A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(114)

“Well, I think your father-in-law is planning to build a huge casino complex on it,” answered Dash.

Prettyman interjected, “You can’t have a casino in California, Willie.”

“That chunk of rock ain’t part of California,” retorted Dash before turning to Kemper. “Your country club that has the marina and big dock. Does Armstrong have an ownership interest in that?”

“Yes. It was my first big project. I needed his backing.”

“What’s the ownership split?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

“Not to be blunt, but what happens to it if you get gassed in the chamber at San Quentin?” said Dash.

Kemper paled. “I . . . Beth gets everything that I own.”

“Meaning, realistically, Armstrong will own it all.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Beth just can’t seem to say no to him.”

Archer said, “The day Eleanor Armstrong died in that plane crash, Beth was supposed to go up with her, but instead she went to a luncheon that you had arranged. How did that come to pass?”

“It was Sawyer. He really arranged the luncheon and he insisted that Beth be there.”

“I think Armstrong told Beth that it was your idea, not his.”

Kemper slowly nodded. “It seemed like the light went out of our marriage after Eleanor’s death.”

Dash glanced at Prettyman. “Carl’s going to come up with anything he can to lock me and Archer up. So we’re going to have to lie low for a bit.”

“Okay, Willie, but watch your back.”

“Hell, Ern, you know I’m as familiar with my back as I am my front.”

They walked out of the cell, where Dash buttonholed Prettyman out of Kemper’s earshot. “Okay, here’s the deal, Ern, you got any guys on the force who actually know Pickett’s a bad cop or who aren’t on the take themselves?”

“Yeah, sure. A few.”

“Good. Call ’em in and have them help you play guardian angel. If Kemper bites it, all my plans go sideways.”

Archer and Dash left.

“Where to now, Willie?” asked Archer.

“Midnight Moods.”

“Why?”

“I have to ask Mabel Dawson about an old vaudeville performer named Guy Parnell.”

“And that case you told Prichard about? Rogers versus California?”

“The technical term for that, Archer, is ‘bullshit.’ But it’s all in how you sell the line.”





THEY FOUND DAWSON BACKSTAGE watching Callahan perform another set.

Dash glanced at the packed house, checked out Callahan doing a song-and-dance routine, and said, “And tell me again how you’re not the luckiest sap on earth, Archer?”

“It’s complicated.”

“In my day, it wouldn’t have been.” Dash eyed Dawson. “Okay, Mabel, we need to talk.”

“Not now. I’m busy.”

“There have been two more murders.”

“Here?” she snapped.

“No, but they’re connected. Now, why did you kick Guy Parnell loose early?”

Dawson slowly turned to look at him as Callahan belted out Dinah Shore’s “I’ll Walk Alone.”

Archer thought, Well that song fits her to a T.

Dawson said, “I . . . I guess he had a change of plan.”

Dash shook his head. “It’s what we in the business call a rhetorical question, Mabel, because I already know the answer. I dropped enough coins to talk to Parnell long distance. He’s in Detroit with an extra five hundred bucks in his pocket on top of his full seasonal wages courtesy of you.”

She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I . . . I don’t recall.”

“Sure you do. Armstrong told you to do it, and so you did what you always do when Armstrong tells you to do something. Now the question is why he wanted you to do it.”

“Is this another rhetorical question?” asked Dawson, looking ill now.

“Yeah, it is. They needed his room to kill Fraser and Sheen. They transported Fraser from that room to hers after she was dead using the connecting attic space between the two rooms. They left Sheen in Parnell’s old room after the poor guy was murdered.”

Dawson took a deliberate step back. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

Dash shook his head and smiled. “Come on, Mabel, you’re up to your baby blues in this, honey. See, you told us Fraser liked rich men. Now, who’s the richest of all in this town and a widower and available to boot?”

“You’re nuts. Armstrong’s almost old enough to be her grandfather.”

“You’d be surprised at how millions in dough can make people seem a lot younger. So you arranged for poor Ruby to meet up with Armstrong in Parnell’s old room, only it was Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum in there and not Armstrong. They pretended her throat was a steak, and then they deposited the lady in her own room through the crawlspace after cleaning up the blood. When you went looking for her, why do I think you skipped Parnell’s old digs? If you had opened that door and seen them cutting up poor Ruby, they might have had to kill you, too.”

“This is crazy talk, Willie,” said Dawson.

“Then why are your eyebrows sweating? Armstrong already knows what I’m about to tell you and here it is: You are what we call in the business a loose end. He’s had four people killed so far. What’s one more, sweetie? You get my drift, or are you under the delusion that you’re actually something special?”