Uncertain Stakes

Book 9: A Luca Mystery

by Dan Petrosini

Genres: Action & Adventure; Police Procedurals; Noir; Crime & Mystery; Crime Fiction; Love Triangle; murder; casino

Synopsis

A woman with a lust for risk taking...

She's missing, with more suspects than evidence.

While investigating a cold case and juggling family obligations, Detective Luca finds himself at the center of the mysterious disappearance of Beth Wade.

As he unravels the young woman's life, the list of suspects grows exponentially. A husband, a lover, a disgruntled client, an ex, a criminal, a loan shark—they all had motive to harm Beth, but the evidence against any of them is sketchy, at best.

The truth seems just out of Luca's grasp, but he's determined to uncover the truth about what happened the night she vanished. 

With political pressure to handle the case sensitively limiting his investigation, and personal concerns weighing down on him, Luca must press ahead and trust his gut...or risk losing the perpetrator forever.

Unexpected Stakes is a stand-alone story in the best-selling, Luca Mystery series.

Grab this fast paced read now.

Release date: October 8, 2019

Print pages: 258

Sample

Chapter One

Sheriff Chester was in a good mood. I expected as much, making the timing of my request perfect. We hadn’t had a homicide in five months, and every crime stat, except driving under the influence, was trending lower. It was a good time to ask for something.

“How old is your daughter, Frank?”

“Jessie is going to be three next month.”

“Enjoy it. I’m sure you realize time moves quickly.”

“It sure does.”

“What did you want to discuss?”

“We’re working a cold case. Back in 1989 a man named Whitaker was murdered downtown.”

“A thirty-year-old case?”

“Yes, but I feel good about it. I believe we can solve this one.”

“It’s always nice to clear an old one. What do you need?”

“The way I see it, the case hinges on DNA. I had forensics go over the evidence, and they found five deposits of DNA that aren’t the victim’s. I believe they belong to the primary suspect in the case. I think he’s the killer.”

The sheriff eased into his chair. “Okay.”

“I’d like to exhume the suspect’s body so that we can get a sample and confirm he was the killer.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why we’d get involved in something like that.”

“The victim’s family, sir. They’ve been calling every couple of months since I’ve been here.”

“But it’s a thirty-year-old case.”

“I understand, sir. But I’m certain we can clear it. Think of how the department would be portrayed in the press.”

His face brightened. “We’d look good.”

“Good? We’d prove that we don’t give up. It’d be a powerful message to the community, including crooks: We’ll hunt you down.”

“Isn’t there a way to do this without disturbing the body?”

Chester had never authorized an exhumation as sheriff. He claimed it got bad press and could turn against us. But I believed it was deeper, maybe a religious conviction or a necrophobia. He also never attended an autopsy, making it likely it was necrophobia.

“We’ve combed through everything, even what’s left of the family memorabilia. There’s nothing.”

“I have to think about this, if it’s worth the risk to solve a thirty-year-old case.”

“I understand, sir, but thankfully there is nothing fresh for us to deal with.”

“Speaking of that, a friend of a good friend of my wife’s been calling about her daughter. She’s been missing a couple of days. I’d like you to take a look into it for me.”

And just like that he steered our talk from an unsolved murder case to a missing persons report. Or was Chester offering a trade?

“Certainly, sir. I’d appreciate your consideration on the exhumation matter. I think we’ll be able to stamp it solved when we get the DNA.”

“I’d rather not waste resources on such an old case, especially one where the primary suspect is dead.”

“It’s for the family, for the community, sir.”

“I’ll mull it over.” He reached for a pad. “Let me give you information on the missing woman.”

* * *

Derrick, my partner, peered over his monitor. “What did Chester say?”

“That he’d have to think it over. It’s his way of saying no.”

“But we could solve a cold case.”

“I told him that, but he’s never dug up a body since he’s been here.”

“What are we going to do?”

“He wants us to check into a missing woman.”

“A missing person?”

“Yep, a friend of a friend kind of thing. The woman’s mother called him.”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Sheriff said a couple of days.”

