The Case of Moomah's Moolah (A Richard Sherlock Whodunit)

by Jim Stevens

  Moomah’s ledger is on the table, sitting on a couple of porn magazines.

  “Did you go through the checkbook?”

  “Done.”

  Herman sits on the squeaky chair, opens the cover of the checkbook. “It’s hard to believe, but there’s a worse disease than Alzheimer’s,” an odd comment coming from Herman.

  “And what disease would that be?”

  “Having Alzheimer’s the same time you have a bunch of lousy, money-grubbing thieves for kids.”

  Herman takes me through Moomah’s financial follies and foibles, page by page. He points out every bogus check, and every questionable donation, stock trade, clipped bond coupon, or mutual fund payment.

  “How did they keep this all from E Carrington Smithers?”

  “I’m not sure they did?”

  “Was he in on it?”

  “I wouldn’t blame him if he was.”

  “Then, how could he keep it from Mr. Richmond?”

  “That lady has enough cash and prizes to fill up Fort Knox. Who’s going to notice if a little of it goes missing?”

  I pick out a number of checks and line them up on the table. “Something doesn’t make sense.”

  “You mean why Tiffany won’t go out with me?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell her I was sensitive, a one-woman man, and would consider learning how to ballroom dance?”

  “Not yet, Herman.”

  “Well, tell her.”

  “Why.”

  “Because that’s what all the women on Match.com say they want.”

  “I’d be lying.”

  “So are the women on Match.com. You really think that many women can be ‘athletic and toned’?”

  “Herman, can we get back to the money?” I point to the checks in front of him. “These are all small potatoes. Not a one’s over five grand.”

  “I noticed that too.”

  “What does that tell you?”

  Herman takes another bite of cheese. “They might be needy, but not greedy?”

  I sit back and contemplate the problem. “You don’t go from finagling a few grand to stealing a necklace worth millions.”

  “Why not?”

  “You just don’t.”

  “If it is easy to steal five grand why not steal five mil?” Herman asks.

  “Because it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, it does to me,” Herman says. “My money is on that Safari guy. He pockets the necklace, takes out the diamonds, sells them in Africa, and uses the money to buy elephant tusks.”

  “Jury’s still out on that.” I pick up the checkbook, but leave the stack of papers on the desk.

  Herman picks up one of the magazines and leafs through it. “So, who you putting your money on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about the bad gambler?”

  “Maybe.”

  “With all the fiber Venus eats, her mind might have gone soft?”

  “I don’t know, Herman.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know why I don’t know.” I’m sounding like my daughter, Kelly.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I thought I had this all figured out, but instead of finding more jewelry gone, which is what usually happens in these cases, missing items are popping up like questions at a trial.”

  “Really?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “Sounds like a good thing to me.” Herman drops his hunk of cheese on the floor. After he picks it up, he wipes it on his sleeve to remove the gunk it absorbed. “Want some cheese?”

  This is not the time to test the Five Second Rule. “No, but thanks for asking.” I turn to head out of the apartment, clutching the checkbook to my chest.

  “Don’t forget to tell Tiffany about me being sensitive.”

  “I’ll put it at the top of my list.”

  _____

  The Toyota doesn’t start on my first ignition attempt. I wait, to let it get its strength back, before I try again, and in the interim, have a thought. Something is odd. I open the checkbook and slowly page through each entry. There hasn’t been a check written in the last six months.

  The Toyota kicks over in two additional tries. I check the time on my cell phone and decide it will be my turn to let someone wait. I pull out of the space and head for Evanston.

  _____

  Phoebe is downstairs in the dayroom, playing poker with a couple of the dowagers.

  “Don’t cheat, Phoebe.”

  “Wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t cheat, Sherlock.”

  “I need you to write me a check.”

  “How much?”

  She smiles wickedly. “Five grand.”

  “Whose money?”

  We find an open table. I open the checkbook and tear out a blank check. “Finally getting smart, Sherlock?”

  “No, Phoebe, I’m trying to prove a point.”

  Phoebe takes a few minutes to study Moomah’s handwriting.

  “Make it out to Tiffany Richmond. Five grand.”

  “Doesn’t she already have enough money?”

  “Not according to her.”

  Phoebe writes Tiffany a check for $5,110.20. “You always want an odd number,” she tells me. “Round numbers are suspicious.”

  Before handing the check over to me, she blows the ink dry, waves it in the air, gives it one last look, and says, “Not my best work, but it’ll cash.”

  “Thanks, Phoebe. I owe you one.”

  “Make sure you pay me before I die.”

  _____

  It’s almost ten-thirty when I return to my apartment.

  “Mr. Sherlock, where have you been? You’re late.”

  “No, Tiffany, you’re late.”

  “I got here exactly fifty-nine minutes from when Kelly got a hold of me.”

  “You were already late before she made the call.”

  “Oh, come on, that doesn’t count. You knew I wouldn’t be here at nine.”

  Tiffany’s reasoning, however absurd, does have some validity; so why bother arguing.

