Tourist Trap (Rebecca Schwartz #3) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

1
     
    I’ll see your quarter and raise you another quarter.”
    “I’m out.”
    “Me, too.”
    That meant it was my turn to bet. I had two kings and a nine showing, a pair of sevens down. We were playing baseball, a kind of seven-card stud in which nines and threes are wild and fours entitle you to another card. I already had what the others called a full boat, and I had another card coming. That sounds good, but in a game like baseball, as I had already discovered, five of a kind isn’t unusual.
    Alan Kruzick, my secretary, had three aces showing, though two of them were really nines. To have Kruzick take my last quarter was too much like real life. He was not only my secretary but also my sister Mickey’s boyfriend and the bane of my every working day. I was about to fold—true to my conservative nature—when I caught the blue and attractive eye of Rob Burns. He shook his head and pointed to the quarter. Since I’d never played poker before in my life, I thought I’d better take advice where I could get it. Reluctantly, I pushed the coin into the pot.
    Alan and I were the only two left in the game, but Rob was dealing. He gave each of us our last card, down. Mine was a two. Excuse me, a deuce. No help, as the others would say. Kruzick put in another quarter.
    “I’m out,” I said. “Flat broke.”
    Chris Nicholson, my law partner, put in her two cents: “Why don’t you go light?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “That’s my boss,” said Alan. “The gutless wonder.”
    That settled it. I borrowed two cents from the pot. “Your quarter and another quarter.”
    “And another,” he said, throwing one in.
    There was a three-raise limit, so what could I do but continue to bluff? I took another quarter out of the pot. And Alan turned over a pair of sixes.
    “You’re fired,” I said.
    “You can’t fire me, I’m pregnant.”
    Mickey said, “Alan!”
    And then there was dead silence.
    Our friend Bob Tosi—who was Chris’s current flame—got up to get some more wine. Finally, I asked Alan what he meant.
    Mickey spoke. “He means I’m pregnant.”
    “Hey, I’m no sexist. We’re pregnant.”
    “Mickey, honey,” said Chris. “Congratulations. I mean, if they’re in order.”
    Mickey squirmed in her chair. “I’m not sure yet.” She looked at me as if pleading for mercy. “I mean I’m sure I’m pregnant. I’m just not sure what—Rebecca, I didn’t mean to tell you this way.”
    I could only think of one thing to say and it was the wrong thing: “How could this happen to a counselor at Planned Parenthood?”
    Mickey burst into tears. Instantly, Chris put her arms around her. “You poor peach.” She looked at me as if I’d hit my own sister. Rob, bless him, put his arms around me. I needed comfort as much as the next person.
    “So that’s why you aren’t drinking,” I said, still putting things together. “Mickey, listen, baby, I’m sorry. If it’s what you want—”
    She broke away from Chris. “I don’t know what I want. Yes, I do. I want to go home.”
    In about thirty seconds, she and Kruzick were out of there. And then Chris and Bob were gone.
    “It’s midnight,” said Rob. “Happy Easter.”
    For some reason, that broke me up. Things didn’t seem so bad all of a sudden. Mickey would have an abortion and everything would be fine. Lots of women did—she should know; she spent her life advising them.
    Rob found some brandy and gave me some. “You okay?” he said.
    “I think so. I’m a horrible sister, I guess. But for a minute there, I thought we might all be stuck with Kruzick for life.” Mickey phoned then. “Congratulations. I’ve made up my mind. You’re going to be an aunt.”
    “Listen, Mickey, I’m really sorry—”
    “Oh, that’s okay. I know it was a shock.”
    “I’m glad you’re not mad. I’ll dance at your wedding to make it up to you.”
    “Who said anything about a wedding?”
    “But I thought—”
    “Oh, I’m going to have the baby, all right. But I’m not sure I want to be tied down.”
    Alan took the phone from her. He said, “She’ll come around,” and hung up.
    Rob poured me another brandy. “Mom Schwartz is going to love this.”
    I nodded. “Thank God she’s in Israel.”
    “How do you feel?”
    “Woozy. I think I need a Coke.”
    He got me one and sat on the white sofa across from the one I was sitting on, looking as if he’d be glad to speak if only someone hadn’t cut his tongue out. “This is awful,”