Secrets of a Shoe Addict (4 page)

But this wasn’t a guy who was into kidding around.

He was a businessman.

And somehow she had to come up with a thousand bucks
quick
.

Chapter
        
2
   

A
bbey Walsh—wife of the sweetest Methodist pastor in Maryland—never dreamed she’d run into anyone she knew in Las Vegas, much less an old boyfriend, with blackmail on his mind, who she’d
thought
was behind bars.

With the band competition over and the children hopefully asleep, the night began peacefully, for her, with a glass of champagne. Bubbly, toasty, with notes of oak and yeast . . . It had been a long time since Abbey had enjoyed a glass of good champagne.

She used to drink it like water. In fact, she used to drink it
instead of
water sometimes. She was young then, and so foolish, though at least she’d had good taste. Jacques Selosse, Charles Heidsieck, Bollinger . . . back then they were her frequent companions. Every once in a rare while, she missed it.

Tonight was one of those nights. After she’d gotten off the elevators
with Tiffany and Loreen to go to the bar, the heel of her shoe had wobbled and broken off. With promises to catch up with the others later, she went back up, got a new pair of shoes, resisted the kids’ pleas to go back and make the babysitter leave, and went back down to some blissful solitude.

It wasn’t a big deal. Abbey was perfectly fine with the idea of having a little alone time. Besides, she knew the others always felt a little stifled around her. It was partly because of the fact that her husband, Brian, was a clergyman, but she suspected it was also partly because she herself was so straight and narrow. Had been for years now.

But tonight some wind had shifted, just for a moment, and she went to the bar and ordered a single glass of their best champagne.

It was every bit as good as she remembered.

She let the bubbles sit on her tongue for a moment, then swallowed, imagining she could feel them go straight to her head and tickle away her troubles. For a moment, anyway.

“Abbey!”

Oh, no. It was Deb Leventer, dragging and practically dangling her daughter, Poppy, into the bar behind her.

“Deb.” Abbey set her glass down and looked from Deb to Poppy, who was clutching her hand and looking around with wide—though distinctly
fascinated
—eyes. “What are you doing in here?” What
was
she doing here? Most of the other band parents were staying at more expensive “name” hotels on the strip, several miles from this out-of-the-way hotel and casino.

“Poppy and I were just on our way up to our room to get some shut-eye before we leave tomorrow.” Deb arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the bar behind Abbey. “Are you
drinking
?”

“Yes.” How had she managed to miss the fact that Deb Leventer was staying in the same hotel? “I was just having a glass of wine.”

“Oh.” Disapproval rose off Deb like a stench. “I see. Well, I won’t tell your husband.” Abbey supposed that Deb was trying to sound like she was joking, but there was a hard edge to her voice.

“No need to worry about that—he’s the one who suggested I come down here and treat myself to a little champagne.” It was really hard not to give Deb the snark slapdown she deserved. Instead, Abbey tried to take the high road. “I’d ask you to join me, but I’m sure you’re eager to get Poppy up to bed. And out of the casino atmosphere.” She couldn’t help but add, “Especially since it’s so late for a child that age to still be up.”

Deb looked simultaneously embarrassed and judgmental. It was quite a feat. “You’re right. This isn’t the proper environment for children. . . . Where is Parker?”

“In our suite. With a sitter.” Abbey cringed inwardly saying the words, knowing that Deb Leventer would perceive this as the height of bad mothering and wouldn’t hesitate to tell anyone what she thought.

Abbey didn’t particularly care what the woman thought, but she didn’t want word getting back to Parker and embarrassing him.

“A sitter! In a Las Vegas hotel! You’re braver than I am.” Translation:
You’re a fool and your child has probably already been sold on the black market by the desperate junkie you hired so you could come down here and get soused
.

Abbey smiled mildly. “She’s a delightful older woman. I’m sure the kids are already tucked away asleep.” She shook off a mental image of the kids whooping and hollering and swinging on the drapes while the sitter used a skeleton key to open the minibar and take all the little fifteen-dollar bottles of Skyy Vodka.

“Oh.” Deb’s expression tightened. “Well. Come on, Poppy. We have to get up early tomorrow to fly home. Good night, Abbey.” She looked again at the glass in Abbey’s hand. “It was . . . nice chatting with you.”

Abbey resisted the urge to raise her glass to Deb—that would have been deliciously obnoxious—and instead set it down. “If I don’t see you two before you leave, have a nice flight.” Broomsticks came to mind.

Deb walked away, tugging Poppy along after her. Abbey watched them go. But her surroundings had lost their luster. Deb’s presence, or more specifically, Deb’s negativity, had made Abbey’s feeling of freedom start to feel like a wet towel.

So she decided to go somewhere else. There was no way she was going to let Deb Leventer spoil her night. She set her glass down and walked purposefully through the lobby and out the front doors into the balmy night air.

All around, the sky was bright with the reflected glow of neon. Abbey couldn’t tell if it was overcast or not, but she couldn’t see even one star in the sky, because the town itself was so bright.

The sidewalk was more crowded than she would have expected at this hour, but she was glad of it. It was so easy to become anonymous in the sea of milling people. There were a lot of young couples, a fair representation of middle-aged middle-class people, and a surprising number of oddballs.

