by Jane Tesh
“I think you’d better let me handle this,” I said as we drove to Denby Forest’s house. “If you’re wrong, and this woman really is Denby Forest, then you shouldn’t confront her. We could get in even deeper legal trouble.”
“Mac, I’m telling you, this has to be a con.”
“Just let me go in first and talk to her.”
He stewed a while then relented. “Okay. Honor Perkins is a large woman. When I last saw her, she weighed close to two hundred pounds, but she could’ve lost weight. She has dark hair and dark eyes, which she could disguise with a wig and contact lenses. She also has a slight lisp, but you have to listen hard to catch it.”
“All right.”
“You have to have some excuse for visiting Mrs. Forest. What are you going to say?”
“I’m going to tell her you conned me, too.”
He looked impressed. “That’s very good. I am so proud.”
***
Unfortunately, Denby Forest was a tiny elderly woman with gray hair piled in a bun, little granny glasses, and no trace of a speech impediment. She looked exactly like a woman who would be easily taken in.
I introduced myself as Madeline Maclin and asked her if she’d ever had a séance with someone named Jerry Fairweather.
“My goodness, yes, I have,” she said. “Are you from the police?”
“I’ve also had a séance with Mr. Fairweather.” Which was true. “A séance which did not turn out very well for me. I’m trying to find Mr. Fairweather. Would you mind if I asked you some questions about your experience?”
“Not at all, not at all. Come in.”
We sat down in her dark little living room. “Mrs. Forest, could you tell me what happened?”
“Well, I heard from some friends of mine in town about this young man who was an accomplished medium and could speak to those who’d passed on. I was in desperate need of some financial advice, and the only one I trusted was my dear departed uncle. Mr. Fairweather was able to contact him through a séance we held right here in this very room. He put a candle on the table and my uncle spoke right through him! At the time, I found it all astonishing. I know now it was all a dreadful lie. Through Mr. Fairweather, my uncle advised me to put all my savings into Double Delite Doughnuts, so I did. The company failed, and I lost everything.”
“When was this?”
“This past August, August 15.”
“Could you describe this man?”
“Oh, my, yes. He was very handsome, very charming.”
My heart sank. “Do you remember anything else?”
“He had light brown hair.”
Oh, dear.
“And the most beautiful gray eyes. You don’t see that very often these days.”
Oh, brother. “Are you absolutely sure about this, Mrs. Forest?”
“Well, aren’t all con men supposed to be good-looking? It’s part of their performance. I still can’t believe I was so taken in. So sad, isn’t it, that a young man like that has to resort to cheating old ladies?”
“Oh, I agree.” Believe me, I agree.
“What did he take you for, dear?”
“Practically everything I had.”
“Well, dearie, I’ve done something about it, and you should, too. I got a lawyer, and I’m suing that young man.”
“How did your lawyer know where to find him?”
“I was so lucky to have a dear friend in Celosia who said she’d heard that name before. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be the same man!”
“I would like to speak to your friend.” Boy, would I.
“Oh, I’m sorry to say she’s passed on just last week.”
I thought of a better idea. “Mrs. Forest, what if I found this man for you? Would you be willing to sit down with him and have some face-to-face negotiations and settle out of court? If you’ve lost your life’s savings, paying a lawyer and court costs might be difficult for you.”
“Would you be able to find him?”
“I’m pretty sure I can. I’m a private investigator, and I’d do this free of charge for you. Or if you prefer, you can get a mediator or an arbiter, but I believe that would cost you some fees, as well.”
She looked daunted. “Well, that’s awfully generous of you. Let me think about it.”
I gave her one of my cards. “Please call me when you decide. Thank you for all your help, Mrs. Forest.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Can you see yourself out? My leg’s acting up today.”
When I got back in the car, Jerry took one look at my face and said in disbelief, “It wasn’t her?”
“Denby Forest is a wizened little grandma who remembers you quite well and wants every drop of your blood.”
He started to get out of the car, but I caught his arm. “Jerry, no. Not yet. I told her I’d find you, and the two of you can settle this out of court. I don’t want you bursting in on her.”
“Mac, I never use my real name! I have never been in this town!”
“Maybe you forgot. Maybe you’ve been run out of so many towns, they all look alike.”
He slumped back in his seat. “Come on,” I coaxed. “We’ll have some Baxter’s barbecue and talk about this. She didn’t look like she could afford a lawyer.”
“She can if she gets a million dollars.”
“Not if we don’t have a million dollars.”
***
Usually a trip to our favorite barbecue restaurant can calm any storm, but neither the juicy sandwich nor the crunchy fries helped Jerry settle down.
“I was so sure this was some scheme of Honor’s.” He squeezed the ketchup bottle with unnecessary force. “I still think she’s got a hand in this somewhere. Maybe she hired a little old lady to play Mrs. Forest.”
That seemed way too elaborate for me. “Just relax. She has a dear friend in Celosia who’s just passed away.”
“How’s that going to help?”
“All you have to do is light a candle and call her up.”
He gave me a very ornery look and then his scowl faded into a reluctant grin. “Okay. I deserved that.”
