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

by Jim Stevens

  What a guy.

  _____

  We arrive at our last stop at 4:12 p.m.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Wife pick me up at six.”

  “I meant with the ransom money, Oland.”

  “Can’t wait to wash hands of dirty money,” Oland says. “And leave town.”

  The girls and I wait in the squad room while Oland visits Chester in the dungeon. When he returns, he’s wheeling Kennard’s suitcase behind him. “To rid yourself of troublesome people, lend them money,” Oland remarks.

  The girls and I ride in a squad car with Oland, the money, the jewels, and a cop with muscles on top of his muscles. The black pillowcase rests on Moomah’s checkbook and papers, which rest on my lap. I put my head back, close my eyes, and take this opportunity to think the whole case through one last time.

  I couldn’t care less about the kidnapping. Compared to the worth of Moomah’s necklace, the hundred grand or so is small potatoes; scary to think that much money could be small potatoes to anyone. My job is to find who copped the necklace, and get it back. Safari might have it hidden in a Swahili tom-tom back at his house. Venus might have stashed it in a pot, buried beneath her personal brand of fertilizer. Elmhurst could be putting it all on red or black this very moment. Kennard is the family member I least suspect, he’s too stupid; but I wouldn’t put it past Boo for a second.

  Outside the family box, I have to consider E Carrington Smithers. He has the easiest access to Moomah’s funds. Johnny Spaccone, who is undoubtedly adept at unhooking bra clasps, could have lifted it off her neck, while he was nibbling on her earlobe. What about Bertha? If Moomah doesn’t have a butler, it sure seems logical to make the maid a suspect. But no; Bertha could never be a jewel thief. And last but not least, there’s Melvina Lange. Oh where, oh where are you, sweet Melvina?

  CHAPTER 34

  I enter the front door of Northern Trust at 4:34 PM. The main floor is packed on a Friday afternoon. I get no help from either daughter, as I struggle to carry Moomah’s checkbook, Herman’s papers, and the lumpy pillowcase.

  Once inside Kelly runs off to interrupt a bank employee she spots all the way on the other side of the room. “Kelly,” I call out.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Kelly yells back at me. “This is important.”

  I see my eldest daughter chatting away with a female I’m sure she’s never met, and about what I haven’t a clue. “Care, go over there and get your sister.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Go.”

  By the time Oland, the cop, and I reach the elevator, the girls rejoin us.

  “Who was that?”

  “I didn’t get her name.”

  “What were you talking about?”

  “Shoes.”

  The elevator arrives. We all cram inside and take a trip down.

  The elevator doors open on the basement floor and Elroy greets us with an armed guard at his side. “Here for the Richmond party?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll have to sign in.”

  I place my John Hancock on the next free space on the clipboard, and hand it to Kelly. Care, Oland, and the cop also sign in. Elroy escorts us past the closed door of the vault and into the Richmond Suite.

  Entering, the first person I see is Anthea, dressed in a muted-red business suit. She looks fresh, as if her day is just beginning. She gives me a wink and a smile. I return the greeting.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” I apologize to the crowded room.

  Moomah, dressed to the nines, sits at the head of the table. She wears a brooch, a diamond stickpin, a string of pearls, and rings on three or four fingers. Tiffany did a marvelous job. Bertha, in a comfortable dress, not her usual French maid outfit, sits to Moomah’s right. Tiffany must have also declared a “Casual Friday” while at the Moomah residence. Venus, in an outfit her brother might have brought back from the Ubangi Outlet Mall, is on Bertha’s right. I count about nine strands, strings and other assorted throat wear around her neck. Kennard and Boo sit together at the far end of the table.

  “Schnooks couldn’t make it?” I ask.

  “And they say men can’t commit,” Kennard explains with a smirk.

