The Scrimshaw Set: Books 1 & 2

by Gayle Hayes

  "Nope. It's been like a tomb in here today. You should've stayed home."

  "I'll leave early. How was your Thanksgiving?"

  "The usual. Dan's dad is pissed about the election, so he went off on politics all through the hors d' oeuvres. Fortunately, he stuffed himself at the table and polished off most of the bottle of wine. He passed out in the recliner until Harriet made him take her home. I hate family dinners. I'm already dreading next year. I get to cook. Maybe I'll slip him a little something in his whiskey-seven."

  "I didn't hear you. I am not a witness." Emma laughed.

  "That's the phone." Ally got up from her chair and headed out the door.

  By the time Emma dispatched the incidental tasks and was finally able to concentrate on something more time consuming, the other employees who were unlucky enough to be working were off to lunch. She was glad they did not insist she go with them. Ally waited until everyone was out of the office, and then she asked Emma if she'd like takeout.

  "Bring me a turkey on French bread. I need some comfort food…and a small order of sweet potato fries."

  Emma took advantage of the quiet office to begin drafting a petition for dissolution of marriage. She had no problem filling in the date of the marriage, where it took place, the child's name and age, and the address of the marital home. When it came to the cause of the separation, Emma found she struggled to put her ideas into words. Then she realized tears were streaming over her face and causing ink to run on the yellow legal pad. She'd not cried during or after the attack the night before, and now all of her terror came to the surface. She did not want anyone in the office to see her this way, so she wiped her face, blew her nose, and took a long drink of water. Still, she could not focus on the job at hand. Then her cell phone rang.

  Eric was cheerful. "Hey, Emma. How was your holiday?"

  Emma was sobbing and could not stop.

  "Emma? What's wrong?" Eric assumed either he did something wrong unintentionally or Emma decided to end their relationship before it started.

  "I'm sorry, Eric. Call me tonight. Can't talk now," she said.

  "Okay. Emma, is this about us?"

  "No. We're good. Talk to you later."

  Emma felt better after a good cry and the turkey sandwich and managed to put a small dent in her in-box afterwards. She left the office earlier than usual and was heading to her car. She answered her cell phone.

  "This is Emma."

  "Miss Favager, Jerry Dolan. I'm a detective with Denver PD. I'd like to talk to you about the incident at your apartment last night. Do you have any time this afternoon?"

  "I'm leaving the office. I could stop by yours."

  "I'm in your neighborhood right now. It would be better for me if I could see the scene, anyway."

  "Sure. I should be there in about twenty minutes if traffic is light."

  Emma planned to stop by the grocery on the way home, but she was relieved to be getting the interview with the detective out of the way, too. She thought about the chain of events the previous night and hoped she would be able to describe what happened without crying again.

  When she pulled into her parking space at the apartment complex, she noticed a man wearing a dark sport coat and blue turtleneck with jeans, and pacing as he talked on his phone. He was wearing dark glasses. Except for being bald, he reminded her of the typical FBI agents in the movies. She couldn't remember ever seeing a bald FBI agent on TV. When she got out of her car, he ended his call and walked over to her. He removed his dark glasses. She guessed he was in his late forties. The jacket concealed a few extra pounds that strained the buttons on his shirt. He extended his hand and clasped hers. He needed a shave, but his eyes were intelligent and kind.

  "Miss Favager? Jerry Dolan," he said.

  Emma took a moment to look at his ID. "Yes. Please call me Emma. The apartment is on the second floor."

  "Is this the first time you've had a problem here?"

  "It is. It's usually pretty quiet, and I don't see much of my neighbors."

  Emma opened the door to her apartment. The mess left from the night before seemed worse. She struggled to stay composed.

  Dolan looked around the kitchen at the contents of cupboards and drawers. "How long was he here?"

  "It seemed like an eternity, but I'm sure it was less than an hour."

  "He sure trashed the place. The report says he told you what he was looking for. Whale teeth, as I recall?"

