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

by Jim Stevens

  “They took the tracking device out of it, didn’t they?” I ask.

  Oland nods his head because his mouth is filled with noodles.

  “Has it been opened?”

  Oland shakes his head side to side.

  “A bit strange it came back, don’t you think?”

  “In this case money is like elephant, returning to where it began.”

  “Tusk, tusk,” I comment.

  Oland spears another hunk of noodles.

  I pull on a pair of latex gloves from the box on the table. “May I do the honors?”

  Oland chews, nods, and chews some more.

  I unzip the case, peel back the top, and see stacks of fifty-dollar bills. I count six across horizontally, six across vertically, and five deep. Kelly and Care were right. I’m proud.

  “By the way,” I say to Oland. “Did you count it?”

  He pauses to swallow, and says, “No.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a good idea?”

  “Possibly.”

  Oland puts down his breakfast, gloves up, lifts out a packet of fifties. His lips move as he uses his finger to count the number of stacks in the case.

  “Leave your abacus at home?”

  “Very funny, Sherlock.”

  I give him time to multiply in his head, but get tired of waiting and tell him, “One hundred eighty packets, give or take a few.”

  Oland takes a moment to contemplate the deficiency. “Nine hundred grand does not a million make.”

  “Spoken like a true CPA.”

  “They count it before it left the bank?”

  “Yep.”

  “A million?”

  “Yep.”

  “Damn. Crime come, crime go, and crime come back.” Oland places the money back into the suitcase. “I’m a hundred grand away from not having to work this weekend. The wife and I had plans to visit Wisconsin Dells.”

  “Don’t cancel your reservation yet. I’m about a clue and a half away from figuring this thing out,” I try to relieve him. “All we have to do is get all the fish in the same pond, toss out the bait, and see who nibbles.”

  “Sherlock, you’re starting to sound like me.”

  “Frightening, isn’t it?”

  _____

  Upstairs, I find my girls in the middle of a screaming, grammatical chaos. Four cuffed and shackled gangbangers with so many tattoos they barely need clothes, are on one side of the room verbally displaying the use of the MF phrase as a noun, verb, adverb, and adjective; often in the same sentence. Three hot-pants wearing hos are being booked in the middle of the room. Evidently they spent some of their hard earned cash on the video Hooked on Ebonics, because they scream in a mixture of ghetto slang, the King’s English, and tribal chants. And to add some international flavor to the language lesson, a number of Latino hoods voice their thoughts on being arrested in Spanglish. That’s when you put English and Spanish into a blender, puree them, and use whatever pops out to express yourself.

  “We were wrong, Dad,” Care tells me. “This isn’t boring at all.”

  “Don’t tell your Mother you heard any of this.”

  “I won’t, if you promise to take us shopping this afternoon,” Kelly says.

  “On second thought, go ahead and tell her. Maybe I’ll lose custody, and I’ll save myself a ton of money.”

  I usher the kids out of the squad room, out of the station, and into the Toyota.

  “Now where are we going?”

  “Florist.”

  _____

  I carry a huge bouquet of flowers to the receptionist on the Wealth Management section of Northern Trust. “They’re for Anthea, the banker lady,” Care says to the woman.

  “She’s with a client,” the receptionist says. “You can leave them here.”

  “I’d really like to give them to her personally,” I say to the nice lady.

  The receptionist picks up the phone. “Whom should I say is here?”

  “Richard Sherlock.”

  Kelly, Care, and I wait as the woman dials, relays the request, jumps up out of her chair, and shouts, “Go! Get to her office right away!”

  I take off down the hallway carrying the flowers like a newborn baby. The girls are right behind me. As I get closer to Anthea’s office, I can hear a commotion inside and a voice that is all too familiar. “Grand-mama, don’t!”

  The instant I hit the open doorway I see Moomah on one side of the room slinging her oversized purse around like it was the hammer in a track and field competition. She sees me and cries out, “I’d turn back if I were you!”

