Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  "Hi, Sheila. I need to look up a piece of property located next to the Schyler place here in town."

  She smiled. “You wouldn't by any chance know the parcel number. The computer could find it a lot quicker."

  He shook his head and grinned. “Nope, gonna make sure you earn your keep today."

  "Figures. Okay, let's start with Schyler."

  She frowned as her fingers flew over the keys. “Hmm, I don't find anything under that name."

  Thinking aloud, Hawkman mumbled. “Bet Jamey never filed the deed."

  Sheila turned her head. “Pardon. Didn't hear you."

  "Try Rachel Smith."

  "Ah, here it is,” she said, pointing at the screen. “Now, you want to know who owns the parcels on both sides, right?"

  "Yes, please."

  "Looks like I won't have to look far. It states Rachel Smith owns the vacant lots on each side of the house."

  "You're kidding.” Hawkman said, leaning over her desk.

  "Nope.” She turned the monitor toward him. “Here it is. Looks like close to an acre belongs to her."

  Hawkman studied the property map and jotted down the parcel numbers of the two extra lots plus the one of the house, then he slapped his hand on the desktop. “That's all I need to know. Thanks a lot, Sheila."

  He left the courthouse, and figured Charley would be elated to find out those three lots were connected. Depending on what the rental agreement said, he might be able to use all the land. Why, he'll be tickled to death if it means two more plots available for gardening.

  Driving back to Charley's, he thought about the old fellow wanting to buy the place. He wouldn't be able to purchase the land until Jamey cleared the title of Rachel's name. Damn forgetful woman. Seems to cause trouble wherever she goes. However, it might force her back to the area to get everything cleared up if she wants to sell. Could turn out to be very interesting. He might have to make a little deal with Sheila to keep him informed.

  Hawkman pulled up to the back of the house and spotted Charley sitting in the lawn chair fanning his face with the straw hat. Jumping out of the truck, he hurried toward him. “You okay?"

  Charley glanced up with a gleam in his eye. “Just finished up and coolin’ off here in the shade. This here's a little tract. You ought to see what I'm used to doin'."

  "True. Guess this seems like a small field.” Hawkman plopped down in the extra chair."

  "Well, I'm awaitin’ to hear what ya found out."

  "This is going to surprise you. The lady you rent from also owns the lots on each side of the house."

  Charley's eyes grew wide with surprise. “You're kiddin’ me."

  "Nope."

  He slapped his hand to his forehead. “You mean I can plant on both sides?"

  Hawkman laughed. “Not sure, Charley. You need to check your rental agreement and see what it says. Make sure it includes those two lots. If you don't understand it, call the agency who manages the property and find out from them."

  "I've got a copy of the lease in the house. Let me go get it and we'll look it over together. If we can't figure it out, I'll call those people in the morning."

  "Hold on a minute.” Hawkman said. “First, tell me. If you find out you can plant those other two lots, what the hell you gonna do with all the food you produce?"

  Charley looked at him wide eyed. “Why, sell it, of course. Just think of the people who'll buy fresh stuff right out of the ground. I'll make enough money to buy all three parcels without ever having to go into my savings."

  Hawkman shifted his position. “Don't get too caught up with the idea of purchasing this place. It might be harder than you think."

  Charley grimaced. “Why?"

  "From what I understand, Jamey Schyler never recorded the deed to the property and it's still in the name of her deceased aunt. The title remains clouded until she proves she's the rightful heir of Rachel Smith. All depends on how bad she wants to unload it. It might require some time to get done."

  "I ain't got nothin’ but time.” With a gleam in his eye, Charley slapped his knee. “And it gives me something to think about."

  "If you really want this place, then I'd press for it. You could definitely do justice to this piece of real estate."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Charley disappeared into the house and returned within a few minutes carrying a couple of frosty bottles of beer in one hand and a large brown envelope in the other. Giving Hawkman one of the brews, he sat down, placed his bottle on the ground between his feet, and pulled a sheet of paper from the sheath.

