Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  After they arrived home, Jennifer placed the hat box on the kitchen counter and warned Hawkman with a shake of her finger, not to peek until she got back in the room. She hooked her hand around the handle of the luggage and pulled it back to the bedroom. He scooted the box around on the cabinet and spotted the word ‘Stetson’ on one side, which piqued his interest.

  "Hurry up,” he called. “I want to see my hat."

  Laughing, Jennifer hurried back into the room. “Okay, you can look now. I want you to know I had to purchase that box to protect if from getting crushed on the plane."

  Hawkman chuckled, then quickly lifted the lid and pulled out the felt Catera; the color of bark with a leather band. “Oh, man, is this ever good-looking.” He immediately removed his old leather hat and plopped on the new one. “It fits perfectly."

  Jennifer walked around him, eyeing her purchase. “It's you all right. I really like it. Especially with your mustache. You needed a new hat.” She wrinkled her nose as she picked up the old one with her forefinger and thumb. “Throw this thing away or hang it in the garage."

  Hawkman frowned and took it from her hand. “I can't throw this away. My old pal, Leon, handcrafted it especially for me.” He dropped it into the Stetson box. “I'll just put it away in the closet."

  She smiled. “Okay."

  * * * *

  The next day at his office, Hawkman received a phone call from Sheila at the assessor's office.

  "You asked me to let you know if anything happened concerning the Rachel Smith property."

  He sat up straight. “Yes."

  "This morning a young woman brought in a deed to be filed on the property, transferring title from Rachel Smith to Jamey Schyler."

  "Did the woman give her name?"

  "No, just said a friend asked her to drop it off. She flew in and out in just a matter of minutes."

  "What'd she look like?"

  "Very attractive, long brown hair pulled back into a French braid, very distinct green eyes and dressed like a million dollars."

  "How long will it take to get the deed filed and on record?"

  "She asked the same thing, and I told her probably a few days to a week."

  "What did she say?"

  "It didn't make her happy and she wanted to know if there would be any way to hurry it along. I told her I'd do what I could."

  "Hmm, thanks, Sheila. Appreciate it."

  Hawkman's hand rested on the receiver for a few seconds after hanging up. “Brown hair and green eyes,” he mumbled. Jamey had blond hair and big brown eyes. It might very well be an acquaintance, but probably no one from this area. He didn't recall Jamey having any friendships except her relationship with Mark. Medford seemed out of the way for anyone to drop off a deed when the mail service could do it much easier.

  He fingered his new mustache. When Jamey disappeared over a year ago, she'd obviously flew out of here incognito. They'd circulated her picture at the airport and rental car agencies, but no one recalled seeing her.

  She could very well try a disguise again. And dyed hair with green contact lenses would definitely change her looks. Also, with all the money she and her accomplice had acquired from the stolen jewels, he imagined her taste in clothes had dramatically changed.

  Hawkman suspected Jamey had returned. If so, where had she holed up and for how long? And what would be her next move? Since Charley hadn't mentioned a price on the property, one probably hadn't been set. No sense in talking to the rental company as they didn't get involved with sales.

  More than likely, she'd contact Charley to work out a deal, or hire a real estate agent. But if she did that, she'd have to give up a percentage of the sale price. Knowing Jamey, Hawkman figured she'd do it on her own. Her staying in the area long enough for the deed to get recorded didn't appear likely. She'd work something out with Charley, hop a plane back to South America, and do the rest by mail. Hawkman stared into space, drumming his fingers on the desk.

  Normally, Hawkman didn't mind talking to people about their personal affairs if it involved his work. However, he felt uneasy asking Charley a bunch of questions. Maybe if he explained a little more about Jamey and her role in the diamond heist, the old farmer wouldn't think him nosy.

  He dialed Charley's number. The answering machine picked up and Hawkman left a message to call him on his cell phone. He pictured the old farmer working in the garden.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hawkman continued working for several hours on a couple of new cases he'd acquired the past week. Even though nasty divorces left a sour taste in his mouth, those had to be dealt with too.

