Eating Cupcakes in a Cemetery

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  “Very nice Sean. You surprise me. It’s true, both Jamal and I are on an indefinite suspension. I pulled my gun in a public place blah blah blah.”

  “But you apprehended this good singing but rude woman.”

  “I know but FBI rules were not made to be broken. My integrity was called into question and I kind of agree with them. As for no longer being a robot in a brown suit, thank you for considering me sexy.”

  “Always Miss Hailey. Now down to the brass tacks. Do you still want to be an FBI agent?”

  Hailey gulped. Sean was really getting to her.

  “It’s heartbreaking Sean; I’ve worked hard for years to be who I was the day before I went on the assignment with Jamal. I don’t know why I took the knocking boots detour.” She stirred her coffee. “Again,” she said sadly.

  “Perhaps you are a woman who needs a lot of sex?” Sean suggested.

  “No I don’t think so; just, you know, a regular amount. Do you want to hear my theory?”

  “Yes, but I must get much more caffeine in my head. I am going for a brewed coffee; Venti size. And the same for you?” When he returned with the coffees, he asked Hailey to detail her theory, please.

  “Jamal blackmailed our Boss and I think me sleeping with him was my way of somehow getting power over Jamal.”

  “No Miss Hailey. This does not consider his swarthy good looks. Maybe you are more than regular in needing the knocking of boots after all?”

  “And maybe you are just a bit cheeky. Thank you for the coffee by the way. Say, do you want to know something weird about the dead guy?”

  “Always.”

  “He was shot with his own gun. I managed to read that report before I was suspended. The gun hasn’t shown up; but it was registered to Serafino.”

  Just then Sean’s cellphone rang. It was his Marta; his Grandmother.

  “No Grandmother; I do not need you to mail me more Pakora. I am sitting with Miss Hailey in a coffeeshop discussing the case. No she assures me she is not a sex fiend. Yes, we will talk soon. Good day.”

  “Do you think she believes you?”

  “No; she wants many great grandchildren, so she is happy I am drinking coffee with a potential sex fiend.”

  ***

  “He leaves behind a wife and four children,” Suzanne said slowly as she read the news article on the internet. She started clicking on links and began new searches.

  The more she searched, the angrier she became. Serafino had never worked as a stockbroker; he worked in a pawn shop for someone called Helen Percy. This Helen Percy had been charged many times under California’s usury laws, but she always got off by claiming exemption as a Pawn Broker.

  The article she was currently reading was called, ‘Teflon Percy’. One of the things comments tacked on to the article was revealing. It read, “Let me get this straight; I can go to Percy’s pawn shop and give her a remote control to a defunct television, and she will lend me thirty grand? Can anybody say loan and shark in the same sentence? Why this woman continues to be able to skirt the law is a travesty!”

  She had been played, pure and simple. “Well done Serafino and Helen,” Suzanne said to the screen; mistakenly assuming that Helen was in on the charity scam. Her anger was turning white hot when she realized the life of ease she imagined was not going to happen. She had advanced Serafino over sixty grand; all her savings, to print the flyers out of state and to rent the semi-trucks.

  Her next search was ‘countries that don’t have an extradition agreement with the USA’. The search after that was ‘how much does it cost to live in Morocco?’

  Suzanne unfolded the S.A.A.R.P. flyers as she ate her Chinese food and read every note. Finally she found what she was looking for. Scrawled across the back was ‘Bev Nichols Shady Rest Motel somewhere in Seattle-you sing awesomely well-we should start a band’.

  Yeah, we’ll start a band alright, Suzanne thought, but first Bev you are going to tell me where my money is. Suzanne looked around her crappy condo that she had bought years ago. Her stove had one burner that didn’t work, the microwave was shot, and the fridge barely kept the milk cool. She had put off getting things fixed, because Vincent had told her for years that he was going to leave his wife and he and Suzanne would walk into a brand-new house with five bedrooms, four baths, a pool and top of the line appliances. That didn’t happen. Then Serafino promised that they would start a new life together soon, so Suzanne made do with what she had.