  "This here's a copy of what I signed. Guess I should have read it more closely. It all sounded like the normal stuff in a rental agreement."

  Hawkman didn't want Charley to feel stupid, but he pointed to the front page. “You probably didn't pay attention to these parcel numbers as they really didn't mean anything at the time."

  Charley squinted at the print. “Don't have my readin’ glasses out here so can't rightly see ‘em."

  Hawkman took the copy of parcel numbers from his pocket and compared them to the ones on the lease. “Yep, they match. Looks like you've rented yourself a nice little plot of ground, I'd say close to an acre. And from what I can decipher, anything on these lots is yours to use.” He folded the paper and handed it back to Charley. “Did they by any chance give you extra keys when you moved in?"

  "Yeah. As a matter of fact they did."

  "Could be one is for the padlock on that shed."

  Charley's eyes glistened with excitement. He jumped up and almost knocked over his beer. Grabbing the bottle before it spilled, he passed it to Hawkman. “I figured they were spares belonging to the doors and the hot water tank closet. I'll go fetch ‘em."

  He hurried into the house and within a few seconds rushed out carrying a large jingling key ring. Charley headed straight for the small storage building, and squatted in front of the door. Hawkman stepped up behind him as the old man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a can of WD-40. He held the lock in his large hand, shot some of the substance into the keyhole, then worked the key inside. On the third try the rusty padlock popped open. Charley glanced up and grinned from ear to ear. Hawkman took the can and sprayed the hinges of the double doors, then the two men gently rocked them back and forth until they stood wide open.

  Hawkman reached inside the shed, lifted an old brush hanging on one of the wall hooks and used it to sweep away the spider webs. Charley proceeded straight for the small tractor and opened the gas tank. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Looks like whoever stored this knew what he was doing. He's drained the tank, so hopefully nothing is gummed up. It may take a bit of priming, but that's no problem.” He checked over the engine. “Everything looks in good shape."

  Hawkman stepped to the corner and lifted a tarp covering a large item. He poked Charley on the shoulder. “Look at this."

  "I'll be damned! A trailer. Now won't that be the berries.” Charley beamed like a happy kid at Christmas. “Help me move this machine outside so I can give it a good once over."

  The two men pushed the small tractor through the open doors.

  Hawkman pointed at the wheels. “You might need to purchase new tires. The back ones are flat and the two on the front don't look so good."

  "That's minor. Now, if I can get the engine to turn over. Wonder how long it's been stored?"

  Hawkman rubbed his finger over the new whisker growth on his upper lip. “Well, let me think. I knew the Smiths when they lived here and I have a feeling the machine belonged to them. It's been at least five years, maybe even a bit longer since Mr. Smith took ill. He wanted to go back to Oklahoma where he grew up. So, they took off and rented the place for a little while, then Jamey Schyler came into the picture. But I doubt she even looked inside this shed. She only lived here a few weeks before she disappeared. I'd say that little tractor hasn't been used for about six or seven years."

  Charley busied himself with wiping the accumulated
grime off the machine. “That's good. I'll know how to work on this little engine then. It's these new fangled computerized things that buffalo me. Why, I'll have this little baby hummin’ in no time."

  "You want to keep the rototiller a few more days?"

  He shook his head. “Naw, won't need it. I'll get me a little plow to go on the back of this and I'll be set. While I'm workin’ on the engine, I'll soak the ground. We've had some good rain this year, it won't take much water."

  The two men rinsed the rototiller's blades, wiped them down and lifted the machine into the pickup. Hawkman felt Charley wanted him to leave so he could get back to his new found toy.

  "Don't think you need me anymore today. I'll check by tomorrow afternoon and see how things are coming."

  "Let me get the gas cans."

  "Those are mine. Just keep them here. You might need the fuel if you get the tractor going."

  "I'll pay ya for it later."

  "Don't worry about it,” Hawkman said, waving him off as he climbed into his truck.

  After dropping off the rototiller at the shop, he headed home and thought about Jamey. She had a streak of greed, and the knowledge of a prospective buyer might lure her back to Medford.

