A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(110)

“And he’s dead and can’t verify that. Right,” scoffed Pickett. “Of all the lame excuses.” He looked at his men. “Take him away.”

“I’ll call my father,” Beth said quickly, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek before he was handcuffed and led away.

Pickett said. “Not even Daddy will be able to get his little prince out of this jam, lady.”

And Archer thought he might just be right about that.





NOW IT WAS JUST BETH AND ARCHER.

“This is ridiculous,” said Beth. “Douglas wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“They didn’t arrest him for harming a fly,” Archer pointed out.

“My father will know what to do.”

She rushed from the room, leaving Archer alone. He mixed himself a whiskey and soda. He was drinking it in his chair when Beth returned about fifteen minutes later.

“My father will be here shortly. He’s as distraught as I am.”

“But what do you really think he can do?”

“He can . . . do something. You don’t believe Douglas killed those people, do you?”

“No, but I can’t prove it.”

“He hired you. You have to help him.”

“He hired us to find the truth. That’s the road we’re going down.”

“The truth will be enough,” said Beth firmly.

“Yeah,” said Archer. “That and ten cents won’t get you a cup of coffee. So talk to me about the island.”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“I need you to try. You were at the harbor that night when your father came back in on the boat. Why were you there?”

“I . . . thought he might be there.”

Archer shook his head. “It was almost three in the morning. You didn’t take a ride down there on the chance that you might run into him.”

She lit another cigarette and blew puffs of smoke to the ceiling. She finally looked at him. “I need a drink,” she said.

“Dry Manhattan again?”

“Something stronger than that.”

Archer rose and poured out three fingers of scotch, neat. “If that doesn’t do it for you, go to the hospital and get some morphine.” He sat back down and picked up his glass and watched the lady drink hers. “When your father gets here, will the two palookas be with him?”

“I don’t know. Probably. They usually go where he goes.”

“I have it on good authority that they’ve been ordered to do me in on account of I’ve been snooping around that island.”

She glanced up sharply. “What good authority?”

“Good authority.”

“You’re saying that my father wants to have you killed because of your snooping around that island?”

“You need to try that line again, Beth, and add in surprise this time. It’s like eating spaghetti without the meatballs.”

“Oh, so now I’m in on the conspiracy against you?”

Archer swallowed the rest of his drink and shook his head. “Wanting a man dead doesn’t have to constitute a conspiracy. You just need someone willing to do the deed and a weapon with which to do it. And there are lots of both around this town, I’ve found.”

“Well, then you better scram before the death squad gets here.”

“Since you won’t spill on the island, let me do some spilling.” He lit up a Lucky, bent the match, and flicked it into the empty fireplace. “Casinos on that island would be worth more money than even your old man has ever made, I’m thinking.”

“You can’t have casinos in California. You can only bet on horses and play in card clubs.”

“Yeah, like the ones your hubby likes to frequent. He was at Midnight Moods tonight in the front row watching my friend Liberty Callahan light up the place. She’s the only woman I know around here who might give you a run for your money in the loveliness business.”

“My, my, Archer, you’re so free with your compliments.”

“My point is, why go out for filet mignon if you already have it at home?”

She looked down and said demurely, “Sometimes, the grass is greener. But casinos really are a no-go in this state. So why all the interest in that island?”

“That chunk of rock isn’t part of California. It was owned by the feds and then sold to Stearman Enterprises. The surveyors have already started to work it.”

“Which surveyors?”

“Lancet.”

He watched her catch a breath and her face changed color.

“Yeah, I thought that might be the case. There’s only one hitch in the giddy-up I haven’t pegged yet.”

“What’s that?” she said dumbly.

Before Archer answered, they could hear footsteps. A few moments later Sawyer Armstrong appeared, hat in hand, and, thankfully, with no Hank and Tony behind him.





ARMSTRONG’S GAZE FLICKED AROUND THE ROOM before alighting and holding on his daughter.

He hurried across and wrapped his long arms around her. “Oh, honey, this must be very distressing for you.”

Archer watched Beth Kemper. If he had used the flower metaphor before, now it was like acid had been thrown on the bloom. She wilted as though every molecule of water had been drained from her at the man’s touch.