by Ben Rehder
“What works?”
“That smart-ass routine. Always joking. You’re cute enough to get away with it. Just barely.”
“Imagine spending every day with him,” Mia said. “Sometimes I’m tempted to buy a muzzle.”
They’d found common ground—teasing me. I was fine with that.
“You could try a shock collar,” Serenity suggested.
“That might work,” Mia said. “He is a quick learner when corrected, I’ll give him that.”
I played indignant. “These dog metaphors are making me uncomfortable. Now if you’ll excuse me, I saw a bush outside I need to pee on.”
Serenity’s smile widened, showing off a set of perfect teeth.
“The two of you put on quite a show,” she said. “But we might as well get to your questions.”
I looked at Mia, who said, “Okay, it would be helpful if we could determine whether Alex Dunn’s death had anything to do with the missing coin collection. It’s possible they’re unrelated, and that would seem even more likely if he died in your presence. Is that what happened?”
Serenity took a deep breath, as if weighing whether she wanted to answer. Finally she said, “I’ll tell you what I told the police, and if you’re like them, you won’t believe me. Whatever. I don’t care. Alex was fine when I got there, and I did my thing, and right in the middle of it, his eyes rolled back into his head. At first I thought he fainted or passed out. That’s happened before, especially with older men. Some of them are on all kinds of different medications and they just can’t handle the excitement. Alex, if you don’t know, had a problem with his heart and he took pills for it. That concerned me, and when I checked for a pulse, I didn’t find one. So then I performed CPR for 20 minutes. I’m certified and I know exactly what I’m doing. But I got no response. He was gone.”
Still, CPR or not, she should’ve called EMS.
I said, “Can you tell me what happens during a massage? I mean, I have a general idea, but, like, how much contact do you actually have with your clients?” I was getting a little tongue-tied, which was rare for me.
“Why do you need to know that?” Serenity asked. “You’re looking for his coin collection, right?”
Mia said, “Sometimes we never know what will prove useful and what won’t. So we ask any question that pops into our heads. If you’d rather not answer that one, we understand.”
“No, that’s fine,” Serenity said. “Not like it’s some big secret. Generally the client lies face up on the massage table,” Serenity said. “I remain standing, and I work my way around the table, rubbing him all over with my breasts. Well, not all over. I avoid the crotch. I do the face, arms, chest, and legs. Some clients really like me to focus on their feet.”
She gazed evenly at me. I smiled back.
“Do you know what kind of heart problem he had?” Mia asked.
“Sorry, no. One time he mentioned that he took some kind of pill, but that’s it. That’s all I knew.”
“So what happened after you performed CPR?” I asked.
“I left,” Serenity said. “There wasn’t any sense in me hanging around. But I called 9-1-1 just a few minutes later.”
“From where?”
“From my own cell phone. I blocked my ID.”
“What did you tell them?” Mia asked.
“I gave them the address and said an older man inside the house had lost consciousness, didn’t have a heartbeat, and didn’t respond to CPR. Then I hung up. But I was caught on the damn security camera and the cops showed up here pretty quick.”
“Who were you dealing with at the sheriff’s department?” Mia said. “Guy named Ruelas?”
“Yeah. Very obnoxious man.”
“That’s him,” I said.
“A real jerk.”
“Your judgment is impeccable,” I said.
“He has an ego,” Mia said. “And he’s stubborn as hell. Always thinks he’s right. I know someone else like that, too.” I opened my mouth, but she said, “He’s also a really good investigator. The most important thing to him is finding the truth. I’m not saying you should talk to him, but if you do, he’s not going to screw you around.”
“Because I didn’t do anything wrong,” Serenity said.
“Exactly.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not talking to any more cops.”
“I guess I don’t blame you,” Mia said.
“How long was Alex Dunn a client?” I asked.
“About a year.”
“How often did you see him?”
“He had a regular appointment on the first Saturday of every month. And other times he would randomly call me and ask for a massage.”
“How do new clients find out about your services?” Mia asked.
“Mostly though referrals,” Serenity said. “Word of mouth.”
“Did another client send Alex Dunn your way?” I asked.
Serenity nodded.
“Who was it?”
She shook her head. “That remains confidential.”
“Sometimes details that seem insignificant turn out to be very important,” I said.
“Sorry, no.”
“Did you tell Ruelas?” I asked.
“He didn’t ask.”
I gave Mia a quick glance that said, You sure he’s a damn good investigator?
“When you were at Dunn’s house,” Mia said, “did you ever see his coin collection?”
“He showed me a few of the coins, but I didn’t pay much attention. I thought it was pretty boring.”
“Did you know how valuable those coins are?” I said.
“I know he had one coin that was supposedly worth six or seven thousand dollars,” Serenity said. “That blew my mind. Who would pay that?”
“So you didn’t see any of the coins on the night he died?” Mia said.
“Nope, and I can’t remember the last time he mentioned them. Generally, he was pretty eager for his massage. Not much small talk going on. And when I was done, like most clients, he wanted me to leave fairly quickly, so he could have some alone time.”
She smiled at me again. Showing me how unabashed she was.
I, on the other hand, was a little bit abashed.
