Double Up by Gretchen Archer

Author:Gretchen Archer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Amateur Sleuth, Women Sleuths, Murder Mystery Series, Women Sleuths, humorous fiction, humorous mysteries
Publisher: Henery Press
Published: 2017-02-14T16:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

When I hit my desk that fourth Monday morning, I had a revolutionary game in luxurious private planes and sixteen players from New York City, San Francisco, Seattle, and Aspen, who paid the Bellissimo $50,000 each for the chance to compete against each other in the first Wheels Up tournament forty thousand feet in the air. The first place winner would receive $100,000 of Bellissimo casino credit and a week in the penthouse. The second place winner received $50,000 of casino credit and a week in the celebrity suite next door to me. The virtual pilots who came in third, fourth, and fifth places won $25,000 in casino credit and a week in a condo on the twenty-fifth floor. Everyone else won $10,000 in casino credit, a week in a two-bedroom suite, and first shot at the next Wheels Up tournament. The entry fees handily paid for the flights, fuel, and prizes, but more importantly, big-time players would be back in our casino, not the one across the Bay. If I could keep the Falcons in the air and full of players for eight weeks, they would generate enough income to build out the game on the casino floor, and if all went according to plan, I could fill up the casino and the Bellissimo could possibly ride out this storm.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, like Wheels Up in gaming.

Nothing.

Wheels Up would put the Bellissimo back on the map.

The best thing? It was all ours. Our competition, the industry, the flight crews, even the players knew nothing about the actual game—they were in it for a chance to fly in the Falcons—which was the beauty of writing Wheels Up solo behind my kitchen.

And that wasn’t all.

Bea Crawford had dropped twenty-seven pounds. Her body had to be in shock. She’d put more than two hundred miles on her new Nike Lunarglides and wanted another pair in hot pink. She walked out the door of Condo Ten the first day and hadn’t stopped yet. She kept a daily calorie count and asked me if I’d ever heard of the yogas. She’d sworn off Mountain Dew for the rest of her livelong days, her skin had cleared up, her puffy eye was gone (the puffiness, not the eye), and she’d donated her Hawaiian muumuu dresses to Goodwill. To my knowledge, she hadn’t called home once and, according to my father, no one in Pine Apple was the least bit curious or concerned about Bea. Most shockingly, she’d turned out to be a half-decent spy.

In the same month, this one little month, Bexley and Quinn had sprouted eight teeth, four each (the cutest teeny teeth I’d ever seen in my life), were half-crawling half-scooting all over the place, and had grown out of all their size six-to-nine-month clothes, which might have been about the two cases of baby bananas they’d plowed through. I called Dr. Calliope and asked what she thought about me having a glass of wine. She said if I timed it

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