Connor's Gamble by Kathy Ivan Page A

breath as she stood.  “I'm not hungry any more.  Think I'll go back to our room.”
    Turning away, she trundled out the coffee shop's door and headed back toward the hotel lobby.  Esther watched her go before unzipping the side pouch in her purse and pulling out the necklace again.  The winking diamond seemed to mock her as she stared at it.  She clenched it in her fist, smiling as she beckoned the waitress over.
    “Too bad, Trudy.  Suddenly, I'm starving.”
     
     

Chapter Thirteen
    Friday
     
    B ethany slumped further down into the plastic-covered booth, her perfectly coifed hair a sharp contrast to the faded yellow wall behind her.  She thrummed her black fingernails with their red tips on the Formica tabletop.  A shredded stack of paper napkins was piled into a tiny mountain next to her coffee cup.  She lifted one stray piece which had escaped from the stack, eyeing it for a moment before adding it to the growing mound.
    Her eyes narrowed, taking in the group of decrepit old hags seated across the nearly empty dining room.  The old busybody, Molly Scott, held court front and center, with a trio of ancient biddies from that damnable tour group.
    What a farce.  A bunch of old farts traveling together. Yeah that's newsworthy.  Not!
    “I wish like hell I'd never come up with this godforsaken story idea.”  Continuing to scan the room, Bethany's mood perked up when she spotted Connor Scott, his back propped against the wall as he nursed his cup of coffee.  His head tilted back, the neck muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste.  Total agreement there, buddy.  This coffee sucks rocks.
    Mind whirling a mile a minute, her nails kept up their staccato rhythm.  What to do, what to do?  Meet with a bunch of gossiping old farts or chat up the only decent-looking male in a twenty-mile radius?  Bethany gave an inelegant snort before picking up the bright lavender-colored journal she'd struggled and failed to write one word in and stuffed it into her oversized Gucci knockoff bag.
    With practiced ease she stood and smoothed her hand down the front of her dark gray dress slacks, checking the perfectly tailored crease still held.  A crisp white shirt showed in stark contrast beneath a vibrant royal blue cashmere sweater.  A scrollwork gold chain completed her always camera-ready persona.  She prided herself that at a moment's notice she could handle any crisis, be Judy-on-the-spot, ready when her big break magically appeared.  And it would—it was only a matter of time.  One way or another, it would happen, she'd make sure of it.  If there was one thing you could take to the bank it was this.  Bethany Banks never took no for an answer.
    Sauntering across the half-empty dining room, her choice of companion was easy.
    She motioned toward the empty chair across from Connor.  “Mind if I join you?” she asked, using her best reporter voice, pitched low and with a bit of a sultry, seductive drawl coating on the words.  Men especially seemed to love the sound of her voice.  She added a little throaty purr, a raspy sound men immediately associated with sex.  Throw in a little exposed cleavage and the gullible fools were putty in her hands.  Sometimes it was just too easy.
    Connor nodded, straightening in his chair.  “Sure.”
    “Thought I'd take a quick break before getting back to interviewing the senior group.”  Bethany gave a throaty laugh.  “They sure are interesting, aren't they?  Especially Molly.  It appears she's the unofficial leader of this annual trek?”
    “Yeah, I guess she is.”  Connor answered with a glance toward his grandmother.  “They've been doing this for a few years now.  They alternate between going to Atlantic City and New Orleans—this year happens to be New Orleans.”
    Bethany leaned in closer.  “She's originally from there, right?”  She drew small circles on the tabletop with her fingertip, watched as his eyes followed