  "Yes. He seemed to know I had them. My grandmother, Frances, left them to me. She was on her way to mail them to my father when someone snatched them from her. She was hit by a truck and died."

  "I'm sorry. How'd you get them back?"

  "I don't know. I think someone found the package on the street and took it to the post office. The teeth were very valuable. They'd been in the family since 1890. It's called scrimshaw. A crewman scratched designs on the teeth during a long whale hunt. The detail is amazing. They were insured for $75,000."

  "And you kept them in a safe. Is that right?"

  "Yes. It's a small safe I keep important papers in. I hid it in the back of the linen closet thinking no one would expect a safe to be there."

  "But he did?"

  "No. He trashed the apartment looking for it."

  Detective Dolan walked down the hallway to the bedroom. "So, he came here specifically for the …"

  "Scrimshaw."

  "Did you recognize him?"

  "No. He wore a ski mask. It was dark blue, I think. I only saw his eyes and mouth."

  "Did he talk to you?"

  "Yes. But I didn't recognize his voice."

  "You own a small pistol?"

  "Yes. I thought I should have some protection." Emma walked around the bed, took the pistol from the drawer, and showed it to the detective. "I thought I scared him away by saying I'd shoot him with it, but he pretended to go out the door and then hid in the dark. He grabbed me and made me drop the pistol and the flashlight I was carrying. I was afraid he'd shoot me once he had the scrimshaw."

  "Did he threaten you with the pistol?"

  "No. I didn't see him with it. He said he'd blow my head off if I screamed or didn't give him the combination."

  "And he tied you up?"

  "Yes. My hands and feet. He untied my hands to open the safe."

  "You've got a nasty bruise. Did he punch you?"

  "I don't remember."

  "And you were tied up when he left?"

  "Yes. I didn't untie my feet after he left. I thought it was best for the officer to see what he did."

  "We didn't find fingerprints. Do you remember him wearing gloves?"

  "No. I don't think he was wearing gloves."

  "How'd he get inside?"

  "I forgot to lock the door to the balcony."

  "Do you intend to file a report with your insurance company?"

  "Yes."

  "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

  "He knew I had the scrimshaw. It scares me that he knew how to find me. I've been thinking about moving all day. How did he know I had the scrimshaw?"

  "It'd be helpful if you'd make a list of people who knew you had the scrimshaw. I need their addresses and phone numbers. As for moving, I think you'll be fine here, Emma. He knew what he wanted, and he got it. I doubt you'll see him again. Fortunately, he wore a mask. Otherwise, he might have killed you. I hope this never happens again, but if it does, stay in your bedroom with the pistol and call us. That will prevent someone from getting it away from you. Keep your doors locked. Here's my card. Call me anytime."

  "Thank you. I will."

  Emma locked the door after the detective and checked the door to the balcony again. Then she checked the windows even though she knew they were locked. Emma closed the shades on every window and turned on the lights in every room. She took the pistol out of the drawer by the bed and fastened it in a holster she thought she'd never use.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Emma returned most of the kitchen uten
sils to their original places and used the opportunity to reorganize others. She'd been moving utensils aside to get to the ones she needed.

  Her apartment had always been a sanctuary at the end of a contentious day in the office. Now, she felt vulnerable there. Still, Emma knew it would not help if she focused on the robbery. She cleaned up the pieces of the broken vase. She felt better for having addressed the mess, but she was still uneasy. She usually did not close the shades so early, and having them closed now left her feeling confined. She thought about moving to Montana. She once thought she'd still enjoy Denver if she started teaching instead of practicing law. Now, she did not feel she could stay in this apartment. She did not want to move, either.

  Emma regretted not having a close friend. She had Facebook friends and Twitter followers, but there was no one she could trust with these kinds of confidences. Some of her friends made disasters of their own lives. She could not confide in people who were merely professional acquaintances. She wished she was not an only child. She imagined it would have been comforting to call a sister who cared about her. She knew her father would have understood. She missed Harold more than ever.

