Rogues Gallery

by Dan Andriacco

  “How beautiful!” Lynda said.

  Serena was holding out a strand of pearls for everyone to see. “Yes, aren’t they?” She put them around her neck. By their very simplicity they looked stunning next to Serena’s short salt-and-pepper hair and hazel eyes. But then, everything looked good on Serena Mason. She didn’t have to dress like an heiress, and she didn’t. Today, for example, she was wearing a colorful Christmas sweater over gray slacks. She was probably about thirty pounds overweight according to the insurance company charts, but I bet I’m the only man who’s ever noticed. And that’s only because I’m kind of focused on health issues.

  “I think I’ll put this away for now.” Serena carefully put the necklace back in the box.

  Just then the Bernardin High School band struck up “Here Comes Santa Claus.” With a sinking feeling, I knew that the moment of my doom was approaching unless I could implement my plan quickly.

  “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas to all!”

  You’d think a guy who’s written more novels than I’ve written Christmas cards could come up with a better entrance line than that. But that’s what Santa McCabe was booming as he made his scheduled ten-thirty appearance coming down Front Street.

  Afterwards I tried to remember who, besides me, went outside to watch Santa make his dramatic entrance in a horse-drawn carriage, but it was useless. I know that Lynda, Serena, and Kate were with me, and there must have been others. But I was too busy watching the ham of all hams playing the part he was made for.

  “Ho, ho, ho!”

  “Hey, that’s my line,” I whispered to Lynda. She poked me in the ribs with an elbow.

  I pulled out my smartphone and sent a tweet on my St. Benignus College account: Santa Claus, AKA Professor Sebastian McCabe, has arrived at Serenity House. It never hurts to boost the faculty. Then I took a photo for Facebook and the website. About an inch of snow lay on the ground and flakes were falling. Perfect!

  Mac waved, he smiled, he held up little babies and posed for pictures. This went on for several minutes as he made his way through the crowd to the big dining room for “Breakfast with Santa.” After large amounts of sugary juice and fat-laden donuts were consumed, he would listen to requests and give each child a small gift. At some point I became aware that Nicholas was standing next to me.

  “You!” I said.

  “Me?” He looked terrified, if not guilty.

  “Yes you, Nicholas. You’re just the young man I wanted to see. How’d you like to earn some money to buy your girlfriend a Christmas present?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend, not really.”

  “Well, I’m sure you could use five dollars.”

  “I could use ten even more.”

  What a cute, enterprising kid! He reminded me of myself when I was younger. Or right now, for that matter. After haggling a little just to show that I was paying attention, I slipped Nicholas the ten-spot and the hat. Then I headed back to the crafts room. I still needed to buy a present for Popcorn. What would my secretary like? Maybe one of those scarves Triple M had been looking at before, or maybe a hand-made blanket with a colorful design.

  I’d just stepped back into the former ballroom when I heard Serena Mason say, “Oh, no! I can’t believe this.”

  She was standing about where we’d been before Santa’s arrival, a shocked look on her face. Curiosity being one of my favorite emotions, I was at her side in short order. Lynda and Kate were already there.

  Serena held up the box with her pearls. Well, no, she held up the box without her pearls. “I was going to show Kate, but they’re gone! I just put the box down for a second to see Santa Claus and somebody took the pearls out.”

  “Where did you put the box down?” I asked.

  She pointed. “On that empty table. The crafts person assigned there hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t just misplace the pearls?”

  For the first time in my admittedly limited acquaintance with Serena Mason, I saw the steel beneath the velvet. “I do not misplace things.”

  Okay, I believe you!

  “Then you should call the police, Mrs. Mason.”

  “What, and spoil the day for everyone else? I won’t hear of it.”

  Lynda suddenly took an interest in my presence. “Why aren’t you in the other room elfing, anyway?”

  “I subcontracted the job to Nicholas. He’ll do a fine job and it’ll boost his self-confidence.”

