Jennifer, guilt hunching her shoulders, said, “Tell me about your wife. What was she like?”
He shrugged. “She was a gentle person. Patient with me. Patient with the long, irregular working hours an officer has to keep when he’s on a case.”
“I guess it must be hard being married to a cop.”
“Lila never complained.” He looked around the room. “She knew how to keep the house up. I still haven’t learned.”
“Maybe you don’t want to.” He frowned, and she added, “I mean, I was like that with chemistry. I didn’t like it, so I didn’t care if I learned it or not.” She paused. “In case you’re wondering, I did pass it.”
“That’s the least of my worries,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning down in a familiar way that made Jennifer feel comfortable again. “You know what these are?” He held up a handful of credit cards. “A couple of these cards look like the real thing, probably stolen, but most of them seem to be counterfeit cards. Look at this one—the bad printing at the bottom.”
“You mean they’re just made-up names and numbers?”
“Nope. The names and numbers are real. The whole scam is right here in front of us. Apparently, Stella was able to get hold of some carbons from actual sales. Merchants throw them out in the trash, and many commercial trash bins are open to scavengers. Someone steals a wad of carbons, and from these carbons names and numbers are taken to be used on fake cards. Then shoppers use the cards, and the charges are simply put on the bills of the innocent victims.”
“I thought store clerks called in to check on the sales.”
“Only if the sales are over a certain amount—usually fifty dollars. So the thief spends a lot of time buying items that cost less, like small appliances, silver bowls, clothing. There are a lot of things that you can get for under fifty dollars.”
“What would Mrs. Trax do with stuff like that?”
“I doubt if she kept any of it. The stolen stuff is fenced.”
Jennifer studied Lucas. “You seem to know a lot about this credit card thing.”
“You bet I do,” he answered. “Remember—I’m a police officer, and this credit card scam has been going on for a long time all over the United States. It’s hard to catch the people involved in it, but we do know that a clever thief can charge at least five thousand dollars’ worth of items in a day’s work.”
“So that’s why Stella shopped so much.” She remembered something. “And the woman in the beauty salon said Stella even went out of town to shop.”
“And to steal a few cards and carbons, no doubt.” Lucas slowly got to his feet. He stood and rubbed his lower back. “You realize that now we have an entirely different set of circumstances, which may or may not lead to another motive for Stella’s murder by someone other than Bobbie.”
Jennifer jumped up. “So they might let Bobbie go?”
“No. Circumstantial evidence is still strongly against her. But this means another lead, another direction. If Stella was involved in a stolen and counterfeit credit card ring, then someone in that ring might have been responsible for her death.”
“Why would someone want to kill her?”
“Maybe she was getting greedy. Maybe she wanted a bigger cut.”
“Or maybe,” Jennifer said, “she wanted to tell you about it. She knew who you were because of Elton’s arrest. Maybe she was going to phone you and didn’t get the chance.”
“Could be.”
Lucas walked toward the phone. “I’ll call in. Tell them about the handbag.”
“What about that pad with your telephone number? Shouldn’t we—?”
He scowled at her. “Trying to protect me now, are you?”
“I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”
“You’ve got so much to learn, Jennifer. That number might fit into the puzzle and help solve this crime. In any case, it wouldn’t be honest to remove it.”
“I was just trying to help.”
“Then work by the rules.”
“Should I take the handbag back to the house?”
“No.” He picked up the receiver. “But you’d better stick around for a while.”
“So you can ‘read me out,’ as you said? You haven’t done that yet.”
One corner of his mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. “I’ve decided not to. You’ll get enough of that from Detective Carl Robbins.”
Detective Robbins was built something like a bear. Jennifer was sure he had probably played football in school. His hair was thick and sandy and hung in his eyes. Dog or cat hair clung to his rumpled slacks. His partner, Detective Arturo Casals, was small and neat with a tiny black mustache that looked as though it had been drawn on his face. He scowled at Jennifer and let Detective Robbins do the talking.