“We’ll take care of this, Jerry.” My phone beeped and I checked it. “A message from Pamela,” I said. “Uh, oh. Looks like more trouble with the Art Guild. Her text message says, ‘Disaster! New curator chosen! Call me!!’ Double exclamation marks.”
“Then you’d better call her.”
I punched in Pamela’s number and barely said hello before she started in.
“Madeline, you would not believe what Wendall’s done! He’s hired some woman from the Silver Gallery in Parkland, a complete stranger, and the two of them have final say on whose work is good enough to be displayed. He’s invited the Art Guild to meet her tomorrow, and I know this meeting is going to be a total disaster!”
“Have the members of the Guild told Wendall about their concerns?”
“He said he’d answer all our questions at the meeting, but he’s not going to listen to us! He’s got his mind already set on what he wants.”
“I know this is going to be difficult,” I said, “but why don’t you wait and see what really happens? You might like this new curator. She might be open to your suggestions.”
Pamela would not be comforted. “I don’t know how that’s possible. She’s not from here. She doesn’t know us.”
When we moved to Celosia, Jerry and I had run into this same small-town mindset. If I hadn’t solved several murders, we’d still be outsiders. “Then she’ll be able to have unbiased opinions about your work, right?”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, as if Pamela hadn’t considered this. “I don’t know. I just have bad feelings about all of this. Can you come to the meeting? You’re not an official member of the Guild, but you’re an artist and we need your
support.”
There was no way to get out of this. “All right.”
“Tomorrow at two at the gallery,” Pamela said and hung up.
“Pamela’s just like you,” I told Jerry. “All in a wad about something you can’t control.”
“I take it from your conversation that Wendall has brought in some snooty curator from New York City.”
“Close. She’s from the Silver Gallery in Parkland. That’s snooty enough to send the Guild into a tailspin. I’ll find out tomorrow at two.”
“I’ve got your next murder case for you,” he said. “I predict someone’s going to take Wendall out.”
“I hope not. He’s just trying to do something for the town. Want another order of fries?”
“No, thanks.”
Things were serious when Jerry didn’t want seconds. “Let’s head on to Billie’s, then. You might be able to use your powers for good.”
***
Billie’s house was at the end of Pumpkin Lane in a neighborhood only a few streets over from my mother’s. Knowing Billie’s early taste for all things gaudy, I expected the house to be different. It was a brick Colonial with a circular drive and boxwoods. Billie’s appearance, however, more than made up for her bland surroundings. She had put on a little more than fifty pounds, but she was still the loud, flashy girl I remembered. Her sequined top had a butterfly design that spread its wings over her ample chest, and she had a ring on every finger. Billie’s mother had always insisted her daughter’s hair be the poofiest in the pageant. Now Billie’s hair was closely cropped to her head with a fringe of bangs. Huge earrings dangled from her ears, and in honor of my visit, she was wearing one of her many crowns.
Her laugh bounced off the walls. “There she is! Madeline Maclin! The moment we’ve all been waiting for! Grand Supreme Pixie Dust Winner!”
I gave her a hug. “Good grief, how do you remember that?”
“Because that crown should have been mine, of course! My singing was better than your awful violin playing any day.” She turned to greet Jerry. “And this must be Jerry, con man extraordinaire, or you’d better be, to help solve this mystery.”
He shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Billie. So what happened?”
“Come inside and I’ll tell you all about it.”
The living room, like Billie, was extravagant and bedazzled, with zebra-patterned furniture and huge china cabinets filled with her crowns, ribbons, and sashes.
I peered in one cabinet at a photograph of Billie as Little Miss Acme Carpets. “Why in the world did you keep all this stuff?”
“Oh, I think it’s hilarious. Don’t you have yours?”
“My mother has a shrine.”
Billie took off her crown and placed it on a side table. “Let me get you a drink. You want iced tea or something stronger?”
“Tea would be fine, thanks.”
While she was gone, Jerry looked in the cabinets. “Here’s one of you, Mac.”
There was eight-year-old me standing in my rigid pageant pose. I had on my best fixed smile, a pink dress that probably cost my mother twelve thousand dollars, and a hairstyle that could withstand hurricane-force winds.
“I don’t know why you didn’t like doing this,” Jerry said. “You look so happy.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Billie looks happy, too.”
Billie, standing beside me, had an equally glazed expression. “She’s annoyed because I placed higher than she did in that pageant, but she has to keep smiling. We all did.”
Billie returned with a tray and glasses of tea. She set the tray on the zebra-striped coffee table and handed us each a glass. “Now, let me tell you my tale of woe. Last week, my husband and I got a letter in the mail saying we’d won a night out to the Parkland Dinner Theater’s gala. Of course, we were skeptical, so I called the number on the letter and was assured there was no catch. We’d been chosen from a mailing list, and we assumed it was the theater’s list, because we’re theater supporters. Gala night, a limo came to the house, and the driver told us not to worry, everything had been paid for. We went to the gala and had a fabulous time.”
