Dagger in the Dahlias

by Dale Mayer

He nodded. “I can see that too. We’ll have to move these to my car. But I want the entire vehicle gone over. Apparently Darth has a good eye for what he can pawn. The trouble is, I don’t know what else he might have taken, and we’ll need to give this truck a good once-over.”

  She hopped into the bed of the truck with her cell phone out. There was one more box. She opened it up and frowned. “I don’t recognize this,” she said. It was a carving of a dolphin’s head.

  “No,” he said, “but I do. It’s from another reported break-in.”

  “Well, now you know who your burglar is,” she said with a snort of disgust. “Geez, as if we don’t work hard enough to get where we are, and then to have somebody like him stealing all this stuff.”

  “Sure,” he said. “But remember where you came from, and remember how you got your stuff.”

  At his dry tone, she stopped, considered his words, and winced. “I’m sorry. That was incredibly arrogant of me. I came from money, lost it all, and am eternally grateful to now have all Nan’s stuff.”

  “Yes, it was arrogant,” he said cheerfully. “But one thing I like about you is how you always admit to your mistakes.”

  She hopped out of the vehicle and opened the front passenger door. “Looks like a notebook’s in here.”

  He opened the driver’s side and reached across to get it. He laughed. “You see? The smartest thieves often have the dumbest systems.”

  “Are you telling me that he wrote down everything he stole?” she asked in amazement.

  “Looks like it,” Mack said. “So we’ll definitely impound this truck and everything in it. We’ll move the valuables in the back of the truck into my vehicle, and I’ll get Darth’s towed to the police lot.”

  “Good. I hope he never gets it back.”

  The bulk of the inside of the truck, outside of fast-food packages and a travel mug, appeared to be stolen goods. She searched behind the seat; it was empty but for more garbage, as best as she could see. She opened the glove box and whistled.

  Immediately Mack was at her side. He moved her out of the way and took a look. “Now that’s an interesting item to find in his glove box.” He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and using it, he pulled out the small handgun and said, “I wonder if he has a license for this thing.”

  “Even if he does, he still must have a special one to keep it in the vehicle, and isn’t that only good for a couple days?”

  Mack shot her a look. “Interesting you would know that.”

  “My husband had guns,” she said. “When we moved from one house to the next, he had to get a permit to move them.”

  “I’m surprised he cared enough to get a permit to move them,” Mack said.

  “He got the permit for the weapons the cops knew about. And then just did what he wanted with the ones the cops didn’t know about.”

  Mack stared at her.

  She shrugged. “Come on. You know how many people have guns around here.”

  “A lot more than I would like,” he admitted. He went through the rest of the glove box while she watched but couldn’t find anything else of significance. He made a few phone calls, then, with the gun in his pocket, moved everything from the truck bed to his car.

  “Are you leaving now?” she asked.

  “Not until the truck is picked up,” he said. “We have to consider Darth McLeod might be working with someone.”

  “That’s a good point.” She looked back at her house, the door wide open. The animals were milling around them at the intruder’s truck, getting in their way. “Maybe I should go back inside. I hate to think somebody else has gone in there—or is still in there,” she said with a wince.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you back inside. I’ll make sure everything’s good. Then you set the alarms again.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she said. “It was a little distressing to realize the intruder was inside the house. Not much good having an alarm system—”

  “—if you don’t set it,” he snapped.

  They walked into the living room to Mugs barking in excitement. Mack shut the front door and checked every room in the house, including closets and underneath the bed in the spare bedroom. Mugs followed his every step sniffing into every corner too.

  Doreen laughed, “We’ll make a watchdog out of you yet.”

  Finally he walked back downstairs. “Looks like you’re good to go.”

  Just then they saw the lights of a tow truck. “Perfect timing,” Mack said. “If I can get that thing moved, then maybe I can go home to bed.”

  “Yeah, and you’ll probably sleep,” Doreen said without hesitation. “I’m not sure I will.”

  He looked at her in understanding. “It’s been a trying time for you, hasn’t it?”

  “Particularly since I found out something valuable was in the house,” she said sadly. “It’s like a loss of innocence that I hadn’t really expected to feel personally.”

  “Finding you had expensive possessions? Or the intruder?”

  “Both,” she said. “Realizing my husband had taken everything I owned before, I was feeling extremely possessive about everything here. One intruder was one thing, but to know he came back after more and was pilfering stuff from my house made me really angry. But now I’m just sad. It’s an ugly world we live in.”

  “It might be an ugly world, but you don’t have to let that ugliness touch you. Remember that. This is all about you. Your perspective. How you want to live your life.”

  “What am I supposed to do about people like Darth?”

  “You learn a lesson,” he said. “Some people are thieves, and all you can do is guard against them. But you can’t judge the rest of the world by the actions of a few.”

  She smiled, knowing he was talking about more than just intruders. More likely he was talking about her husband. “I don’t judge all men the same as my husband. I’m working on forgiving him. But he didn’t have to be so mean as to take everything from me.”

