The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One

by Ann Warner

  “When Josephine and I were working on the inspiration book. But I had no idea it was worth so much.”

  “Do you think she’d let me see it?”

  I shook my head, trying for a rueful expression. “I think Josephine feels very protective of the painting. And now that the word is out about it, well, you know she doesn’t like visitors, even in the best of times.”

  Myrtle’s lips pooched out briefly, but then she looked around the room, obviously trying to pick who to tell first.

  I decided a small nudge might be in order since she wasn’t going to spot Edna, who didn’t come to meals.

  “Can you imagine how Edna’s going to take the news?” I stopped and put a hand over my mouth. “Oh, but you can’t tell her.”

  “Of course not,” Myrtle said. “Mum’s the word.”

  Our lunch plates were delivered then and I tucked into mine, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Devi

  I had barely gotten my coat off Monday morning when Candace came sailing into my office. “You will not believe what happened Saturday.”

  It was the first time we’d spoken since that unpleasant conversation about Eddie, but Candace, acting as if that never happened, launched into a tale about Josephine’s son discovering she had a painting worth millions that he’d then reported to Mr. Souter.

  “I had no idea who Edward Hopper was until I looked him up. The last painting of his sold at auction went for forty million. Can you imagine?”

  I couldn’t very well say that I knew about the painting. So I sat, letting my mouth hang open in apparent astonishment as Candace went on and on about Josephine calling in that policeman, Mac somebody, who showed up with a little boy and a dog and told Josephine’s son and Calvin to leave Josephine alone.

  What I felt was left out of the action.

  “Shouldn’t you keep this a secret?” I said when Candace finally finished telling me everything. “I doubt it’s safe to have too many people know about the painting.”

  “You’re probably right about that. Right now, Calvin and I are the only ones who know,” she said, apparently forgetting she’d just told me. “He’s fit to be tied, as you might imagine.”

  “What is he going to do about it?”

  “There’s not much he can do. But I doubt the son is going to let this go.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Calvin said he’d come to tell his mother all the money for her fees had run out, and she had to move back home with him. When he discovered she was sitting on millions, he was furious. He made Lucy call Calvin and insist he come in, and Calvin wasn’t very happy about being disturbed on a weekend. I can tell you that.”

  It worried me that Josephine’s son and Mr. Souter knew about the painting, but it was even more worrying that Candace knew, because she obviously couldn’t keep her mouth shut. And, clearly, the more she spread the word about the painting, the less secure it—and Josephine—would be.

  It was a big enough worry that it even took my mind off my own troubles for a time.

  ~ ~ ~

  As soon as I had a few minutes free, I went to visit Josephine. I looked for the painting as I stepped into the apartment, but there was no sign of it. Instead, the Demeri watercolor was hanging in its place.

  “Candace told me what happened,” I said. “I’m so sorry. The Hopper? It’s safe, isn’t it?”

  “Not to worry,” Josephine said. “Mac helped me. He also had to help me evict my son and Mr. Souter. And yes, we had quite an interesting time on Saturday.”

  “Candace mentioned a Mac somebody was called in. And that he brought his little boy and a dog with him?”

  “Mac somebody, indeed. He was babysitting for his neighbor’s little boy, so he brought him along. And the dog, of course.”

  “Oh?”

  “You do know Mac isn’t married. And he isn’t a father.”

  “How can you be sure of that?”

  “I asked him. Flat out. He’s divorced. I also asked him why he let you think he was married.”

  “Oh, Josephine, you didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “So? How did he explain it?” As long as she’d asked, I might as well know the answer.

  “I think that’s something you’re going to have to ask him.”

  “Why would I? All I am to him is a . . . a citizen. He obviously wants nothing to do with me.” And I needed to remember it was for the best not to have anything to do with him.

  “Devi, Devi.” Josephine shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Lill did a couples analysis for you and Mac. You’re made for each other. At least, that’s how we used to put it. Now I guess you’d say he was your soul mate. And you don’t get many of those. I should know.”

  “What do you mean, Lill did a couples analysis? We aren’t a couple.”

  “But you should be.”

  “You’re saying I should be part of a couple with a man who told me he was married in order to avoid a relationship with me. Do you know how nutty that sounds?”

  “Lill thinks Mac failed at love. That not only does he not want to get hurt again, he’s afraid to hurt someone who cares about him.”

  “Bit egotistical of him, don’t you think? Assuming I care about him?”

  “Don’t you?”

  I fumed for a moment. “Okay. Yes, I care about him.”

  Or it would be a very small step from where I now stood to caring for him. But really, I knew so little about him. It was more likely what I felt was just physical attraction.

  All right, yes, it feels like more than that.

  But what did I know about him besides superficial stuff? That he’s a graceful loser, at least at cards, and that he’s kind to small children and dogs. And he isn’t afraid to confront society at its worst. All admirable characteristics.

  And I do like the way he looks. And seeing him makes me feel like dancing.

