Unraveled (18 page)

So instead of spinning some weak web of lies that the dwarf would see right through anyway, I shrugged. “Looking for Sweet Sally Sue's jewels. What else?”

“And you think that they're in here?” Ira let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Trust me. If those rocks were in here, I would have found them, hocked them, and left this miserable place a long, long time ago.”

I glanced around at all the resort photos on the walls and all the stacks of papers chronicling its history, one receipt, pay stub, and guest signature at a time. “No, I don't think that you would have.”

I moved past the papers, ready to leave, but Ira was still blocking the door, forcing me to stop in front of him. The dwarf glared at me for several seconds before finally stepping aside.

“Thanks,” I said. “Gotta get back to the lobby and see if my friends have had better luck than me.”

He snorted and shook his head. “You're never going to find those jewels because they
aren't here
. Deirdre Shaw took off with them months ago.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I'll surprise you and everyone else and actually find them.”

He let out another harsh laugh. “I thought that you were off your rocker when you attacked Brody during the show yesterday. But now I
know
that you're crazy.”

I grinned. “Sadly, that's the nicest thing anyone's said about me all weekend.”

Ira blinked, then gave me a wary look, apparently thinking that I really was crazy. He wasn't the first, and he certainly wouldn't be the last person to believe that. But I slid past him, stepped out into the hallway, and left him and his mess behind.

Too bad I couldn't get rid of the mess of emotions in my head and heart so easily.

 15 

I went back to the lobby and headed over to the winter-wonderland Christmas tree, where I'd agreed to meet the others once we'd all finished searching. One of the bartenders was watching me, and he pulled out his phone and texted someone, probably Roxy. But he didn't approach me, so I ignored him and studied the holiday ornaments and decorations. My friends showed up a few minutes later, and we stepped to a more secluded spot behind the winter-wonderland tree.

“Anything?” I asked.

Finn, Bria, and Owen all shook their heads.

“I just don't see where Deirdre could have hidden the jewels,” Owen rumbled. “Every place I looked is too public with too many people constantly coming and going.”

“Yeah,” Bria said. “I have to think that if those gems were here, someone would have found them already.”

“I agree.” Finn hesitated. “Or there is another possibility.”

“What?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Maybe Roxy realized that you were watching her yesterday, and that's why she talked about the jewels. Maybe she's already found them. Maybe she's just pulling our chains, watching us run around, and laughing at us the whole time.”

I shook my head. “I don't think so. She and Brody both seemed genuine when they talked about how long and hard they'd been searching. But who knows, with Tucker involved. I wouldn't put anything past him.”

Since we'd struck out in our search, we had nothing to do but go back to our suites and get ready for our lunch with Roxy and Brody. I didn't think that the two of them would try to kill us over plates of barbecue, especially since we hadn't found the jewels yet, but it could always be a trap, so I went into the bedroom and unzipped my suitcase. Owen moseyed inside, plopped down on the bed, and watched me pull out all my clothes, then remove a false bottom from the suitcase.

Nestled in the black foam underneath were four knives, three loaded guns, two extra clips of ammo, and several small tins of Jo-Jo's healing ointment. I thought about sliding a gun against the small of my back, but I was already wearing my usual arsenal of knives, so a gun would probably be overkill, literally. Instead, I grabbed two tins of the healing ointment, stuffing them into the pockets of my black fleece jacket.

“A false bottom?” Owen said. “That's a bit James Bond, isn't it?”

I smiled. “This suitcase belonged to Fletcher. He loved all those old spy movies. He used to do marathons of them on the weekends, especially this time of year. Finn hated them, but I loved watching the movies with Fletcher. It was our own little holiday tradition.”

Owen nodded, then got up, rummaged through his own suitcase, and retrieved a gun and a couple of clips of ammo that he'd folded up in a pair of blue boxers.

“A gun stuffed into your underwear?” I said. “I see that I'm not the only one who came prepared.”