One craggy-faced older man, with skin the color of seared beef, put a hand on Abbey as she passed, and said, “God blesses the weak
and
the strong.”

Abbey was startled by his touch, and could feel the alarm showing in her face as she turned to look at him. “I’m sorry?”

“He watches.” The man nodded, to himself, not her, and worked
his jaw like a cow chewing its cud. “He protects.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, and he started on his way down the sidewalk.

Abbey stood for a moment, watching. There weren’t actually a lot of Bible stories that particularly touched her, but there
was
a passage she remembered from childhood about angels in disguise. She couldn’t remember exactly what it was—Brian would know—but it said that sometimes the most unlikely people who pop into your life are actually angels in disguise, bearing a message, or comfort, or whatever.

To her knowledge, it had never happened to her, but hope sprang eternal. Maybe the man wasn’t just an old crazy person, but an angel telling her something she needed to know.

God blesses the weak and the strong.

He watches.

He protects.

He was, actually, kind of like Santa Claus.

She wanted to believe it. She’d wanted to believe it for as long as she could remember, as long as she’d known the story. But she didn’t believe it.

And when she saw the man stop in the distance and speak to another woman, this time one who reached into her purse and handed him money (which he took), she dismissed him as a nut. His words didn’t have any significance at all.

She walked on, a little disconcerted. When she turned a corner toward the main strip, thinking it might be a shortcut, the sidewalk was almost bare. This was no place for a woman to walk alone. Just as she was turning to go back, something on the ground caught her eye. A casino chip. She picked it up. It was a ten-dollar chip embossed with the name
ALADDIN’S CAVE.

Once again, she found herself with the eerie feeling she was being presented with
A Sign
.

Angels, signs . . . pretty grandiose stuff for a night out in Sin City. The streets were probably littered with casino chips, dropped by stumbling drunks, in addition to the many cards and flyers advertising call girls and strippers. And unlike, say, a penny, which she wouldn’t have given a second thought to, casino chips were always stamped with the name. So that wasn’t all that strange either.

Still, she’d have to be a cynical fool not to go there.

Just in case some great Fate was waiting for her.

It wasn’t hard to find Aladdin’s Cave. It was one of the first of many tall, broad, neon-clad buildings on the strip, and not surprisingly, it appeared to be themed after the Disney version of old Arabia.

She went to the roulette table with the ten-dollar chip she’d found and considered her options. Red or black had good odds, but made for a compulsive game, and Abbey didn’t want to be here all night playing fifty–fifty. After a few minutes she decided just to bet on her son’s birth date, which was January 18.

The croupier called for last bets, then spun the wheel. For a moment all Abbey could think of was Pat Sajak spinning the
Wheel of Fortune
and how boring her life had gotten. But no, her life wasn’t boring. It was sinful even to think that, even for a moment.

The ball clicked and bounced and clattered along the spinner until it landed on thirty-one . . . no, it bumped one more time into the next slot.

Eighteen.

She’d won.

She’d
won
.

Boy, it was a long time since she’d felt lucky, and with her single ten-dollar bet earning her $360, she was feeling
really
lucky.

This was more money than Abbey had had in hand for more than ten years. She felt rich. And when a waiter came over and poured her a glass of Bollinger champagne, she probably
looked
rich. And though it wasn’t really hers—she’d donate the money to the church, of course—and though she knew it wasn’t very pious either, she was enjoying it, just for this one moment.

And what harm did it do? There was no one around who knew her. Yes, Loreen and Tiffany were in town, too, but they weren’t right here. Even if they were, they wouldn’t judge. The judgmental moms, like Deb Leventer, Nancy Hart, and Suzy Collins, were elsewhere. There was no way they’d venture into the gaming rooms of a casino, Abbey was sure of it.

She smiled slightly at the thought. Twelve years ago she wouldn’t have wanted to give the money away. Twelve years ago she wouldn’t have wanted to leave Vegas, and she would have stayed in one of the bigger, more ostentatious hotels.

But that was a whole different lifetime. She was on the
right
path now, and if it occasionally led to a low-budget motel or the Big Fresh on Super Sale Tuesday in the name of taking care of her family, she’d gladly do it.

“Bets down,” the croupier said.

Abbey returned her attention to the roulette table. The croupier caught her eye, and she shook her head slightly.

Nowadays she knew enough not to push her luck.

She took her glass and got up, knocked aside by a pudgy redheaded woman who had apparently been waiting for a seat. It took about ten minutes to figure out where to cash in her chips, and the
route took her past virtually every gaming table. She wasn’t tempted, though. With single-minded purpose, she cashed in, put the neat pile of bills in her wallet, and left the casino. She was in the lobby, almost at the entrance, when a voice spoke right behind her.

“Look who it is. Wonders never cease.”

She didn’t stop. Whoever it was obviously wasn’t talking to her. For one thing, it was a man’s voice, and the only people she knew who were nearby right now were women and children.

Still, she could have been clued in by the fact that the statement had given her pause.

Two, three steps, then, softly, almost taunting, “Hello-o.”

She kept walking.

“Abigail.”

Not me.

Someone else.

Heartbeat.

No one calls me Abigail. Not since Dad died. And . . . no, no one calls me Abigail.

The hand on her shoulder stopped her.