“Could be anything.”

“I know, but if we’re going to have a shot at getting Chester to approve an exhumation, we’re going to have to follow this up. I’ll call the mother.”

I dialed the number the sheriff gave me. A woman picked up on the first ring.

“Beth?”

“This is Detective Luca, Collier County Sheriff’s Office. Is this Mrs. Wade?”

“Yes, that’s me. I was hoping it was my daughter, Beth.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“The sheriff said you’d be calling.”

“When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

“Well, about a week ago, but we talk every day. She never forgets to call me. Something is wrong.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Day before yesterday. She didn’t call yesterday, and I was getting nervous, but then she still didn’t call today, and that never happens.”

“Did you try to call her?”

“Of course. I called her about twenty times. Stopped leaving messages because her mailbox is full.”

“How about anyone she knows?”

“Well, her husband, John, said she didn’t come home.”

“She’s married?”

“Yes, why?”

I avoided telling her that when a missing person turned up dead, most times it was the spouse. “She still kept your last name?”

“Yeah, it’s her second marriage. She changed it the first time, but after the divorce she changed it back and never bothered when she remarried.”

“I see. I understand you’re upset, but there could be any number of reasons why she hasn’t called—”

“No, something is wrong. I can tell.”

It was never a good idea to doubt a mother’s intuition. “Is there anything specific that leads you to believe she may be in danger?”

“I’m not crazy. I just know.”

“What about her husband? How was the marriage?”

“They fight all the time.”

“Is he someone that could conceivably be involved in her disappearance?”

“Oh my God! You think John did something to Beth?”

“Your daughter is missing two days at this point. Please don’t jump to conclusions. Why don’t you give me her husband’s number, and we’ll check into this?”

I jotted down the number and hung up.

“What’s the matter?”

I didn’t want to tell him I was getting a bad feeling. “Nothing. The mother said they talk every day, but she hasn’t spoken to her in two days, and her calls haven’t been returned.”

“I heard you say something about a husband. You want to start there?”

 

 

Chapter Two

The DMV portal was one of the first places I accessed. I looked at a photo of Beth Wade. The thirty-five-year-old had shoulder-length, brown hair and hazel eyes. Her license said she was five foot three inches, and a hundred and ten pounds.

A 2017 Ford Mustang, white, was registered in her name at 313 St. Croix Boulevard. Googling the address confirmed my belief it was in a rental community on Immokalee Road known as St. Croix. It was a busy area, not far from the ramp to Interstate 75.

I put her name into the law enforcement touch database, and what came up deepened my fear. There were five domestic violence incidents, three with her first husband and two with her current.

I read the most recent report. It was May 20, 2019, just six weeks ago. Two officers responded to the call. To get the situation under control, the officers had to cuff both Beth Wade and her husband, John Frelig. Both wanted to press charges against the other, and they were brought to the station and booked. The charges were eventually dropped.

Booking photos are never flattering, and these were no different. Beth’s right eye was swollen shut and her green sweatshirt torn at the neck. Her messy hair reminded me of what Jessie did to Mary Ann’s when she play-washed her hair.

With a couple of days of stubble, her husband had scratches down both cheeks and a blood-caked ear. The report made no mention of alcohol or drug use, which seemed odd, given the battle that had ensued.

* * *

Inching my way west on Immokalee Road, I could see the black-tiled sign for St. Croix Apartments. It would take two traffic light changes to go the quarter of a mile. I usually avoided this stretch of road, with the worst traffic in town, but couldn’t if I wanted to talk to Beth’s husband.

John Frelig was a thirty-eight-year-old who drove a tow truck on an overnight shift. He was out of shape and looked ten years older. He wasn’t overweight but flabby. I was tempted to get a ball and ask him if he knew what it was. If Frelig wanted any quality of life twenty years from now, he’d better start exercising.

A car beeped its horn as I followed him into the kitchen. I wondered if the air here had unhealthy levels of car exhaust. Probably. We sat across a glass table that had two long scratches on it. The padding on the chairs was tantamount to the cushion in a Band-Aid.

