“I got the owner to save us some supper,” Annabelle said. They ate in the small dining room, and a hungry Stone wolfed down the chowder, thick buttered bread and crispy cod while Annabelle merely picked at hers.

Finished, he said, “Where can we talk?”

“I got you a room next to mine.”

“Um, I’m a bit short of funds right now.”

“Oliver, don’t even go there. Come on.”

She got a carafe of coffee and two cups from the kitchen and led him upstairs, first to his room to drop off his small bag and then to hers, which had a tiny sitting room off the bedroom. There was also a fire crackling in the fireplace. They sat and drank the hot coffee.

Annabelle reached in her bag, pulled out an ID, a credit card and a wad of cash and tossed them to Stone. The ID had his picture on it and other pertinent information making him a citizen of the District of Columbia.

“Quick job from a guy I found. I used a picture of you I had with me. The credit card’s legit.”

“Thank you. But why’d you do it?”

“Again, don’t go there.”

Annabelle just stared into the flames while Stone studied her, debating whether to tell her or not.

“Annabelle, put your cup down.”

“What?”

“I have something to tell you and I don’t want you to spill hot coffee.”

A rare look of fear crossed her features as she slowly put down the cup. “Reuben? Milton? Dammit, I told you not to send them to Atlantic City!”

“They’re fine. This has to do with Caleb and he’s fine too. But he had an unexpected visitor today at the library.”

Annabelle seemed to stare right through him as she said, “Jerry?”

Stone nodded. “Caleb apparently played his part well. Bagger offered a lot of money for information on you.”

“How did he know to come to the library?”

“He found out you were married to DeHaven. It was a public record and these days that information is easily available on the Internet if you know where to look.”

Annabelle slumped back against the small sofa. “I should have just followed my damn exit plan. God, I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re human. You came to pay your respects to a man you were married to and cared for. It’s normal.”

“Not when you’ve ripped off a homicidal nutcase like Jerry Bagger for forty million bucks it’s not. Then it’s just stupid,” she added bitterly.

“Okay, but you didn’t go to your island, your partner screwed up and Bagger is on your tail and he’s narrowed the gap decisively. Those are the facts we have to deal with. You can’t run now, because no matter how well you run, you will leave some sort of trail. And he’s too close to miss it. If you go to your island, all that guarantees is that when Bagger shows up at your door, you’ll be all alone when he kills you.”

“Thanks, Oliver. That really makes me feel better.”

“It should. Because here you have people willing to risk their lives to help you!”

Her expression softened. “I know that. I didn’t mean what it sounded like.”

Stone looked toward the window. “This is quite the sleepy town. It’s hard to believe someone could be murdered here. Where did it happen?”

“Right on the outskirts. I was planning to go there tomorrow morning.”

“Do you want to talk about it tonight?”

“You had a long drive and you must be tired. And, no, I don’t want to talk about it tonight. If I’m going to face this tomorrow I need to get some sleep. Good night.”

Stone watched her bedroom door close, then he rose and headed to his room, unsure of what the morning would bring.

CHAPTER 30

REUBEN DROPPED over a hundred bucks for drinks and dinner with Angie, but he figured it was a good return on his investment for he learned some interesting things. The two guys who’d ended up in the hospital and the one who’d disappeared completely had evidently displeased their boss, Jerry Bagger. How, Angie was not quite sure, but it seemed to come down to money. Unfortunately, Angie didn’t know why Bagger had gone to Washington, only that it had happened all of a sudden.

I bet, thought Reuben.

Over her third “Dark and Stormy,” a rum and ginger beer concoction that Reuben tried a sip of and almost retched as a result, Angie said, “Funny stuff going on around here lately. Got a buddy in finance for the casino. He told me he was under strict instructions to do everything he could to delay a routine Control Commission inspection of the casino’s books.”

“This Bagger guy in money trouble?”

She shook her head. “Don’t see how. The Pompeii Casino is like the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. It’s a gold mine, and Mr. Bagger is the smartest operator in town. Tough with a nickel, and he knows how to make a buck.”

“Something must have happened, then,” Reuben said. “Maybe the guys who got hurt and the one who disappeared screwed up somehow with some of the casino’s cash. Maybe they were ripping him off, and Bagger found out and brought the hammer down.”

“Mr. Bagger ain’t dumb. You don’t break knees anymore; you just sic the cops or lawyers on cheaters. So this must’ve been something really big, and he took it personally.”

“Cops looking into it?”

She looked incredulous. “Mr. Bagger knows what palms to grease. And do you know how much tax revenue the Pompeii generates for New Jersey?”

Reuben nodded thoughtfully. “He probably paid off the pair in the hospital. And the other guy’s not gonna be squealing to the police.”

“Dead men don’t talk, you’re right.” Angie had scooted closer to Reuben in the booth they were sharing. She patted his thigh with her hand and then kept it there. “So enough shop talk, tell me about yourself. Did you use to play pro football? You look big enough.” She squeezed his leg and leaned into him.

“Played some in college. Did a couple tours in Nam. Won some medals, collected some shrapnel.”

“Really? Where? Here?” She playfully poked a finger into his chest.

“Let’s just say I won’t be having any more children.” Reuben couldn’t believe he was telling this lie to a woman who obviously wanted to go to bed with him, but he had other things on his mind.

Angie’s jaw fell so far, it was in jeopardy of smacking the table.

“Check, please,” Reuben called out to the waiter as he passed by.

CHAPTER 31

WHILE REUBEN WAS DISAPPOINTING Angie, Milton was trying out a system he’d read about for the craps table. So far he wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped. Granted, he had gone up eight thousand dollars fairly early on in his run; however, he had higher standards than most people. Still, fellow gamblers were lined up around the rail, telling him he was hot, he was on fire. Over two dozen players were riding bets on his coattails desperately hoping he would lead them all to riches, or at least allow them to recoup some of the cash they’d lost thus far to Jerry Bagger.

Women with their boobs falling out of their halter tops and sipping cocktails crowded around him, pushing their bosoms into his shoulders and splashing liquor on his shirt. They also pestered him with silly questions as to his technique. Milton didn’t know they were casino ringers whose job it was to break the concentration and hopefully the streak of any hot roller. Yet it didn’t matter. It would take far more than multiple pairs of inflatable breasts and inane queries to interfere with Milton Farb’s focus.

The two croupiers and the stickman running the table scrutinized the action, accounting for bets and keeping an eye on all that was going on, including those hovering around the rails and players looking to get in on the action. At this point there was little room at the rail, but if someone caught the eye of one of the croupiers and flashed enough chips, he might get in. And this was a table everyone wanted to join.