“Where are you going?” Reuben asked.

“Across the street. Because the probabilities are that Bagger figured out Wallace was spying on him. If so, he’d want to check it out. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“How?”

“I haven’t been hanging around Susan for nothing. Sit tight.”

Milton’s nimble mind worked out the details on the way across the street.

At the front desk of the hotel he said, “I’m looking for a Mr. Robert Thomas. He goes by Robby. He’s supposed to be staying at this hotel. Could you ring his room for me?”

After a quick check on the computer the clerk shook his head. “We don’t have a guest by that name.”

Milton displayed a confused look. “That’s very odd. He and my son went to Michigan together. We were supposed to have dinner together.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Could I have gotten the date wrong? My secretary made the arrangements and she’s been known to mess up in the past. I’d feel just terrible if I stood him up.”

The clerk clicked a few keys. “We did have a Robert Thomas from Michigan staying with us, but that was some time back.”

“Oh my God, I am going to fire my secretary the minute I get back home. I wonder why Robby didn’t call me.”

“Who gave him your contact information?”

Milton let out a gasp. “My secretary! That idiot! Wrong date, probably wrong phone number if she bothered to give him one at all.”

The clerk gave him a sympathetic look.

“Well, I hope Robby had a good time while he was here.”

The clerk glanced at the screen. “Records show he had a massage. So if you missed dinner with him, at least he was relaxed.”

Milton laughed. “God, a massage, I haven’t had one of those in years.”

“We have a great staff.”

“Do you have to be a guest here?”

“Oh no, I can make an appointment for you right now if you’d like.”

“I tell you what, let me have the same masseuse Robby did. She and I can swap Robby stories. He’s quite a character and I’m sure the masseuse will remember him.”

The clerk smiled. “Right you are, sir. Let me make the call.”

The clerk dialed the spa, spoke for a couple minutes and then his face clouded. “Oh, right, I didn’t realize it was her. Okay, I’ll get back to you.” He hung up and turned to Milton.

“I’m afraid you can’t have the same masseuse, sir.”

“Oh, she no longer works here?”

“It’s not that.” The clerk dropped his voice. “She, well, she died.”

“Oh my God. Accident?”

“I really can’t say, sir.”

“I completely understand. So sad. Was she young?”

“Yes. And Cindy was a really nice person.”

“Well, that’s just awful.”

“Would you still like a massage with someone else? We actually have an opening for you now.”

“Yes, yes, I believe I will. Cindy, you said her name was?”

“That’s right. Cindy Johnson.”

“I’ll have to let Robby know.”

An hour later Milton had received a vigorous massage by a very enthusiastic woman named Helen. However, when he casually raised the issue of Cindy’s death, Helen became somber.

“It was awful. Here today, gone tomorrow sort of thing.”

“Accident I heard,” Milton said as he sat in the lounge wrapped in a robe and sipping a cup of spring water.

Helen snorted. “Accident?”

“You don’t think it was?”

“I’m not saying one way or another. None of my business really. But her poor mom’s busted up over it, I can tell you that.”

“Her mother? Poor woman? Did she have to come to town to ID the body?”

“What? No, Dolores lives right here. Works a craps table at the Pompeii.”

“Well, goodness gracious, I was just there.”

“Small world,” Helen said.

“Poor Mrs. Johnson,” Milton said. “To lose one’s daughter like that.”

“I know. And it’s Mrs. Radnor now, she remarried. Cin liked her stepdad all right, so she said.”

Milton finished his water. “Well, thank you for a great massage. I feel like a new man.”

“Anytime, sir, anytime.”

CHAPTER 33

ONCE BACK AT THE POMPEII, Milton filled Reuben in on what he’d discovered.

His friend looked impressed. “Damn, Milton, Susan has rubbed off on you.”

A few well-placed twenties later, the two men were directed to Dolores Radnor’s craps table. Milton bet on a hot shooter while he sized up the woman. She was thin and wrinkle-faced with a perpetually sad air about her. An hour later she took a break and Milton followed her to a table outside the bar area where she sipped on a cup of coffee, an unlit cigarette dangling in her free hand.

Milton said, “Mrs. Radnor?”

Startled, the woman looked at him warily. “How do you know my name? Is there a problem?”

“This is very awkward,” Milton began as Dolores looked at him expectantly. “I was in town a few months ago and your daughter gave me the best massage I ever had.”

The woman’s lips began to quiver. “My Cindy was damn good at giving massages. She went to school for it, had a certificate and everything.”

“I know, I know. She was great. And I promised her the next time I was in town I’d look her up. I was just over there and they told me what happened. And they were kind enough to give me your name and where you worked.”

“Why did you want to know that?” she asked, though her look was now more sad than suspicious.

“She was so nice to me that I told Cindy that the next time I was in town I was going to place a bet for her on the craps table.”

Dolores looked at him more closely. “Hey, aren’t you the shooter who burned up Table No. 7? I popped over there on a break because people were all talking about it.”

“I am the very one.” He took out his wallet. “And I wanted to deliver Cindy’s share to you.”

“Sir, you don’t have to do that.”

“A promise is a promise.” Milton handed her twenty one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Oh my God,” Dolores said. She tried to give it back but Milton insisted until she put it away in her pocket.

“You coming over and giving me this money is the only good thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” She suddenly broke down in tears.

Milton handed her some napkins from the holder on the table. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thank you,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Radnor?”

“You can just call me Dolores. And you just did something wonderful.”

“Helen over at the spa told me she died in an accident. Was it a car accident?”

The woman’s face hardened. “Accidental overdose, they said. That’s crap. Cindy never took drugs in her life. And I’d know, because I did drugs, in my time. A druggie knows another druggie, and she wasn’t one.”

“So why did they think that’s what killed her?”

“Stuff in her body. And a container of stuff by her bed, and bam, she’s a crackhead. But I know my Cindy. She saw what the stuff did to me. I finally got myself straightened out, got a good job, and now this. Now my baby’s gone.” She started snuffling again.

“Again, I’m very sorry.” Milton left and rejoined Reuben.

Milton said, “Okay, Cindy gives Tony Wallace a.k.a. Robby Thomas a massage. Wallace gets nearly beaten to death by Bagger. And Cindy dies of an accidental drug overdose even though it appears she didn’t use drugs.”

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Reuben said.

“The probabilities are Bagger had her killed. I can do some poking around on the Pompeii Web site. There might be a back door there I can exploit.”

They walked off without noticing the man in the suit who’d been watching Milton talk to Dolores. He spoke into a walkie-talkie. “We might have a big problem. Get hold of Mr. Bagger.”