  On the other side of the long table, Elmhurst’s over-sized dark glasses don’t adequately cover the shiner he has on his left eye. E Carrington Smithers brought along a calculator, for what reason I cannot imagine. Leonard wears yet another new pair of cowboy boots, these even uglier than the rattlesnake pair. A suitcase rests in the corner, Leonard’s no doubt. Safari, wearing his Panama hat, sits next to Elmhurst. Johnny Spaccone is out of his robe and back into his “meetin’ women” clothes. He polishes his pinkie ring while he waits for his payoff. Kelly and Care drift to the back of the room, not knowing what to do. The cop stands at the door like a sentry. Tiffany positions herself behind Moomah, as if she can’t decide on being a spectator or participant. Oland follows me inside the room wheeling Kennard’s suitcase towards Moomah at the head of the table. Kennard’s watery eyes open wide as Oland passes him by.

  I carefully place the checkbook and pillowcase on the credenza behind me, between where Care and Kelly are now seated. I am just about ready to make my introduction when Safari jumps up from his chair. “I want you to know I had to cancel an important conference call to Nairobi to attend this meeting. So, this better be worth it.” He adds a “wild boar from Borneo” snort to drive his point home.

  “Sorry to disrupt your plans, Safari, but I’m sure we’d all like to wrap this up so we can enjoy our weekends.” I look over to see Oland check his watch. I give him the signal to begin.

  Oland lifts Kennard’s suitcase and places it on the table in front of Moomah. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the ransom money from the kidnapping case.”

  Oland unzips the case and stacks of bills flop out on the table like trout from a creel. A few drop on the floor, but Oland makes sure they’re returned to the pile immediately.

  Moomah leans forward and dives into the pile. She scoops up the stacks and lets the money flow through her fingers like rainwater from a barrel. “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!” she exclaims.

  Leonard Louie salivates at the sight of so much cash. “Oh, this is going to be a good day,” he says.

  “But before we concern ourselves with what was once Moomah’s mad money. There are a few things we should discuss and consider.” I pause. Every eye in the room is fixated on Moomah playing with her cash.

  “First, there are a few questions that need to be answered.” I attempt to regain their attention. “Safari, why would you schedule a trip to Africa in the middle of an IRS tax audit?”

  “That trip had been scheduled for months. You can check with my travel agent.”

  “The IRS would allow you to leave the county at that time?”

  “I applied for an extension,” he explains.

  “Safari, you’ve put in more extensions than Tiffany’s hair salon.” I address the rest of the group. “Your eldest brother, or half-brother, is in hock to the government for close to two hundred grand, and although he has made some payments, his timeliness has been, shall we say, erratic, at best.”

  “How would you know, Sherlock?” Safari asks.

  I walk to the credenza, and pull out of the checkbook, one check with a red sticker attached. I wave it for all to see. “Safari, would you like to tell the group where you got the money to start paying the government off?”

  “No.” He pulls his Panama down, so it is a little tighter around his head.

  “The good news is that your split of the pile might be enough for you to pay off what else you owe the IRS.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Leonard warns.

  I turn to the half-sister of the family. “Venus, how long have you been studying calligraphy?”

  “A while.”

  “Any particular reason for that choice?”

  “Tis a lost art.”

  “Kennard, w
hy did Schnooks pick such a god-awful color for her new Cadillac?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kennard responds.

  “Elmhurst,” I pause to get his attention. “How would you know Bertha stole Moomah’s wad of cash, unless you were in Moomah’s desk drawer with your own greedy mitts?”

  “Moomah told me.”

  “When, on her way to the Emerald City?” I ask as I pick up the black pillowcase, reach inside, and pull out the wad of Moomah’s household money. “Just so everybody knows, I was the one who ‘stole’ this from Moomah.”

  “Mr. Sherlock has been on a real strange mind-bender during this case,” Tiffany informs the group.

  “I took it to see who would know it was missing.”

  Oland looks at Elmhurst. “He who knows where to look, always look guilty.”

  I add the wad to the pile. “Here’s the money, or at least, most of it. Bertha, you’re off the hook.”

  For someone who has trouble getting his kids to listen to him, I’ve got this group hanging on my every word. It feels spectacular.