  When Eric called, he listened sympathetically to her account of the events the previous evening. Then he told her about his visit with Mallory Jackson's mother in Missoula to get Emma's mind off the robbery.

  Eric tried to sound upbeat for Emma's sake, but he was concerned. He thought the man who broke into her apartment might come back to hurt her so she could not identify him. He wished she would leave Denver and move to Buffalo Jump where he could protect her, but he did not want to bring it up now. She might think he was using the robbery to put pressure on her when she already had enough to think about. Eric wanted to tell Emma he loved her, but he was afraid saying so would push her away. He wanted to be with her more than anything, but he could only wait and hope she would feel the same someday.

  Emma wanted to tell Eric how important he was to her, but she did not trust herself now. She did not want to go to him feeling weak and afraid.

  Saturday Emma took some time to make a list of those who knew about the scrimshaw set. She wrote the phone numbers for Eric, Phyllis, and Carole even though doing so seemed pointless. She knew they had nothing to do with the robbery. Then Emma wrote Jack Hennessey's name and number on the list. He returned the scrimshaw when he could easily have kept it. She was sure he had nothing to do with the robbery. There was no one else to list. Emma struggled to think whom she might have told about the scrimshaw. She could think of no one. Then she thought about Jack. Would he take revenge for being dumped by taking the scrimshaw? She knew the man who robbed her was not Jack, but he might have known Jack. The idea seemed too implausible to entertain it for long. Emma knew she was still feeling stressed and too emotional to make any judgments. She put the list of names in an envelope, addressed it to Detective Dolan, and placed a stamp in the corner. Then she dropped it at the post office and retrieved her mail. She was surprised to see a postcard from Jack. He'd mailed it from Indonesia.

  Emma usually shopped for groceries Friday evenings after the gym, but she'd been hesitant to go out after Detective Dolan left the night before. Saturday morning brought out entire families who plugged the isles while deciding what type of soup, jam, or chips to buy. Two men with cell phones called their wives to ask which grocery item they should buy. A middle-aged woman blocked access to the produce by parking her cart next to her. Emma waited patiently and hoped the woman would not test every tomato for ones that were just ripe enough. Then there were the shopping carts doubling as small cars for the children. They were massive, required most of the width of the isle, and held few groceries compared to a cart. Why couldn't parents get their children to behave without providing toys at the grocery? Why were children a part of these decisions at all? When Emma was a child, Lynn had not consulted her about the groceries. Emma wondered if she'd be like these young mothers if she had her own children. She doubted it. She was distracted by these thoughts and did not see the elderly woman driving a cart for the disabled.

  "Could you be a dear and reach the pineapple chunks for me?"

  Emma reached for a name brand of pineapple chunks. "This one?"

  "No. The store brand."

  Emma handed the woman the pineapple.

  "Is there anything else you need?" she asked.

  "I can reach the rest. Thank you, dearie."

  Emma suddenly felt warm all over and realized she was smiling. The cart for the disabled and elderly was a new invention that made sense.

  She hurried up and down the remaining isles and then found a checkout lane. Only one young woman with few groceries was ahead of her. Emma removed her groceries from the cart, placed them on the conveyer, and waited. The clerk was doing a price check. After several minutes, a teenager ran up to the clerk and gave her the correct price. The order was totaled. Then the young woman asked the clerk if she could remove ten dollars in groceries. She did not have enough money to pay for all of them. The clerk scanned several items that removed about ten dollars from the order. Then the young woman asked the clerk to replace two items and select two others. The clerk called a manager to approve the woman's check. While they waited, they started a conversation and discovered a friend in common. Once the check was approved, they continued discussing the woman they both knew. Emma was on the verge of leaving her groceries on the counter and walking out of the store, when the clerk finally started scanning her groceries. Emma felt her face flush with anger. Then she took a deep breath and loaded the sacks of groceries back into the cart. She would not shop on Saturday again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Deputy Eric Knudsen parked his unmarked car in the neighborhood of the pizza parlor and waited. His hunch was that Mallory Jackson lived in the vicinity. That would explain how she disappeared so quickly on the night of the robbery. After waiting most of the morning on Friday, he saw her leave a two-story building and walk in the direction of a convenience store. Then he secured a search warrant for Mallory Jackson's apartment.

