That was before reality sank in, and when it did, I saw the error of my ways. I was too conservative to win at poker. I was too hesitant, too cautious. Jim, on the other hand, was too emotional. It didn’t take an expert to pick up on his not-so-subtle body language he started signaling the moment Peter had us together for our how-to class. When he held good cards, Jim’s burr deepened almost beyond understanding. When his hand was bad, he had a way of tapping his fingers against the table, impatient to get things over with. He might as well have spelled out loser in Morse code. Over time, Peter assured him (and me, for that matter), there was a slim chance we both might actually turn into decent players.

But time was the one thing we didn’t have.

Eve, on the other hand, was one thing we did.

“Peter could have played for us. If I drummed it into his head enough, he might have asked Pasqual the right questions.” I kept my voice down when I said this to Jim and I didn’t have to worry, Eve was busy cooing to Doc.

Jim, too, spoke quietly. “You losing your nerve?”

“No. Yes.” I paced in front of the elevator. “This could be a disaster.”

“Aye.” When the elevator arrived and the doors swished open, Jim stepped aside so I could go first. “But think of how much more of a disaster it would be if you weren’t investigating. We wouldn’t know nearly as much as we do now, and Norman might not be safe. Plus-”

Just as the elevator doors closed, a man raced inside. “Investigating. Oh, I like the sound of that!”

“Peter?” I gave him a careful look because, let’s face it, I figured I was hallucinating. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be back in Arlington.”

“And miss all the fun?” Peter chafed his hands together. He looked Eve’s way. “You might need some pointers. And besides, I always wondered what it might be like to be part of the Scooby Gang. You guys are as close as I’ll ever get.” Peter leaned nearer to me. “Who’s the guy with the mustache?” he asked.

Luckily, I didn’t have a chance to answer. After a smooth, quick ride, the elevator doors opened and we found ourselves in a lobby even more sumptuous than the one downstairs. Walls of glass allowed us a bird’s-eye look at the Boardwalk and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Tiny lights twinkled on a terrace that overlooked the view. In front of us was another wall of glass and beyond that, we saw tuxedoed waiters and dealers getting ready for the game.

“It’s like something out of a James Bond movie,” Jim said, and I had to agree with him. The men around us were high rollers; I could tell by the way they were dressed and by the smell of their expensive cigars. Of course when Eve announced that she was there for the game, there were a couple of chuckles. And more than a couple of guys who couldn’t keep their eyes off her.

She, though, is nothing if not single-minded. Especially when it comes to being the center of attention. Eve held back, and when an elevator across the lobby opened, and Victor Pasqual stepped out, she made her move, jockeying for position and making her way through the crowd of dour, serious gamblers as easily as Moses through the Red Sea.

I recognized Pasqual’s face, of course, from seeing him on TV. He was a little older than middle-aged, a little shorter than average, and a little wider than large. He wasn’t an attractive man, and in a loud orange and brown plaid sport coat and brown pants in a shade that didn’t match, he certainly wasn’t the best-dressed fellow in the room. What he was, though, was larger than life.

“Hi, fellas!” Pasqual’s voice was a lot like Atlantic City, loud and brassy. He marched across the plush carpet like he owned the place and, since he did, I guess that was perfectly appropriate. He shook hands with a couple of the cigar-smoking men and stopped cold when he got to Eve.

“Well, good evening!” He grabbed her outstretched hand and kissed it with more enthusiasm than style. “It’s a little early for me to be dreaming. Don’t tell me you’re here for the card game, sweetie.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I don’t think my old heart could take it!”

Eve knew just how to handle comments like that. “Why, Victor, honey!” Her accent was more Southern than magnolias. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing.”

I left them at it, stepping into the hospitality room we’d been told was reserved for the guests of those playing in the game. As soon as we were out of earshot, I buttonholed Norman.

“Well?” I watched him watching Victor through the open doorway. “Is it him? Is that the man you saw walk into Très Bonne Cuisine and shoot Greg?”

Norman had to part the bangs on his dark wig for a better look. He squinted and stared. “I dunno.”

Before I could let go the breath I was holding, Peter was at my side. “You think Pasqual is a murderer? That’s what this is all about?” He was so hopped up on adrenaline and the excitement of being in the presence of a real poker hero, he could barely stand still. “You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you, Annie? No way Victor Pasqual would ever kill anybody.”

I hissed to remind him to keep his voice down and, grabbing his arm, I dragged Peter closer to the windows and farther from anywhere anyone could hear us.

“He’s a legend, Annie.” At least Peter got the message. He whispered, just like I did. “And he’s rich. Hey!” When he saw movement in the glass-enclosed room where the game would be played, Peter headed for the door. “They said we could watch from here if we weren’t any distraction. Oh, man, this is the most exciting night of my life!”

That’s funny, I thought the most exciting night of his life was-

Never mind.

As soon as Peter was gone, Jim came over and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“It will be when we get out of here. And if…” I glanced toward the poker game. There were seats for nine, and Eve had taken the one on Victor’s right. “If she can stay in the game long enough. And if she can get him to talk.”

“I WISH WE COULD SEE THE CARDS EVERYONE WAS holding.”

For about the hundredth time since the card play started, Peter stood in the doorway of the hospitality room and craned his neck for a better look into the card room. He moved to his left. He moved to his right. “If I knew what Pasqual’s pocket cards were-”

“I’m sure that’s why they have the rooms set up this way.” I poked Peter in the ribs to stop him from dancing around and looking too anxious. “If we could see the cards, we might signal the players.”

“I know, I know.” He scraped a hand through his hair the way he always did when he was antsy. “But I can’t stand the suspense. And Eve-!” When Eve tossed in another red chip, Peter groaned. I didn’t know how much the red chips were worth. I didn’t want to know. “She’s not listening to anything I told her. She shouldn’t be grinning and chatting and acting so girlie. She’s giving too much away.”

“Or not!” Eve reached to the middle of the table and scooped all the chips to her pile and I poked Peter in the ribs again, telling him without a word that he didn’t know everything there was to know about Texas Hold’em. Apparently, a grinning, chatty, girlie girl could do pretty well at the game. “Look.” I pointed when Pasqual stood up from the table. “They’re taking a break.”

Two of the card players who’d started the night had already run out of chips and when the door to the card room opened, one of the men stalked to the elevator and left. The other didn’t look nearly as upset by his losses. He stuck around to say good-bye to his fellow players before he came into the hospitality room for a glass of Scotch.

When she sauntered out of the card room, I closed in on Eve.

“So?” I tried not to sound too anxious, but really, how could I help myself? “You’re talking to Pasqual. I’ve seen you talking to him. Did you find out anything?”