  I gather the troops, it’s time for marching orders. “We’re going to split into two groups.”

  Kelly interrupts, “I want to go with Tiffany.”

  “Me, too,” Care adds.

  “Don’t I get a group?” I ask.

  “Sorry, Dad, but us girls stick together,” Kelly explains.

  “Tiffany, I want you to tail Boo.”

  “Boo?” Tiffany asks. “Why? Boo’s boring.”

  “I have a feeling she’s going to be making a number of stops today, and I want to be sure.”

  “So, we’re on undercover, surveillance duty?” Care asks.

  “Precisely.”

  “How long?”

  “Until you see a definite pattern in her actions.”

  “Do we get a lunch break?” Tiffany asks. “I was in such a hurry to get here this morning I didn’t have time for my protein shake.”

  “You’ll live.”

  “How are we going to find Boo to start with?” Care asks.

  “Go to her building.”

  “And what do we do, knock on her door?” Kelly asks.

  “Ask the doorman. He’ll know if she’s home.”

  “That’s what I was going to suggest,” Tiffany says.

  “Your next assignment is visit the First Third Bank on North Avenue.”

  “What a dumb name for a bank,” Kelly says.

  “And cash this check.” I hand Phoebe’s forged check to Tiffany.

  “Totally cool. Moomah wrote me a check. And it isn’t even my birthday,” Tiffany is thrilled. “Now this is my kind of assignment.”

  “After that we’re going to meet up.”

  “Where?” Care asks.

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Will we get a break this afternoon, so we can go spend some of this money?” Tiffany asks.

  “Yeah, Dad, can we?” Kelly imagines more new clot
hes for her closet.

  “We’ll see. Okay, get moving.”

  “What are you going to do today?” Care asks.

  “I have to crack a safe and get ready for a very important event.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Some fat comedian is playing the Pachinko game with a housewife from Omaha on The Price is Right.

  “What happened to Bob Barker?” I ask Shervy who sits in the same chair as he sat on my last visit

  “Where have you been?”

  “Certainly not watching The Price is Right.”

  “Bob Barker quit to go spray cats.”

  “Why would he want to spray a cat?”

  “To take the goody parts out, so they can’t have kittens.”

  “That’s why Bob quit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Interesting career move.”

  Shervy finishes a donut, then flosses his teeth. “What do you want, Sherlock?”

  “Your help.”

  “Doing what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m out of the business?”

  “It won’t take more than an hour.”

  “Why should I help you? For years you made my life miserable.”

  “Because you’re a thief.”

  “That’s a lousy excuse. There were plenty of other thieves out there you could have gone after.”

  “But you were one of my favorites.”

  “Forget it, Sherlock. It’s against all the rules of nature for me to help you bust a fellow member of my fraternity.”

  “Shervy, remember about fifteen years ago, that jewelry store in Andersonville, where somebody broke in through the basement of the store next to it, and cleaned the place out?”

  “No.”

  “The only clue they found was a used toothpick, but since there was no way to identify the DNA on it back then, they couldn’t hang it on anybody.”

  “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”

  I carefully pick up his used piece of dental floss and hold it up. “I wonder what would happen now, if they had something to compare it with?”

  Shervy contemplates for maybe six seconds. “The cops would keep a toothpick for fifteen years? I don’t think so, Sherlock.”

  I pull a Ziploc bag, with a dated evidence tag stuck on, out of my pocket and I carefully deposit the used piece of dental floss next to a chewed toothpick already inside. I found the blank tag this morning in my bag of detective tricks, filled it out and slapped it on. A fact Shervy doesn’t need to know.

  “Give me a minute to grab my bag.”

  On our way out, Shervy yells out to his wife, “I’m gonna go check out some real estate, Honey.”

  The woman comes out of the kitchen with a worried look on her face.

  Outside, I ask, “She actually believes an excuse that bad?”

  “It’s code. She sees me leaving with a cop, she worries.”

  _____

  Shervy complains that my car isn’t fit for an illegal immigrant, but it gets us to Moomah’s building. Hopefully it will get us back.

  Upon seeing Shervy, the three-hundred-year-old doorman perks up, as much as he’s able to perk up. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says.

  “How’ve you been?”

  “I’ve been old and getting older.”

  “It doesn’t look like you can get much older.”

  “You either.”

  I interrupt their incredible repartee. “You two know each other?”

  “We go way back,” Shervy says.

  “Way, way back,” the doorman qualifies.

  “Personally or professionally?”

  “Both.”

  Enough said.

  “Could you call up to Moomah’s, tell her Sherlock’s here?”

  From the time it takes for the doorman to get to the phone, dial Moomah’s number, and announce us, we could have built our own stairway to the penthouse.

  Bertha has tears in her eyes, as she opens the door.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I get fired.”

  “Why?”

  “They say I’m a thief.”

  “What’s so bad about that?” Shervy asks.

  Bertha breaks into sobs and ends up weeping against my shoulder. From the other room, I hear Dorothy crying over Auntie Em. I have tears in stereo.

  “Who fired you, Bertha?”