  If she had a problem with that, she didn’t say so. She took my arm and walked me away from Serena and Kate. “This is terrible, Jeff. Serena is the biggest supporter of Serenity House. We’ve got to get her necklace back. Maybe Mac can help.”

  Why does everybody always think he’s the only one who can solve a mystery? “I’m not sure this is a case for Sebastian McCabe. We probably don’t have to look any farther than the Three Wise Guys.”

  My beloved looked at me quizzically. “I mean those three characters helping Polly,” I explained. “They have community service written all over them.” I looked around. All three were still in the room. “What do you know about them?”

  “Not as much as Polly does.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t need complete biographies. And I don’t want to talk to the good sister until I have to. She’ll think I’m picking on them.”

  “You are.”

  “But not without reason. If I’m right, they’re all petty criminals. Am I right?”

  Lynda sighed. “The tall, skinny black kid wearing the Cincinnati Bengals jersey is Billy Major.” He was walking around with his hands behind his back, the picture of nonchalance. That seemed highly suspicious to me. “He took his principal’s car for a joy ride. Apparently he was irked at repeated attempts to get him to join the high school basketball team. He’s a sophomore and taller than you, but he prefers to play chess. Polly says he’s bored.”

  “Maybe he thought stealing a string of pearls from Serena Mason would be almost as much fun as grand theft auto. Who’s the girl?”

  At the moment she was sitting at a table with her hands folded in front of her. She had long brown hair gathered back in a ponytail that showed off a huge set of earrings shaped like peace symbols.

  “That’s Minnie Cooper. She’s older than she looks, about twenty-two. This isn’t the first time she’s been in trouble. She’s a repeat customer in Oscar’s jail. This time around she was arrested for shoplifting jewelry at Looney Ladies Gallery.”

  Bingo!

  “Come on - one of the suspects has a history of stealing jewelry?” I said. “It can’t be that easy!”

  “Probably not. The dude in the lumberjack shirt walking behind Polly is Elvis Jones. I like the stubble effect, the two-day growth of beard. You ought to try that, Jeff.” I glared. Lynda went on: “He got arrested for Operating a Vehicle Under the Influence, not for the first time. Polly says his wife was furious. They’re both trying to talk him into joining AA.”

  “So he might have lifted the pearls as a peace offering to his wife.”

  “All three make plausible suspects, all right.” I was glad I didn’t have to point that out to Lynda. “Which one do you think did it? Assuming for the moment that it’s one of them and not one of the other eighty people here.”

  “Not everybody who was in this room a half-hour ago is a suspect,” I protested. “It has to be somebody who actually saw the pearls. The Three Wise Guys qualify.”

  “So is this a Murder on the Orient Express deal?”

  We’d been married long enough - seven months now - that the Cody sarcasm was rubbing off on Lynda.

  I shook my head slowly, mournfully. “This looks like a one-person job, but which one isn’t as obvious as I’d hoped. I hate to admit this, but if we want to resolve this without a lot of accusations and denials and di
sruption, then I guess it is a case for Sebastian McCabe.”

  First, though, I went back to Serena Mason and asked her permission to see if my brother-in-law could figure out who stole her necklace without causing a disturbance in the process.

  She thought it over while I watched her run a hand through her short hair. Have I mentioned that she’s a beautiful woman? “Well, I would like to get it back,” she said, “as long as you’re discreet.”

  “That’s my middle name.”

  Lynda rolled her eyes.

  Santa was tucking into his breakfast of egg casserole with goetta, a southern Ohio sausage treat made of steel-cut oats, ground pork, spices, and about a thousand calories per forkful. Nicholas, sitting next to him, was keeping up, making me wonder how well and how often the boy normally ate.

  “We have a problem,” I announced. “Somebody stole Serena Mason’s pearl necklace here at the house, just a few minutes ago.”

  Mac put down his fork. For him that was a major expression of interest. “Who?”