  “Right. I need to check in with my brother about that.” And, with a honk from the tow truck driver, Mack raised a hand and said, “Now remember to lock that door again and to set the alarms.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter 11

  Friday Morning …

  Surprisingly, the next morning Doreen woke up feeling rested. She rolled over and stared at the massive bed frame beside her. She wanted to laugh out loud, but, at the same time, she was also sad because she was letting go of part of her heritage. She knew it was important in order to make her future easier, but something was just so very comforting about the thought of all the nights her grandmother had slept in that bed. Not to mention all the nights her great- and great-great-grandmothers had slept in the same bed.

  Doreen’s past was part of that piece of furniture, and she didn’t want to minimize the effect selling it had on her. She closed her eyes and sent out a moment of thanks to the women who had gone before her. They were strong; they had been through so much, and yet, they had survived. Not only survived, they had thrived. Doreen wanted to do the same. She wanted to do well for herself. She knew the challenges she faced were different from what the women in her family before her had faced, but that didn’t make it any less important that Doreen also do her best at every turn.

  She got up slowly to find Mugs had approved of their new mattress-on-the-floor situation. He slept at her feet. Goliath lay on the pillow beside her head. Thaddeus had retained his spot atop the closest newel post on the four-poster bed.

  She’d forgotten to put newspaper under him, so she found one bird dropping. She walked into the bathroom, grabbed some toilet paper, cleaned it up, and used a spray bottle she kept close by to wipe up the last little bit.

  With that done, she dressed. Casting another look at the antique bedroom set, she meandered downstairs, looking at the bright early morning sunshine outside. “One thing about being here in Kelowna,” she said to herself, “the weather is divine.” Unlike Vancouver, as a co
astal city, which had constant rain. While living there with her soon-to-be ex-husband, Doreen had had lots of places outside where she could walk under cover. Yet it wasn’t the same as seeing and feeling the sunshine. Kelowna did get winter here, but it was mild. At least she hoped it was.

  She put on coffee and looked out at the yard, remembering last night’s events—the intruder and the items he’d stolen from her. The outrage …

  She walked from the back door to the front door, releasing the alarms at each entryway. That done, she poured herself a cup of coffee. With the animals in tow, she stepped onto the rear veranda and down the few steps to walk along the backyard, just wearing a pair of pink flip-flops on her feet as she meandered through the garden. It was a lovely sunny morning. The backyard looked so much bigger with the rear fence down, but she still had a lot of work to do on the garden beds. And yet, she didn’t want to just dive in. She needed to make a plan and to see what all was here first. By now she should know, but so much of it was overgrown. And she’d been a little busy …

  And, since today was Friday, that meant she needed to return to Mack’s mother’s house and do some more gardening there, which also meant more money tomorrow. She grinned at that. It hadn’t been quite a week since she’d last been there, but there was no end of work to do on Millicent’s lawn.

  Doreen chuckled. “Hey, thanks, Mack. You’re doing a good job keeping me in food,” she said out loud. She also needed to pack up more of those clothes she’d set aside to take to Wendy’s. Not to mention all the Goodwill boxes. She’d left it all sitting around the house to move out to her car, but she had yet to do so. And that was foolish. It was a relatively easy job, and it would relieve some of the household clutter. That would certainly make it easier when the men came to pack up the furniture.

  With that thought uppermost in her mind, she checked her watch and found she had overslept. She went back inside, poured herself a second cup, then moved all the bags for Wendy’s store out to her car. She had hoped to take a load to Goodwill at the same time, but it didn’t look like that was possible. She’d have to make a second trip. She could do Wendy’s first, as Wendy opened early.

  With Mugs at her side, locking the other two animals in the house, she soon drove to Wendy’s store. The proprietor of the consignment store, Second Time Round, was just unlocking the door when Doreen arrived.

  “Aren’t you out bright and early?” Wendy said with a smile. She motioned at the bags. “Are those for me?”

  “They are, if you think you can sell them,” Doreen said hopefully.

  “Come on in. Let’s take the bags right to the back room, and we’ll start sorting.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Mugs stayed close on her heels as Doreen grabbed the bags one at a time, parking them on the sidewalk. By the time she had all the bags out, Wendy had come back out for two more, carrying them to the back room.

  Inside the store, she turned on the lights and escorted Doreen to the rear section where she had large tables set up. “Do you want to wait or check in with me later?” she asked. “I do have to open the store before I begin. I can give you a call later, and you can come back and pick up what I don’t think I can sell.”

  Doreen hesitated. “If you don’t mind, I will come back when you give me a call. I have a busy morning planned.”

  “No problem.” Wendy waved her off. “I might not get through it all today though. You brought me a lot.”

  Doreen chuckled. “And there’s still more to come.”

  Wendy’s eyebrows popped up. “Wow! Who knew Nan had so many clothes?”

  “Right. And some of these are pretty stylish. I’ve kept quite a few for myself.”

  Wendy chuckled. “Why not? All the styles in fashion way back when are coming around. There’s really nothing new in life. It’s just patterns and cycles.”

  “I agree.” Doreen gave a wave and walked with Mugs out to her car.

  Back home, not giving herself a chance to slow down, she loaded up all the stuff for Goodwill and drove in the opposite direction. They were also just opening, but they had a drive-through section, and employees unloaded the stuff from her car. Doreen liked that system.