  She broke open her fortune cookie and started to laugh as it assured her that ‘the one you love is closer than you think’.

  Suzanne lived one block away from the city morgue.

  According to the news, Serafino’s body had already been shipped to Eureka.

  ***

  What was Don Halverson thinking appointing that idiot Jamal to special agent status? It’s too bad Hailey Peterson had been working with him, Jakob Kim thought as he was going over the reports in his new office in Springfield. Her last partner turned out to be a dud as well and nearly got Hailey killed.

  Hailey and Jamal were now suspended for their questionable behaviour in not one, but two states. They also blew Jakob’s undercover operation he was running on Helen Percy. Helen was running a ballsy scam by ripping off Vincent’s store; but that was small potatoes compared to the charity scam Vincent was involved in. It didn’t seem like Helen was connected to the scam; but he had to be sure. Now he had to find out some other way.

  The FBI had initially received a trickle of complaints from citizens that their donation cheques had not been cashed; others complaints regarding receipts were from those foolish enough to send cash. Although it wasn’t illegal to send cash through the mail, common sense dictated that you shouldn’t send a huge amount of money and then ask for a receipt. The FBI was now receiving hundreds of complaints daily that tax receipts were not mailed to those that gave a sizeable cash donation to Senior Advocates Aiding Real Pensioners! A routine background check on the charity showed that it didn’t exist; yet thousands of flyers asking for money were being distributed in thirty states and counting.

  Unfortunately, Jakob couldn’t connect Helen to the printing of the flyers, the delivery of said flyers to Vincent; nor the as yet undiscovered location of the headquarters of S.A.A.R.P. The only connection was Serafino Napoleone. Now he was dead.

  Jakob still didn’t know who shot Serafino in Seattle; who picked up the ransom money in Eureka and who was running the charity scam. Vincent Millar was handing out the flyers through his stores and sending money to a bank in the Caymans; but Jakob didn’t have the connection he needed for charges to be filed. How was the money getting from the Napoleone’s to the base of operations to Vincent?

  The FBI knew the rented mailbox location and knew Tony Taylor, Carmen and the late Serafino would pick up the mail; but they simply brought the mail to a storage unit that Tony Taylor had rented. An examination of bank accounts of all three proved fruitless. Money was not being deposited of any significance.

  Cheques were not cashed. The FBI had ‘donated’ several hundred, but not one had been cleared by the banks. Where was the money going to? They simply had no idea as no one had set up a bank account in the name of S.A.A.R.P. charity.

  Vincent Millar’s personal assistant and mistress, Suzanne Turcotte, had been Serafino Napoleone’s mistress as well. There was that connection but nothing in her history would indicate she was a mastermind to pull off this multimillion-dollar fraud.

  Jakob shook his head in frustration. They investigated her condo; her stove only had three burners that worked. If she had money, she was showing excellent restraint in not spending it. The only suspicious transaction was two months previous. She had purchased a draft payable to cash in the amount of sixty thousand dollars. A bank in Reno had deposited it; the endorsement was by some pawn shop.

  Then two weeks ago or thereabouts, Suzanne was kidnapped. Unfortunately, Vincent Millar had paid the ransom and then notified the FBI a few days afterwards when Suzan
ne failed to be returned. Initially, her kidnapping was taken seriously. The only lead was the redhead from Seattle, Beverly Penelope Nichols who was last seen with Suzanne.

  Fortunately, Bev had paid for their first round of drinks with her credit card. Subsequent rounds were on Suzanne; Bev’s first card had gone over limit and every other card Bev tried was declined.

  So Halverson blessed his newly minted special agent, Jamal Osman with Hailey Peterson, who had paid her dues and then some, and sent them to sit on Bev in Seattle. Then Hailey lost her mind and hooked up with Jamal. Because of their admitted sidetrack, they could not account for Bev’s activities in the 24 hours before Serafino was been murdered.

  In the meantime, in Eureka, the so-called kidnap victim would return home and order pizza.

