Family Jewels

by N.L. Wilson

  I was in full PI mode as I watched Deputy Almond work the residents. Every fidget, I caught and registered. Every careful mutter, I witnessed.

  Most of them knew nothing or little, which was easy to tell by their reactions. But this was told in different ways: some people were overly animated in their defense, some were under animated. Most maintained eye contact, while a few looked away nervously, but not with the guilty type of nervousness. Of course, my intuition was on full alert as I waited for the feeling to crawl up my spine as the right Wildoh resident went in for the interview.

  Didn’t happen.

  Every time Big Eddie called someone else forward, I’d get a little niggle of anticipation and I’d think, this is it. This is the one. But as soon as the interviewee sat down and started talking … nothing. The feeling went away.

  “I’ll go next,” Mrs. Presley said, impatiently after the first half dozen people filed in and then out of the little interview room. “I’m here on vacation. And besides, this shouldn’t take long.” She was right of course. Short and sweet it was. I watched, amused, really. It was obvious right from the get-go that Mrs. P (who has lots of police-interviews under her belt being the proprietor of the Underhill Motel) wasn’t a bit scared of Deputy Almond. If anything, she was enjoying the interview. Hell, she seemed to be conducting the interview. When she finally rose to leave, about five minutes after Almond had prompted her with a polite right hand on the door and his left hand adjusted in a right-this-way directive, Mrs. P was well in command of the conversation.

  The door opened.

  “So, it’s five letters, and starts with a ‘w.’ Any idea, Deputy?”

  Oh, no. She wouldn’t.

  Almond’s eyebrows knit in a pensive expression. “I’m thinking, Jane.”

  “I don’t know why I can’t get it.” Mrs. Presley shook her head. “Five letters, starts with W…. Dammit, what was that clue? Oh, now I remember!”

  Oh, she couldn’t!

  “It was … a laughing cartoon bird.”

  “Woody!” Deputy Almond shouted.

  Mrs. P (who by the way had excellent hearing) turned and cocked her ear toward him, “What did you say?”

  “A happy cartoon bird … it’s gotta be Woody.”

  “Gotta be what?” She cupped her hand around her ear.

  “Woody!” he shouted. “You’re looking for Woody!”

  “Yes, of course!” She snapped her fingers. “Woody! That’s it!” She paused, looked thoughtful then nodded her head. “Those dang crosswords. Thanks for helping a little old lady out, Deputy.” She winked at me on the way out.

  One by one, the crowd dwindled down.

  Roger, having lost himself six dollars to Mona, didn’t seem too displeased when Big Eddie called him to go talk to the Deputy. He did the nod-bow thing again and pushed his chair all the way in to the table before going to join Almond.

  I didn’t watch that interview very closely. If Roger had something to hide, I would have sensed it at the table.

  I was watching Mom by this time. Now, Mom is a pretty amazing card player. She used to kick my ass at crazy eights when I was a kid, not to mention the days of go-fish card parties we used to have. But her mind hadn’t been on the game today. She’d miscounted her hand more than a few times. Whenever Mona pointed out the missed points, Katt just shrugged and insisted Mona mug the points. “That’s the rule. I missed it. You take it.” Obviously, she was nervous about the impending interview with the Deputy.

  When Mother’s turn finally came, I watched her approach the small glassed-in interview room. I watched Big Eddie take her elbow to shepherd her inside. And that’s when it hit me. That feeling I’d been waiting for, that tingle….

  No. No way. Jesus H. Chris, she was my mother! She could not be guilty.

  But what would I be thinking if she were someone else? Someone unrelated?

  I’d damn well think she was guilty, that’s what….

  Almond straightened when Mom walked into the room. Any trace of friendliness left his face. He assumed a profile of complete authority. No good cop here — just the bad. It was clear he suspected Mom of something, too. He was, after all, still investigating the disappearance of Frankie Morell, and she was still a person of interest in that investigation. How long would his patience last with the crazy lady who turned her boyfriend into a frog?

  Frankie Morell. Frankie Morell who was conveniently missing now.