  While Charley worked on the tractor for a couple of days, Hawkman figured he'd have time to take Pretty Girl for a hunt. Then he'd talk to Sheila at the recording office and see if she'd agree to alert him of any transactions taking place on the property.

  He didn't know why he cared whether Jamey came back or not. The police seemed reluctant to do a damn thing. But after reading the reports on the heist, he surmised Jamey and the diamond courier were in cahoots. And somehow, she'd smuggled enough rare jewels out of the country to set herself up for life. The authorities weren't concerned since no evidence ever materialized connecting Jamey to the robbery. And as far as they were concerned, she hadn't broken any laws. The last he heard, Oklahoma still had a warrant out for her lover's arrest, so he doubted the man would take the chance of coming back to the States. Therefore, Jamey would travel alone. The thought intrigued him. He'd definitely keep his eyes and ears open.

  The next morning, Hawkman loaded the falcon and her portable perch into the old truck and headed toward the Clifford place where the hawk loved to hunt. He knew the young deaf lad, Richard, still had about six weeks before college let out. When he pulled up their driveway, he spotted Uncle Joe painting a white picket fence around the farm house.

  Joe stopped working and approached Hawkman's vehicle with an extended hand. “Hey, how's it going? Haven't seen you in quite awhile."

  "Thought I'd take Pretty Girl out for a short hunt. Boy, you've really got this place fixed up."

  "I'm going to surprise Richard when he gets home. I haven't told him about the fence. He'll love it."

  "How's the boy doing?"

  Joe beamed. “He made the Dean's List at the University. I'm so proud of him."

  "Always knew he had a lot on the ball. Give him my congratulations."

  "Will do. Good talking to you."

  Joe stepped back and waved as Hawkman started his truck and headed for the small hill where Pretty Girl always found a good meal.

  * * * *

  When Hawkman returned home, he let the falcon sit on the railing of the deck as he cleaned out the aviary. He supplied her with fresh water and put a little extra food in her container. But he doubted she'd eat anymore since he'd spotted her earlier through his binoculars devouring a dead squirrel. Right now, she seemed mighty content just preening herself.

  He placed Pretty Girl on her perch inside the clean cage, then padlocked the screen door. After hanging the broom on the nail next to the cage, he went into the house and called Detective Williams.

  "Hey, detective, don't tell me you're in the office going through reports. I thought they hired you some help."

  "Yeah, but she can't sign my name. So to what do I owe the honor of this call?"

  "Got to thinking about Jamey Schyler and her involvement with the Oklahoma diamond heist. Have you heard any more about the case? Did they ever make an arrest?"

  "As far as I know, it's still open and there's a warrant out for the diamond courier. I'm not sure if the insurance finally paid off or not. So why the sudden interest?"

  "Charley Sullivan is renting Jamey's house and wants to buy it. But I've discovered the title's clouded. Ms. Schyler never recorded the deed and it's still in her aunt's name."

  "Yeah, go on. I know there's more to this than what you're indicating."

  "Just wondered if she ever showed up, is there any cause to take her into custody?"

  "Nope, not unless she came in toting those jewels. And you can pretty well bet those gems are long gone and they're living off the proceeds. Or if she brought her courier along. But that shrewd lady wouldn't go that far. She's not going to risk her keeper."

  "Not even with Carl Hopkins swearing she helped him with the heist? Or what about the two diamonds she pawned off on the jeweler, Ludwig Kaufman? Wouldn't there be some charges there?"

  "No proof on the Hopkins deal, and since they retrieved all but forty or fifty of those diamonds, the company wrote them off, thankful for what they got back. As far as Kaufman's concerned, he had a massive heart attack and passed away shortly after Jamey disappeared. But he'd already turned the stolen gems over to us before his death. So he's not here to press charges. Sounds like you're grasping at straws."

  "Well, she's a greedy little broad and since there's a buyer for the property, I think she'll unload it as fast as she can. So, there's the possibility Ms. Jamey Schyler might show up in Medford to clear the title."

