. And this was one of those times. It wasn’t even dinner time yet and it had been a very long day.

  Paul nodded. “They’re off.”

  Dolan wasn’t sure if he should trust that or not, but he wanted Paul to hear this conversation as well. He punched the speaker phone, then said, “What’s going on out there?”

  “I met with Carson Hill’s son,” FBI Agent Heather Voight said. “Both last night and again briefly this morning. He told me that an attempt was made on his life yesterday in front of his father’s house.”

  “Did he say what the person was after, and did he get it?” Dolan asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  “All he told me was that the guy was after something of value and got nothing but a number of serious injuries. We found the guy, clearly just hired by someone, at a local hospital. Bad concussion and burns. We will be talking with him later today. Doc Hill really did a job on him.”

  “Okay,” Dolan said, shaking his head. “I assume you have people on Doc Hill now. I want you to keep us informed on everything he’s doing. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m not sure how it ties into any of this,” Agent Voight said, “but a man by the name of Verne Adkins was also attacked later last night. It was set up to look like a suicide, but through sheer luck, it failed. Mr. Adkins is now in the hospital.”

  “Not Verne,” Dolan said. Verne was one of the nicest men he knew, with a wonderful family. The guy wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he could sure take your money at a poker table.

  “He was a friend of yours, sir?” Agent Voight asked.