The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One

by Ann Warner

“Dot’s daughter came for a visit with a grandson who wants to collect stamps. When Dot got out the collection, the grandson noticed the stamp was missing. He remembered his grandfather telling him it was the most valuable one. Something to do with an upside-down airplane. A Jenny. The boy has a sister named Jenny. That’s why he remembered it.”

  “That makes three,” Josephine said. “One is bad luck, two may be carelessness. But three. Well, three, to my mind, is no coincidence.”

  “Maybe we should call Mac,” Lillian said. “I expect three incidents would make him suspicious as well.”

  “Someone will ask how he found out about it.”

  “He told Eddie he got an anonymous tip about the other thefts,” I offered.

  “Why don’t you call him, Devi?” Josephine said.

  She was so transparent, it made me laugh. “Are you by any chance matchmaking, Mrs. Bartlett?”

  Josephine shrugged. “You liked him, didn’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Not that I intended to do anything about it.

  “That’s settled then. Two birds, my dear. Always the way to go whenever possible.”

  Smiling at Josephine, I shook my head, amazed to think, that if Brookside had had a curmudgeon competition mere days ago, Josephine would have topped my candidate list.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mac

  The morning after the poker game, I woke up feeling good despite the two shots of Scotch. Perhaps because it was such excellent Scotch.

  Out of curiosity, I googled Erdradour. I couldn’t find an exact match to the bottle from last night, but I did find a thirty-year-old Erdradour Scotch that sold for $500 a bottle.

  And would I accept another sip if the occasion arose? More than likely.

  I finished breakfast and my newspaper, but aside from laundry and raking leaves, the rest of my Saturday was free. I live in Blue Ash, the suburb next door to Montgomery, and I rent a small house that’s targeted for a rebuild. Once the house sells, I’ll have to move, but for the moment I like not living in an apartment.

  I was sorting laundry when the phone rang. It was Devi, telling me that Lillian had uncovered yet another possible theft. Then why didn’t Lillian call me? I’d given her my card last night.

  The thought Devi might have seized the opportunity as an excuse to talk to me put a smile on my face. I went for broke, although that hadn’t worked particularly well playing poker last night, and asked her to lunch, selling it as an opportunity to go over the details of the suspected thefts.

  When she agreed, I hung up, grinning. Too restless to pass the time until lunch raking leaves, I went next door and offered to take Bruno and Teddy for a walk. Bruno is a nondescript hound, large and slobbery but sweet about it, and Teddy is a five-year-old with Down Syndrome who dotes on Bruno and loves to go for walks as much as Bruno does.

  When we walk, Teddy usually wants to visit the memorial circle near downtown Blue Ash. He’s fascinated by the bronze figures of soldiers that stand in a circle there, and Bruno is captivated by all the interesting smells.

  Today, when I took them back, Kate, Teddy’s mom, looked like maybe she’d managed a short nap. She hugged me the way she always does and asked if I’d like a cup of coffee. Sometimes I say yes and we sit in her sunny kitchen, chatting for a while. Often Teddy takes a nap if the walk was long enough, and that gives Kate an additional break. She works nights at the hospital, and I suspect she rarely gets as much sleep as she needs.

  Teddy’s dad is out of the picture, but while I think Teddy is a cool kid, I know it’s best if I don’t add the complication of trying to juggle a relationship with his mother to the mix.

  When I finished chatting with Kate, it was time to meet Devi, who arrived at the café five minutes after me. She had a tote with her and, after we decided what we’d eat, she pulled out several sheets of paper, handing them over after we ordered.

  “Here are the details about the other three thefts Lillian’s uncovered. I think if you want to know what’s going on at Brookside, she’s your girl.”

  “Not Josephine?”

  “Josephine isn’t very social.”

  “Really? I thought Josephine was quite social, at least while she was wiping me out at poker.” I glanced at the information Devi had handed me. “It seems it’s always a family member noticing what’s missing?”

  “Yes. Glenn Bascombe died, Gladys Turpin has been transferred into the memory unit, and Dot Todhoffer is nearly blind.”

  “So you’re saying that whoever is doing this targets victims who are the least likely to notice the item is missing?” I looked up and thanked the waitress as she delivered my sandwich and Devi’s salad.

  “I think that’s true,” Devi agreed, smiling her thanks at the woman. “And I also think whoever it is chooses small items, the kind that might be easily misplaced. But while Josephine and Lillian accept that’s possible, they think three such instances of valuables missing within a short time are more than a coincidence.”

  “I agree. It does seem suspicious.”

  “Can you look into it then?”

  “I can’t look into it at all unless we receive a credible report from one of the individuals directly involved.”

  She sat back and blinked. “Really? But Glenn and Gladys can’t make reports.”

  “Glenn’s heir or the executor for the estate should do it. And Gladys must have a legal guardian who can file on her behalf.”

  “And if you had that, you’d investigate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  Throughout the exchange, Devi had held her fork suspended. After those final words, she finally lifted the fork to her mouth, took a bite, and chewed, her expression thoughtful.

