a big conglomerate,” Marty said. “They got the contracts for trash, recycling, paper waste, chemical cleanup and disposal, I don’t know what, all over Jersey. I heard that Derek played Big Julie Saladino in that game. He’d be the CEO.”
“Big Julie Saladino? The Jersey crime boss?” Hope’s mood took a nosedive. No way could she negotiate a card game with a Mafia don. Yikes. One false step and instead of the ranch, she’d be staking out property six feet long and six feet under.
“Hope, please.” Marty’s voice was strained. “Big Julie has no documented ties to organized crime. Big Julie Saladino is a respected Jersey entrepreneur whose business interests just happen to fall in the construction, waste collection, and laundry sectors.”
“Oh, right,” Hope said, remembering that Marty’s phone might be bugged. She was out of practice in dealing with her extended, unrelated-by-biology family.
“So—Big Julie moved his operation to Vegas?” she asked. “Or if not, is he still out here?”
“Jackpot, Hope,” confirmed Sharp Eddie. “Bing-bing-bing!”
“Big Julie is in Vegas for the foreseeable future,” Marty agreed. “He wants to be with his girlfriend and away from his wife.”
“It’s a safety issue,” Sharp Eddie said. “She says she’s gonna kill him. The wife, I mean. Her and the Russian mob is both after Big Julie, so he took off for Vegas.”
“Big Julie likes the action better in Vegas than Atlantic City right now, and he also likes the weather better,” said Marty. “Who wouldn’t, right? Better for your health.”
“Do you know where he’s staying?”
“He’s got a suite at the Desert Dunes Casino and Resort,” said Sharp Eddie. “From what I heard, he’s got a big-stakes card game in his room every Saturday night. He’s cleaning up.”
“Yes, from my family, among others, probably,” Hope said, her voice sharper than she’d intended.
Marty and Sharp Eddie were both silent.
“I’m sorry, you guys. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. But Derek went too far. He lost the ranch in a card game. I am seriously mad.”
“You can’t stay mad if you want to get the ranch back,” Marty warned. “You’ve got to be clear. Focused. Tell me what you need.”
Hope realized that Marty had just said he’d help her. That meant that all the uncles, if asked, would help her. She felt her spirits soar.
“Thank you, Marty. I owe you big time. I need to see Big Julie this week—tomorrow if I can. I want to ask him to play me for the ranch. No limit Texas hold’em. Winner takes all. Can you get me an introduction?”
“I’ll call Big Julie,” Marty said. “He’ll see you if I ask him. What else?”
Hope took a deep breath. “If Big Julie agrees to play, I need to get my game back. I haven’t played cards in seventeen years. I’ve forgotten everything I ever knew. It’s a lot to ask, especially after all this time, but—can you help me? Can you come to Vegas?”
Marty didn’t hesitate.
“On my way,” he said. “I’ll be staying at the Golden Palace. I always liked the card room there, and they got a hell of an all-you-can-eat Chinese dim sum buffet for four-ninety-five. Give me your cell number. I’ll call you tomorrow when I get in.”
“Make that two of us,” Sharp Eddie said.
“Count on six of us,” Marty said. “I’ll call the others, too. We’ll all come.”
While Hope talked to the uncles, Amber dragged a dining room chair over to the desk in the corner and booted up the family’s computer.
“What vegetables are you shipping this week, Mom?” she asked Faith, as the machine grunted and whirred. Amber helped her mom by typing up recipes and menus for the produce Faith packed and delivered.
Faith put down the box she’d been filling. “Let me see,” she said. “Chard. Leeks. Carrots. Tomatoes, lettuce, spinach, fennel, onions, and potatoes—red and Yukon gold.”
“Okay,” Amber said. She pulled down the family’s favorite cookbook and turned to the vegetable section. Her mom said that when Amber made up the recipes, she needed to be original. She couldn’t just copy something out of a cookbook—she had to create. Amber wanted to be creative, but she didn’t know how to be creative with the recipes and make the results taste good. And nobody could tell her.
Aunt Hope had helped a little. She’d suggested that Amber alter recipes by substituting different vegetables or other ingredients. But even if Amber thought that she’d gotten something right, the customers usually complained. “The zucchini lasagna was too watery,” one woman had emailed. “Did anyone test