And talk he did, finishing with “So what you did was not only stupid and dangerous but illegal.”
“I was trying to help my friend,” Jennifer said.
He turned to Lucas, who was leaning back in his armchair, as relaxed as though they’d been having a conversation about baseball scores. “What did this kid get you into, Lucas?”
“Jennifer didn’t get me into anything,” Lucas said calmly. “She came to me for help. After I studied the case I decided to take it, and I invited Jennifer to be my partner.” For a moment Jennifer thought he’d actually smile at her, but he sat upright and, in a tone of voice as firm as his backbone, said, “Carl, she needed some cutting down to size, and you did a good job of it, but you can lay off now.”
Carl frowned. “Trespassing, interfering with police procedure, removing property … I don’t know.”
“Well, I do,” Lucas said. “She’s given you some solid evidence in that credit card scam. Let’s just go on from there.” He gestured toward the pad of paper with his telephone number written on it. “It’s just a hunch, but I think Stella Trax was planning to contact me regarding the scam.”
“Could be,” Carl said.
“We’ll never know, will we?” Art added. “And our next question is: Who else in this town besides Stella Trax is working the racket?”
“Mrs. Aciddo,” Jennifer said.
The three men looked at her. “What else do you know that you haven’t told us?” Carl asked.
Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t know it. I just think so, because she told the reporters that she and Mrs. Trax had planned to go shopping.”
Art shrugged. “Lots of women go shopping together.”
Jennifer insisted. “But she lied about Mrs. Trax’s job at the beauty salon. She said she still worked there, only she didn’t.”
“Maybe Stella hadn’t told her she’d quit.”
“You could follow her and find out.”
“On just your hunch?” Art shook his head. “Without any solid information about Mrs. Aciddo, we can’t spend the man-hours on tailing her.
“We’ll share this with the FBI people working the scam,” Art said.
“The FBI is in this too?” Jennifer was puzzled.
“It’s an interstate crime,” Carl said. “A regular syndicate that uses credit cards to rob nationally—even internationally.”
“You found the handbag,” Lucas said. “That’s all the information the FBI needs. Right?”
Carl studied Jennifer for a long moment, then mumbled, “She couldn’t help them.” He lumbered to his feet and picked up the handbag. “We’ll be in touch,” he said to Lucas. He pointed a finger at Jennifer, so close that it almost brushed her nose. “Kid,” he said, “keep clean, do just what Lucas tells you to do and nothing more. And don’t mention any of this about the credit cards to anyone. Understand? The last thing we’d need would be for word to get out on the streets or for the media to know.”
Jennifer nodded, not trusting herself to answer. If they weren’t interested in finding out if Mrs. Aciddo fit into the credit card scheme, it didn’t matter. She didn’t need their help. She knew what to do. She’d follow Mrs. Aciddo and see what she could find ou
t.
16
I’ve got to go back for another look. It’s the only way to get rid of this damn headache. I know why the headache won’t go away. It’s not because of Stella. It’s because of her handbag.
Yeah, I remember that big handbag she always carried with her. Wouldn’t let it out of her sight. And hid it when she wasn’t carrying it. Never trusted anyone, even the kids. Especially the kids. Especially Darryl, who nearly went crazy looking for it when she wouldn’t give him money for a fix. That’s where the stuff has to be. She’d have cards in it. Sure she would. She was holding out.
Dumb Stella. Dumb to hold out and try to cut your own deal. Didn’t you know I’d find out?
I guess you weren’t too dumb, were you? You had enough sense to hide the stuff. If the police got hold of it, the news would have been out. So it must still be there.
Now I know for sure. I’m going to the house to look for it.
17
The detectives drove Jennifer home. Lucas asked them to. In a way he told them to, because he didn’t want her going home on the bus and walking from the bus stop. They had a lot of respect for Lucas. Jennifer could see that. She could also see that they were wondering if Lucas was temporarily out of his head to be working with her on a case they thought was a closed issue.
