by Jim Stevens
“Yes, so don’t do it.”
Before Tiffany climbs in behind her grandmother I say, “We’re talking with Schnooks tonight at seven.”
“Why so late?”
“Oland has a bar-be-que this afternoon.”
“Moomah should be there,” Tiffany says.
“Why would Moomah want to go to Oland’s bar-be-que?” I ask.
“No. Moomah should be there when we talk to Schnooks.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know Moomah wouldn’t want to be around Schnooks. None of us do,” she says. “Except Uncle Kenno. But she should be in on the conversation.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Tiffany.”
“It’s her money.”
The limo is ready to move.
Tiffany has a final thought to relay to me. “And one other thing,”
“Yes?”
“You like that banker lady, don’t you?”
My face must turn three shades of embarrassed red.
“Congratulations on scoring, Mr. Sherlock,” Tiffany says with a silly smile on her face. “The banker lady’s hot for you too.”
CHAPTER 10
A half-cheese/half-everything pizza, two videos, free use of the computer, and a promise of a movie tomorrow, convinces the kids to stay in for the night while I trek back downtown to Kennard’s.
When I arrive, it’s party time.
But first, I pull Tiffany aside. “Remember, don’t mention Moomah’s missing necklace.”
“Mr. Sherlock, you know how bad I am at keeping secrets.”
“Yes, I am well aware of your incapacity for concealment.”
“I mean, come on, what’s the point of knowing something if you can’t tell anybody?”
“Tiffany, don’t.”
“I can’t help it,” she says. “My lips won’t seal.”
The partiers consist of Tiffany, Elmhurst, Kennard, Boo, and Venus, who all stand around with cocktails in hand. Safari must be on safari. Moomah is decked out with enough jewelry to set off the O’Hare metal detectors from remote parking. She is fast asleep seated on one corner of the couch.
Oland sits on the coffee table, across from Schnooks and Kennard. “Why didn’t you run that day on Lincoln Avenue?” he asks.
“They shot me,” Schnooks answers.
“Where’s the bullet hole?” Elmhurst asks.
“It must have been one of those electric guns.”
“A taster?” Tiffany asks.
“If that’s the kind that doesn’t leave a hole,” Schnooks replies.
“It is, if it is a taser,” Safari corrects his half-niece.
“I got the T right,” Tiffany says.
“What’s the next thing you remember?” Oland asks.
“I wake up in some room, my hands are tied, there’s a hunk of cloth in my mouth, and I’m blinded by one of those sleeping masks.”
“If you couldn’t see, how would you know it was a sleeping mask?” Venus asks.
“Because I wear one at home,” Schnooks snaps back.
Elmhurst says to Venus, “You’d wear one too if you slept with Kennard.”
“Good point,” Venus admits.
Schnooks is a type of person who displays many personality traits you can immediately dislike. She’s crude, gruff, impolite, and sucks constantly on what I hope are her dentures. The only positive that stands out is how nice her nails are. Maybe I made a mistake not accepting Tiffany’s offer for a mani-pedi at Rose Nails.
Oland tries his best to keep a professional tone as he continues. “Did they speak to you?”
“They asked if I had to go to the bathroom.”
“And?”
“Of course, I had to go,” Schnooks says. “Do I look like a camel?”
Moomah wakes up to reply, “No, more like a horse of a different color,” and she falls right back asleep.
Boo asks, “Did they untie your hands?”
“No.”
“Then how were you able to…?”
“We’re getting too much information here,” Tiffany says, placing her palms over her ears.
“It seems odd to me that the kidnappers would go to such extremes as a taser, a blindfold, and a secret place to hide you. Are you sure about all this?” Elmhurst asks in a professorial tone.
Schnooks responds in no uncertain terms, “May I remind everyone I am the victim and not the criminal.”
Kennard pats her on the hand and says, “There, there, Honeybunch.”
“You people are treating me like O.J. Simpson.”
“If the “Juice” fits, drink it,” Venus says.
“While you were sitting there tied up, what did you do?” Oland asks.
“Watched TV.”
“You said you were blindfolded?” Boo questions.
“They had it on. I listened.”
“What did you hear?”
“Jerry Springer.”
“Oh my God,” Tiffany says. “That show is disgusting. I saw this one where two twins were going out with twins, got mixed up, had each other’s kids, but couldn’t tell them apart.”
“You watch Jerry Springer?” I ask my upper-echelon assistant.
“Just to see how the little people of the world live,” Tiffany explains.
“Did you hear any conversations, or pick up on anything the kidnappers said or did?” Oland keeps trying to steer the questions back to some semblance of relevancy.
“It was on too loud.”
“Jerry Springer isn’t on all the time, what else do you remember watching or hearing?” Boo asks.
“Family Feud.”
“Must have been an enlightening time in your life,” Elmhurst comments.
“It was hell,” Schnooks sums it all up.
“Do you remember which family won?” Venus asks.
“What difference would that make?” Schnooks yells.