  But admitting that made me distinctly uneasy. After all, I’d once told another man I barely knew I would marry him, although I did come to know William better before going through with the ceremony. In particular, I’d learned that he was a very, very sore loser.

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memory of a man who had wanted to hold on too tight. But Mac, he was pushing me away instead of holding me close. And it made me . . . sad.

  Still, it was for the best. Because if there was ever going to be anything between Mac and me, I’d have to tell him about Chicago. And he’s a cop, after all. He’d have no choice but to turn me in. My only hope was that Abigail might be able to find out my status without giving me away. I felt a quiver of hope, followed quickly by panic.

  Some questions are, after all, better left unanswered.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Edna

  When Myrtle told me Josephine had a painting worth millions of dollars just hanging on her living room wall, I simply didn’t believe it at first.

  “That’s the reason she locks her door and never invites anyone in.”

  “How do you know she locks her door?” I said.

  Myrtle wiggled a bit, obviously uncomfortable. Then she shrugged. “Because I checked. I thought if her door was unlocked, well, that someone should be told.”

  Myrtle is a grade-A snoop. No question about it. Too bad she’s also honest.

  “Who’s the painter?”

  “Someone named Edward Hooper or maybe Hocker. Something like that.”

  I didn’t consider that very helpful. But regardless of the painter’s name, if the painting was worth what Myrtle said it was, well, it would cover all Amanda’s expenses from freshman year through any graduate program she might choose. There would even be enough to pay for me to stay at Brookside with no worries about using up resources Amanda might need.

  Best of all, it minimized my risk to a single big score with no need for me to sell any of the other items I’d removed from residents’ apart
ments. Items the police were now on the lookout for.

  “How did you find out about this?” I asked Myrtle.

  “Lillian told me. She’s even seen the painting. She did ask me not to tell anyone, and I haven’t. But I thought it was okay to tell you. After all, you used to be Josephine’s friend.”

  I was in a lather to get away from Myrtle and do some thinking, but she kept on talking. It was quite tedious. Myrtle is usually tedious, although she is one of the few people who seeks out my company. I don’t understand it, but I’ve always had difficulty making friends.

  When I was finally able to get away from her with the excuse it was time to take my medication and I’d forgotten to bring it with me, I first went back to my apartment to think about things, and then I went to the community room to use the computer.

  I’d learned some of the basics about how to “surf the Internet,” as Amanda calls it, from the program Devi arranged. That’s also how I found out what the stamp was worth.

  This time, after a short perusal of the screen options to jog my memory, I typed Edward Hooper, painter in the Google search box. A message came up asking if I meant Edward Hopper. I clicked Yes and that brought up information about Edward Hopper, an early twentieth-century American painter.

  He had to be the one. His paintings were worth, I blinked in astonishment. Oh, my. The last one sold for forty million.

  When Myrtle said millions, I thought she meant a couple of million. That would be nothing to sneeze at, of course. But forty million? My goodness. This was going to take some thought.

  And one quick one was that Mr. Souter was not going to want the responsibility for the painting. He’d no doubt insist that Josephine move it someplace more secure. Perhaps she already had, a possibility that made my stomach clench. But Lill should know about that, and she’d talked, according to Myrtle, as if the painting was still here.

  I wondered how large it was, but I didn’t know how to make the computer give me an answer to that question. Besides, I didn’t know which painting Josephine had. But I did know how to get to it. All I needed was a cooperative staff member with access to a master keycard.

  The obvious choice was Eddie. If he was willing to steal small amounts, he could likely be convinced to go for a much larger prize. The tricky part would be trying to find a buyer for the painting.

  My fingers itched to type in unscrupulous art dealer to see what would come up, but it seemed to me that the crime dramas always show the detectives looking at suspects’ computers and being able to see everything they’d ever looked at. The thought unsettled me. Although this was a community computer, I figured there might be ways of knowing who used it.

  I couldn’t remember how to close the program, or how to blank out my search, so I turned off the computer, something we’re not supposed to do.

  Then I sat thinking about it. How would an ordinary person sell a stolen painting possibly worth forty million dollars? After a minute or two, I had it. The perfect plan.

  I went to the office to ask if anyone knew where Eddie was.

  “Haven’t seen him,” Candace said. “Perhaps he’s left already.” She was putting on her coat, obviously planning to do the same.

  It was most unsatisfactory. I was pretty sure he was the only one who could help me. And we needed to move fast.

  ~ ~ ~

  Eventually, after doing a full circle of Eddie’s haunts, I returned to the office area and found him there, skulking in the manager’s office. Whenever Mr. Souter is out, Eddie acts like the office belongs to him.

  He glanced up at me when I knocked on the door frame, but after that quick glance, he looked back at his phone. I took a seat in front of him and waited for him to put his phone down and pay attention to me.

  He finally looked up. “What can I do for you, Edna?”

