by Amy Vansant
“Blowing up a mailbox is childish, isn’t it?” asked Mariska.
“It is,” said Charlotte, realizing that the continued vandalism at Gloria’s house ruined her theory that Jackie’s flag at her door had confused the gangsters. “I think I’m still leaning with Frank and the kids-playing-pranks theory.”
“But why just me?” asked Gloria.
“Have you…uh…exacted your unique form of justice upon any children lately?”
“No…um…no.”
“What was the um about?”
“Nothing. The person I was thinking about had to be in her mid-twenties.”
“Is she one of the names on the chalkboard?”
Gloria glanced at the chalkboard wall. “Um…”
Charlotte sighed. “Spit it out.”
“The girl cut me off in the food store. Just pushed her cart right in front of mine as if I was invisible! She knew it too, but she didn’t apologize.”
“And how was she made to pay for this heinous transgression?”
“I saw that she had bananas in her cart, so I followed her until she left her cart unattended and then scratched you’re rude on one.”
“What do you mean you scratched it?” asked Darla.
“I had a nail file in my pocketbook, so I scratched it into the peel. The scratch turns brown in about an hour so shortly after she got home the message would have been clear as day.”
“Do you think she saw you?”
“She was on her way back as I was doing the third, but I think I got away before she could tell.”
“The third?”
Gloria nodded.
“You wrote you’re rude on three bananas?”
“No. I wrote that on one, your skirt is ugly on the second and just you’re on the last one. I ran out of time.”
“You’re like a petty revenge savant.”
Gloria smiled. “Thank you!”
Mariska shook her head and turned to Charlotte. “Did you ask Declan about your rear-end yet?”
Charlotte looked at Declan, whose eyes grew wide.
“I’m sorry?” he asked.
Charlotte chuckled. “The big cross-retirement-community Halloween party is coming up and there’s a costume competition. Silver Lake almost always wins.”
“So I made a costume for Charlotte we thought would win for sure!” said Mariska.
“I did the head.”
“Darla did the head.”
“But there’s a problem with the tush,” added Darla. “I was going to be it, but my back just can’t take the bending over.”
Declan looked at Charlotte. “You’re still losing me.”
“It’s a unicorn,” she said.
“What is?”
“The costume. You know, like the old-timey horse costumes, but with a horn and sparkles. It’s a two person costume but the front end is fit for me, and Darla can’t bend over to be the back end because she pulled her back out shuffling gnomes.”
“Shuffling gnomes…”
“Yep.”
“So we were thinking you could be her backend,” said Mariska.
Declan nodded. “So it’s true. You all do think I’m an ass.”
The women tittered.
“I wasn’t going to drag you into this,” said Charlotte. “But I’m running out of options.”
“No, I’m honored,” he said. “And a little relieved. I didn’t know where this was going.”
“You will?”
“Of course I’ll be your bum. When is it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow! Normally I’d need weeks to prepare for something like this…”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I only just found out myself.”
“No problem.”
“Thank you! And I only need one other little favor.”
He huffed. “Jeeze. Remind me never to borrow a robe from you again. The payment plan is brutal.”
“It’s not a big deal. I need you to call the lady with the box. I’ll get her telephone number for you from Parking Pass Pete; he has the neighborhood address book.”
“Should I ask who Parking Pass Pete is?”
“No.”
“Whew.”
“I need you to tell her you’re offering free appraisals for used objects. Antiques and whatnot. She’s got to be wondering why we want the box back and I bet she wants to know if it’s valuable. Maybe if you offer a free appraisal, then she can bring it by the shop and we could buy it from her or at least assure her it isn’t worth anything.”
“I can do that.”
Gloria let loose an exaggerated yawn. “Well, if you’ll excuse me I think I’m going to go to bed. Being hunted like an animal is exhausting.”
“We should head back, too,” said Mariska, standing.
Darla stood with her. “So, just to be clear…no word on Witchy-Poo?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. But I think I might have a lead. I’m working on it.”
“Oh good. A lead! That sounds official. It’s almost Halloween. I’m running out of time. Unless I throw her in a sleigh and slap eight reindeer on it.”
“Nine if you count Rudolph,” said Mariska.
The two of them let themselves out.
“I should be heading back as well,” said Declan. “Mind if I wear the robe home?”
“Mind? Not at all. Of course I’ll have to call Frank and make sure one of his officers pulls you over or it won’t be half the fun it could be.”
“Ha ha. I think I can drive a mile without being pulled over.”
“You better hope so.”
Declan and Charlotte both stood. He walked over to her and hugged her. It felt very snuggly.
“I hope you know there’s nothing left between Stephanie and me,” he said.
“I know. You said so.”
“I’m just treating her with kid gloves until I figure out what’s going to happen with her claim on the store.”
“How is that going?”
“It isn’t, so far. She hasn’t really made her move.”
“Have you seen it?”