“Was it a Richard Dawson Family Feud or a different guy?” Tiffany asks.
“My God, you people are insane!” Schnooks pulls at her hair the same way Kennard pulled on his Bozo wig the night he was kidnapped. Nice to see couples share.
“Were you drugged before you left the room, or on the way to the ‘L’?” Oland asks.
Schnooks takes a deep breath, calming herself, “I’m not sure, since I don’t remember anything until I woke up on the way to the hospital.”
“So, you don’t remember a needle?”
“No, but maybe they drugged my food and then shot me up.”
“Why would they do that?” Boo asks.
“I don’t know,” Schnooks shoots back. “Ask the kidnappers.”
“We would,” Elmhurst says. “But they’re currently out of town spending our money.”
“What did they feed you?” Venus asks.
“Spaghetti.”
“What kind of sauce?”
“Red.”
“I thought you said you were blindfolded?” Elmhurst asks.
“They didn’t blindfolded my taste buds,” Schnooks fires back.
“Did it come with garlic bread and a side salad?” Tiffany adds.
“What difference would that make?” Venus asks.
“I’m wondering if the kidnapping was catered.”
“Why are you asking me these idiotic questions?” Schnooks clutches two fistfuls of her hair and hangs her head between her wrists.
“Because we have to get our money back,” Elmhurst answers.
“I don’t have it,” Schnooks replies.
I enter the question fray. “Kennard, when you were in the vault with Moomah to get the money, did she dip into her jewelry box?”
“She was playing with it while I packed up the cash. Why?”
“Did she remove any of the items?”
“I don’t know. I was busy.”
“Did she take anything with her when you left?”
“Like what?” Kennard asks.
“Like the necklace with seven three-caret cut diamonds arranged in a
circle with sapphire and rubies set on a gold-leaf chain,” Tiffany explains.
“Tiffany!” I raise my voice.
“What are you talking about, Tiffany?” Elmhurst asks.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” Boo says.
“It’s nothing.”
“What’s going on, Tiffany?” Venus asks.
“Nothing.”
Each family member stares at Tiffany. Silence abounds.
“Tiffany, what did I tell you?”
“I haven’t said anything about Moomah’s necklace being missing.”
“Tiffany…”
“Whoops.”
Is it any wonder why I hate my job?
“I told you not to tell anybody,” I tell my protégé.
“Don’t snap at me. I hate that.”
“What is going on, Sherlock?” Elmhurst asks.
“Moomah’s version of the Hope Diamond is missing from her safe deposit box.”
There are gasps all around. One of them is probably phony, but I can’t tell which one.
“That piece is worth millions,” Elmhurst says.
“Somebody stole it,” Tiffany says.
“How could this happen?” Boo asks.
“We have to get it back,” Venus says.
“How?”
“Call out the flying monkeys!” Moomah offers her unique solution.
“Are you sure it’s gone?” Boo asks.
“It wasn’t there this morning,” Tiffany says.
“Positive?”
“Believe me,” Tiffany says. “I couldn’t miss that many diamonds.”
The entire family goes into a state of semi-shock, which they alleviate with Kennard’s cheap booze.
“Who was with her the last time she visited her money?” I ask. “Before Kennard I mean.”
“I went with her last week,” Venus says. “But we didn’t open the box.”
“Who remembers seeing it?” I ask.
“Not me,” Elmhurst answers, as if he wants to be first to defend herself.
The other family members are silent.
“It might be the man behind the curtain,” Moomah says, and falls back asleep.
Elmhurst turns to me, “Forget about the kidnapping, you have to find that necklace.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it on my list.”
Oland who has been quiet during this part of the conversational festivities, motions to me to join him on the back patio.
I close the sliding glass door to assure our privacy.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“Many bees in hive, but only one queen.”
“You think the missing necklace and the kidnapping are related?”
“One incident, plus one incident, does not add up to one coincidence.”
“But when one shoe drops, don’t you always wait for the other?”
“Not if person has only one leg.”
“Oland everybody in the room has two legs.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s the problem.”
We take a minute, lean back on the balcony ledge, and watch the party inside.
“What did Schnook’s blood test tell you?” I ask.
“Ambien, or something like it. She was out cold at least six hours.”
“Schnooks say anything previous to tonight that you want to share?”
“No.”
“Is that ‘No, you don’t want to share,’ or ‘No, she didn’t say anything?’”
“What difference would it make?” Oland says. “She lies like a slimy defense expert.”
We both stare at our shoes for a few seconds.
“It’s interesting Kennard didn’t have much to add to the fun and frolic of the evening,” I mention. “Do you think he’s holding something back?”
“Possibly.”
“The way Kennard tells the story leads me to believe I can’t believe him.”
Oland looks out over Lake Michigan. “A man must be able to fool himself, before he can fool others.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not sure, but I thought it sounded good.” Oland turns to face me. “With so much to lose and so little to gain, why upset even a rotten apple cart?”
“Money.”