“You still haven’t heard from your wife?”

“No.”

“How long has it been?”

“Over two days now.”

“Last time you saw her was when?”

“Monday night about seven.”

“What was she wearing?”

“Uhm, jeans, she had jeans on, and I think a blue top.”

“Blouse? Tank top? Long or short sleeve?”

“It was the one with skinny straps on the shoulder and a couple of buttons. Let me check her closet.”

I followed him into the bedroom. The bed was unmade.

He slid a door to the side and ran a hand over the clothes. “Yeah, that was the one. It had three buttons I think, here.” He touched the center of his chest.

“Okay, that’s good. What did she say before you went to work?”

“She said she was going to the casino.”

“The Seminole Casino in Immokalee?”

“Yeah. She liked to play blackjack. She was pretty good at it too.”

Was? Did he know something about what happened to her? “She went there frequently?”

“I guess so.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, she’d go a lot of times when I was working. You know, I work the overnight shift for Baker’s Towing.”

“Did you hear from her after she left for the casino?”

“Yeah, she texted me. Said she was doing good, had a hot hand.”

“What time did you get back home?”

“About six thirty, in the morning.”

“And she wasn’t home?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you get concerned?”

“A little. I mean, she said she was doing good, and I figured she played late and got a room.”

“She would stay overnight at the casino?”

“Not a lot, but sometimes, you know. They’d comp her a room every now and then.”

This guy certainly wasn’t the jealous type. “Did you check with the hotel to see if she was there?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“I thought maybe she stayed there and then maybe went with a girlfriend or something. She knew a lot of people there. I just thought she’d eventually show up.”

“Had she done something like that before?”

“You mean staying over and going out the next day?”

“Yes.”

“One time she did. I work at night, and when I get back, I sleep till, like, two in the afternoon.”

“Does your wife work?”

“Yeah, she works for an insurance company, checking into claims that are filed. You know, I knew there was a lot of bullshit claims, but the fraud she tells me about is frigging crazy.”

I wasn’t discounting that problem, but if he worked on my side of the street, his head would spin. “Where did she work?”

“Accurate Insurance, they’re in Fort Myers, but she doesn’t go there too much. Most of the time she does everything from home. And it doesn’t matter when she works.”

“How were things between the two of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that we’ve responded to two domestic violence calls at this address.”

His shoulders sagged. “We got past all that a long time ago.”

I knew time was flying, but not as fast as he made it seem. “Just six weeks ago, the two of you were going at it so bad that you had to be hauled in.”

He frowned.

“What were you fighting about?”

“You know, I can’t even tell you. The usual stuff.”

Couldn’t or wouldn’t? “I saw the photos. If that’s usual, you may need to get help, and fast.”

“Everything’s okay between us. Really, it is.”

He could profess till the sun set, but I’d find out how the relationship was. I took the contact information for his wife’s boss and left.

 

 

Chapter Three

The Seminole Casino Hotel had no record that Beth Wade had stayed in one of their rooms. That didn’t mean she hadn’t. She could have been shacking up with someone who rented a room.

If it turned out this woman had a boyfriend or cheated on her husband, it could mean she simply took off for a couple of days with a lover. Based on the prior domestics we’d responded to, her stepping out on her old man was a distinct possibility.

The thought that she could be trying to get away from an abusive husband crossed my mind. I’d seen it way too many times before, but in this case, Beth Wade’s mother claimed her daughter called her every day. If they were that close, I would think she would have tipped the mother off. Or was she too embarrassed by it?

The missing woman was a gambler. It had been a few years since I’d taken profiling classes, but with something like this it shouldn’t matter. Most people who frequented casinos, and I’m not talking about seniors out for the day, were risk-takers. They’d discount that the odds were stacked against them. They’d ignore the real risk that they would walk out with less money. Did that neglectful trait extend beyond so-called recreational activities?

My preference was to slow-walk this for a day or two, hoping this woman would show up. But the sheriff had asked me to look into this. If I wanted a shot at approving my exhumation request, I’d have to show him I was pursuing the whereabouts of Beth Wade.