But I also believed every word she said.
We asked questions for another 15 minutes—most of them revolving around Dunn’s health, his children, his business operations, and his coin collection—but Serenity had nothing of value to tell us about any of it.
6
“Think she’s telling the truth?” Mia asked.
She hit Barton Springs Road and turned left, toward Zilker Park.
“I do, yeah. You?”
“I think so,” Mia said.
I was disappointed that we hadn’t learned anything that would drive our investigation forward. Heidi still hadn’t called, so it was unlikely that Cole Dunn had taken the coin collection, or if he had, he’d already sold it or stashed it somewhere.
“I wonder how long she’s lived in that house,” I said.
“Meaning did she buy it with the earnings from her new career?”
“Can’t help but wonder. Nice place.”
It was a warm day, but not hot enough to keep visitors out of the park. To our left, a small group was playing a pick-up soccer game.
“It kind of makes me sad that she does what she does,” Mia said.
I didn’t respond.
“It’s degrading. Don’t you think?” Mia said.
“For her or for her clients?” I said.
“Come on. Don’t joke.”
“Yeah, okay, it probably is. But it’s not up to me to make that decision for her. She seems to be doing fine.”
“But that sort of thing just furthers the objectification of women,” Mia said. “I’d rather see her succeed by working hard. By using her brain.”
I was tempted for half a second to point out that Mia often acted as bait to make “injured” men exceed their alleged physical limitations. Put her
in high heels and a tight skirt and men would volunteer to lift bags of concrete or change a flat tire. Did the ends justify the means? All I really cared about was that it worked. I didn’t bring it up.
“Maybe we should talk to Max Dunn next,” I said.
“Considering that his brother died just this morning, maybe we’d better wait a day or two,” Mia said. She made the turnaround at Bee Caves Road and got onto Loop 1, the main north-south expressway in Austin.
“In that case, how about some lunch?”
She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’m supposed to meet Garlen in an hour. Remember? I told you yesterday I was taking the afternoon off. We’re going to the San Antonio Zoo.”
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry.”
Frigging Garlen. Everything she had told me about him was just so perfect it was sickening. I had gathered that he was handsome, funny, kind-hearted, charitable, and wise. It wouldn’t surprise me if ol’ Garlen volunteered at soup kitchens on the weekends, after picking up trash along the highways.
Mia exited on Enfield and stopped at the light.
“Hey, we’ll probably grab some lunch before we leave for San Antonio. You want to join us?” she said.
“Thanks, but I’m going to do some research this afternoon,” I said. “You crazy kids go have fun.”
She looked over at me. There are times when I see something in her expression that almost certainly isn’t there. It’s all my imagination. Like this moment—the way she was holding my gaze. It almost seemed to say, I’d rather be with you, Roy. Don’t you know that?
The driver behind us beeped. The light had changed.
“Research” consisted of a long nap, then lunch, and then, in the early afternoon, I sat down at my Mac—but I had researcher’s block. What should I look for? I had no brilliant ideas.
So, instead, I clicked over to a website I’d visited last week. Real estate listings. This particular real estate agent was offering a home for sale on Raleigh Avenue. Which was in Tarrytown. Just a few blocks from Mia. Would it creep her out if I decided to move that close to her?
The home was still for sale—maybe because it was priced about ten percent higher than it should’ve been, in my estimation. And yet I was still considering making an offer, even though it was out of my comfort zone, budget-wise. Decent little house, though. Built in the ’50s. Three bedrooms. Thirteen hundred square feet. No garage, just a carport. According to the tax assessor, the land the house was sitting on was worth three times the value of the house. That explained why so many homes in Tarrytown were getting bought and razed. It was the lot itself that was attractive to many buyers.
I closed that page. Back to work. I decided to take a closer look at the Dunn family and see if there was anything more to learn. I had discovered Cole Dunn’s drug and theft arrests yesterday by visiting the county clerk’s website, where you can search a database of misdemeanors for free, with records going back several decades. Callie also had an arrest—for driving while intoxicated eleven years ago. Not relevant. Alex Dunn’s record was clean, as was Max Dunn’s.
Now I clicked over to the Texas Department of Public Safety website, where you can conduct a statewide criminal background check, including felonies, for three dollars per search. What a bargain. I learned that Cole Dunn had two felony arrests—both for drug possession, and both within the past year.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text. I checked it and saw that Mia, now at the zoo, had sent me a photo of a chimpanzee, along with a message: Ran into one of your relatives just now.
I wrote her back: Sure that isn’t one of your old boyfriends?
Next I visited the online archives for the Austin American-Statesman. Searched for anything of interest regarding Alex Dunn and his family members. I read for an hour but didn’t discover anything surprising.
I did some reading about hobo nickels. The majority of the nickels, even vintage nickels, weren’t worth much, but occasionally one might be worth several thousand dollars, depending on who carved it. There were a couple of carvers from the early days who were known as the best—namely Bertram “Bert” Wiegand and George “Bo” Washington Hughes.
I jumped over to eBay to see what some of the nickels were going for. A search for “hobo nickel” gave me 615 listings. I noticed that most of the nickels were modern-day carvings on old coins. Nothing from Bert or Bo here.