  Tiffany is on the floor. Anthea is behind her desk. Bertha is up on the couch, pleading. “Please, Moomah, stop.”

  “Quiet, you blithering, bale of bovine fodder!” Moomah yells.

  I quickly hand the flowers to Anthea, “For you,” I say, as I step between Moomah’s swinging purse and the rest of the ladies. “What the hell is going on!”

  “When we told her she couldn’t go in the vault, she went ape-shit!” Tiffany says.

  “Tiffany, don’t swear around my kids.”

  “Stop her,” Bertha yells out.

  I take one step toward Moomah.

  “I’ll make a beehive out of you,” she threatens.

  Anthea takes a step out from behind her desk. “Please Mrs. Richmond, calm down.”

  “And I’ll make a dime bank out of you!” Moomah screams at the only bank employee in the room.

  I take another step toward Moomah, but first I turn my head see that Kelly and Care are in the clear. At that instant Moomah whips her purse around and scores a direct hit on my cranium. I go down harder than a clear cut redwood.

  Next thing I remember is sitting up with a headache from hell. I swear there are two bull goats inside my brain, ramming their horns in a fight to the finish, with the screech of fingernails down a chalkboard as their musical accompaniment.

  My vision is blurry, but to my left I see Moomah out cold on the couch. Bertha is fanning her with a copy of Wealth magazine. Tiffany sits next to Moomah checking her own make-up in a hand mirror.

  I feel Care and Kelly help steady me as Anthea holds a glass of water to my lips. “What is she packing inside that purse?” are the first words out of my mouth as I clutch the sides of my head to dull the throbbing pain.

  I reach down, grab Moomah’s purse, and flip it over. The first item to fall out is her multi-million dollar necklace. “Oh my God.” I pass out again.

  Minutes later, I’m not sure how many, I sit up. To my left Bertha feeds bottled water to Moomah through a straw. Kelly and Care are on the floor next to me. I’m leaning against the front of Anthea’s desk. My head is in my hands. Tiffany stands over me.

  “Why did you ever bring Moomah to the bank, Tiffany?” I ask without raising my voice over a whisper

  “I didn’t.”

  “I did,” Bertha says from ten feet away. “She was crazy acting all this morning. I thought it would calm her down.”

  My head is killing me. The goats are still banging away. Moomah’s necklace dangles from my fingers. As bad as the physical pain feels, the emotional pain is far greater. How stupid can I be? I find pearls in her underwear, and a wad of money in her desk, and I don’t think to check her purse? This is Detective Class 101 stuff. How can I be so incredibly dumb? The purse was right in front of me a hundred times. I should’ve known from its size or from the way she slung it over her shoulder. I never even thought about checking it. How inept, incapable, incompetent, and dimwitted can I be?

  “I’m sorry, everybody. I can’t believe I didn’t think to check in her purse,” I try to apologize.

  “As bad as you must feel, Mr. Sherlock,” Tiffany says. “I have to tell you what happened to me yesterday was worse.”

  I don’t want to hear this, but I doubt if I’ll have a choice.

  “Johnny Spaccone,” Tiffany says.

  “Did Johnny Spaccone whack you in the skull with a brick?”

  “No worse.”


  “Was Johnny Spaccone wearing Moomah’s brooch when you saw him and you didn’t notice it?”

  “No. Much worse than that.”

  I wait clutching my head even harder, fearing what I’m about to hear will make me feel even lousier. “What, Tiffany?”

  “I asked him what you told me to ask him,” she says. “And you know what he did?”

  “No.”

  “He asked me out!”

  “On a date?”

  “Can you believe that guy?” Tiffany says way too loud. “He’s engaged to my Grand-mama, he’s as old as my Dad, and he says he wants to ‘hang with me.’ Is that creepy or what?”

  “What did he say about the lawsuit?”

  “What difference does that make?” Tiffany asks. “The geezer hit on me. I was violated and humiliated. That’s twice in one week.”

  “Is he going to sue?” I ask wanting this conversation to be over.