Going to see the mother would provide insight on the missing woman and give me a reason to update the sheriff.

* * *

Joan Wade lived in a white home in a new community on Airport Pulling Road known as Manchester Square. Located in a busy area, it was a little of, like mother, like daughter; both of them didn’t seem to mind traffic where they lived.

Based upon the community’s modern sign, I expected the homes in the neighborhood to lean contemporary. They weren’t. It was a large development, and her home, on Cambridge Lane, was near Livingston Road. The driveway was lined with little American flags, leftovers from the July 4th holiday. As I walked to the home, I wondered if you could get used to the sound of cars whizzing by.

When she opened the door, the lanai and pool came into view. The wide-open floor plan was nice. Shaking her hand, I tried to estimate what the home went for.

The elder Wade was tall and slender. Her raised eyebrows and tight jawline were giveaways that she’d had work done. She led me past a collage of family photos into a kitchen that was open to the main room. The more I saw, the better I liked the layout.

“Would you like some coffee?”

I hadn’t seen a pot. “Only if it’s made.”

“No problem. I use pods. Regular or decaf?”

“Regular.”

She brought a cup over. “All I have is almond milk. Is that okay?”

It wasn’t. “Sure.” I put in a tiny amount of what they called milk and asked, “Following up with our phone call, I thought it would help to get a sense of your daughter, her relationships, activities, that sort of thing.”

“Do you think she’s been harmed?”

“We have no evidence of that. I know it’s difficult. I have a daughter as well, and if she was missing, I’d be worried sick about her. But the chances are she’s with a friend or needed time alone.”

“I hope you’re right, Detective.”

That made two of us.

“Now, I went to see her husband, John. I know they’ve had some issues in their relationship, and I’d like your opinion on it and on him.”

“Beth struggled in her relationships with men. Her father died when she was just nine, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but it left a larger hole than I imagined.”

Society had to find a way to ensure that a child’s search for a father figure didn’t trap them in a bad situation. “That’s understandable. How did she react?”

“Well, she wasn’t the best at choosing a partner. Beth’s first marriage, which I tried to warn her about, ended quickly.”

“He was abusive?”

She nodded. “Yes, she was too immature, to be honest about it.”

Reflection and time had a way of clarifying things. “How old was she?”

“Twenty-three.”

That wasn’t considered young to get married in the South.

“Tell me about her current husband, John.”

“They met about five years ago.”

“When she was thirty?”

“Actually, it was before that. I remember John being there for her thirtieth birthday. I threw a little party for her.”

“Okay. They hit it right off?”

“You could say that.”

“You didn’t like him, did you?”

She shrugged. “Not that I had anything against him. I don’t want this to sound terrible, but he was a tow truck driver. I was hoping for something better for her.”

After a failed marriage, you’d think the mother was looking for happiness, not an image.

“How long have they been married?”

“About four years now.”

“You said you speak with your daughter every day.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m so concerned.”

“Do you know about the domestic violence calls?”

She frowned. “Yes. The two of them have bad tempers.”

“Many people argue, but it doesn’t result in the police responding. What did she say about the physical part of it?”

She shrugged.

“Was it John that started it?”

“You don’t think he did anything to her, do you?”

A black cat slipped in and out of the kitchen. Was it some kind of sign?

“I’m just collecting information, ma’am.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know where she got it from, but Beth was quick to hit someone. All through school she’d get into fights. I sent her for therapy, and it helped somewhat, but she would still get into them.”

“She was headstrong?”

“You could say that, but she is a good person. Beth loves babies. You should see her with one. She wants to be a mother. Likes dogs too, but John didn’t want one.”

“Do you know if your daughter was having an affair or something more casual?”

“No.”

“Do you think she would do something like that?”

“I guess so. Do you think she ran off with someone?”

“It would explain her disappearance.”

“But why didn’t she call?”

“It could have been too uncomfortable for her to talk about it.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but as long as she’s safe, I could care less if she is having an affair.”