  “No, Eddie, that’s entirely the wrong question. The real question is, what can I do for you.”

  “And that is?”

  “Have you heard the news about Josephine’s painting?”

  “Yeah. Uncle Cal filled me in.” He frowned. “But he said only key staff members knew.”

  “Actually, I think quite a few people know.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Spit it out then.”

  “I think you and I should steal the painting.”

  He sat blinking at me. Then, as if he couldn’t quite believe what I’d said, he shook his head in a sharp movement.

  I smiled at him. “I know you like to steal things. And I have it all worked out, you see. I just need a bit of help. A partner. After all, the painting is probably too large for me to handle. Besides, you can get into Josephine’s apartment, and I can’t.”

  “Yeah? What is it I need you for?” Sharp as broken glass, that’s our Eddie.

  “What will you do with a forty-million-dollar painting? Where will you hide it? How will you keep everyone from knowing you’re the one who took it?”

  “F-forty million?”

  “Yes, what did you think?”

  “Not forty million. That could lead to serious prison time. “

  “Only if we’re caught.” And I had no intention of letting that happen.

  Eddie frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Edna. It’s way too risky. Besides, I’m busy right now . . . with stuff.”

  “You haven’t even heard my plan.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes in a most hideous fashion. His bruises have faded—the rumor is he got them from a woman—but it still looks like he’s wearing eye shadow, and it’s most unattractive. I waited for him to stop the eye rolling and pay attention.

  “It would be difficult to sell a painting like that unless we had contacts,” I said.

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  “I think what we need to do instead is kidnap it. We hide the painting, and then we demand a ransom.” I’d seen enough kidnapping stories on television I had no doubts I could pull it off. I knew all about dye packets and tracking devices.

  Besides, my plan would be simpler than the usual kidnap plot since we wouldn’t even steal the painting. All we needed to do was hide it in Josephine’s apartment. Under her bed was the most obvious choice. Then we would use prepaid cell phones for the ransom calls, because that’s what smart criminals use.

  Once we had the money, we would tell Josephine where the painting was, and we’d be all set. It’s a brilliant plan, if I do say so myself.

  When I tried to explain all that to Eddie, he was quite negative about it. “What if it’s too big to fit under the bed, and what if Josephine wakes up while I’m in her apartment?”

  “I’m sure it’ll fit.” I wasn’t, but there was no way to check on that ahead of time. We’d simply have to trust fate. But his second objection did send my brain into overdrive. “Hmm, as for Josephine waking up, that’s easy. I have some drugs we can slip into her dessert at dinner. That is, you can slip them in.”

  “And how am I going to know it’s her dessert?”

  “You could take her a special one.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because she did all the work on the inspiration book. And you want to thank her.”

  “What inspiration book?”

  “The one for your daughter. You know, the party, the check? That book.”

  “I thought Myrtle did all that.”

  “Myrtle raised the money and took all the credit, but Josephine and Lillian helped with the book.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Well, I don’t know, do I? Nobody consulted me.” And that was an annoyance I tried to avoid thinking about. “Anyway, it gives us the excuse we need for a thank-you. Here are the drugs.”

  I fished the container out of my purse with all the purloined pills. The Ambiens were tiny. I figured four ought to do it. One would likely be enough, but just in case Josephine didn’t eat the whole dessert, four was safer.

  “You could charm the
cook into baking one of those small cakes, like they do for the birthday parties. Then you present it to her.”

  “How do I get the drugs into it, though?”

  Annoyed at his lack of initiative, I slipped the Ambiens back in the container. “I have a better idea. You go to Servatii’s and buy a couple of cream puffs. One for Josephine and one for Lillian. Then you bring them to me. I’ll add the drugs, and you do the presentation. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “The sooner the better, don’t you think?”

  “Then you’re going to demand a ransom?”

  “Yes. In a few days. You better pick up a couple of those prepaid cell phone thingies.”

  “What for?”

  I sighed. “For the ransom calls, of course.” Really, the man was as dense as a fruitcake.

  “Where are you going to have them drop off the money?”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I have just the place. You get the painting stowed under Josephine’s bed, and I’ll take care of the rest. And Eddie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be sure you wear gloves.”

  I sailed out, quite pleased with myself.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Devi

  “Things are going well,” Abigail said at my third appointment with her. “I’ve been provided copies of the recordings that Detective McElroy made shortly after the incident, and I’m certain they’ll be admissible, and that means we should have very little difficulty winning the case. Still, as I said, it’s good to be prepared. So I had my investigator check into Mr. Colter’s background, and he discovered some very interesting information.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Although his salary is roughly five thousand a month, my investigator estimates his lifestyle requires a great deal more. And that supposition is born out by his credit score and maxed-out credit cards.”

  For a moment, my mind was engaged with the math. Five thousand a month meant Eddie made over $60,000 a year. Sixty thousand? Really? My salary was $45,000 with a one-year wait for health-care benefits.