  Jakob sneered and pushed the reports away. He asked himself again, what was Hailey thinking? He had been her mentor and was deeply dismayed at the way her career was going.

  He poured himself another coffee. Maybe he should think smaller. Maybe this was just a Mom and Pop operation? But, nah, millions of flyers had been printed. Where? He had pulled the utilities on several abandoned buildings around the mail drop off; but none of them had the spike in utilities one would expect if a large operation suddenly set up shop.

  There was no way Serafino could have financed the operation by himself. To further complicate things, Serafino’s boss, Helen Percy of pawn shop fame, had threatened Hailey and Tony Taylor had shown up during the bathroom scuffle and mentioned Bev.

  Perhaps this Beverly Nichols was the mastermind behind the charity scam?

  Jakob purposely pushed all the papers off his desk. He sighed and then picked one up and started reading. He was determined to reread every single word of every single document and come up with a clue that would explain what the hell was going on.

  ***

  “Do you have any idea what time of day it is? What I mean is, are we going to the bar or do we just come back?”

  “Actually, I have no idea. Let me check my phone.” Bev pulled her phone out of her bra. “It is nine forty-eight on Saturday morning.”

  “You mean we didn’t go to the bar and go dancing last night? We just passed out on the couch?” Belinda said bleary-eyed. “What a waste of a good drunk.” She grabbed the vinegar jug. “Time to start again!” She poured herself a drink and passed the jug to her sister.

  “You know what I want to do?” Bev asked.

  “Take a shower? Shave off your eyebrow?”

  Bev half closed her eyes. “Very funny. What I want to do is open a home, like a mansion, where people with alcohol problems could go and talk about their life and just get help in general to sober up and become somebody wonderful.”

  Belinda watched her sister sipping whiskey for breakfast. “You want to be a drug and alcohol counsellor?”

  “Something like that. But you know, not charge people to stay in a nice place. It would have like matching drapes and pillowcases. Like a really nice bed and breakfast.” She reached over and punched her sister in the arm. “Don’t make fun of my dreams. You must have a dream. What do you want to do?”

  Belinda sat back and thought. “I’ve gotten sober several times and it really doesn’t do it for me, you know? I get so bored, so easily. I had fun following you; but then you moved away. So I just started putting on different disguises and going out at night and fooling people. And I would see people doing the job I want to do.”

  “You, out at night, by yourself? I hardly think so.”

  “I do so. But the thing is; it’s getting to be a habit. Actually a bad habit.”

  “So you are a cross-dresser!”

  “No. I’m a card counter. I take the bus to Reno, rent a swanky hotel room and then go and gamble. At first it was fun; but now it’s getting kind of boring too. Plus, I think they’re on to me.”

  Bev sat up. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Possibly.”

  “True confession time. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a taxi driver.”

  “You don’t know how to drive!”

  “I can learn! I mean, you did.”

  Bev smiled at a fond memory. “I think that Driver’s test guy took pity on me. I think it was the fourth or fifth time I was trying the road test.”

  “Sixth.”

  Bev peered into the empty jug. “We need more of your special vinegar. And a driver’s manual. We are going to get you your driver’s license today because I am going to teach you how to drive right now!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I hardly think you’re qualified to teach me how to drive; you’re drunk.”

  “Right you are good buddy! But at least sit in the driver’s seat to get a feel for it,” Bev encouraged her sister.

  Belinda opened the driver’s door, pushed garbage out of the way and sat down. “Why do you have a sock on the air vent?”

  “It’s acting like a filter. Who needs to buy a hepa filter when the sock will do fine?” Bev had popped open the trunk and was happily pulling out packages of ramen soup and stuffing them in her bra.

  “Look what I found!” she said as she held up a man’s shoe.

  Belinda got out of the car and came round to the trunk where Bev was standing; looking amazed.

  “You look like your boobs were attacked by angry wasps.” Belinda reached in the trunk and grabbed a plastic bag. “Why don’t you put your soup in this oh so handy bag? Wow, you’ve still got a lot of crap in here. Why do you have one shoe?”