 

 

Chapter Four

The sheriff stood when I entered his office.

“Frank, come on in. You must have good news.”

“Just wanted to update you, sir.”

“You haven’t located her?”

“Not yet.”

Chester fell into his chair. “Whatever you have to say should have been put in a report, Luca.”

“Since you had an interest in the case, sir, I thought coming in person—”

“I have an interest in all the cases we handle.”

“Of course, I was just trying—”

“I’ve got a busy day ahead.”

“Sorry, sir. I’ve already interviewed the mother, on the phone and in person, as well as the husband. They have serious marital issues that resulted in a couple of domestics.”

“Do you believe it’s foul play?”

“I hope not. She could have run off with a boyfriend, but if another day passes without a word, and well, let’s see what develops. It could be nothing, and we get lucky.”

He rapped a knuckle on his desk. “Let’s hope so. If there’s a major development, I expect to hear from you.”

“Yes, sir.”

I wanted to ask about the exhumation request, but he reached for a file and said, “That’s all.”

I never liked to kiss ass, but I’d do anything to solve a murder, especially one that half a dozen detectives had failed at. If Chester wouldn’t agree, I’d have to see if there was a way around him. It was dangerous, but I had to. I had promised the family I’d get the killer. Besides, if it stayed unsolved, the three and a half months Derrick and I had put into it would be a total waste.

Taking the stairs down to my office, my mood descended in tandem. It wasn’t the old case that had me down, but that I’d misread Chester. I had discounted the woman’s disappearance. It was a serious error. I knew that to have any chance of saving her, if she was in trouble, I should have put the pedal to the metal the moment I was handed the case.

I’d wasted two days, and the feeling that something bad had happened to Beth Wade was growing. I hustled down the hallway to my office.

When I entered, Derrick said, “Why don’t we put out an alert on the woman’s car?”

He beat me to it. Was he taking lessons in telepathy from Mary Ann? “Was thinking the same thing. Get it out there ASAP.”

“What did the sheriff have to say?”

“Nothing. I’m going to take a ride out to the casino. See what I can dig up.”

“Do we even know if she was there?”

“Not outside of the husband saying that was where she was going.”

“That’s a long ride.”

He was right. I wanted to do something, but taking a forty-five-minute drive without knowing if the missing woman had even been there the night she disappeared might not have been the best choice.

“She liked to play blackjack out there. Worse comes to worse, I’ll talk to the people who work there. You never know.”

“That’s a good idea. We need to know more about her.”

He should only know that I hadn’t thought it through until he challenged me. The chemo had screwed with my memory, but at least I could still think under pressure.

* * *

I continued east on Immokalee Road. A few miles after passing Oil Well Road, the road narrowed to a single lane in each direction. With a handful of new developments slated, I wondered how long until they doubled the capacity of this stretch of roadway.

Another ten miles east, and there was nothing but farmland and undeveloped land on both sides of the road. The Immokalee area was agriculture based and a major center of tomato growing in America. The road bent to the north, and a sign proclaimed, Welcome to Immokalee, with an explanation that Immokalee meant "your home."

Passing the county’s Immokalee jail, I rolled toward Main Street. You couldn’t miss the canary-yellow complex that dominated the area with a depressed feel. I pulled into the Seminole Casino Hotel. The place was owned and operated by the Seminole Tribe of Florida. A valet came over and I flashed my badge. He pointed to a spot along the curb that was just past the doorway.

It was the first time I’d been here. Gambling in casinos didn’t appeal to me. You knew it was rigged; how else were they able to build places like this? I enjoyed playing cards. I also bought the occasional lottery ticket when I got a feeling, but the vibes I received never delivered. The messages that did work were the ones suited to solving crimes.

I’d heard that most of the action here came from day-trippers, seniors looking for a little sizzle, and tourists making the drive on a bad-weather day. The casino was connected to a hundred-room hotel for overnight guests and hard-core gamblers—regulars who would be comped a room in an attempt to give them something of value as the casino siphoned the guest’s dollars at a gaming table.