“She already supports the lot of them.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t want more,” I add. “I’m sure before going to bed every night, each one of them says a prayer for Moomah’s demise.”
“There is nothing more frustrating than a rich old woman, who refuses to die.”
We take a few seconds to gather thoughts, pace around, and feel lousy about being involved in this mess.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“Longest journey starts with first step. Longer journey starts with step backward.”
CHAPTER 11
On Saturday afternoon, I make good on my promise and I take the girls to see this incredibly stupid movie. The plot is as thin as an anorexic runway model. Something about a teenage girl who falls in puppy-love with a motorcycle-riding boy who’s actually a zombie disguised as a vampire. The movie is filled with sexual double entendres and close-up shots of projectiles headed straight for the crotches of the bad actors in the film. I suspect the movie is a comedy, although I’m not sure.
“I have a question,” I pose to the girls as we leave the theater. “If zombies are already dead, why do they wear motorcycle helmets?”
“Because the guys who made it are trying to set a good example,” Kelly answers.
“So, that’s the reason for so many fart jokes,” I say. “The director obviously wanted to encourage good digestion.
“If you didn’t think they were funny, why were you laughing?” Kelly asks me.
“I was laughing at you, not with you.”
Kelly gives me her “Yeah, right” look. “Sorry, but I don’t buy it.”
“I like fart jokes,” Care says.
“You would,” Kelly answers.
_____
On Sunday, we do errands in the morning. I take them to the Lincoln Park Zoo in the afternoon followed by a trek along the Fullerton Street Beach. On the way back to the bus stop, which we take to teach my daughters humility and save me money since the parking around the zoo is ridiculously expensive; we inadvertently pass by a small hill in the park that’s populated by gay men who are sunning themselves. My daughters find great interest in the scene.
“Gee, Dad, I didn’t know they made thongs for men,” Care says.
“Nor, was it my intention for you to know.”
“I hope my butt looks that good when I’m older,” Kelly says.
“I don’t,” I say.
“I think they use way too much sun block,” Care remarks. “They look all greasy.”
I take both of them by hand. “Walk faster girls.”
“Have you ever thought about getting a nipple ring, Dad?”
“No, and don’t you either.”
_____
On Monday morning I drop the kids off at a barn in Glenview. The girls refer to it as “The Barn.” It’s a massive structure made up of four walls and a pitched roof. It’s totally devoid of personality, architectural significance, or any redeeming building quality. It’s just a big, boring barn. The entrance is a huge, sliding wooden door at the end of a long gravel driveway, and between two massive piles of horse manure. “Have a good time. I’ll be back at five to pick you up.” Kelly and Care hop out of the car.
Before I drive away, a very chubby woman in jeans and cowboy hat runs in front of my Toyota and waves her arms signaling me to stop. She’s breathing quite hard. The stench of the manure doesn’t seem to bother her in the least.
“Excuse me,” she asks. “Are you the girl’s father?”
I roll down my window, try not to breathe, and answer, “Yes.”
“Can I speak to you a minute?”
“You already are.”
“Alone.”
>
I kill the ignition and exit the car. I see Kelly and Care pick up their pace as they walk towards the barn door. “What can I do for you?” I ask the woman.
“I’m Dutchy, the camp counselor. That’s Dutchy with a “y”.” She pauses to give me time to retain the spelling. “There’s a matter of payment you need to make before we can accept the girls into our camp.”
“My ex-wife didn’t pay?”
“No.”
Why does this not surprise me?
“How much?”
“Six hundred.”
“Six hundred?”
“Per rider.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Read my lips, pardner. Six hundred per rider. That covers the horse rental, feed, meals, instruction, and counselors for the week.”
“But they have their own horse.”
“They can’t ride the same horse at the same time.”
“Why not?”
“How would each of them learn how to ride?”
“They could take turns sitting in the front.”
“No. Our insurance doesn’t allow tandems.”
“Actually, they already know how to ride.”
“Then why’d you sign them up for camp?”
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah,” Dutchy says. “I knew that.”
As I follow her into the office, I can’t help but notice she walks bowlegged. If my kids both end up walking like Dutchy with a “y” after this week, I’m going to sue.
Inside the tacky office, which has a more of a stale horse manure reek than the outside stench, I write a check for twelve hundred dollars. “Do I at least get some kind of discount for providing one horse?”
“If you would’ve paid a month in advance, we would have given you ten-percent off.”
“Now you tell me.”
Before leaving, I see Kelly parade Rascal, an aging thoroughbred nag, in front of Care and other pre-teen girls, who are dressed in jodhpurs and riding helmets. Dutchy with a “y” must ride Western instead of English.
_____
At a few minutes past nine-thirty, I knock on the door of Herman McFadden’s apartment. I can hear him waddle to the door and unlatch the chain.
“I was just about ready to begin my mid-morning porn fix, Sherlock,” he admonishes me, as he opens the door.
“Glad I missed it.”
“Don’t worry, there’ll be another one tomorrow.”
I have to walk around him, which is a very long walk, just to get inside the filthy place.