  “It was Serafino Napoleone’s. The dead guy in the cemetery. I noticed he only had one shoe, so I grabbed it and went looking for the other one.”

  “But why…” Belinda began.

  “I needed to know what the shoe looked like, so I took one for comparison sake.”

  “Because I’m sure there were so many random shoes in the graveyard, that you had to be sure you got the right one.”

  Bev sighed dramatically. “Sarcasm, so early in the morning; really, Belinda?” She pulled a garbage bag full of clothes towards her and started to rummage through. “More money in the sleeves. I wonder why I thought that was a good idea?

  Belinda wasn’t saying anything. She had spotted something way in the back and had partially climbed in the trunk to get it out.

  “Here’s the other shoe.”

  “No.”

  “Well if it isn’t, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “That would be a shame, because you look really good in hats. Let me see.” Bev grabbed the shoe and compared it. “Yup. You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “You did kill him?”

  “No, I meant you have more apparel for your disguises!”

  “It would be like wearing clown shoes; but thanks for the offer. I’ve never worn a dead man’s shoes before.”

  Bev threw the shoes down on the pavement and gestured expansively. “Well put them on!”

  Belinda did and started walking around her feet flopping in the large shoes. “Say, something’s funny with these shoes.”

  Bev was laughing and couldn’t answer. Her sister took off the left shoe and twisted the heel.

  “Why?” Bev gasped out.

  “I saw this in a spy movie once. The left shoe is heavier than the right.” She grunted as she applied more pressure to the heel. It twisted off.

  “Oh, this is exciting! Did you find a decoder ring?”

  “No,” said Belinda slowly, but I did find a key ring with a bunch of keys. Do you think they’re safety deposit box keys?”

  “I’ll say. I guess that settles it then. We’re going to the bank; right after we visit the liquor store.” She shrugged. “I like to visit them every so often; they get lonely you know. Sometimes I bring them flowers and say keep up the good work; but mostly, I bring them money.”

  The twins got in the car; forgetting to close the trunk of the Tercel.

  “Do they give you something in return? Like booze?”

&nbs
p; “Yeah. Fairly decent of them, don’t you think? Now, where is the nearest store?”

  “Turn here.”

  A cacophony of horns began to sound and only increased in frequency and volume. Bev parked and shook her head. “That is so rude. I had no idea Eureka had so many rude drivers,” she said as the sisters got out of the car.

  “Expletive times ten. We forgot to close the trunk. Look. We left a trail of hundreds behind.”

  ***

  “What will be our next move Miss Hailey? The only information I have about Beverly Nichols is that her sister lives in Eureka. You, on the other hand, have super secret FBI documentation.”

  “Not anymore; but even two weeks ago we had nothing on the sister. Apparently, there are a lot of Nichols in Eureka and Jamal said he phoned them all, but…”

  “But he is a slacker, is he not Miss Hailey?”

  “He is indeed. Jakob Kim probably has more information; he pulled financials, but I no longer have access to his information. He is very disappointed in me.

  “Wait, Sean, what are we doing here? I’m on my way to being drummed out of the FBI and you are trying to collect back rent by driving all the way down here? Why didn’t you just charge her card?”

  “Beverly Nichols just paid in cash. I must confess, I have perhaps an ulterior motive for trying to find her. I would like very much to turn her in for mail fraud or murder or kidnapping and collect the reward money.”

  Hailey slumped a little in her chair in the coffee shop. “Well shoot partner,” she drawled, “I thought you were pining away for me.” She dropped the drawl. “You’re a straight talker, Sean, so I’ll be straight with you. I thought you were coming to see me. I thought you were sweet on me, despite my evident poor judgement vis a vis the Jamal situation.”

  Sean reached across the table and laid his hand on Hailey’s. “I am sweet on you; I am so sweet that I see you in a beautiful pink wedding dress beside me as we exchange jaimala garlands.”

  Hailey blushed. “But we couldn’t get married because I don’t know Punjabi or Hindi or anything.”