She opened the back door of their unmarked car as it pulled up in front of her house and jumped out the instant it stopped. “Thanks,” she called to them, and ran up the walk to the front steps. Among the shadows she had seen the familiar broad-shouldered, hunched-over form of Mark. He was sitting on the top step, waiting for her.
As he saw Jennifer, he clambered to his feet and came toward her. “Jen,” he said, “are you okay? I was worried.”
Suddenly she was exhausted and longed for Mark more than she ever had before. She hurried into his arms, holding him as though he were an anchor against the gale, and she were a small sailboat, skittering the tops of waves, in danger of flying out to sea.
His chin tucked her forehead against his chest, where she nuzzled his neck, the salty taste of his skin on her lips.
“Who were those guys?” he asked.
“Some detectives Lucas knows. Let’s not talk about them.”
“What were you doing in their car?”
“He asked them to give me a ride home.”
“It’s late, Jen. It’s a little after eight.”
Jennifer stepped back. “Darn you, Mark. I said I don’t want to talk about those men or Bobbie or anything else. I just need you to hold me.”
She could see the struggle as he wanted to pursue the questions, and was thankful when he began to relax. “Okay,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the porch steps. “Sit down with me awhile. I wanted to—well, try to make things right with us again.”
The breeze from the sea was cool, and Jennifer shivered. Mark put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I’m sorry,” he said.
For a moment she couldn’t remember. “For what?”
“For this afternoon. For when I got mad and drove off.”
“Oh,” Jennifer said. “I—Oh, that’s all right, Mark.”
“You didn’t remember, did you?”
“Well, not at first. I mean, I hadn’t been thinking about it, and—”
“Maybe you just didn’t care.”
“Of course I care!” Jennifer wrapped her arms around him tightly. “Oh, Mark, I’ve had so much to think about. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You don’t know how glad I was to see you when I came home a few minutes ago! I missed you! I needed to be with you!”
She lifted her face and kissed him hard before he could answer.
Finally he took her chin in one hand, tilting her head. The night darkened his hazel eyes, and they looked as deep and liquid as the midnight sea waters that lapped the piers of the T-heads. “Jennifer,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me. This thing with Bobbie has got between us, but I can see how you feel about trying to do your best for her. So that part’s okay. It’s the other part, the part about maybe my pushing you to do something you don’t want to do. I don’t understand if it’s that you just don’t love me enough, or don’t care enough, or what your reason is. And I think that hurt us, and I didn’t mean to hurt us.”
Jennifer leaned back and sighed. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“I said I didn’t.”
“Okay, then, I’ll tell you. I like to feel that I’m in charge of myself, that I’m important—at least to myself.”
“You’re important to me.”
“Don’t interrupt.” She lightly pressed a finger against his lips. “I’m trying to tell you that part of feeling good about myself is to not go to bed with you or anybody else until I’m ready. And I’ve decided that’s going to be after I’m married.”
“Kind of old-fashioned, aren’t you?”
“Nope. It’s just part of wanting to like myself. It’s not an old idea. It’s not a new idea. It’s just an idea I feel comfortable with.”
Mark was silent for a few minutes. Then he said, “I’ll wait. If that’s what you want, Jen, I can wait.”
Jennifer couldn’t help giggling. “You sound as pompous as an old preacher!”
Mark had to laugh, too. “You think I sound pompous? How about you? Anyhow, I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, and I’m glad we talked about it.”
She felt light and giddy and giggled again. Snuggled against Mark, she lifted her face for another kiss, but the door behind them suddenly opened and light from the living room spilled over them. “So there you are!” Grannie’s voice was shrill. “That leftover chicken’s cold enough to be laid out and buried! Where have you been, Jennifer Lee Wilcox?”
Jennifer and Mark scrambled to their feet in a tangle of legs, bumping knees, and elbows.
“I’m sorry, Grannie,” Jennifer said. “I’ve been here talking with Mark.”