  What if he wasn’t missing? What if he was hiding out somewhere nearby? Maybe still on the premises? Still stealing jewels. What if he hadn’t just hopped on a bus out of town? What if he was still around somewhere, framing my mother?

  Grrrrrrrrr.

  “Was that your stomach growling, Dix?” Mona asked.

  “No.” I smiled at her through gritted teeth. “Just me.”

  Deputy Almond didn’t look at my Mother much. I quickly decided that was a deliberate tactic on his part, depriving her of eye contact. He spoke, wrote, spoke, wrote. Mother sat there, growing more nervous by the moment. Which was weird for my mother. Katt Dodd didn’t do nervous. But to my discerning eye, and possibly to Mona’s, she was clearly restless as she sat with Almond. She touched her hand to her cheek a few times. She crossed her legs then uncrossed them twice. And she kept pulling at her left shirt sleeves, pulling them down over her wrists.

  And despite keeping his gaze down, I have no doubt Almond noticed.

  The interview was long. As was Mona Robert’s interview. Both women headed out of the room quickly when Almond dismissed them. That left just me in the room when Big Eddie came out to give the nod and the thumb jerk.

  “That’s all right, Eddie,” Deputy Almond said, coming out of the interview room. “Everyone else is gone, I’ll interview Ms. Dodd out here.”

  Big Eddie straddled the chair. Jesus, that was one more thing a man in polyester pants shouldn’t do. He sat in the chair Roger the crib player had vacated not too long before. Almond sat where Mona had been — to my left.

  His knee touched mine as he pulled his chair in. Yes, I felt the jolt — and not in my knee. Which annoyed me. This man had just made my mother very uncomfortable. I was going to have to have a talk with those hormones of mine about loyalty.

  Oh well. Knee should move any second now. Contact happens. No big deal. Tall man/small table accidents occur all the time — probably account for at least five percent of all hospital visits. Amazing more people didn’t do the knee bump thing. These damn tables should come with a warning sign. Yep. Waiting for knee to move back. Any second now.

  It didn’t.

  Oh.

  Okay.

  “Eddie, I think I can take it from here.”

  Big Eddie looked like a broken-hearted puppy. “You sure, Deputy?”

  “I’m sure, Eddie. I can handle Ms. Dodd.”

  Oh, man! What had happened to the air-conditioning?

  Big Eddie Baskin glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better get going anyway. You call me if you find anything out, okay?”

  Almond gave him a firm nod. “Will do.”

  Big Eddie smoothed a hand over the back of his neck as if he’d just worked a double shift at the factory and his muscles were sore. His necklace — chains and charms and all — jingled against his skin.

  Deputy Almond watched him go and didn’t say a word until the door had swung completely shut behind Big Eddie’s retreating form. Then he turned to me, “Okay, Dix Dodd. Where’s the missing ring?”

  Okay, I moved my knee away.

  “Whoa, Deputy, I just got in town, remember? You think I stole that ring? Is that the way law and order works down here? Can’t solve a simple crime so you lay it on the first newcomer to wander in? What are you going to try to pin on me next? The Kennedy assassination? Maybe I’m the one who killed the Black Dahlia? Mind you, I’m a little too young to have committed those crimes, but what the hell. Are you so damned incompetent that—”

  He smiled.

  Crap.

&nbs
p; “No, I don’t think you stole Harriet Appleton’s ring. Never thought it for a moment. What I think is that you’ve watched everyone in this room for the last few hours, just as I did. Maybe better than I did. You’re a trained PI, and from what I hear from my Ontario contacts, a pretty good one.”

  Ontario contacts? I wanted names, numbers and a great big pack of thank you notes.

  “Why the hell do you think I left you out here so long?”

  “Whoops. My bad.”

  Leaning back easily in his chair, he ran a hand along his lightly whiskered chin.

  I bit down on the half grin (mine, not his, more’s the pity) that threatened to break through. Hell, if Deputy Noel Almond got any more relaxed, he’d be undoing his belt buckle.

  I bit down harder. God, Dix, get a grip. This is the same unsmiling man who just finished grilling your mother. The man who thinks she had something to do with the disappearing jewels, if not the disappearing Frankie.