  “Elmhurst.”

  “Elmhurst can’t fire you.”

  “He did.”

  Shervy stands impatiently, “Can we move this along, Sherlock? I want to be home in time to watch Dr. Phil.”

  “Wait right here, Bertha.”

  I lead Shervy into the music room, right past Moomah, who plunks out notes on the grand piano, while singing a much truncated version of Follow the Yellow Brick Road.

  Shervy looks at Moomah and bumps me on the shoulder. “That’s why I do crossword puzzles. Brain exercises are the only known medicine to ward off Alzheimer’s.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “It was on a Dr. Phil show.”

  I remove the wall painting and reveal the safe. The hair, I plastered on it remains. I consider trying to reattach it to my scalp.

  “Look familiar?” I ask tapping the dial on the safe.

  “It’s an oldie, but a goodie,” Shervy says. “Kinda like me.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “Before Dr. Phil comes on.” Shervy takes out a stethoscope and a piece of fine sandpaper out of his bag.

  “Don’t open it all the way until I’m back.” I tell him.

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “No.”

  I leave Shervy to do his business and return to Bertha, who sits listening to Moomah play and sing, although the notes played do not match the song sung. On the TV, the palace guards are also singing “Oh we oh, we oh, oh.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Elmhurst say I stole Moomah’s money.”

  “From where?”

  “The desk drawer.”

  I pull her towards me and thump her on her back the same way I would if I were burping a baby. “Calm down, I can prove you didn’t take the money.”

  “You can?”

  “A little hard to hear, Sherlock,” Shervy calls from across the other side of the room. “Put the dueling concerts on intermission, would ya?”

  Bertha goes over to Moomah and puts her hand on her shoulder. “The man wants you to stop playing.”

  “Can’t get to Oz without skipping,” Moomah says.

  “Why don’t you and Moomah go in the kitchen for lunch?” I suggest.

  “Yeah,” Shervy says, “I could eat.”

  Bertha and Moomah go one way, Shervy and I go the other.

  Back at the wall safe, I stand perfectly still, watching a self-proclaimed genius in action.

  Shervy places the scope gently onto the metal, moving it ever so slowly until he finds the optimum spot to hear the clicks of the tumblers. It’s so quiet I can’t hear him breathe. His fingers rest softly and delicately turn the dial with the precision of a brain surgeon; once to the right, once to the left, then back to the right.

  My cell phone explodes with “Uptown girl, she’s been livin’ in her uptown world…”

  Shervy’s fingers come off the dial. He quickly pulls the scopes’ buds out of his ears, “Ouch.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  I see the caller’s name on the lighted dial: Tiffany. I turn the phone off.

  “You’re worse than one of those idiots in a movie theater.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “You’re not making this any easier.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go away so I can concentrate.”

  I give Shervy the same stare I give my kids when I know they’re trying to pull a fast one. “Leave you in here, while I’m out there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tha
t’s not a good idea.”

  “I told you I’m out of the business. Now do you want this opened or not?”

  I back slowly out of the room and into the hallway. One second after stopping, I hear the lever of the safe come down. I hurry back into the music room. The safe’s small door is open wide.

  “That was quick.”

  Shervy pulls the scope from his ears. “A kid could’ve cracked this safe.”

  Shervy is about to reach in.

  “Wait.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “I told you I’m retired.”

  I pull out the appraisal list Tiffany gave me, add a pen, an empty Ziploc bag, and hand it all to Shervy.

  “What, now I’m your secretary?”

  “You check them off as I pull them out.” I reach inside the small safe. It is too dark to see, but I can feel a small treasure. I pull out the first item. “One diamond tennis bracelet.”

  I wait for Shervy to find it on the list and check it off, before I place it in the Ziploc bag he’s also holding.

  I continue. “One Ladymatic Omega watch.”

  “Check.”

  “Two gold necklaces.”

  “Check. Check.”

  I feel around inside for other items.

  “Anything else?” Shervy asks.

  “There should be a Rolex Datajust watch.”

  Shervy reviews the list. “Yeah, and a broach, earrings, and another necklace.”

  I take the Ziploc bag from Shervy. “That Rolex is worth close to sixty grand.”

  As I make sure the bag is sealed, Shervy closes the safe and spins the dial. He takes a soft cloth and wipes all the places on the safe he touched. “Force of habit,” he says.

  But when he turns to his left, I notice an odd sway to the left side of his coat. I reach inside his pocket and find a Rolex Datajust watch.

  “Gee, I wonder how that got in there?”

  “Shervy…”

  “I guess they don’t call you Sherlock for nothing.”

  Bertha has turkey and roast beef sandwiches set out for lunch in the dining room. Moomah didn’t wait for us to chow down. Her brain may not work, but there’s nothing wrong with her appetite.

  “We’re going to have to take ours to go,” I tell Bertha.

  Shervy helps himself to three sandwiches. He pockets two and proceeds to nosh on the third.

  “Are you going to help me get my job back?”

  “Doesn’t look like you’ve lost it to me,” Shervy points out between bites.