  I knew if I didn’t introduce more personal subjects, I might not get another chance. After all, Devi wasn’t directly involved in the purported thefts. So any investigating I might do would give me little reason to talk to her.

  As she took another bite, I said, “How long have you been at Brookside?”

  She blinked and set her fork down. “Oh, let’s see . . . five, six months, I guess.”

  “You a Cincinnati girl?”

  She shook her head. “I had a college roommate from here. She’s the one who convinced me Cincinnati was a great place to live.”

  So many things were wrong with that answer. Where to begin? Which college? And how long ago did she graduate? Although she looked young, she conducted herself with more reserve than most recent college grads could muster.

  And where was she from originally? And why come to Cincinnati to work for a retirement community? Yeah, I’d get it if she’d come for a job at Procter & Gamble, whose headquarters are here. But moving to Cincinnati to work at a place like Brookside? Nope. Didn’t compute.

  “What about you?” she said before I could organize my next question. “Are you from this area?”

  I had the distinct impression she’d asked as a way to shift the focus away from herself, and it occurred to me she could be one of the so-called dreamers, growing up thinking she was American, only to find out as an adult she wasn’t and could be deported at any time to a country she knew nothing about. That might account for the hesitation I sensed in her whenever she was in my presence. Although, we should have moved beyond that after playing poker.

  “I’m from Toledo,” I told her. “Went to the University of Cincinnati, decided I liked it here, and stayed.” Because it seemed like a great place to raise the family Lisa and I planned to have. I shook my head, trying to dislodge that thought with its attached shreds of memories.

  “Where did you go to college?” I said, trying to get back to the main point.

  “Wisconsin. Then after I graduated, I worked in Minneapolis for a while. Hated it. One night I was talking to my Cincinnati friend, moaning about traffic and weather and . . . well, everything. She invited me to come for a visit. I did, liked what I saw, decided to stay.”

  It seemed to me she was
filling in blanks as quickly as she could. To cut off further questions? Maybe. The only question was why.

  “Do you like being a police officer?” Once again, she’d preempted my questions with one of her own.

  “Most of the time. Yeah. I do.”

  “I’ve always thought it would be a hard job. Being constantly exposed to the worst side of people.”

  “There is that.” I shrugged. “But we also come in contact with lots of people who are doing their best, for themselves and their neighbors.”

  “I read some where that most policemen have savior complexes. You know, if you aren’t out saving lives, you feel your own life is useless.”

  If she’d said those words with any hint of arrogance or accusation, I would have been deeply offended. As it was, I needed to take a deep breath before I answered.

  “People choose police work for the same variety of reasons they choose any other profession. In my case, I want to live in an orderly, peaceful society, and I’m willing to accept a role in ensuring that order.”

  “Not much happens in Montgomery, though. Do you ever get bored?”

  “I do, sometimes.” Not an easy admission. Since I’ve been here, we’ve not had a single homicide, which is a good thing, of course. But boring if you happen to be a detective. Most of my investigations involve parties that get out of hand, underage drinking, shoplifting, domestic disputes, burglaries, drugs. The modern litany.

  “Do you ever think about, oh, I don’t know. Working someplace bigger. Like Cincinnati?”

  “Been there, done that.”

  She cocked her head and examined me. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-five. And you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  Okay, that surprised me. Although she seemed more mature than twenty-two, I never would have guessed thirty-two. I bet she makes a killing doing the guess-my-age thing at amusement parks.

  We sat for a moment, looking at each other, before she lowered her eyes and moved her fork at random on her plate.

  “So is working in a retirement community your dream job?” I said.

  “Not exactly. But it does let me hang out with cool people like Josephine and Lillian.”

  “Is there a dream job you have in mind?”

  She gazed out the window, her face going through a series of expressions I found both puzzling and interesting. Then she looked at her plate, shook her head, and sighed.

  “Dream jobs are few and far between. What about you? Is Montgomery your dream job?”

  “In the beginning, I thought it was.”

  “What changed? You or the job?”

  My turn to look out the window. I’d wanted to get into more personal issues with Devi, hadn’t I? And it didn’t get more personal than this.

  “I took this job because my wife didn’t like living with the uncertainty of me working night shifts in inner-city neighborhoods. Said if we were going to have a family, I owed it to her and our future kids to do something that wasn’t so dangerous.”

  I glanced up to find Devi examining me with a thoughtful look, and I knew I had a choice to make. Did I let her think I was married? It would certainly be one way to cool the attraction I sensed building between us. Or maybe I was fooling myself about there being any mutuality there.

  Before I could make a decision one way or the other, the waiter came over to clear our plates. So I let it ride, the possibility there was a wife and potential children lurking in the background of my life.

  Too soon. That’s how I justified it, although that excuse was wearing thin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Devi

  It should have been a huge relief, and it was—the discovery that Mac was married—given I felt more attracted to him than I was comfortable with. But discovering he was married, initially felt like someone threw a glass of ice water in my face. However, it settled in more comfortably as I thought about it.

  It was better that he was unavailable. Much better.