  He glanced at his watch and noted the time. Why hadn't Charley returned his call? Surely the man took a break from gardening to go inside and eat once in awhile. Hawkman smiled to himself as he closed the folder. The old farmer didn't like new fangled gadgets. He'd told Hawkman his daughter had forced him to purchase that danged answering machine contraption. “Don't even know how to use the thing,” he complained. Hawkman doubted the man even understood why the red light blinked.

  Locking the office, he decided to visit Charley personally and it gave him the opportunity to check on the progress of the garden. When he turned the corner, he spotted the farmer's pickup pulling in at the back of the house. He parked in the front and walked around just as Charley, dressed in a starched shirt, a pair of new jeans and buckskin jacket, climbed out of his vehicle.

  "You been to a wedding?” Hawkman asked.

  Charley guffawed. “Not quite. How ya been?"

  "Fine. When you didn't return my call, thought I'd drop by and see what project you had going that kept you so busy."

  Charley waved toward the back entry. “Come on in. If you left a message on that stupid telephone machine you might as well forget it."

  Hawkman chuckled as the entered the kitchen area. “I'll show you how to listen to your messages.” Stopping in his tracks, he surveyed the room. “Man, they definitely did some work on this place. I haven't seen it since Jamey lived here.” He reached up and ran his hand over the cabinets. “These really look great."

  Charley took off his hat and hung it on a rack next to the door. “Thanks. I don't know what it looked like before, but it's a comfortable little place. I'm happy with it."

  "Good."

  "Yep, and it's gonna be mine soon."

  Hawkman glanced at him in surprise. “Oh, really?"

  Charley grinned. “Just had lunch with a gal representing the owner and she even paid for my meal. We haggled over a price for the property about thirty minutes. Once we agreed, I gave her a check for the down payment. She's going to start it through escrow. The rest of the transactions will be handled by mail. The owner will contact me."

  Frowning, Hawkman strolled over to the small breakfast bar and sat down on one of the stools. “So you met with a real estate agent?"

  "Don't rightly know her title."

  "Didn't she give you a business card or something identifying herself?"

  "Nope.” He fumbled in his pocket and handed Hawkman a piece of paper.” She wrote her name down and said I could ask Jamey whats-her-name about her any time."

  Hawkman studied the signature, then glanced up at Charley. “She called herself Shirley Ann Noland?"

  Charley nodded and sat on a stool opposite Hawkman. “Very lovely young woman. I figured her on the up and up.” He shrugged. “Sure seemed to know her business. Said she'd get the paperwork started at the American Title company and they'd send me the papers in the next week or so."

  "Who'd you make the check to?"

  Taking the carbon copy from his pocket, he squinted at the writing. “Jamey Louise Schyler.” He rubbed his chin and grimaced. “I've got to memorize that girl's name. I don't know why I find it so hard to remember."

  "Glad to hear you wrote it to Jamey. Makes me figure this gal is legit. Lots of people get caught up in scams and lose their money. Tell me, what did this Shirley Ann Noland look like?"

  "She seemed tall
, but she sported those really high heels young women wear nowadays.” He shook his head. “Damn, I don't know how they walk in ‘em. Looks like they'd fall on their faces."

  Hawkman grinned. “What color hair did she have?"

  "Brown, from what I could see. She had on one of those women's flat topped cowboy hats. Pretty thing, all decorated. Her eyes shone out from under the brim so green they didn't look real."

  The description matched the girl who had filed the deed.

  "Had you just left her when you got home?"

  "No, I ran by the bank and a couple of stores afterwards.” He slapped his hand on the counter. “Dang, I left the perishables in the truck.” Jumping up, he headed for the door. “I ain't used to this bachelor life yet."

  Hawkman followed him out to his vehicle. “Need some help?"

  "Nope, I can manage. Thanks anyway."

  Hawkman waved. “Think I'll take off.” In deep thought, he drove away.