  When the car was empty, she gave a bright cheerful toot of the car horn and pulled away. “Mugs, now it’s time for breakfast.”

  He woofed beside her. He hadn’t eaten either.

  Back home she fed the animals, then studied the stove and wondered if she dared. She was a little lacking in the ingredients she needed—only eggs and cheese remained in her fridge—but it would be lovely to have an omelet again.

  Very carefully, using the stove on a low heat setting, she proceeded to do the same thing she’d done twice before, and, lo and behold, she ended up with a beautiful-looking cheese omelet.

  She sat down and chuckled. Then she took a picture of it, cut it in half, arranged the pieces a little more picturesquely on the plate, and took a second picture. She sent it to Mack. He should be happy to know she did it on her own.

  While she ate her omelet, she thought about everything else she had to do that day. Finishing up her breakfast, Doreen got a call from the antiques appraiser.

  “The men will be there at noon on Monday,” Scott Rosten announced.

  Her heart sank. “Okay.” She tried not to let anything show in her voice. “I was hoping you’d come today. I’m nervous about having all these pieces here. There’s been several break-ins already.”

  “Oh dear. I’m so sorry to hear that. I’m coming as soon as I possibly can. Maybe ask the police for some assistance?” he said. “I’ll be there Monday.”

  She smiled as the call ended, placed the phone beside her, and it rang yet again. She recognized Mack’s number. She hated to admit it, but something lightened inside her. “Good morning, Mack,” she said cheerfully.

  “Well, you’re awfully happy for a Friday morning,” he said. “Is it because you slept well?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Why not? And I made my first omelet, all on my own.”

  “I saw the photo you sent. Good for you.”

  “And the antiques appraiser just called and said the guys are coming Monday at noon to pack up.”

  “Not until Monday then,” he said. “That’s too bad. I was hoping, for your sake, it would be today or tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” she said. “But it is what it is. Please tell me that you haven’t let that thief out of jail again.”

  “No, he shouldn’t be getting out anytime soon. But I have yet to talk to the judge.”

  “Do you have to talk to the judge?”

  “No, that was just a phrase. I have to talk to the prosecutors. They will ask the judge to make sure McLeod doesn’t get bail.”

  “Well, he’s obviously not had a change of ways,” she said. “And he remains a danger to society still.”

  “Sure enough,” Mack said. “We have tagged and photographed the pieces he stole from you, but we’ll have to keep them for a while yet. I’ll let you know when you can get them back.”

  “Okay,” she said. “As much as I’d like those pieces sold and moved into somebody else’s hands for safekeeping, at least if they’re in your hands, if you break them, you get to replace them.”

  “Ouch,” he said with a laugh. After a moment’s hesitation he asked, “What are you up to today?”

  “I just made two trips, one to the consignment store and one to Goodwill. I’ll probably go back upstairs and do some more cleaning out of my bedroom before the movers arrive. But it’s also Friday, so I’ll work on your mom’s garden for a couple hours.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’ll stop by tomorrow with some cash for you.”

  “Good,” she said. “Then I can buy more omelet ingredients.”

  That brought a startled chuckle from him. “So what do you want to learn to make next?”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “What else do you like to eat?” he asked.

  “Well, what I used
to like to eat, and what I like to eat now, are very different things,” she said with a chuckle. “But, the fact of the matter is, it doesn’t really matter what I used to like because I can’t afford it.”

  “True enough,” he said. “So, along with your change in budget, you’ve had a change in taste. What do you like now?”

  “I used to love pasta,” she said. “I had it with scampi and all kinds of mussels and fresh seafood.” She warmed to the subject. “But I was wondering if pasta itself, without all the expensive toppings, would be cheap and possible to cook.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Pasta is very easy to cook.”

  She brightened. “Are you serious? Or are you teasing me again?”

  “Look it up on YouTube,” he urged. “It’s very easy. Just boiling water, a little bit of salt, a little bit of oil, pop in the pasta, and you’ve got plain cooked noodles. It’s what you do with those noodles afterward that makes a difference.”

  Images of all the lovely pasta dishes she used to eat filled her mind. “I wasn’t allowed to eat very much,” she said in a low tone. “My husband used to tell me how it would make me fat, so he would cut my portions.”

  “Your husband was an asshole,” Mack said. “Remember? We’ve already determined that.”

  “True enough,” she said. “So what do you put on the pasta?”

  “If you’re broke,” he said, “you put butter on it. If you can afford a little more, you put cheese with it. If you can afford even more, you can do a spaghetti sauce. You can also add steamed vegetables. You can do chicken and a white sauce. That’s a chicken Alfredo. You can do amazing things with different ingredients. You know what? I think that’s a really good place to start.”

  He sounded like he was warming up to the subject. She wasn’t sure if she should ask or not, and then she decided there was really no point in not asking. She knew that he didn’t mind helping her because he’d taught her how to make the omelet.

  “So does that mean you’re up for teaching me how to make some pasta dishes?” she asked. When she heard the hesitation on the other end of the phone, she tried to backtrack. “But that’s asking too much. Just forget it.”