Just outside the entrance, I picked up a cane that had fallen out of a man’s hand as he nodded off. I propped it against his chair and turned toward the entrance.

A blast of cold air infused with cigarette smoke greeted me as the casino’s doors slid open. Stepping in provided a 360-degree view of people playing slots the size of soda machines. The screens were oversized and colorful. It was all set on a carpet so red you’d have trouble seeing blood on it.

The combination of hundreds of machines making clanging sounds, on top of a sound system blaring pop music, amounted to an aural assault. If you weren’t hard of hearing, you would be.

I circled the floor, noticing a sign but not a partition of any kind that separated the smoking and nonsmoking sections. There had to be over a thousand slot machines and three or four dozen gaming tables. There was an exclusive area called the Player’s Club, making me wonder how much you had to lose to be a member.

Protocol called for me to check in with management before talking to anyone.

 

 

Chapter Five

I found the security office. It was wall-to-wall video coverage of the gaming tables. I explained about the missing woman, but they seemed more concerned about customers cheating than customer safety. Saying they’d call the management office, they asked me to wait outside.

I watched a couple of old ladies relentlessly feed slot machines until a man in an off-the-rack sports jacket approached. He was grinning from ear to ear. I figured the place was having a better than usual take that day.

“Gus Bender. I’m the day-shift manager for the casino.”

His skin was a couple of shades darker than mine. He didn’t look like a Native American, but it was possible, as the top jobs were usually reserved for tribe members.

“Detective Luca.”

He didn’t look me in the eye when we shook, something that always bothered me.

“How can I help you today?”

“I’d like to talk to a couple of employees about a missing woman.”

“A missing woman? And what does that have to do with the casino?”

“Probably nothing, but her husband said she was here the night she disappeared.”

“First I’m hearing about it.”

“Her name is Beth Wade. She liked to play blackjack. From what I understand, she was a regular.”

“Her name don’t ring a bell, but I work days.”

“The night in question is July seventh. For all we know, she never came here and ran away with a friend of some kind.”

“Well, if she was here and playing, we’ll likely have her on camera.”

“Good, but I’d like to chat with a couple of dealers, see if they knew her and if she was even here.”

“I don’t know. There’s a process that—”

“It’s nothing formal. I just want to see if someone can tell me they saw her with another man or mentioned going away. She didn’t have the best marriage, and if you ask me, I think she was stepping out on him. I get confirmation; I drop it and leave you alone.”

“We can’t have you talking on the floor.”

“I understand. Like I said, it’s just a couple of questions that I need to ask.”

“All right, then. Follow me, but please keep it short.”

He brought me to an employee lounge where dealers and cocktail waitresses could get off their feet on a break. A TV was playing a soap opera. There were three women sitting in low-backed chairs and a blond man heating something in a microwave.

“Listen up, folks. This is a detective. He’s interested in a woman who may play blackjack here, more than likely at night, if she does. Who was working Monday night?”

A woman in black pants and a white shirt said, “I was dealing blackjack Monday.”

Another woman in a silver sequined bodysuit, whose high heels were on the floor in front of her chair, said, “I was on too.”

I said, “Why don’t we sit over there?” I pointed to a corner table.

“I’m Detective Luca, with the Collier County Sheriff’s Office.”

The cocktail waitress said, “Maggie Prine. Nice to meet you.”

The dealer said, “Dolores Espina. Who are you interested in?”

“I’m looking into a woman named Beth Wade. She told her husband that she was coming here Monday night.” I showed them a picture of her.

The server said, “Yeah, I’ve seen her around here a bunch of times.”

“Monday night?”

“You know, I’m not sure. It was busy that night. Some kind of convention was here. Right, Dolores?”

“It was packed. I know her too. She’s played at my tables. She was nice, knew how to play the game.”

“Did she play Monday?”

She shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly. I worked five days in a row. Just got back on today, as a matter of fact.”

“But you saw her recently?”

“Yes. It could’ve been Monday.”