  * * * *

  Shirley Ann Noland said her good-bye to Charley after lunch and drove to the title company. She entered the building and introduced herself as Jamey Louise Schyler. Turning over Charley's check, she instructed the clerk to start escrow. But before leaving, she made sure the company had her e-mail address. She hurried to the motel and packed her bags. Deciding it best not to check out, she headed for the airport.

  Jamey returned the rental car, and nervously entered the terminal, checking over her shoulder several times expecting to see the tall man with an eye-patch step up beside her. A dozen butterflies invaded her stomach as she approached the airline's counter

  She purchased the ticket, turned over her luggage, and went through the security check. Fortunately, she only had a thirty minute wait before leaving for her first destination, so she went straight to the gate. Still eyeing the crowd, she glanced at the wall clock. The minutes dragged like hours. Gnawing her lower lip, her fingers toyed with the diamond bracelet around her wrist as she eagerly waited for the boarding announcement. Her gaze flitted over the crowd of people filling the area. Finally, the attendant approached, and she hurried to be first in line.

  Not until the plane lifted off the runway did Jamey take a deep breath and exhale in relief. She felt like she'd been uptight for hours. Pushing her seat back, she closed her eyes and felt her body relax.

  * * * *

  Hawkman sped to his office, yanked the phone book from the shelf and flipped to the yellow pages. He figured the motels on Biddle Road would be Jamey's pick. He asked for Shirley Ann Noland first, and when that didn't work, he tried Jamey Schyler. He struck out on the first three calls, but on the fourth, the motel operator told him to hold while he connected to Ms. Noland's room.

  After the fifth ring, Hawkman hung up. He left the office and hurried to his 4X4. When he arrived at the lodge, he flashed his badge at the desk attendant. “I'm looking for Shirley Ann Noland. I understand she's registered here."

  "Oh, my, is there a problem?” the clerk asked, wide eyed.

  "Nothing serious. We think she might have witnessed an automobile accident and would like to ask her a few questions. What's her room number?"

  The man quickly checked the register. “Room five.” He pointed. “Go out that way and make a right."

  "Thanks,” Hawkman said, exiting out the designated door. He hastened down the sidewalk to unit five and knocked several times. When he received no response, he went back to the office. “I can't seem to raise her. Are you sure she didn't check out?"

  The man glanced at the register again. “She's paid up until tomorrow."

  "Did you get a license plate number?"

  "No sir, she paid in cash. But I do remember she drove to the front entrance in a light colored, late model Cadillac."

  "Thanks,” Hawkman said, walking out the door. He drove around the motel parking lot, but didn't spot the luxury car.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hawkman drove aimlessly around town trying to figure where Jamey might have gone. He doubted she'd be visiting anyone since the sole purpose of her trip was to dispose of the house. There were numerous malls where women liked to shop and he didn't feel it worth his time to search them. His best odds were her returning to the motel. Since Jamey wouldn't recognize his new vehicle, he'd check the parking lot later tonight.

  Instead of returning to the office, Hawkman decided to go to the airport and search for some of the employees that helped him and Detective Williams look for Jamey when she disappeared over a year ago. Maybe they'd be able to furnish him with information.

  He parked and made his way into the terminal. Approaching the ticket counter, he observed the personnel had finished with the passengers going out on the next flight and were leaving their stations. He hurried forward before one of the women he recognized got away. “Patti,” he waved.

  She glanced around.

  "Do you have a moment?"

  "Well, hello, Mr. Casey,” she said, smiling. “Long time no see. Sure, I have a few minutes. How can I help you?"

  "I need you to check the rosters of the last two flights to Los Angeles and San Francisco. I'd like to see if a Jamey Schyler or Shirley Ann Noland boarded either of those planes?"

  She glanced up and down the counter before she stepped up to the computer. “Don't you dare tell anyone I'm doing this. I could lose my job."

  Hawkman grinned and crossed his heart with the forefinger of his right hand. “I promise.” He tapped the toe of his boot on the floor as he watched her fingers fly over the keyboard.