  “Yes. For a million dollars.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “What are we going to do?” Tiffany asks. “Can you get one of your old police buddies to bust Johnny for grossing me out?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” she asks. “What he did was totally dishonest, corrupt, indecent, and immoral.”

  I take a deep breath, close one eye to dull the pain, and say to the assembled, “Here is what we’re going to do. All of you take Moomah back to her place, turn Dorothy back on, and don’t let her near anything that could be used as a weapon.”

  “What are you going to do?” Tiffany asks.

  “Look for another job.”

  “Oh, Dad, anybody can make a mistake,” Kelly says. “Care makes a hundred every day.”

  “Shut up,” Care replies to her sister.

  I spread Moomah’s necklace in front of my face and stare into the sparkling jewels. I cannot believe I never considered looking in her purse. I’m more pathetic than a bank robber who forgets to visit the open vault.

  “Do you want me to lock that up in the safe?” Anthea asks, pointing at the necklace.

  “No,” I say. “Oland will want to see it.”

  “What should we do after we get Moomah home and watching The Wizard of Oz again?” Tiffany asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say, totally exasperated.

  “Do you think we’d have time for a massage?” Tiffany asks.

  “That would be so cool,” Kelly says.

  “I’ll call you.” I stand up, teeter a bit. It takes me a few steps to get my balance. My head is still killing me.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Anthea asks.

  “Not until I get another life,” I answer.

  _____

  Ten minutes later I’m trying to get the Toyota to start when my cell phone rings, This is crazy. But here’s my number. So call me, maybe.

  “Hello.”

  I hear a familiar voice. Listen to what he has to say, and tell him, “I’m on my way.”

  My headache subsides a bit on the drive north, but as soon as I step into Freddy’s pawn shop a train rumbles overhead, and my head rattles more than the walls of the store.

  “What happened to you?” Freddy asks as I enter his work area.

  “I went skydiving, my parachute didn’t open, and all I got was this bump on my head.”

  Freddy stares at me with his non-louped eye, like I was a disease ready to infect him.

  “Okay. An old lady hit me with her purse when I wasn’t looking,” I admit.

  “When are you going to learn to stay away from women, Sherlock?”

  “I’m going to take that as a rhetorical question.”

  “Here.” Freddy hands me three small sheets of paper.

  The first is labeled: Brooch, ruby. The second: Necklace, gold 24-carat. The third: Diamond earrings. Each has a date and an amount on the back.

  I sit down across from Freddy. “Well, this pretty much fills out my dance card.” I fold the three pawn receipts and put them in my pocket.

  “Is this the stuff you’re looking for?”

  “Yeah.” I put my forearms on the workbench, lean forward and rest my head on the back of my hands. This whole absurd rigmarole has been an absolute total waste of time. Everything missing is now present and accounted for. Boy, am I an idiot.

  “You should be happy, instead you look like shit,” he tells me.

  I pull Moomah’s necklace out of my pocket, plop it in front of Freddy, and say, “You get whacked in the head with this and see how you feel.”

  Freddy picks up the necklace. “I love a weapon of this caliber.” He passes each stone in front of the loupe in his left eye. About a minute later, he asks, “You didn’t pay a ransom to get this back, did you?”

  My head stays on my hands. “No.”

  “You know where it was bought?”

  “No.”

  “You know who sold it to her?”

  “No.”

  I straighten up when I hear Freddy laugh. “What?” I ask.

  “The rich are stupid,” he says.

  “What?”

  “The rich, they’re stupid.” He pushes the necklace back towards me. “This thing is as bogus as a three-dollar bill.”

  I’m so surprised my headache takes a break. “What?”

  “They manufacture this crap to use in movies, for husbands with dumb wives, or for women who want to impress women more stupid than they are.”

  I pick up the item and dangle it before my eyes as I did in Anthea’s office. A train clatters overhead and my headache returns with a vengeance, but my brain cells are working in spite of the pain.

  “What are you thinking?” Freddy asks in order to break me out of the trance I must be in.

  “One of those idiots in the family is playing me for being even stupider than I’ve already been,” I tell Freddy.

