Part 15 (1/2)

She shrugged. ”There's no need to fuss. Just a half dollar here or there. I had to get in on the action.” She patted her purse. ”I'm on a roll too. Today's race is going to be big. Big. Guaranteed a huge payout. Odds are in favor of Pickles.”

A half dollar? What did that even mean? Was that more gambling slang, or had she really only bet fifty cents? Maybe Sven should have asked Betty to place his bet. She obviously was more informed than I was on terminology.

”No more, Betty.” Grey's tone brooked no argument. Neither did the stern look on his face.

She winked at him, undaunted by his commanding authority. ”No problem. I've already placed my wagers for the day. Pickles to win.” Betty traipsed to the display of leashes and collars. ”Make yourself useful handsome. Hold out your arms.”

Grey frowned. ”Only if you promise, no more gambling.”

”You have my word.” Betty crossed her heart.

I don't know about Grey, but I didn't believe her for a second. His frowned deepened, but he did as she asked. Betty draped the merchandise over his arms, quickly sorting by size first, then color.

”I thought you didn't like Lenny?” I asked, as Betty made quick work of reorganizing my rush display job.

”Just because he's a loser, doesn't mean his dog can't win.”

Confession time. If Sven wanted to place a bet, legal or not, that was his choice. But Betty was a different story. I felt protective of her, both physically and financially.

”Grey, do you think we can get her money back?”

She looked up from hanging the last handful of leashes. ”Why would I want to get my money back? Do you have an aversion to money? Maybe you should talk to someone about that.”

”I have plenty of money. Don't you worry about me.”

No longer Betty's personal hanger, Grey rubbed the back of his neck. ”The best thing you could do is forget about it. Don't go back.”

”If I win, I'm getting my money,” Betty promised, full of att.i.tude.

”Leave it alone. Underground gambling is an illegal business.”

”I bet on the ponies every summer. That's not illegal,” she argued.

He sighed, frustrated. ”That's different.”

Betty sniffed. ”I don't see how.”

”Well, it is.”

Betty stared at his unbending face. ”Now you tell me. Is that why Rodney, the bagman, keeps hiding from the judges?”

Grey rubbed his face. ”Stay away from the chili truck.”

”Listen handsome, if I win, I'm collecting my money.”

”No. You are to stay away.” His eyes lit on Betty's face, imploring her to do as he said.

Grey was agitated. I had a nagging feeling he was holding back vital information. ”What aren't you telling us?”

”I'm telling you, these are serious criminals. Stay away from them.” His voice was tight, irritation written all over his face.

I could feel myself getting cranky. I'd already told Betty to stop betting. He'd already told her to stop betting. Why was he picking this hill to die on? Surely there were more important arguments to win.

I met his eyes and held them. I wanted his complete attention. ”Look around. This is a wiener race. Rodney isn't going to break Betty's knee caps because she won twenty bucks. How would you know they're dangerous criminals?”

”You don't want me to answer.” He glanced at Betty who was taking in our discussion wide-eyed.

”No, I do.” I motioned for us to move aside so we could talk in private. He shook his head no. I felt like he was purposely pus.h.i.+ng my b.u.t.tons. Picking a fight.

”How do you know the people behind the gambling ring are hardened criminals?” I repeated my question, refusing to back down, all the while knowing I was being just as unreasonable as Grey. But I couldn't seem to stop myself.

He shrugged. ”I'm speculating.”

No, he wasn't. That answer was for Betty's benefit. His shrug was stiff and unnatural. He knew something, and he was keeping it to himself. I thought we'd moved past this a year ago when he promised to share more. I wasn't expecting specifics. But how hard was it for him to pull me aside to tell me he was working a case? That's all I wanted.

I suddenly wondered if he was here to keep an eye on me, and not because he actually wanted to spend time with me.

”Why are you here?”

We stared at each other. My chest rose and fell with each breath as I waited for an answer. Hoping he'd tell me the truth, and at the same time worried he'd evade or deflect my very direct question.

”To bring you lunch.” His flat eyes caught me off guard.

He'd closed himself off. I wanted to believe him. But I didn't. I caught my breath on the huge lump in my throat.

Grey broke eye contact and turned toward Betty who watched us intently. ”Did you talk to the filmmaker?” he asked.

She shook her head. ”Nope. She was sniffing around the food trucks this morning. I lost my phone, so I found that charming Hagan Stone. He promised to call the police for me.”

His cheek muscle twitched. ”Hagan called the police for you?”

She nodded. ”He said he'd take care of it.”

Grey's cell rang. He frowned at the name of the caller. ”I'll be back.” He looked at Betty. ”Behave.”

To me he said nothing. Which was good. I'm not sure I could have held my tongue. We watched him walk toward the same group of trees where I'd gone to take his call yesterday.

Once he was out of earshot, Betty asked, ”Why is he mad? Did you do something?”

I gave her a half shrug, unwilling to put my suspicion into spoken words. Besides, this was between me and Grey. ”I thought I knew. But now . . . I'm not sure. Let's stop talking about Grey. How much did you really put on Pickles?”

She rubbed her hands together. ”One hundred.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. There was nothing I could say. She was a grown woman. Who was making poor decisions. ”Seriously, no more gambling.”

”I said I got it. Hey, where's Missy?”