“It’d be helpful if you’d think about it. You said Monday was a busy night, so it was different than other nights. Do you think she was here Monday?”

“It’s possible. We see a ton of people, and unless someone wins big, the nights kind of flow into each other, if you know what I mean.”

Why weren’t people more observant? If they’d take the time to make a simple connection, what they were wearing, the weather, or something that happened, it increased your ability to recall. It would make witnesses more confident in remembering what they saw and my job easier.

“Okay. You said Wade was nice and a good player.”

“She was.”

“What else can either of you tell me about her?”

The cocktail waitress said, “One day she came in with a big bruise on her face. I was like, what happened? And she said she and her husband had a fight and he hit her. We’re not supposed to say anything to the customers that’s personal. But I was, like, that’s crazy, you know?”

“Were there any other times she came in banged up?”

They shook their heads.

“How often would she come in?”

“I’d say at least once a week. Right, Dolores?”

“That’s about right.”

“Was she friendly with anyone? Somebody who works here or a customer?”

“She was nice to everybody that was playing at my table. Sometimes a guy playing would try to hit on her.”

“Did she ever—engage them?”

“I saw her at the bar a couple of times talking to men but don’t know if anything more came of it.”

“Did she ever come in with someone?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Me either.”

A beep sounded, and the other people in the room rose and got ready to go back on the floor. The cocktail waitress said, “I’ve got to get my shoes on.”

I thanked them and walked back into the casino. Three men, all wearing cowboy hats, were setting up on a small stage in the Zig Zag Lounge. I circled through the gaming tables and exited through the hotel entrance.

A bus was unloading a group of seniors. The parking lot was across the entrance. I went around the motor coach and headed into the rows of parked cars looking for Beth Wade’s vehicle.

* * *

A film of dust made the Mustang appear off-white. It was parked in the rear of the self-park lot, next to a red pickup truck. As most places did, the closest spots were either designated for the handicapped or used by the valet service.

For those who parked their own cars, the walk to the casino was an unsubtle way of making you feel like a cheapskate. I didn’t consider myself cheap, but why spend money you didn’t have to? I didn’t need the valet’s confirmation I was a good guy by handing over a fiver.

Peering inside the car, there was nothing that raised an alarm. I circled the car, begging it to give me a signal.

I looked toward the casino. It was more than two football fields away. It must have been a busy night. Or had she parked out here for privacy? A dense, wooded area encircled most of the lot. It was only steps away from her car. Could an attacker have been hiding in there? It took me a minute to roll a couple of scenarios around.

Going back to my Cherokee, I grabbed a tool kit we used to open car doors. I opened the door in less time than it takes to tie a shoe. Gloves on, I searched the glove compartment. Besides the owner’s manual, there was nothing but a handful of old insurance cards, Burger King napkins, and two pens.

Under the driver’s seat was an empty water bottle; on the passenger’s side, just a dirty quarter. I popped the trunk. A satchel bearing the logo of State Farm sat next to a pair of sneakers and a couple of Publix shopping sacks.

I unzipped the State Farm bag. It contained a light blue blouse, a beige bra, a pair of jeans, and a thong. They appeared to be freshly laundered. Wade had a change of clothes. Why? Was she expecting to stay over at the casino’s hotel? Or somewhere else?

Finding her car changed everything. It was now likely something bad had happened to Beth Wade. The question was if she was still alive. It was weird; I found myself hoping that she’d been kidnapped.

What else was strange was the need for a tow truck since her husband drove one for a living. We needed to protect the car. The sheriff’s office had a good working relationship with the Seminole Tribe, but it was on the casino’s property, and if the vehicle contained any evidence, I needed to maintain the integrity of its custody.

The possibility that Wade was trapped somewhere elevated the urgency. Time was not in our favor. Most kidnapping victims were killed soon after being abducted.

I made the call to transport the car before getting approval from the casino. I didn’t expect pushback and didn’t get any, but that didn’t mean the Seminoles would give me carte blanche as we ramped up the investigation. Chester needed to know we’d found her vehicle and be ready for a tussle over jurisdiction.