The only thing on Cricket's mind was murder. Slow murder of the person responsible for what had been done to his prized car. At least the son of a bitch had the good sense to leave a card under the wiper blade. How in the damn hell did this happen? This is the police parking lot, for Christ's sake. Where were the fucking cops? He looked around and didn't see a soul. He grabbed the card. He blinked. Squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, and blinked again. He began cursing, making up obscenities as he went along. And then he started to laugh. He was still laughing when he struggled to open the door. He was howling with rage when he fished around in the trunk for the tire iron. He broke a sweat as he gouged and dug at the sleek door. He finally got it open.

He tossed the tire iron on the floor below the passenger seat and leaned over to close the door, only it wouldn't close. He continued to curse and laugh all at the same time. Well, he'd just have to drive with one hand on the door and the other on the wheel. He did take a moment to wonder what would happen when he had to shift gears. The goddamn door would probably blow off and hit some high roller on his way to a casino, who would then sue his ass off.

Some days it simply did not pay to get out of bed.

Chapter 13

Charles Martin sifted through a stack of e-mails he'd just printed out. He smacked his hands in glee at what he was seeing. His immediate problem was solved. He literally ran to the front porch of the main house and rang the bell, the sound reverberating over the mountain. When the bell rang, everyone dropped what they were doing and raced to the war room. The ringing bell could signal good news or bad news.

In this case, the girls decided it was good news.