  “Elmhurst, maybe you can help me out with this one, being that you’re the statistician in the family.” I doubt if he’ll help, but why not ask? “What would be the odds of one man marrying and divorcing five different women, who by the way all share the same accountant?”

  I glance over to see the black glasses slide all the way down E Carrington’s nose.

  “Not as good as the odds for winning the lottery,” Elmhurst answers.

  I pause to take a gander at the suspects. They don’t have much in common, except a certain smugness, which I consider repugnant.

  “Questions, questions, questions. I have lots of other questions for you folks,” I pause. “Like, who broke into Kennard’s condo and trashed the place? How can all of you afford to live the way you all do on five grand a month? Why anyone would call herself ‘Boo’?”

  Silence.

  “Anybody want to answer? Anybody?”

  Moomah quits tossing the money and begins to pile the stacks of fifties into cute little designs on the table.

  Elmhurst speaks up. “You brought us here Sherlock. You said money would be dispersed, not to air the family’s dirty laundry.”

  “And I promise you, the money will flow, but there are other matters we have to tackle first, starting with the kidnapping of...”

  Safari cuts me off. “We don’t care about the kidnapping anymore. What we care about is that million dollars, right there,” he says pointing to the cash on the table.

  “That? That’s not a million dollars.”

  “What?” Tiffany asks.

  I take a look at a slumping Kennard, but speak to E Carrington Smithers. “E, would you like the do the honors and count it for us?”

  The blustery accountant makes his way to the head of the table, and doesn’t take long to add it all up. “Nine-hundred thousand,” he says.

  Kennard slumps even further down in his chair. His sternum is at the table’s height.

  “And how much left the bank with Kennard last week?” I ask Anthea.

  “One million dollars. I counted it myself.”

  Each of the siblings face me, except Kennard, whose chin rests on his chest.

  “I’ll tell you why we’re short in a minute.” I smile. “But first, let’s see if we can clear up a few other things up.” I turn to Moomah’s daughter. “Venus, you would consider yourself the artistic child in the family?”

  “Creation is my drug of choice,” Venus says proudly.

  “I took the liberty of showing some samples of your artistry to a noted expert in the field, and she agreed with me that your rendition of handwriting styles is quite effective.” I pull out a cancelled check from Moomah’s checkbook and wave it in the air for all to see. “Here’s a fine example.”

  The look on Venus’ face is not one of pride.

  “When Moomah was no longer able to write out her own checks, Venus was kind enough to do it for her.”

  “I was only trying to help,” Venus explains.

  “I think you mean, help yourself.”

  Venus stares at her necklaces.

  “Elmhurst, how did you get that shiner?”

  “I ran into a door.”

  “When you were running away from some guy who was going to break your kneecaps?”

  “No.” There is a one inch circle beneath Elmhurst’s eye that looks like an extra rare McDonald’s hamburger.

  “As you may all know, Elmhurst has a system for winning at roulette. Problem is his system doesn’t work.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Elmhurst, there’s no such thing as a rich gambler.”

  “I guess you never watch Texas Hold `Em on TV.”

  “You’re correct there.”

  I have now managed to “de-smug” the entire family. Each one sits mortified as they have been caught in their own act.

  “Right now I’m going to be like that guy on those late night TV ads says, ‘But wait. There’s more,’” I reach into the black pillowcase and pull out the goodies. “There’s one Rolex, one Omega, a pair of diamond earrings, two tennis bracelets, a strand of natural pearls, a couple of necklaces and three pawn tickets for a ruby brooch, a diamond necklace and a pair of earrings.” As I speak I add each item to the middle of the table.”

  “But there’s nothing in that black bag for Dorothy,” Moomah says disrupting the shocked awe around the table.

  “Oh, Dorothy will get hers, just like everybody else in the family.”

  “That’s the stuff that was missing from the stuff in the vault,” Tiffany says.

  “All present and accounted for.” I catch Anthea’s eye. She gives me a smile, as if congratulating me on a job well done — at least thus far.