“Let me guess,” Jerry said. “When you got home, a few things were missing.”
“A few! Practically everything! Our wide-screen TV, our computers, my jewelry box, Harold’s golf clubs, and all of our best wine. You tell me what happened.”
“A week or so before the letter came, did someone come to your house, maybe asking you to take part in a survey, or someone asking about a house for sale on your street, anything like that?”
Billie’s mouth hung open a moment. “A woman came by who said she was from the neighborhood improvement committee.”
“Did you invite her in? Even for just a few minutes?”
“We stood in the foyer and talked. She wanted to make sure I knew about the revised garbage pickup schedule and the proposed club house renovations. Oh, my God, Jerry! Was she casing the joint?”
“That’s one way of putting it. She got a good look so she could decide if the investment of a gala ticket was worth a burglary.”
“This is unbelievable. She bought us a night out?”
“She and her partner or partners paid for your evening, probably as an anonymous donation, and the theater sent you a perfectly legitimate letter. The bad guys knew exactly when you’d be away from your home and when you’d be getting back.”
“But we have a security system!”
“Are the controls near the door?”
“Yes, that little panel right there.”
“Your neighborhood committee woman got a good look at that, too. These are pros. They know how to disarm all kinds of alarm systems.”
“Is there any way to catch these crooks?”
“Probably not. Your stuff’s insured, right?”
“Yes, but still, I really hate that they got away with it. Does it sound like a gang you know? The Gala Gang, maybe?”
“It sounds like a gang I’d rather not know,” he said. “The stuff my friends and I do—that I used to do—was never this daring. Tricks, sleight of hand, little cheats, you know? I never broke into anyone’s house to steal things. You called the police right away, I hope?”
“They don’t have any leads.”
“What did this woman look like?”
“Well, I have no room to talk, but she was plus-size, like me. Full-figured, as I like to put it. Very nicely dressed. Dark hair.”
Jerry’s attention was caught. “Bit of a lisp?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe she did. Good grief, do you know her?”
His expression darkened. “I have a really good idea who she is.”
“The next time you see her, tell her I want my stuff back. No, here’s what I want you to do. Set the cops on her. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to run free.”
“I agree with you completely, Billie.”
Billie and I spent the rest of our visit reminiscing about our horrible pageant years, but Jerry was pretty quiet. Much quieter than usual. I’d seen that preoccupied look before, and it worried me.
When we got in the car to go home, Jerry slammed his door shut. “I can’t believe Honor would do something this extreme.”
“How well do you actually know this woman?”
“She was one of my first friends in the underworld—she and Jeff and Rick and Del. We had a lot of fun. This is not fun.”
I’d never met Jeff, but Rick was the same Rick who’d become entangled in the death of the movie director who was using our house for Curse of the Mantis Man. After I solved the case and cleared Rick of murder charges, he’d agreed to leave us alone. So far, Del had acted like a gentleman. Honor sounded like something else, something dangerous. Would Jerry do something equally dangerous to stop her?
“What are you thinki
ng, Jerry?”
“Until I find her, I can’t do anything.”
“Tryouts for Oklahoma are tonight, right?” I wanted to make sure he was occupied.
He must have tuned in to my concern. “Don’t worry, Mac. I’m not going to charge off in all directions, but we are definitely going to catch her.”
***
When I dropped Jerry off at the theater, I noticed Bea Ricter among the crowd of excited people waiting to audition. “Is there a role for Bea in this show?”
“She’d make a good Aunt Eller,” he said, “the cranky but loveable matron of the plains.”
“Cranky I can see, but loveable?”
“That’s why it’s called acting.” He gave me a kiss. “Sure you don’t want to hang around?”
“No, thanks. I’m afraid Evan will shanghai me into the show. Call me when you’re ready to come home.”
He went into the theater, and I sat for a while in the car. I’d told Jerry I had no desire to make contact with the pageant world, and this was the prime reason why. Talking with Billie had brought up a host of unwanted memories. I’d wasted too many of my childhood evenings in theaters and hotel ballrooms, all dressed up in stiff, jeweled dresses, my head piled with heavy hairpieces and congealed with hair spray. Just the sight of those giggly younger girls waiting to audition made something cringe inside. They looked like they were having fun. It was never fun for me to parade around on stage, fearful that a wrong step or a tentative smile might cost me the crown my mother wanted so desperately.
Whew. Enough soul-searching. I was no longer six, and my mother was no longer on the hunt for Little Miss Perfect. Now I was Miss Ace Detective and could do exactly as I pleased, and it pleased me to go home to see what I could find out about Honor Perkins.
***
I spent about an hour online with no success until I remembered Mrs. Forest claimed she’d lost her fortune by putting all her money in Double Delite Doughnuts. I looked up Double Delite and found the company was still in business with steady sales. Okay, so was Mrs. Forest also a swindler? When I looked her up, all I found was a picture of her and several other elderly ladies at church functions, including the sale of a cookbook with recipes from the congregation. I looked up the account of the robbery at Billie’s house, which appeared to be an isolated incident in the neighborhood. None of this fit.