  “How much did you lose to Mona Roberts in crib?”

  “Six bucks.”

  “She let you off easy.”

  “You know her?”

  “I know everyone here. And maybe that’s part of the problem. Why I’ve not solved these thefts or the matter of the missing Frankie Morell. I’m too close maybe, and that’s why I need your take on things.”

  Damn, felt good to be appreciated. As did the idea that he might be keeping somewhat of an open mind about who dunnit. “Well, here’s what I think—”

  He stood. “Nope, not now. I have to get some paperwork done, head back to the Appleton apartment one last time, stop by to see Big Eddie, then get to my office to type up these notes.” He waved a handful of sheets of yellow legal paper in my direction as if proving the point. “We’ll talk tomorrow — give you time to mull things over, sort out your own thoughts.”

  That was weird. “You want me to come by the your office?”

  “No, I’ll stop by here. Say about seven. In the evening. And it would be best if we didn’t talk here. Wouldn’t want to make the residents suspicious. Wouldn’t want to blow your cover. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go out to dinner somewhere.”

  Okay, if this was a date, it was setting up to be the strangest date I’d ever been on. But was it a date? Or was it an interrogation? Shit!

  “Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll be ready at seven.”

  “Great, it’s a date.” He stood.

  Did he mean date date? Or did he mean business date? Did I want it to be a date date?

  Of course, if it were, if the attraction was mutual, surely I could use that to my advantage, or rather to Mother’s advantage.

  “Looking forward to tomorrow night,” he said.

  I smiled. I’d be cool, but not coy. Smart, but not sassy smart. Confident. Poised. “I’m looking forward to it to, Deputy Allman. Almond. Deputy Almond.”

  Jesus Christ! I’m an idiot.

  My face burned, and Almond grinned from ear to ear.

  “Just call me Noel,” he offered, setting a warm hand on my shoulder. “That’s probably easiest.”

  Noel. That I could handle.

  With a grin, he turned and walked away. I watched him — every rippling muscle in his wonderful physique.

  Yep, that I could handle.

  Chapter 5

  Mother tried. She really did. And I knew it was for my sake as well as Mrs. Presley’s that she kept the smile on her face. Chin up; shoulders back. That was Katt Dodd. I’d seen that smile when Dad was so sick all those years ago.

  That wasn’t the smile I wanted on my mother’s face.

  But when Mrs. P suggested we all go out for dinner, an invitation that under normal circumstances Mother would never decline, she put on her bravest face … and declined.

  “Don’t put yourself out cooking, Katt,” Mrs. P had said. “Let’s get supper out on the town. Dix’s treat.”

  “Oh, Jane, please let me cook something special. I just love to cook. We’ll go out tomorrow night.”

  “Okay, but how about we head out to bingo afterward, Katt? Dix would love to drive us.”

  “You know, Jane, I love bingo … but just not tonight.”

  As she nudged my mother with one fun-filled suggestion after another, I could see what she was trying to do. Could see how she was trying to cheer my mother up. She didn’t really give a rat’s ass about going out this evening. Yes, she loved bingo (and she’d brought along a six pack of dabbers and three multi-colored hair bingo trolls to prove it). And yes, she did remind me of my promise — a.k.a. bribe — to take her to bingo before we left Florida. But a night out wasn’t foremost on her mind this evening. Mrs. P was simply trying to get Katt Dodd’s mind away from all her troubles.

  I admired these women, and got a lump in my throat just watching the kindness between the two of them. They both tried for the other. That easily, they’d become friends. And that thoroughly and that loyally.

  But that was women for you.

  Speaking of loyalty, Mona Roberts called Mother repeatedly. Not to play crib this time. She first asked if we all wanted to go for a walk later on. Mother declined. She called a second time and offered to cancel her golf lesson with Big Eddie scheduled for the early evening to come over and visit. Mother insisted she not cancel.

  “Hit that orange ball right across the lake, Mona!” Mother told her.

  Mona called a third time, and asked Mother to put her on speakerphone.

  She asked, ‘How many Harriet Appletons does it take to change a light bulb?’

  None of us knew.