  For a genius, he could be pretty thick sometimes. “If we knew who, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem, would it?”

  “It could be, but never mind. So, we have a Christmas mystery on our hands.” His brown Santa Claus eyes twinkled like a Christmas tree. “Did you ever stop to think, Jefferson, that every great mystery writer eventually writes a Christmas mystery? I can think of excellent stories by Christie, Stout, Queen, Sayers, and of course Conan Doyle off the top of my head. Mary Higgins Clark and her daughter Carol write one together every year.”

  I wanted to hit him. This was no time to show off his vast knowledge of crime fiction, what with the kids at a dozen tables around us throwing food at each other and antsy to sit on Santa’s lap and demand outrageously expensive electronic toys.

  “Gee, that’s swell, Professor, but Mrs. Mason refuses to call the police, so I was hoping you could find the light-fingered culprit and get her pearls back without a lot of fuss that spoils the festive occasion.”

  Mac stroked his beard, which was the real thing dyed white for the occasion, although the long hair on his head was a wig. “Oscar won’t like that.”

  That was not news to me. Erin’s police chief, Oscar Hummel, takes a proprietary interest in all crimes under his jurisdiction. He especially sees stars when Mac interferes, except on those increasingly frequent occasions when he breaks down and asks Mac for help.

  “Describe the circumstances leading up to the discovery of the theft,” Mac said, ignoring Oscar’s likely reaction, as I knew that he would. I did my best to give a detailed account of the events leading up to his ostentatious arrival at the front of Serenity House. At the end I tacked on what I had learned about the rap sheets of the Three Wise Guys.

  “So which of the three is it, Santa?” I asked.

  I figured there was a 50-50 chance he could tell me.

  “Your focus on Polly’s community service charges is quite understandable, old boy. However, I would like to know who else was present when Serena displayed the necklace.”

  “As far as I can remember, Polly, Lynda, Nicholas, and I were the only other people close to Serena. Some of the crafters and their customers a few feet away might have also seen it, but Serena wasn’t making a major production number out of it.”

  “You didn’t steal the necklace, did you, Jefferson?”

  When I responded with stony silence, he turned to Nicholas. “Did you do it, Nicholas?”

  The lad’s eyes got big as quarters. “Gosh, no!”

  Mac turned back to me. “Then you shall have to search your three major suspects.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “That’s it? That’s your brilliant idea? I could have thought of that! I was hoping to avoid even raising the issue with Triple M until we had the goods on the thief. You know she never saw a lost sheep she didn’t think she could save.”

  He nodded. “Indeed I do. I find her perpetual optimism most edifying. Nevertheless, a search is necessary. You can blame me, and tell Polly that I said it was for the suspects’ own good.”

  I got a little hot. “Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

  He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Obviously, I am otherwise engaged. On this occasion I shall have to function as a literal armchair detective while you function as my eyes and ears.”

  The armchair in question was just waiting for him to sit in while he took Christmas orders.

  “Okay,” I mumbled, “but I’m going to hate this.”

  “What!” Triple M cried. “Do you understand how humiliating and discouraging it is for ex-offenders to be the first ones suspected of a crime? It’s just not fair.”

  “Mac said it’s for their own good. I guess what he meant is, it’s the only way they can clear themselves.”

  “It does make sense, Polly,” Lynda chipped in, “fair or not.”

  Serena Mason turned out to be an easier sell than I had expected. “It would be a relief to find out that the thief was one of those three and not, for example, one of the clients at Serenity House.” Seeing the look on Triple M’s face, she hastily added, “If that turns out to be the case, I mean. Sorry, Polly.”

  After a little more discussion, we agreed that Triple M and I would approach each one separately except for Minnie Cooper. Lynda would help search Minnie.

  We started with sunken-eyed Elvis Jones because he was closest. The hangdog look on his face once we explained the situation was more sad than defiant.

  “I never stole anything in my life,” he said. “I may be a drunk, but I’m not a thief.”