He grinned back at me. “Well, I couldn't exactly fit my blacksmith hammer inside the suitcase. Besides, after what happened the last time we went on vacation in Blue Marsh, I thought that it would be wise to have some extra insurance on hand.”

“And that's why I love you.”

His grin widened. “I know.”

I went over and kissed him, then we headed next door to Finn and Bria's suite. Together, the four of us rode the elevator to the lobby and walked from the hotel down the hill to the theme park.

Even though it was colder today than it had been yesterday, the theme park was absolutely jam-packed. More folks were out today since it was Saturday, along with double the number of costumed characters. Finn, Bria, and Owen wandered around the park, window-shopping and taking in all the sights. I followed along behind them, pretending to do the same, although I was really doing recon, like any good assassin would.

Looking at the rides, kiosks, and carts. Memorizing the layouts of all the paths, walkways, and alleys. Peering through the chain-link fence that separated the theme park from the parking lots to see where the exits were and how many security guards were stationed around them.

Knowing the turf made me feel better. Oh, I didn't know the theme park as well as I did the mean streets of Ashland, but now if something happened, I wouldn't be wandering around in here blind either.

And something
was
going to happen—I was sure of it.

I didn't spot Hugh Tucker anywhere in the crowds, but I still felt his presence as clearly as if he were standing right in front of me. The vampire had engineered this whole thing, and I knew that he was lurking in the shadows. More workers were watching and following us around today too, all of them radiating tension the same way warm air blasted off the space heaters that were scattered throughout the park. Something had to give sooner or later—and I was betting on sooner.

By the time my friends and I had made a complete circuit of the park, it was time to meet Roxy and Brody for lunch at the Feeding Trough. Yee-haw.

The two of them were standing outside the barbecue restaurant, waiting for us, and they were both dressed in their costumes. Roxy's blond hair was once again plaited into two long braids, and she was sporting a red Stetson, along with a red plaid shirt and white jeans and boots. That silver sheriff's star was pinned to her chest again, and her silver belt buckle was embossed with a giant heart made out of dazzling red and white rhinestones. Brody was dressed all in black, still playing the part of the outlaw leader, just like he had during the high-noon show yesterday.

I focused on the silver star winking on Roxy's shirt, right where her rotten heart was. She might as well have been wearing a sign:
Please, Gin, stab me right here
. I was going to be happy to oblige her—very, very soon.

Roxy gave us a cheery wave, but Brody looked far less enthused, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at me. He must have seen that Air healer after all, because his nose was straight once more, and no signs of my pistol-­whipping remained on his handsome face. Too bad.

“Hey, y'all!” Roxy chirped in a bright voice. “Are you ready for some barbecue?”

Even though I wanted to whip out one of my knives and cut her throat, I grinned back at her, still playing the part of the clueless tourist. “I'm always ready for some barbecue.”

Roxy chuckled, then opened the door and stepped inside. I followed her, with my friends trooping in behind me. Brody brought up the rear.

Surprise, surprise, the inside of the Feeding Trough had a Western theme, just like the rest of the stores. Worn wooden booths lined two of the walls, with matching tables and chairs filling in the space in between. A long wooden counter with padded barstools lined the back wall, with a couple of swinging saloon doors behind it leading back into the kitchen. Old-­fashioned, rusty tin signs decorated with cowboys, cacti, and cattle covered the walls, and several large tumbleweeds were crammed into the corners, along with some actual feeding troughs.

We sat at a corner table that was large enough for the six of us. A waitress dressed like a saloon girl hustled over, deposited menus on the table, and took our drink orders. Since it was just after eleven, the lunch rush was ramping up, and more and more folks streamed into the restaurant, ready to get their barbecue on before the high-noon show.

Once we were all seated, Roxy turned to me. “I hear that you run your own barbecue restaurant up in Ashland, Gin. How fun! You'll have to let me know how our little restaurant stacks up against yours.”

“Of course.”