  “Can’t be done. Even light bulbs run like hell when she says she wants to screw them.”

  Yes, it was lame. It was awful. But we laughed like hell.

  Mother invited Mona over for supper then. Mona accepted.

  The meal was great (Mom’s cooking rivals the talents of a cordon bleu chef, whereas my cooking rivals Chef Boyardee). I couldn’t help but notice, though, that Mother scrimped on the olive oil and the cut of steaks was not the finest that she usually bought. The wine, which she’d sent me out to fetch, was passable (hey, it had a cork; that had to count for something), and as the evening went on, the conversation was lighter. Kind of fun.

  On my wine run, I’d called Dylan. I needed him to check up on a few things for me. He had the equipment to do it at the Goosebump Inn, of course, He had the time. And not surprisingly, he’d already made some local connections to cash in on.

  ~*~

  Wrestling.

  When I clicked on the remote the first channel I came to was wrestling. There was a guy bent over in a head-lock with his red-shorted butt to the camera. I don’t care what Mother and Mrs. P thought, this just was not sexy! Faster than the speed of light, I hit the mute button. Unfortunately, my speed of light apparently wasn’t quick enough for Mrs. Presley’s sharp hearing.

  “Was that wrestling, Dix?” she called from the bedroom.

  She and mother had retired about a half hour earlier. And I had thought after the big meal, the bottles of wine and the fairly uneventful and restful evening, the two would be sound asleep by this time.

  “I’d get up for wrestling you know, Dix.”

  I didn’t want to lie to Mrs. P, but I needed some time alone to relax and think. Quickly — so I wouldn’t technically be lying — I flipped the channel. “Wrestling is not on the television, Mrs. P.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” Not on this TV right now.

  Remote still in hand, ear cocked toward the bedroom, I waited for more questions. Nothing. Apparently, sans wrestling motivation, Mrs. Presley had resettled for the night.

  And I settled a little easier back into the pull-out again.

  What was on?

  I flicked through the channels. Not that I was in much of a mood to concentrate. And not that I was much for TV at the best of times, unless there was a kick-ass CSI on (and they’re all kick ass). But tonight, I clicked right past all of them — Dallas, Vegas, and especially Miami
.

  Horatio and the gang would have a field day if Frankie the Froggie came into the morgue.

  Parking it on CNN, I stretched on the sofa bed best I could (which surprisingly was pretty well). I wore my pajamas, which consisted of gray t-shirt and sleep shorts fresh from the dryer, but I wasn’t cozy-cozy yet. I reached around, and undid my bra in the back, did a few contortions, then pulled it out through an arm hole. There. Now I was cozy-cozy.

  Mother had set out two blankets for me, but being used to cooler climes, I was fine with just the thin sheet. I set the blankets on the decorative white rocker beside the bed. Definitely decorative. It cradled three teddy bears and the runners on the bottom hadn’t so much as one crack in the paint from wear.

  As Piers Morgan droned on in the background, I went over and over again in my mind the details of the day. When my thoughts started circling back on themselves like a snake eating it’s own tail, I gave up in disgust. The case of the family jewels wasn’t going to be solved tonight.

  Okay, TV it was. I picked up the remote again and started flipping. Mindlessly.

  Nope, I wasn’t even thinking at all as I surfed up the numbers. Looking for nothing in particular as I clicked up higher and higher. Yep, just flicking away….

  “Holy kamoly!”

  I sat crossed-legged on the bed and leaned back against the head of it and watched the tangled trio — okay, outie, innie, outie … yep that was a trio — for a moment.

  Now where did that remote go? Oh, yes, somehow I’d managed to toss it across the bed. I reached for it, of course. Eventually grabbed it, and yes my hand was edging in on those numbers.

  Research!

  My hand stilled.

  Yes, definitely research. After all, I had to keep up the Dix Dodd erotica writer persona. No doubt Tish would be at me again tomorrow looking for more details on my literary career. I’d be prepared. I’d be damned prepared. Why, if I had to watch this channel into the wee, wee hours of the morning, I would. All for the sake of getting off. I mean, all for the sake of getting my mother off and clearing her good name.