I changed the sort feature to show the highest-priced listings first. The one at the top had a “Buy it Now” price of $925. Not as high as I expected. I tweaked the search to show me completed listings, and I saw that a beautiful and highly detailed modern carving on an 1887 Morgan silver dollar had sold for $3,400. If a newer carving had fetched that much, I wondered how much a vintage engraving might cost. I opened a new tab, did a quick Google search, and discovered that one of Bo’s coins had set a record by selling at auction for $24,200 in 2013. Damn.
I clicked back to the nickels currently for sale, but I added the word “vintage” to my search terms, which whittled it down to just 15 listings. The highest-priced listing had a buy-it-now price of $299 for a 1928 buffalo nickel. The description didn’t say when the actual carving had taken place or which artist had done it. It didn’t appear particularly masterful or detailed, but what intrigued me was that the seller was located here in Austin, and the listing had begun just yesterday. What were the odds? So I opened the folder of photos Heidi had provided of coins from Alex Dunn’s collection.
And there it was.
7
It was the same coin. I was sure of it. A lot of hobo nickels appeared similar to me, but there was no way two of them could be exactly identical, since they were carved by hand. I looked very closely at both coins, side by side. No question. The same.
Okay. Now what?
This was a big find and I didn’t want to blow it. Under “Seller Information” I saw that the person used the name “TexasLeo,” and he—assuming it was a he—had completed 112 transactions on eBay, with a 98.2% rating. I went to his profile, where I could see details about his 112 transactions, and I learned that he had never sold a hobo nickel before, much less any other type of collectible. He had sold an assortment of unrelated, low-priced items, such as a set of Willie Nelson CDs, some silverware, a blood-pressure monitor, a life-sized metal armadillo garden ornament, a cast-iron skillet, a chess set, and a Barnett crossbow.
Weird. You know who would have possession of such a random collections of goods? A thief. He’d had one negative rating for the past six months, where the buyer said, “He took my money but never sent the item.” TexasLeo had replied, “Post office fault. It will arrive.”
Who was TexasLeo? How had he come into possession of one of Alex Dunn’s hobo nickels? It was possible that Dunn had sold it at some point. He bought and sold frequently. And Heidi had mentioned that she couldn’t be sure Dunn’s catalog of photos was up to date.
I had to pursue this, though, and find out whether it was a dead end.
If I bought the coin, then I’d know who the seller was—right? Not necessarily. TexasLeo could mail the coin without a return address, or with a fake address.
But he was right here in Austin. Why not take advantage of that?
I sent him a message:
Hey, I love that nickel! Sharp! My dad’s birthday is tomorrow and he’s a big collector. Any chance I could pay for it and meet you somewhere, or pick it up at your house? I live in Austin, too. Sorry for the short notice. Let me know if we can work something out. I’d love to give it to him during his party tomorrow.
I didn’t want to pay for it before I heard from him, because if he had the money, and if he was a thief, he wouldn’t want to meet in person. He’d insist on mailing it. So I’d just have to wait to see if he responded.
I heard another incoming text from Mia.
What r u doing?
She was probably feeling guilty taking time off while we were in the middle of a big case.
I said: Solving the case while you goof around
.
As soon as I sent it, I felt bad.
She said: Really? Making progress?
If I told her what I’d discovered, she’d want to come back to Austin and work with me, thereby ruining her date with Garlen. I have to admit it was tempting as hell.
I said: Nope. Have fun at the zoo.
I went back to eBay and looked at all of the hobo coins for sale. There were no additional listings that raised my eyebrows, and none of the other sellers were from this area.
Fifteen minutes later, I received a reply from TexasLeo.
I arrived at the Walmart in Oak Hill 30 minutes early, because I wanted to watch TexasLeo arrive and possibly do a quick background check on him first. He’d told me he’d be driving a gold Mazda truck with a silver toolbox mounted in the bed. We’d agreed to meet underneath the big Walmart sign near the highway entrance. I knew there’d be parking spots that far from the store entrance, because your average American doesn’t like walking any farther than the distance from the couch to the fridge.
I was driving my back-up vehicle—a little gray Toyota—because there were times when I didn’t want to be seen in the van. Like now. If I needed to do surveillance on TexasLeo later, it would be better if he’d never seen the van before.
I parked about eighty yards from the sign and waited. I had $300 in cash in my pocket, and I was wearing a ball cap with a hidden camera built in.
This was probably a waste of time. Worst case, I’d end up with a hobo nickel that I’d have to resell on eBay, probably at a loss. No biggie.
Twenty minutes passed. No TexasLeo. What if he didn’t show?
I wondered what Mia was doing right now. Still at the zoo? Maybe riding the little train that makes a circuit through Brackenridge Park? Garlen would have his arm around her, and Mia might have a hand on his knee. Was she serious about him? I hadn’t asked and she hadn’t given any indication.
Thirty minutes had passed.
Was Mia sleeping with him? That was the real question that had been preying on my mind. It was none of my business, was it? Nope. She could do whatever she pleased. In fact, so could I, and I frequently did, with a variety of interesting female companions.