  “Probably, not hard to do.”

  “All I have to do is flush out the right one.”

  “How are you planning to do that?”

  My mind is turning faster than an ice dancer on steroids. “Freddy, I want you to do me a favor.”

  “I already did you a favor.”

  “I need another one.”

  “You always need another one.”

  “It’s all over the street that this necklace is missing, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “I want you to sell this to somebody.” I hold up the phony necklace.

  “I can’t sell a phony piece to a crook,” he says. “Crooks aren’t stupid. And crooks hurt people who sell them knock-offs.”

  “I know a guy who’ll buy it at the drop of a hat. Ask twenty grand. Settle somewhere between ten and fifteen. But I need you to do it today. Right now.”

  “Who?”

  I tell him.

  “That guy is a bigger crook than me in my good days,” Freddy says. “He’ll know it’s a fake.”

  “No, he’s such a greedy bastard, I doubt if he’ll notice. And if he does, he won’t care. All he wants is to palm it off to the insurance company for a hefty reward. He won’t care either way.”

  “You sure?”

  “We’ll make it a fifty-fifty split of whatever you can squeeze out of the slimy little S.O.B.”

  Freddy laughs. “Let’s make it a sixty-forty split.”

  “Do I get the sixty?” I ask.

  “No.”

  CHAPTER 33

  I’m putting the case into overdrive. If I slow down for a second my head might explode.

  I drive home. I remember an old black pillowcase I stuffed some time ago in the back of the linen closet. I find it, then go around the apartment to the all the places I’ve hidden Moomah’s jewels. The pearls are in the freezer. Diamond earrings are in my toothbrush holder. The Rolex and the Omega are on the wrist of Care’s stuffed Donatello, the Mutant Ninja Turtle. All Moomah’s stuff goes into the bag.

  In the car, I stuff the bag under the front seat. It is probably safer here than in the bank. What thief would ever break
into or steal my car?

  Next, I take a big chance and drop in on Herman. Luckily, it’s before his mid-morning porn break and I catch him fully clothed.

  “Drop by for some cheese?” he asks.

  “No thanks.”

  Herman doesn’t move. He’s blocking the front door and my entrance inside. He points to the left side of my head. “What happened to you?”

  “I got whacked with a loaded purse.”

  “You know, Sherlock,” Herman says to me. “If you need a little help with women, I’d be more than happy to give you a few pointers.”

  I push around him to enter his apartment. I see the printouts and papers on Moomah’s moolah on the dining room table, partially covered by a Big Butts magazine. “What else did you get on Moomah?”

  “Plenty.”

  “I need the check Safari used to pay off the IRS.”

  “Which one?”

  “Just find it for me would you, please. I’m in a hurry.”

  Without looking, Herman reaches into Moomah’s messy mass of financial foibles, pulls out a Photostat of one cancelled check, and hands it to me. “Internal Revenue Service” is the recipient. “How do you do that?”

  “I got the touch,” Herman says. “Matter of fact you should tell Tiffany that.”

  “I’ll add it to my list of your better qualities.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  After I carefully push the porn aside, I rifle through the pages quickly.

  “All the other questionable payments have a red tag on them,” Herman tells me as he picks up the Big Butts issue and opens to the centerfold. “I wrote in green who I think got the juice on each transaction.”

  “Thanks, Herman.” I get the pile of paper under my arm and head for the door.

  Herman breaks from his view of the “Butt of the Month” to ask, “What kind of cheese do you think Tiffany likes?”

  “Gouda.”

  I hustle to my car and carefully place the papers next to the checkbook on the floor of the back seat. I climb into the driver’s seat, get out my keys, and try to ignite the engine. It refuses to cooperate. I try again. Another refusal. My Toyota is disrupting my flow. I’m on a roll here and don’t need anything mechanical impeding my progress.

  I take out my cell phone, check the amount of charge left, and see less than fifty percent. I call Anthea. If anyone is worth my last fifty percent, it’s Anthea.