  “Each of these trinkets found their way back to me or to Moomah in one way or another. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Crime magnet work both ways,” Oland explains.

  “There was also a lot of gold in Moomah’s safe deposit box, which I’m going to guess was traded in for cash. And of course there’s one more missing item.” Every eye is staring at me. “Leonard.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Leonard pulls out the pièce de résistance – Moomah’s necklace – and holds it up for all to see. Venus and Elmhurst come out of their seats. Safari pushes his hat back for a better look. Anthea stands back with a blank stare on her face. Kelly and Care high five each other. Moomah couldn’t care less. “I’ll get those ruby slippers, if it’s the last thing I do,” she says.

  I continue, “For a small finder’s fee, Leonard has graciously offered to return the necklace.”

  Leonard flashes a big smile. “Ca-ching, ca-ching, ca-ching,” he says.

  “But before we get to doling out any cash,” I say, no doubt depressing Leonard, “you should all know that if it wasn’t for Kennard, you probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.” I move behind Kennard and place my hands on the back of his shoulders. I can feel the tension in his neck. No amount of booze could’ve calmed him for this moment. “You see, Kennard, unlike the rest of you, wasn’t able to find an edge of Moomah’s fortune to nibble away at. So, he and his girlfriend Schnooks decided to stage a phony kidnapping to get him out of a very serious cash flow problem. Good idea. Bad execution.”

  “That’s a lie,” Kennard says.

  “Which part?” I ask.

  “All of it.”

  I turn back to the group. “The plan was so simple. Here’s the way it went down. Schnooks disappears after her mani-pedi. A text comes in for her ransom. Kennard goes to the bank with Moomah, empties out a million dollars from her stash of mad money, and takes it home. Before Detective Oland and I show up, Kennard subtracts a hundred grand out of the pot and squirrels it away.”

  Kennard nervously begins pulling on the fat rolls under his chin. It looks painful to me.

  I stay on my own roll. “Kennard knows exactly what the cops are going to do, beca
use he’s in the room when they’re discussing it. Meanwhile, Schnooks is out stealing a car, using a scam she saw on Law and Order. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of you saw the same show.

  “The ransom drop is scheduled to occur somewhere in Grant Park during the July 3rd fireworks show. Kennard is supposed to get his final instructions from the kidnappers on his cell phone, but there are no kidnappers, so he has to fake it. He pretends to get a call. Even I thought it was real. He takes off running and in the process Kennard rips off his wires, tosses the cell phone, smashes the tracking device hidden in the suitcase, and high-tails it through a million other people to where Schnooks is waiting to pick him up. It’s easy. They dump the stolen car near DePaul and leave the bulk of the ransom money in the trunk untouched. Kennard figures that if nine-hundred grand comes back, nobody in the family is going to quibble about a measly hundred thousand missing.”

  “You are making this up as you go along,” Kennard says, convincing no one.

  The siblings look at Kennard as if he is an oozing welt. I’m not sure if they’re angry that he pulled such a stunt or because he screwed it up for the lot of them. It doesn’t matter now.

  “The money burned a hole in Schnooks’ pocket. So, she went out and bought a new set of wheels — the ugliest Cadillac on earth. Boo helped deposit the cash into her Dad’s account.”

  “I did not!” Boo shouts out.

  Kelly holds up her cell phone. “I have pictures.”

  “Schnooks thought Oland was hot on her trail, wasn’t too thrilled with a guy who wears a Bozo suit, and had her new car stolen; talk about a bad week. So, she flew the coop. And I can’t say I blame her.”

  “That’s not true,” Kennard says. “We were in love.”

  I pause to let it all sink in. Plus, there’s one more person on my list of miscreants, to amaze and thrill the assembled. “And just so you know, E Carrington Smithers has been bilking your mother out of her cash for years.”

  “That’s absurd!”

  “What’s absurd was how easy it was for you.” I face E. “You had full access to her accounts and her balance sheet has more unresolved issues than a teenager going through puberty.”