Page 82 of My Ex-Fiance's Best Men
We change cash for chips at a specially arranged booth before another hostess takes us to an available table. There are plenty of seats still open, which tells me plenty of other players haven’t arrived, including the real Mr. and Mrs. Newsom.
“Do you see her?” Phoebe whispers, craning her neck as she looks around.
I spot Helen at a table close to the far-east corner of the room. “Yes. Excuse me,” I tell the hostess, “can you seat us over there?” I point at a table that keeps me out of Helen’s direct line of sight. “I’m very superstitious when it comes to cards.”
“Of course.”
We take our seats next to three other players. The dealer, a young man in his early twenties, gives me a polite nod as he shuffles a fresh deck of cards.
“Welcome to the Golden Goose Tournament.”
“Glad to be here,” I reply, keeping a discreet eye on Helen.
I may be out of her sight, but she’s not out of mine. Phoebe follows my gaze, and I hear the devastated sigh escape from her throat when she recognizes her mother.
“Dammit,” Phoebe whispers.
“You said you wanted to see for yourself,” I mutter.
“It still stings.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What do we do now?” she asks, her voice low.
I give her a reassuring smile, then place my buy-in chips on the table, joining the other three players. “I’m going to work a few hands, and you’re going to keep an eye on Mommy Dearest. From the looks of it, she’s got quite a few pennies to burn tonight.”
“Likely company money,” she mumbles.
“We won’t know for sure until we have access to her personal finances.”
As the dealer hands out our cards, I notice a glimmer in Phoebe’s eyes. The game is relatively easy when I don’t care whether I win or lose.
“I actually asked Maggie to help me with that,” Phoebe says. “She’s always been good to me. Kind. Protective.”
“Do you think you can trust her?” I ask.
“I hope so. She offered, in fact. She’s got access, given the work she does around the house,” Phoebe explains. “Mom gets printed statements and I know she keeps them somewhere in her office.”
“It wouldn’t be that hard for Maggie to gain access to them, then.”
“Not entirely legal, either.”
“Not at all.”
“She could get fired,” she says, lowering her gaze. “I hate that it has come to this.”
I look at Helen. She’s losing big and not happy about it. Another player just cleaned her out of fifty grand. She doesn’t have that many chips left, and as she takes out a checkbook from her purse, I notice the Baldwin Enterprises logo on the cover, easily distinguishable from this distance.
“Ah, I knew it,” I mutter.
“What is it?”
“It’s definitely company money, and she’s not even being shy about it,” I say.
Helen hands the signed check to one of the hostesses, who then returns with a tray of fresh poker chips for her to play with. Phoebe witnesses all of it, and I swear I can feel her heart breaking all over again.
“I could notify the police,” I tell her.