  "Why would she do that if a lawyer could handle the transaction."

  "Knowing Jamey, I doubt she'd trust anyone in this neck of the woods, especially if she saved money and time by doing it herself."

  "You make an interesting point. However, we have no reason to go after her. So, it's moot to even think about."

  "You're probably right. Just thought I'd check and see if anything new had developed."

  "Sorry I can't help you out. But you might let me know if she happens to show up in town. We should keep an eye on her in case she has more diamond heists on her mind."

  Hawkman chuckled. “Indeed, I will."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hawkman decided to leave the office early and stop by Charley's to see if he had gotten the small tractor running. Also, he wanted to encourage the old fellow to drop in at the rental agency. He needed to let them know he meant it when he mentioned purchasing the place, so they'd move on the matter.

  But first, he'd go by the recorder's office and talk to Sheila. He closed the journal he'd been working on, stood and stretched. He felt the stuffiness of the office without a breeze blowing through, especially when the bakery ovens from below were running full bore. Soon, he'd have to turn on the air-conditioning. Strolling over to the open window, he looked out. A dove nestled on her familiar perch glanced at Hawkman without fear. She continued rearranging the new twigs her partner deposited. Closing the window gently, to avoid startling her, it amazed him how the eggs remained in such a disheveled nest.

  Arriving at the courthouse, he met Sheila coming out of the office. “Is this a bad time?"

  "No, I'm going to the lounge for a break. Want to tag along?"

  "Sure."

  Sheila flopped down on the couch and let out a groan. She removed her shoes and propped her feet on the coffee table. “I never should have bought these clogs. They didn't feel right when I tried them on. Oh well, I'll pay for my sins."

  Hawkman grinned and sat down on a chair opposite her. “Yep, you should have left them at the store."

  "So, what you need?” she asked.

  They'd been friends for years and Sheila had helped Hawkman in the past with many details on clients’ property problems. He trusted her explicitly.

  "When I checked out that property the other day, I didn't tell you Rachel Smith had passed away. Charley Sullivan, the man
who's renting the place, wants to buy it. But it will be impossible until the title is clear and put into Jasmine Louise Schyler's name. So what's the procedure?"

  "So why are you interested in this?"

  Hawkman squirmed in his seat. “Ms. Schyler left the area under suspicion and fled to South America. I'd like to know if or when she shows up to clear the title."

  Sheila raised a brow. “I see. Well, does Ms. Schyler hold the deed? Or is the property involved in the estate proceedings?

  "I don't have the foggiest idea."

  "Let's assume the aunt deeded the property before her death. That would simplify things. Ms. Schyler doesn't have to appear in person. All she'd have to do is send it in."

  "Well, obviously, she hasn't done that yet,” Hawkman said.

  "A lawyer can also take care of this type of proceeding without her being present."

  "True, but I doubt this young woman wants to get involved with a lawyer."

  "That bad, huh? So what's her problem?"

  "Unfortunately, nothing we can prove, only speculate."

  "If she plans on selling the place, the only thing that would force her to appear in person is an encumbrance on the property by someone with a similar name. The title company would require her to return and prove she's the person on the deed. She'd accomplish this with a social security number, personal information and signature."

  "So everything can be done through the mails as long as there's no encumbrances on the title?"

  She nodded. “Right."

  He sighed. “Well, if you see any action taking place with the Smith property, mind giving me a call?"

  "Sure. No problem."

  He gave her a business card and wrote his cell number on the back. “I really appreciate this. You can always reach me at this number."

  She put the card in her purse, then pushed herself up from the couch and moaned as she struggled into her shoes.

  Hawkman left and drove to Charley's. He spotted the old farmer riding the tractor on one of the extra lots, twisting in the seat as he kept an eye on the small disk mechanism which he lifted when he made a turn. Hawkman circled the house and parked in the back under the shade of one of the large oak trees surrounding the small cottage. He made his way to the edge of the field and waited at the head of the furrow. Charlie glanced up and smiled.