“What?”
“The will she claims to have. Have you actually seen it?”
“No.”
“I’m thinking that should be the first step. Maybe she’s bluffing. She seems to have a thing for you still. This could all be a ploy just to get you to pay her some attention.”
Declan shook his head. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s not that crazy. People do nutty things when they’re in love. Or lonely. Or confused. And if you don’t mind me saying so, in the little time I’ve spent with her she’s managed to convey a bit of all three.”
“You’re really trying hard to give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“I know. And it’s super hard. Someone should probably nominate me for sainthood.”
He laughed and then sobered. “In all seriousness, don’t drop your guard while trying to be the bigger person. She was sitting outside your house tonight.”
“What?”
“In her car. She was staking out the place.”
“Red? Sporty?”
“Yep.”
“Ah! I saw it a few days ago. I thought it might have something to do with Gloria’s case. That’s good to know.”
“Good to know it’s my crazy ex?”
“Good it wasn’t someone after Gloria and she was probably there because your car was in the driveway.”
“I hope so. I hope she isn’t casting an evil eye toward you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I have an attack dog.”
She motioned toward Abby, who lay snoring on the sofa.
“Hm. Terrifying. She told me I had to dump you, you know.”
“What? Stephanie said that?”
He nodded.
“Boy, she’s got a lot of nerve. What have I ever done to her?”
“That’s my point. She’s thinking about you, and you don’t want to be on her radar.”
“I know some people like that,” she said, glancing back at the house where Gloria slept. “So…I guess I should probably dump you?”
He grinned. “Probably, though it has nothing to do with her.”
She put her arms around his waist. “You be careful, too. Don’t get pulled over. I’ll work on getting you that lady’s phone number and you’ll call her for me in the morning?”
“Will do. Actually, it’s a good marketing idea. I should start calling around with promises of free appraisals.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya.”
She watched him get into his car, where he lowered the window and called out to her.
“Remind me if we ever start a band, we should call ourselves The Shuffling Gnomes…”
“Definitely.” She laughed and waved as he drove off in all his fuzzy pink glory.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Okay, I’ll let you know how it goes. And I’ll tell him, don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss it.” Seamus put down the phone as Declan walked into the kitchen, bags beneath his eyes and tiny cuts peppering his face, arms and legs.
“Rough night? You look like you were attacked by angry squirrels.”
Declan rolled his eyes as he pulled a coffee filter from the cupboard. “Don’t ask. Who were you talking to? You’ll tell me what?”
“How do you know we were talking about you?”
“Who else do you know?”
“It was Charlotte.”
“Why’d you call her?”
“I didn’t. She called me. She had an idea for getting the box and needs my help.”
“So it must be a last resort.”
“Funny.”
“It sounded like she gave you a message for me?”
“To remind you the costume party is tonight. And that you’re an ass.”
Declan paused, the scooper of coffee in his fingers held suspended over the can. “That I’m a—oh. Right. I’m the ass of the unicorn. Gotcha. I might have been a little drunk when I agreed to that.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“You’re going?”
“Jackie invited me.”
“What are you going as?”
“I thought I’d go as a charming Irishman.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Speaking of charming, did I tell you Stephanie was at Rocky’s house?”
“What? When?”
“I slipped myself on to his daddy’s compound to see what he was about and there she was, in all her glory, side by side with our pal Rocky.”
Declan sniffed, head shaking. “Unbelievable. Chasing the money, no doubt.”
“Oh, and Charlotte also said to remind you about the lady you were going to call. The one with the box. You have to try your bit before I try mine.”
“She was going to get a number from Party-time Pete or something…”
“She did. I wrote it here.” Seamus pushed a junk mail envelope toward him with a number scrawled on the back.
“Okay. I’ll do that in a little bit. It’s still a little early to call. Hey…” Declan flipped on the coffee maker and turned to Seamus. “At any point during your chat with Charlotte did she ask to talk to me?”
“Never came up.”
“Hm.”
“Of course, I have that effect on the ladies.”
“Of course.”
Declan went to work and Seamus did more research on Rock Conrad. The man had a lot of money, but all his dealings seemed above-board. He owned a dozen businesses around Tampa but Seamus couldn’t find a single article where his name or his companies were linked to scandal. It worried him. If Rock was a gangster, he was really good at it. However, he did find a few articles where Conrad’s name appeared in conjunction with antique auctions, which led him to believe the box might be worth more than Jackie thought.
The only mentions of his goofy son, Rocky, involved local social gatherings and his mediocre standing in the local tennis circuit.
What kind of gangster played tennis? They certainly made criminals different up north. In Miami, the only time a gangster had for tennis was putting someone’s head in a ball machine.
His phone rang, and he answered it to find Declan on the line.
“Didn’t work,” said his nephew.
“You called the box lady?”