I breathed in. The scent of smoked and charred meat permeated the restaurant, but that was all I sensed. No rich spices or seasonings perfumed the air, which meant that there was no real depth of flavor. This barbecue was going to be bland, at best.

Roxy kept right on talking. “Well, I think that we've got the best barbecue for miles around. Everyone says so.”

“Yeah, I saw all the signs for it and the rest of the theme park on the interstate on the way down here,” Bria muttered. “You couldn't miss this place even if you wanted to.”

Roxy brightened, choosing to ignore my sister's sarcastic tone. “That's the idea. Why, we have some folks who come here every single year for their summer and holiday vacations. . . .”

And she was off and running. Roxy chattered on and on about the number of visitors the park had every year, the other restaurants, the amount of work that went into the daily high-noon shows, and every other small, minute detail about the resort. Despite working here for Tucker, Roxy seemed to genuinely enjoy chatting about Bullet Pointe. That, or she just wanted to bore us all to death. My eyes glazed over, and so did those of everyone else at the table, except for Brody, who just ignored Roxy and started scrolling through screens on his phone.

Finn, Bria, and Owen chimed in when appropriate, but I didn't bother to make conversation. Instead, I scanned the restaurant, examining everyone inside. Tourists, mostly, along with several workers grabbing a quick bite to eat before the high-noon show. For once, none of the workers were watching us, since Roxy and Brody were here to do it in person, but cold unease still trickled down my spine. My friends and I had all realized that this lunch could be a trap, but we'd all agreed that it was highly unlikely that Roxy and Brody would do anything to us in such a public place with so many witnesses around. Still, now that we were here, I couldn't help but feel like we'd made a serious mistake. And wishing that I'd brought more weapons with me.

But nothing suspicious happened, and Roxy talked for ten minutes straight before the waitress finally came back with our drinks, plopping them down on the table hard enough to make some of the liquid slosh out over the top, drip down the sides of the glasses, and ooze across the wooden table.

“Patty,” Roxy said in a sharp tone. “Bring us some napkins. Right now.”

Patty winced at the cold displeasure in Roxy's voice, and she quickly scurried off, returned with some napkins, and mopped up the puddles of liquid. She finally took our orders and hurried off again.

“Sloppy service,” I said in a low voice that only Finn could hear. “Doesn't make me hold out much hope for the quality of the food.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Everybody's a critic.”

I sniffed.

He downed his sweet iced tea in three gulps and signaled the waitress for another one, but it was several more minutes before she returned with a fresh glass for him. Bria and Owen slurped down their drinks as well, but I only had a few sips of mine. Whoever had made the tea hadn't bothered to properly dissolve all the sugar in it, so it tasted like lukewarm grit more than anything else. I sniffed again. I would never serve such inferior sweet tea to
my
customers.

I pushed my tea aside and focused on Roxy, who was slurping down a sarsaparilla. Brody was drinking the same thing, throwing entire mugs of liquid back like they were no bigger than shot glasses.

“So, Roxy,” I said in a neutral voice, “where did you learn to shoot like that? Your show yesterday was very impressive. All those trick shots were just amazing.”

She eyed me over the rim of her mug, wondering whether I was being genuine, but she decided to play along and set her drink aside. “My daddy was a big hunter, and I wanted to be just like him when I was a kid. He's the one who taught me to shoot. He'd set up glass bottles and tin cans in our backyard, then let me go to town on them. Guess I just had a natural talent for it, because I've been doing it ever since.”

“Hunting or shooting?” I asked.

Roxy grinned at me. “Both.”

She pulled out one of her revolvers and started spinning it around and around, making the pearl handle and silver barrel flash underneath the lights. The weapon was like an extension of her hand, and she didn't even have to look to know exactly what she was doing with it. Instead, Roxy smiled and stared at me the whole time, the gun moving up, down, and back again in her hand.

Suddenly, she stopped, with the gun pointing right at my heart and her finger on the trigger. “Kapow,” she said, grinning even wider than before.