Free Murder by Chance (Betty Chance Mystery) by Pat Dennis Page B

6 on her speed dial. It took ten rings before Tillie answered.
    Tillie said, “Sorry, I didn’t call right back. I saw your name on the ID, but I was in the middle of putting out a cigarette.”
    At that very moment, Betty noticed Tillie walking toward her while talking on her cell.
    Tillie grinned at her, waved, and continued speaking. “I lied earlier about having an appointment, I just wanted to get away from Hannah.”
    Tillie clicked off her phone when she was within a foot of the settee.
    Betty shrugged. “I can’t say I blame you. By the way, her son’s a lawyer.”
    Tillie burst out laughing. “Ain’t that the icing on the pie? Did she threaten to sue?”
    “Her son told her she might have a case.”
    “A case of Jack Daniels,” Tillie quipped. “He sounds as nutty as she is. Know what really amazes me?”
    “What?”
    “That I’m not married to him. I’m just one big old refrigerator door magnet to lunatic women and their damaged offspring.”
    Betty grinned as she stood up and handed Tillie a list of the passenger’s names. “Can you help me locate a few of these folk? I penciled in an approximate time for the interview next to their names.”
    Tillie asked, “What if they refuse to show?”
    “They can’t,” Betty said. “According to the sheriff, everyone’s a suspect.”
    Tillie stared at the long list. “Crap on a Spanish cracker! My name’s numero uno. The sheriff might as well string the noose around my neck right now.”
    “Don’t worry,” Betty reassured her. “He’s interviewing everyone, including me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to interrogate Farsi.”
    “You think Baby Butt Severson knows what he’s doing?”
    Betty hesitated. “You know I never want to speak badly about anyone in law enforcement …”
    “That’s because you’re from a family of cops. Me? I’m from the family on COPS.”
    Betty chuckled.
    “Personally, I think the sheriff’s a blooming idiot,” Tillie continued, “and I don’t mind saying so.”
    Betty couldn’t have agreed more but wouldn’t verbalize it. “Can you mention to our riders that we have free tickets to the showroom tonight?”
    Tillie’s face lit up. “Boris the Baffler? The mentalist guy? Cool!” Unable to resist, she said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s ask him to channel the murderer’s name. And when he does , voilà !” She then added with pride, “ Voilà is French, you know.”
    Betty pointed toward the first carousel of dollar slot machines in the middle of the casino’s aisle. “There’s Arnie Holstein. He’s first on your list.”
    “Okey doke,” Tillie said. As she stood up, she adjusted the V-neck of her top to its lowest position. Betty watched Tillie wiggle her way through the crowd. A smile spread across Arnie’s face as Tillie approached him. Ten seconds later he frowned. That’s one down, Betty thought.
    Getting passengers to agree to be anywhere at any given time was always a difficult task. Gamblers tended to get lost in both time and fantasy. It was nearly impossible to get them to leave a winning machine or table. She knew of one bride-to-be who missed her own wedding because she was “on a roll”.
    Betty surveyed the gaming area that stretched in front of her with its twenty-five hundred machines. The machines ranged from very basic video poker to electronic slots featuring fairies, monsters, celebrities and popular television shows from the sixties. Ninety percent of the machines had morphed from mechanical rolls of a single line of three cherries to high-tech high-resolution digital images featuring up to two hundred and forty-three possible wins.
    The slots at Moose Bay were ticket-in, ticket-out slots. Inserting a coin into a machine was history. All of the machines—even the ones called “penny slots”—accepted only paper currency or paper tickets.
    Betty walked toward the first machine where one of her regular clients sat. Twenty multi-lines of forest creatures were