“Yep, and she didn’t bite. Said she didn’t have anything to appraise. I didn’t want to be too obvious, but I tried to prompt her by listing a bunch of things she might want to check out; china, lamps, jewelry, jewelry boxes, blah blah blah. She just said no thank you and hung up on me.”
“Looks like it’s my turn.”
“Don’t do anything too stupid.”
“Why would I do that?”
Seamus knocked a third time on the Silver Lake address Charlotte had given him. She’d been right about Parking Pass Pete; he let him into the community, no problem. Unfortunately, it looked as if her target, Diana Fassbender, wasn’t home.
The leather tool belt he’d found in Declan’s garage rubbed against his hip bone and he tugged at it. The boy didn’t own any decent tools, just the belt, but it worked for his handyman costume. The plan had been to talk the woman into letting him in to check the cable…or electric…he hadn’t decided yet. He didn’t know much about either. Once in, he’d planned to scan the house for the box.
He tried the door, but found it locked.
Give up or break in? That was always the question. He couldn’t count the times he’d been in the same predicament and still the answer was never clear. Sometimes he walked away and regretted it. Other times he broke in and things turned out worse. He was thinking on it when he heard a woman’s voice.
“Hello?”
He stepped back from the door to check the home’s windows.
“Hello?” he called back, seeing no one.
“Over here.”
Seamus turned. A woman stood at the railing of the porch next door, waving her hand. She was a handsome woman, probably in her early sixties, trim and tall, wearing a black spaghetti-strapped top that displayed her ample cleavage.
“Hello!” he answered, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.
“Are you looking for Diana?”
“I am; is she about?”
“I—why don’t you come on over so I don’t have to scream? I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
Seamus felt a grin slither across his face. The woman had almost sung her last sentence, and if he didn’t know better, he would have guessed she was flirting.
Sometimes I forget what a handsome old devil I am.
He started down the stairs, hoping by the time he finished talking up the neighbor, Diana would have returned. There were worse ways to spend an hour.
He climbed the woman’s porch steps as she moved from the rail to greet him with an outstretched hand.
“I’m Simone.”
He shook her hand. “Seamus.”
“Oh! Irish, yes?”
“Aye.” He offered her a half-wink. More of a squint than an actual wink, with emphasis on his right eye. It was a move he’d trademarked in his own head back in nineteen seventy-nine.
“And Simone…French?” She had raven hair cut in a clean bob that grazed the alabaster skin of her delicate shoulders.
She smiled. “Yes, but by way of Canada.”
“Little warmer here?”
“For both of us,” she purred.
Oh my.
“Can I offer you a drink? Beer? Wine—”
He shook his head. “No thank you. I’m—”
“Whiskey?”
“What’s that now?”
“Bushmills?”
“You’ve got Bushmills?”
“I’ve got a little Black Bush you might like.”
Seamus swallowed. She held his stunned gaze without so much as a twitch of her cheek. Either she didn’t realize her double entendre, or she was a force of nature. E
ither way, he knew he was going to have to stay for a glass and figure it out.
“I’ll uh…I’ll have a nip of the Bushmills.”
“Ice?”
He raised his eyebrows in mock horror.
She tried again. “Neat.”
He nodded.
She slipped inside and returned a moment later with a drink for herself that looked like orange juice and smelled like scotch, and a healthy pour of whiskey for him, both in crystal rocks glasses.
“You’re much too kind,” he said, taking a sip.
“So,” she said, settling into a cushioned chair. “You’re looking for Diana?”
He let the whiskey coat his tongue and then nodded. “I am.”
“She’s out. I saw her drive away about half an hour ago.”
“Oh. Maybe her husband?”
“She says he’s out of town but he’s been out of town for nearly a year. She still takes every opportunity to show you the rock on her finger.” She held up a hand and wiggled her long fingers in the air.
“Ah. Well, divorce is hard.”
“You are divorced?”
“No. Never been married. But…that’s what I hear.”
She looked over the railing of her porch at his old car parked down the street.
“Who are you with?”
He finished his glass. “What’s that?”
“You don’t have a company truck.”
“Oh…Silver Lake hired me to check on some electrical issues. I’m more of a…freelance handyman.”
“A handyman…” She traced her finger around the rim of her own glass. “I have something I’d like you to see. Would you mind?”
“Sure.”
She stood and entered her home, holding the door open for him to follow. Once in, she walked towards the kitchen of the open concept home and then made a left down a hallway. He followed her into a room that stood empty, but for a shiny silver metal bar along the wall. Behind the bar, a mirror ran from floor to ceiling. A dark red paint covered the other three walls. Dark shutters kept any light from entering the one window.
“There is a strange vibration in this room,” she said, walking toward the chrome bar and placing her hand on it. He followed and did the same.
“I don’t feel anything,” he said. “Hey, what is this place?”
She ignored him. “Sit on the floor and reach your hands up to touch the bar. I think maybe you have to be grounded.”