  “You are not a drunk,” Triple M said with quiet firmness. “You just have alcohol issues.”

  “You didn’t want the necklace as a peace offering for your wife?” I pressed.

  “I’m so deep in the doghouse now I don’t think it would help if I brought her a diamond tiara,” he said gloomily.

  We went into a bathroom for the search.

  “I’ve never been searched before,” Jones said.

  Obviously you don’t fly.

  “It’s no fun,” I assured him. “And won’t be any fun for me, either. Look, if you took the necklace we can handle this with a minimum of embarrassment all around. Just give it to me now and later on I’ll pretend to find it somewhere. There’ll be no trouble for you. I promise.”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “I can’t do that, Mr. Cody, ’cause I didn’t take it and I don’t have it.”

  When he got down to his undershorts, which had red heart designs all over them, it was pretty obvious that Elvis Jones wasn’t concealing anything. I didn’t do a body cavity search.

  “My wife will kill me if she finds out about this,” Jones said as he put his pants back on.

  “She won’t find out about it from me,” I promised. “You really ought to think about joining AA, Elvis. I’m sure it would help you stay out of trouble.”

  “It’s looking better and better.”

  When I came out I learned that there had been a bit of excitement while I’d been embarrassing both Jones and myself. Lynda and Triple M couldn’t find Minnie Cooper at first. They assumed she’d done a bunk. It turned out that she was just outside grabbing a smoke.

  Minnie gave a good impression of outrage. “You’re harassing me just because I made one little mistake. Thanks a lot, Sister.”

  Triple M glared at her. I could almost hear her famously soft heart harden.

  “Okay, it was more than just one mistake,” Minnie allowed. “But how am I supposed to go straight, Sister, if society expects me to be a bad girl?”

  Lynda gave her a “gimme a break” look. “You’re trying to jive your best advocate, honey. That’s bad salesmanship. We could have had the search over by now if you didn’t yap so much. I don’t know what the big dea
l is unless you have something to hide.”

  “I don’t.” Minnie looked like she needed a cigarette, or maybe two at once. “Oh, all right. Enjoy yourself.”

  They took her into the ladies’ room. You might not think that a nun - sorry, woman religious - would know much about body searches, but Triple M used to work in Army intelligence. On top of that, volunteering at the jail was probably like a post-graduate course in the subject.

  “She’s clean,” Triple M said as they emerged from the restroom.

  “Well, not exactly clean,” Lynda added, “but she didn’t have the necklace.”

  Minnie stalked off with her nose in the air.

  “Why did she put up such a fuss if she didn’t have the necklace?” I asked.

  “Maybe because her underwear is ... unsubtle,” Lynda said. “Think Frederick’s of Hollywood without the class.”

  I’m thinking, I’m thinking! I hadn’t finished shopping for Lynda yet. Maybe she’d like ... No, probably not. But I would! I dragged my thoughts back to the subject at hand.

  “Elvis Jones had hearts on his undershorts,” I reported. “Nobody said this would be pleasant.”

  The youngest of the Three Wise Guys, Billy Major, was the last up. That had me worried and excited in equal measure. This could be it. But if it wasn’t it, what then?

  Not surprisingly, Billy initially declined the honor.

  “You can’t force me. I know my rights, man.”

  I held up my hands. Hey, I’m cool with that. “Absolutely, Mr. Major.” I was showing respect. “You certainly don’t have to cooperate. It’s just that I think this would be better than calling Chief Hummel, don’t you?”

  “I ain’t afraid of him.”

  Nobody is, kid. He’s a teddy bear. “Of course not. But you’ve got this community service gig and the judge who sentenced you - ”

  “Oh, man!” He said a few other words. “Let’s just get it over with.”

  Wow! That was easier than I expected. Was it my technique?

  Close up, I could see that Billy Major had valiantly but unsuccessfully attempted to evoke a manly mustache. This kid wanted badly to be a grownup, but he was sure going about it the wrong way.