  Patti frowned. “I don't see anything for a Jamey Schyler."

  "Try Shirley Ann Noland."

  After a few seconds, her eyes lit up. “Ah, here she is. She left about two hours ago headed for Los Angeles."

  "Damn, she did it again,” Hawkman murmured.

  "Pardon?” Patti said, glancing up.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Thanks a million. I owe you one."

  She pointed her forefinger at him. “I may take you up on that."

  "No problem.” Hawkman waved and left the terminal.

  No need for any surveillance tonight, he thought, climbing into his 4X4. Ms. Jamey Schyler is flying high in the clouds toward South America by now. He slapped his hand on the steering wheel and mumbled. “She's one step ahead of me again."

  If she didn't have something to hide, why did the diamond queen come into town disguised? And why wouldn't she check out of the motel? It appears she's on the run.

  Reviewing in his mind the conversation with the motel clerk, he concluded the Cadillac that cruised by the rental house was driven by Jamey. When she spotted him standing alongside Jennifer and Charley near the garden, she'd made arrangements to meet her tenant for lunch away from the house. One sneaky woman, he thought, gnawing on the end of a toothpick. She'd taken care of everything and assured Charley the rest would be handled by mail.

  When Hawkman arrived home, he went straight to the refrigerator and uncapped a beer, then walked out on the deck. He placed his booted foot on the railing and rested his elbow on his knee as he stared out across the lake.

  * * * *

  Jennifer sat at her computer and watched her husband pass by without saying a word. She recognized the look on his face and put her modem to sleep. Following him out the door, she stood silently for several moments, then slid an arm around his waist. “Want to talk about it?"

  He dropped his foot to the deck floor and gave her a hug. “I'm disgusted and don't know why I'm letting it get me down."

  "Tell me about it. Maybe I can help."

  Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he took a deep breath. “First, what are we having for dinner?"

  "Leftovers."

  "Good. I'm not real hungry. Let me fix you a drink and then we'll talk."

  "Okay."

  They moved into the living room, away from the night's chilly air. Hawkman plopped down on the fireplace hearth and faced Jennifer on the couch. He told her of the day's events and ended with how he'd discovered
Jamey had left.

  Jennifer took a sip of her gin and tonic. “Sounds like you're convinced Shirley Ann Noland is Jamey."

  He nodded. “Yep. You remember the young lady at the airport stumbling over someone's spilled luggage. She dropped her handbag in the process, and a young man raced to help her?"

  "Oh, yes. She appeared upset."

  "I'm sure that woman was Jamey. She matched the description Sheila gave of the female who brought in the deed as well as the one who met Charley for lunch. I'm pretty sure she drove by Charley's house and spotted us. It must have made her nervous seeing we'd befriended the man renting her house."

  "Hawkman, even if you'd caught up with her, what action could you've taken?"

  He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “Not a damn thing. It just bugs the hell out of me that she slipped away again. Makes me think I'm losing my touch."

  Jennifer waved her hand. “I don't think so. She's shrewd and you didn't expect her. My goodness, she only stayed a couple of days. You did well discovering her presence in such a short time. And besides, she knows the authorities have nothing on her."

  "You're right. So why did she change her appearance?"

  "Probably because she felt uncomfortable. Not knowing for sure what the police found out about the diamond heist after she left. It has her scared and she fears running into you, because you have her pegged."

  He finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the hearth. “I'd love to tell that woman I know how she arranged the whole diamond heist."

  "I bet Carl Hopkins would like to get his hands on her too."

  Hawkman nodded. “Detective Williams told me Hopkins got a short sentence, because no evidence connected him with the caper. Even though the police caught him at the scene back in Oklahoma, they found no diamonds on him, at his apartment or in his truck. It's odd they found them in his pickup here. That's when he fervently claimed he'd been framed. He never changed his story, so the only charge against him was possessing stolen goods. And it depended on the value of the property on how long the sentence."