No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7 Read Free

played some roulette. Or rather George did. I just
stood and watched.” As I let myself remember that weekend, the one
thing that stood out for me was that George paid attention to me,
lavishing me with affection as we wandered through the vast complex
of hotel spaces and gaming rooms, relaxed in our own private cabana
by the pool, or walked along the beach in the moonlight.
    “How much did he
lose?”
    “I don’t know,” I confessed.
“He was playing with purple and orange chips.”
    “One or two at a time?”
Bosco demanded.
    “No, usually five or six,
depending on the table we were at,” I told him.
    “The purple chips are worth
five hundred a piece, babe, and the orange are a thousand bucks a
piece.” Bosco was watching my reaction. I thought about the piles
of colorful chips that were swept up by the mucker at the table and
the ones returned by the croupier. George had laughed off his
losses. Bosco shook his head at that.
    “Probably wasn’t playing
with his own money,” he sighed. I suddenly felt even more like a
complete idiot. Without saying a word, Bosco seemed to convey his
disappointment in me. And then I suffered a pang of conscience,
thinking maybe I was being overly sensitive. Bosco removed all
doubt with his next comment. “Was it yours?”
    “Of course not!”
    “How do you know?” When I
hesitated, he jumped on it. “It’s a legitimate question, Dori.
We’re trying to figure out when the guy started ripping you
off.”
    “Oh,” I said, feeling
confused. Maybe Bosco really was trying to help me, and I was
reacting because I wasn’t thinking clearly.
    “When did you first realize
there was money missing?”
    “Saturday.”
    “The day after he left?”
Bosco whistled, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his
head. “The mark of a professional. What was the sign to you that
you had been taken to the cleaners?”
    “The cleaners,” I
repeated.
    “No, it’s an expression,” he
responded. “Where were you when you found out your money was
gone?”
    “At the cleaners,” I said
again. “I was picking up my suits and my credit card wouldn’t work.
It was maxed out. Somehow, I used up a $5,000 credit limit between
Friday at the grocery store and Saturday at the cleaners. When I
tried another card, the same thing happened. Then I went to my bank
because my debit card wasn’t working. My bank said the account had
been closed out by my new husband. They told me we had been sharing
the account for three weeks, that I had come in with him and signed
the paperwork. Only it wasn’t me, Bosco.”
    “Of course it wasn’t you. He
had an accomplice. What about that 401K? How did that get cashed
out?”
    “Supposedly I asked for it
to be rolled over to my new account at my new job, only I don’t
have a new job. Bosco, everything was done to hit me on Saturday.
Doesn’t that take a lot of coordination?”
    “And experience. The average
person doesn’t know how to do it. Financial professionals normally
help people transfer that many accounts, but usually it’s to make a
better return on investments, not to rob someone blind.”
    “I guess I’m lucky you know
what you’re doing. I don’t know what I’d do if you couldn’t help
me.” I rose, intending to refresh our coffee mugs.
    “Say that again.”
    “Oh, come on, Bosco. Haven’t
you made your point? I screwed up....”
    “No, Dori. Say what you just
said again.” Bosco had a funny look on his face.
    “I guess I’m lucky you know
what you’re doing. I don’t know what I’d do if you couldn’t help
me.” As I repeated the words, Bosco closed his eyes, as if in pain.
“Are you okay?”
    “This is all about me,” he
moaned. “Son of a....”
    “What do you
mean?”
    “That case I took on in
Somalia, this is payback.” My ex-husband looked like he was in
absolute agony.
    “Let me see if I understand
this. You’re telling me that George was hired to steal everything
from me?”
    “Yup,” Bosco agreed