Free DOUBLE MINT by Gretchen Archer Page A

cupcakes. When the
     players hit the right combination of cupcake and frosting, they won. The jackpot was
     three birthday sprinkle cupcakes in a row. The candles lit and the player won $25,000.)
    “Obviously,” I said, “we want the counterfeit money out of here. But why specifically
     away from the bankers conference?”
    “So there’ll be no confusion.”
    Which confused me.
    “So the counterfeit money won’t end up in the conference game,” he explained.
    “The conference game? In the game? How could it end up in the game?”
    “The bankers have a cash game, Davis.”
    “What?” I’d never seen a cash game. “Cash in the game?”
    “Yes,” Bradley said, “they’re in the money business. They have a cash game.”
    “Bradley, how is that not a security nightmare?”
    “It’s Paragon’s problem,” he said. “It’s their money, and their job to safeguard it.
     They brought their own security specifically for the game.”
    “And they brought their own counterfeit money for it too.”
    He shook his head. “No. No they didn’t.”
    “The conference people were waiting for the counterfeit money, Bradley.”
    “You said they were waiting on the guest. No one said they were waiting on the money.”
    Something made me think of prison food, which would be our steady diet for the rest
     of our lives if we allowed a game to be played or paid out in counterfeit money. The
     Bellissimo would close, and we’d all be in prison.
    “There has to be a reasonable explanation,” he said, “because Paragon would no more
     deal in counterfeiting than we would.”
    “Fake coins. Fake money.” I tipped my head in the direction of the counterfeit production
     plant hidden deep in our home. “The only other reasonable explanation is Magnolia
     Thibodeaux.”
    He threw his hands in the air.
    “Okay,” I said, “if you want me to get to the bottom of this, and, as you say, keep
     the doors open, get me into the conference and I’ll take it from there.”
    “You are in. You’re Holder Darby.”
    “I need farther in,” I said, “past the reception desk. All the way in.”
    “There’s no way to get you in without setting off alarms. Last week, we could have
     worked it out. Now that the conference has started, I don’t think it’s a good idea.
     We will not put this conference under a microscope.”
    “I need to see the game.”
    “You’re not going to.”
    “Okay, I want to see the game.”
    “You’re not going to.”
    That quieted things down for a minute.
    “It’s odd to me, Bradley, that we’re not allowed access to our own facilities.”
    “Of course we are,” he said. “But not the way you’re approaching it, locked and loaded.”
     He looked me in the eye. All the way to the back of my head. “Davis?” He was so tall.
     Top of my world tall. “Stay away from the conference game. And Magnolia Thibodeaux
     has nothing to do with anything. Don’t waste time. Understand?”
    I did not understand.
    “Find the missing guest and you’ll have your answers.” He kissed my forehead. “I have
     to get back to work.”
      
    * * *
      
    We sat as still as church mice in Bradley’s wake until Fantasy reached for the bourbon
     and poured us a round of brunch. At some point, Dionne Warwick’s guy, without us noticing,
     assumed a sitting position on the magnolia sofa. “Who are you people?” He looked around. “Where am I?”

Seven

      
    This place was creepy enough without a jumpy cat hiding in it. A cat who, again, I’d
     forgotten. It was a simple noise that petrified and produced it.
    A mundane task, pulling a bottle of water from my Igloo refrigerator, scared the cat,
     who’d been hiding somewhere in the magnolia tree above the cooler, out of its skin.
     All I did was reach in and pull out a bottle of water for Dionne Warwick’s guy, causing
     ice to collapse around the space, and not in a gentle way, which sent the cat tearing
     out of the magnolia tree, landing square on my