  Shortly after that revelation, I made an excuse about needing to get back to Brookside for an activity. Although Mac didn’t question it, he did give me a thoughtful look before walking me to my car where we said good-bye. And that was that.

  Thinking he might be suspicious if I didn’t at least look like I was driving to Brookside, I took a left out of the parking lot. Then I decided, since I had nothing more pressing to do, I might as well go to Brookside and report to Josephine.

  Unlike the first two times I’d visited, Josephine opened the door promptly and with a smile. Lillian was there as well, a good thing, since I needed to also tell her what I’d found out.

  “I just had lunch with Mac,” I said, realizing as their expressions turned hopeful that lunch sounded like a date.

  I shook my head, hoping to diminish their obvious enthusiasm. “He’s married.”

  “I don’t think so, dear,” Josephine said.

  “He told me he was.”

  “No ifs, ands, or buts?” Josephine insisted.

  “I’d say it was pretty direct.” Although, thinking about it now, it did seem like the information had been ambiguous. But no matter. “That isn’t the point. I need to tell you what he said about the robberies, or rather, suspected robberies.”

  When I finished relaying the information, Lillian cocked her head. “Sounds like we have work to do.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Lillian said. “We need to contact the families to encourage them to file police reports.”

  “Yes,” Josephine said. “I agree.”

  Lillian turned to me. “We might need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Yes. I don’t believe a phone call will be the most effective way to handle this. We’ll need to go see Glenn’s son and Gladys’s daughter.”

  “Of course. I’m happy to help.” Well, what else could I say?

  “Good. We’ll get started then,” Lillian said, rubbing her hands together with a gleeful look.

  Josephine sat down at her computer, and Lillian told her the names she needed to look up.

  Being extraneous to their efforts, I said good-bye and went home, feeling more down than I usually allow myself to feel, and not sure why.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Josephine

  “I’ve talked to the people Eddie shops for about his sick daughter,” Myrtle said as I was dealing our first hand Wednesday afternoon. “And they all want to help.”

  “You what?” A card flipped on to the floor. I leaned over to pick it up.

  “You heard me, Josephine. Everybody is sympathetic, except maybe Pru Parker. They want me to tell him they won’t report him, and that they’d be happy to contribute something to help. In fact, several have already contributed.”

  “But Eddie doesn’t have a daughter, sick or otherwise,” I said.

  “Of course he does. He said so, didn’t he?”

  “I’ve seen where he lives, and no children are allowed.”

  “Maybe he’s divorced and his daughter lives with his ex-wife,” Myrtle said.

  “How does Eddie pay alimony and child support while living at The Meadows?”

  “What’s The Meadows?” Myrtle said.

  The whole time we were talking, Edna and Lill watched the conversational ball go back and forth like they were at a tennis match.

  “The Meadows is a brand-new apartment complex in Mason. It’s quite expensive.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Devi looked up his address and took me there. And I spoke to the rental agent. Eddie lives alone, and while lots of big girls visit him, for sure no little girl ever has.”

  “Well, I never, Josephine. That was highly inappropriate.”

  “What was? My checking on Eddie, or Eddie lying about having a daughter?”

  While Myrtle huffed and puffed and jiggled, I finished dealing the cards.

  “You’re saying,” Edna said, “that Eddie doesn’t have
a daughter?”

  “I certainly am. I think the man’s a menace. Can you believe, he even forced himself on Devi?”

  “I very much doubt that. I don’t believe she’s Eddie’s type.”

  “And what type might that be?”

  “His daughter has blond hair and blue eyes.”

  “He doesn’t have a daughter.”

  “Says you.”

  “And me,” Lill said, finally jumping into the conversation that had now gone full circle.

  “And what would you know?” Myrtle said, arching her eyebrows at Lill in a most unbecoming way.

  “I don’t trust that man further than I could throw a pig,” Lill said.

  “Well, I’ve seen the pictures, and it’s the two of you who are delusional.” Myrtle sat back with another jiggly huff.

  “Pictures? You’ve seen pictures? Well, I expect if Eddie could invent a daughter, pictures would be no problem.”

  Myrtle pushed back her chair. “You know, I’m not at all sure I want to be associated with people who are so heartless.”

  “Fine with me,” I said. “Since I prefer not to be associated with people who are so—” I felt a sharp kick under the table. Lill was also giving me one of her looks. “Fine with me,” I repeated, glaring at Lill.

  “Come along, Edna.” Myrtle puffed, and with a heave, pushed herself to her feet.

  Edna shrugged, as if to say, What can I do? before she stood and followed Myrtle.

  I blew out a breath, and Lill and I looked at each other.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Devi

  I stepped out the back door of Brookside, shrugging on my coat against the autumn chill. After my long day, I was tired.

  “You little bitch.”

  I turned to find Eddie in the shadows beside the back door. He moved, blocking the way back in. His expression, illuminated by the light spilling out of nearby windows, made me catch my breath, and my heart rate kicked up the way it always does when something triggers a memory of why I had to leave Chicago.