Free The Corpse Wore Cashmere by Sylvia Rochester Page A

hers. “Soon,” she mumbled.
    She picked up the hotel’s phone and punched the number for the front desk. “Hi, this is Susan Griffin. I’m expecting a fax and will be down shortly to pick it up.”
    “One’s crossing now,” the clerk answered. “I’ll put it in your room slot.”
    After refreshing her makeup, she headed for the lobby. The minute she touched the doorknob, she was stopped in her tracks again by a blinding light—the same light that overwhelmed her when she and A. K. had loaded the van. Its center seemed even more brilliant, and rays streaked out in all directions. Shaken by the image, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, the light had disappeared. Was it a warning? Was it trying to point her in another direction? While she thought about what it could mean, the ding of the outside elevators broke her concentration.
    Susan hurried out of the room and to the front desk. “I believe a fax just came in for me, Susan Griffin.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” The clerk handed her several pages. A quick look indicated that most of the pictures were taken from newspaper clippings. She slipped them into her purse and entered the casino. A. K. was nowhere to be found among the rows of slot machines. Susan spotted her at a blackjack table with a hefty pile of chips in front of her.
    “Are you about to break the bank?”
    “Honey, we should have done this a long time ago.” A. K. held up her hand to the dealer. “I’m cashing out. Better quit while I’m ahead. Care to join me for a nightcap?”
    “Sure. It’s been a long day, and I know it’s going to be non-stop tomorrow.” Susan chose a lounge off the lobby where it wasn’t so noisy, picked out a table near the entrance, and ordered a margarita on the rocks.
    “I’ll have the same.” A. K. waited until the waiter brought their drinks. After he left, she took a sip then asked Susan, “So, what’s up? I can always tell when you’ve spoken to Wesley. You get that dreamy, faraway look in your eyes.”
    Susan lowered her voice. “Lorraine’s bank account showed some pretty big deposits. He thinks she was blackmailing someone.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the fax. “He sent me these, and I’m going to see if Miguel recognizes anyone.”
    A. K. stirred her drink with her finger. “Girl, stay out of the casino. The odds on him implicating someone from Palmetto are slim to none. Most of these are old-time politicians and not exactly the playboy type. Who’d want any of them?”
    “I know it’s a long shot, but it won’t hurt to ask. If Wesley can establish a Palmetto connection, it would make his investigation lots easier. I have to be careful how I approach Miguel, though. He’s reluctant to talk about Lorraine.”
    A. K. licked a tiny bit of salt from the rim of her glass as she studied the pictures. “Palmetto’s finest leaves a lot to be desired. I wouldn’t think any of them have deep pockets, and it would take that to hook up with a real beauty.” She returned the papers to Susan. “But if Miguel is your go-to man, now’s as good a time as any to see what he knows. He just walked in.” She downed the rest of her drink and pushed up from the table. “I’ll leave you to play detective. I’m ready for a nice, warm bath.”
    “And a long talk with Jack?”
    “Way ahead of you there, girlfriend.”
    A. K. strolled out of the lounge, pausing long enough to point Miguel in Susan’s direction.
    Susan started to stuff the pictures in her purse then stopped. If she left them out, it might appear as if she and A. K. were just discussing them and that she had no intention of thrusting them upon him. She took another sip and let the delicious mixture of Tequila and Triple Sec slide down her throat.
    Miguel approached and stood by her side. “You ready for tomorrow, Ms. Griffin?”
    “As ready as I’ll ever be. Please, call me Susan.” Miguel had applied the mascara with the hands of an artist.