  Saturday, he waited until his partner Bert moved to the backyard to cover the rear entrance. Bert signaled he was in place, and Deputy Knudsen walked to Mallory's front door and knocked, announcing himself as a deputy with the Sun River County Sheriff's Department. Mallory came to the door in purple sweats. The deputy showed her the search warrant. She insisted she was alone. Bert kept an eye on Mallory while Deputy Knudsen searched for the Batman costume, pumpkin, and roller skates described in the warrant. When he found them in the back of her closet, the deputy placed them into an evidence bag and returned to the living room. Then he read her rights.

  "You're under arrest for the robbery of Buffalo Jump Pizza. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have one present with you while you are being questioned. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning. If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to a lawyer." He handed her the sheet of paper. "I need your signature to show you've been advised of your rights. Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you?"

  Mallory signed her name on the paper. "I understand, but you've got the wrong person."

  "If you're telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about. Is there anything you need to do before we take you to the jail?"

  "Who's gonna feed my cat?"

  "Does your cat have enough food for the weekend?"

  "Yeah."

  "If you're detained longer, you'll have an opportunity to get someone else to care for the cat. Anything else? Is your boyfriend coming back?"

  "I doubt it. He's the one who planned this whole thing."

  "Are you voluntarily giving this information without your attorney present?"

  "Yeah. I knew it was a dumb idea. You got my costume.
We spent the cash already, though. Can I take my purse?"

  "Let me check the contents first."

  The deputy opened the purse looking for a weapon or anything she might use as a weapon. He did not find anything. He removed the strap and handed the purse to Bert. Then he handcuffed her wrists and helped Mallory keep her balance while she slipped into a pair of shoes.

  "You're pretty tall. Did you play basketball?"

  "No. I don't like belonging to cliques. I'm my own person, you know?"

  "So, you're not a team player?"

  "They treated me like a freak. I couldn't help it that I'm big. I still got feelings, you know?"

  "I know. Let's go. Watch your step."

  Once Deputy Knudsen completed the arrest of Mallory Jackson, the rest of his day was back to the routine calls. Mr. Kearney was missing again. A young woman thought she saw someone looking in her bathroom window. An old woman locked herself out for the second time in a week. He ticketed a man who was ten miles over the limit on Front Street. He knew it was all valuable even if it was not exciting. Still, he looked forward to getting back to his painting. He'd taken a photo of Emma before she left, and he was working on a portrait of her for Christmas. It was only the second time he'd tried portraits, and he'd started over again several times already. He was almost finished with his shift when he heard the traffic about someone going the wrong way on I-15. He was close, so he notified the dispatcher he would respond.

  When Deputy Knudsen arrived at the interstate on-ramp, he found several vehicles on the shoulder. A man waved him down and said the driver going the wrong way was south of Buffalo Jump and driving a blue pickup truck.

  Eric was the first on scene, so he pursued the driver, hoping to stop him from killing someone. The deputy drove south in the passing lane and spotted the blue pickup going south in the northbound passing lane at about 35 miles per hour. He used his siren, but the man kept weaving from one lane to the other and did not acknowledge him. Deputy Knudsen increased his speed to get ahead of the pickup. Then he drove through the culvert that divided the interstate, and positioned his vehicle so the pickup truck would have to hit it. He got out of the vehicle and began stopping the northbound traffic. This was one time he was glad he lived in a sparsely-populated state. Traffic was light. Before long, the pickup driver plowed into the passenger side of the deputy's vehicle. He pushed it into the culvert and came to a stop.