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Single seven, single cherry, blank spot.
However, there was something about Doc that made me wave away any mistrust—in spite of his need to sniff the corners in every room he entered and say the oddest things. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be watching out for me whether I liked it or not. Or the way he grinned so easily. Or the way he listened when people talked, as if he was focusing on every single syllable uttered.
Triple seven, double seven, double cherries.
A glance at the clock on my cell phone made my chest twang with guilt. It was two-thirty, and I should probably head to the library to dig up that information for Jane. Then I needed to get back to the office and fill out the contract for Jeff’s place. This would give me three houses on my plate, with the Hessler haunt the rough-cut diamond in my rhinestone tiara.
Single seven, single seven, double seven.
Thinking about Wolfgang’s house still gave me the heebie jeebies. Just the thought of those stupid clowns with their manic grins made me shiver. I needed to convince Wolfgang to paint over them before we showed the place. Surely he knew how tacky they would look to a potential buyer, especially one who could afford the price we’d be asking.
Double seven, two cherries, single cherry.
I sighed. Ah, Wolfgang—my gorgeous, fair Lancelot. So comfortable to be around compared to Doc, who always had me jumping around on hot coals. Wolfgang with his sexy blue eyes and Don Juan smile. Maybe I should wear that little backless, black satin number tonight that Natalie bought me for my birthday. No wait, he’d said not to dress up.
My cell phone rang. I reached for my purse.
Double seven, double seven, double seven.
The slot machine lit up, bells clanging for a couple of seconds. As I hauled my phone from the bowels of my purse, I scanned the legend at the top of the machine, searching for how much I won as the number of credits climbed.
“Hello?”
“Violet, where are you?” Aunt Zoe asked.
The slot machine quieted, its victory dance over too soon. Two hundred credits. What was that in quarters? “Downtown, why?”
“You need to come home.”
“What has Layne done now?” I hit the Payout button. The machine spit out a paper receipt.
“It’s not Layne. It’s Addy.”
“What about her?”
“She’s missing.”
