Luck Be a Lady (Tahoe Tessie Mysteries) Read Free Page A

pair of Dumbo ears that seemed two sizes too big for his petite frame. "A shareholder conglomerate technically owns the Royal Palace. However, Mr. King was one of the largest shareholders and chairman of the board of directors that ran the casino. He named you as his successor."
    "Successor?" I repeated, feeling that frown burrow deeper. "That can't be. Look, I run a gallery. Art, that's what I know."
    "Your father seemed to think otherwise," Stintner told me. "Believe me, he had several candidates to choose from, but he was adamant about naming you."
    I bit my lip, an odd mix of emotions rolling in my belly. The fact that my father had such faith in my abilities filled me with a warm sort of pride. At the same time, I knew that faith was totally misplaced. Sure, I'd been able to deal five-card draw, seven-stud, Texas hold'em, and high/low Chicago style poker all before I was old enough to drive. But that had been a long time ago. I hadn't even picked up a deck of cards in ages. And knowing how to play cards was a far cry from running a multi-million dollar a year resort.
    I'd grown up living in Berkeley, the child of a single, working mother. While we'd always had enough to eat and a decent roof over our heads, my summers at the casino had been my only glimpse into the lifestyles of the rich and spendthrift. I wasn't too proud to admit that overseeing an organization of this size, dealing in the sort of numbers they did on a daily basis, was way over my head.      
    "Look," Stintner said, sensing my clear hesitation, "the fact is, like it or not, you are the chairman for the time being."
    "For the time being," I said, jumping on the words.
    The lawyer shot Alfie a look. "The board will obviously want to convene to discuss the future of the casino. At that time, if you so desire, you can withdraw as chairman and let the board appoint someone else."
    Withdrawing sounded good. In fact, withdrawing now rather than waiting sounded even better.
    "How about if I just resign now?" I asked. "How about I just go home and let you guys run the place until the board convenes, huh?"
    Alfie's eyes narrowed. Stintner cleared his throat loudly.
    "I'm afraid that's not a very good idea," he said. "Casino shares are likely to plummet when shareholders get wind of the fact we have no official chairman at the helm. Investors are nervous enough as it is, what with your father…" he trailed off.
    "Dying," I supplied for him. "It's okay, I'm aware he's dead."
    He cleared his throat loudly. "Yes, well. So are they. And they're not happy. The casino is in a very precarious situation right now."
    My head was spinning trying to process all of this. "So, let me get this straight. If I wait until the board convenes and appoints a new chairman, the investors keep their cool, and everyone is happy. But if I go home now, the casino risks going under?"
    Stintner nodded, his hair bobbing up and down. "Correct."
    I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I imagined my father making these arrangements with Stintner in the first place. My mother never made a secret of the fact she hated the casino business and the shady lifestyle that went along with it. As a kid, I'd thought it was kind of cool. No bedtimes, no boring homework, and lots of flash. As an adult, the novelty had worn off quickly, the flash on the outside revealing very little of substance on the inside. I'd immersed myself in the art scene instead, creating my own niche in the world that now had very little to do with neon lights and all-you-can-eat buffets.
    Until now.
    "When can the board convene?" I asked.
    "Ten days," Stintner answered.
    Ten days. That was the longest I'd spent at the Royal Palace since high school. I cringed, thinking of the mess I'd be going back to in my own life after ten days away. I'd miss the show. My artists would think I'd abandoned them. Plus, there was my cat. I had a sad vision of him using every piece of furniture I owned as a scratching post in protest of