“Least you could of done was come inside long enough to tell me you was home. Your father may not know which side is up with that woman here and her mouth runnin’ on and on, but I’ve been sittin’ in the kitchen, watchin’ the clock and frettin’.”
“I’ll come in now,” Jennifer said. She tugged at Mark’s hand. “I’m hungry,” she told him. “I’ll race you to the cold chicken.”
“Speak your piece to your father and that woman first.” Grannie snorted. “Remember you got manners.”
Jennifer led the way into the living room. Her father and Gloria, who looked as though they’d been jammed together at one end of the sofa, glowed like kids at a birthday party at the moment the presents are opened. Her father’s browned cheeks were touched with pink, and his eyes sparkled. She loved seeing him so happy. For so many years his life had seemed quiet and dull, and she had felt sorry for him without knowing what to do to help him.
“Well, hon,” he said, “Gloria and I have been wondering when you’d get here.”
Jennifer bent to kiss him and smiled. “You don’t look as though you’ve missed me.”
Gloria giggled, and her fingers fluttered around her chin, playing with the large plaid velvet bow on the ribbon tied around the neck of her blouse.
“Sit down,” Roy said. He gestured toward the chairs. “You too, Mama.”
“I’d better go. This looks like family stuff,” Mark said as Grannie grumblingly lowered herself into the straight chair near the door.
“Don’t go. Have a seat, Mark. You’re practically family.” Roy’s beaming smile swept their faces, then shone on Gloria. “Gloria’s going to be family, too.”
“I seen it comin’,” Grannie mumbled as Mark offered congratulations and Jennifer hurried to hug Gloria.
“You don’t mind?” Gloria was suddenly shy as she clung to Jennifer’s hand. “I know how kids sometimes feel about stepmothers, and I wouldn’t want you to feel like that about me.”
“I’m not a kid, Gloria,” Jennifer said. “I’
m glad that you can make Dad so happy.”
“That’s a nice thing to say, hon.” Roy reached over to squeeze her other hand. “You’re a good girl.”
Grannie gave a long sigh. “I suppose I better start lookin’ for another place to live.”
“Mama,” Roy said, “you’ve got no call to think like that. You and Gloria will get along fine.”
Gloria’s smile began to freeze at the edges, and Roy looked like someone whose shoes pinched his feet.
“Grannie,” Jennifer said quickly, “right now all we want to think about is celebrating with Dad and Gloria. We ought to have some champagne and caviar!”
“Champagne?” Grannie snorted. “All we got around here is root beer and crackers!”
Jennifer’s laughter shot through the room like a fireball, igniting even her grandmother. “Then let’s bring out the root beer and crackers! Tonight we’re going to party!”
Saturday morning Jennifer awoke early, the sun prodding her eyelids like an animated alarm clock. For a few moments she stretched, poking at the puzzling guilt feeling in the back of her mind, until it bobbed to the surface and became something to face.
“I didn’t forget about you, Bobbie,” she murmured aloud. “Well, I did forget for a little while, but it was something special. It was Dad’s night, and—”
She sat up, kicking off the blanket and sheet, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and jamming her feet into her sandals. “Darn! I’m talking to myself!”
The problem with life, she thought as she ate a quick breakfast of cereal and toast washed down with orange juice, was that it came in so many parts, and sometimes those parts overlapped. Last night it was Dad’s turn, but now she had to get back to work to help Bobbie. And somehow she had to do something about Grannie. Dad wouldn’t know how to handle things. And there was school. She’d have to get back to classes, or she’d have problems at exam time.
And Mark.
Last night she had loved being with Mark. Today she didn’t even want to think about him. Each day she was one day closer to graduation and the day Mark expected her to marry him. But—
She swept her dishes under the hot-water faucet to rinse them, then stacked them on the counter near the sink. No time to think about other things. She had to keep her mind on the next step in helping Bobbie. If she could only talk to her.
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