A Cadgers Curse

by Diane Gilbert Madsen

  I quickly put on my coat and gloves, picked up my briefcase and purse and called, "I'm out of here, Tom. Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow."

  As I stepped out into the frosty Chicago night, someone crashed into me from the side. I collapsed onto the ground. A tall figure stood over me and pulled at my briefcase. I held tight and yanked back as hard as I could. I hate being a victim.

  In response, the shadowed figure kicked me in the leg and tugged even harder. I screamed in pain and took one hand off the briefcase to grab my leg where he'd kicked it.

  The tall figure stomped on my left shoulder and gave another ferocious tug on the case. I heard Wolfie's deep, throaty bark. I screamed. Suddenly one of the handles broke off the briefcase. All I was holding was the other handle and some air. "No!" I yelled and struggled to my knees.

  The figure tucked the briefcase under his left arm and punched me with a mean right hook that knocked me backward so hard my head bounced off the pavement. All I saw for a second or two was stars.

  Wolfie barked, this time louder and closer. The tall figure was sprinting through the parking lot across the street, nearly out of sight. Close on his heels was Wolfie who leapt out of the doorway and hotly chased the fleeing prey, leaving me with claw marks as he ran over my legs.

  Tom Joyce ran from the shop and helped me to my feet.

  "Are you okay? What the hell happened? Where's Wolfie?"

  "Somebody grabbed my briefcase."

  "OhmyGod, the Burns treasures!"

  "Wolfie's after them. They went that-a-way." I pointed north.

  Tom took chase, calling for Wolfie. My head was foggy, my knees weak and my left arm hurt like hell. But this was nothing to the pain I was going to feel when Auntie found out her precious things were taken.

  I crept slowly back into Tom's bookshop, fell into a chair, and dropped my head between my knees. I prayed the wolf would catch the jerk and get the briefcase back.

  I don't know how long it was before Tom and Wolfie reappeared. I was still queasy and foggy-headed. Wolfie appeared at my side and sat down, sans briefcase but with an even more pungent odor than earlier.

  "Thanks..., er, Wolfie." I cast aside the impulse to call him a good boy.

  "He got away with the briefcase, dammit. I ran so hard, I broke my glasses." Tom, breathing hard, held them up by the one earpiece still attached, like show and tell. "Well, are you okay, DD?"

  "He got my shoulder and my knee pretty good, but I think I'll be all right." I didn't tell him how bad my arm ached or about the massive headache setting in. "He didn't happen to drop the briefcase, by any chance? Three to four million dollars of uninsured loot was in there."

  "Sorry, DD, there's no sign of it. What a cock-up! We've had a lot of robberies around the shop in the past six months. The cops told me they think it might be a teen gang initiation thing."

  I didn't tell him that I suspected this was not random at all. It might have something to do with HI-Data, but I suspected it was more likely the Santa robber. Right now my head hurt too much to think. What was I going to tell Auntie?

  He retrieved some aspirins and a glass of water from his little kitchen nook and thrust them at me. "Take these, they'll help. You think maybe the guy was after the Burns artifacts?"

  Tom was just catching up with my train of thought. I could feel my blood pressure rise another notch and my headache intensify. With Auntie's precious objects now gone, I might as well resign from life. At the very least, I'd never be able to go home.

  I took a deep breath. "I don't know, Tom. I don't know."

  "Wolfie nearly caught the guy, whoever he was, but he jumped into a big car and drove off. It was too dark for me to tell what make. I know what you're thinking. I'd have liked Wolfie to take a piece out of him to teach him a lesson."

  "Me too. But would Wolfie have stopped at one bite?"

  "Honestly, I don't know," Tom said thoughtfully.

  "And how would you explain a bloody body and a wolf to the cops?"

  "I didn't think of that," he admitted.

  "Maybe we won't call the cops, Tom."

  "You mean you didn't call the cops yet? What about the paramedics? I'll call right now. I'm sure you have a concussion and there may be some broken bones under those bruises."

  "No, don't." I opened my eyes wide and stretched out my legs and arms full length, trying to smile despite the pain. "See-everything's working. No need to call. And really, I'm clearheaded now. I'll prove it. Today is Tuesday. My name is DD McGil. My favorite color is red; my favorite food is chocolate. My favorite liquor is Wild Turkey, and my favorite pastime is sex. My..."

  "Stop, DD. I'll never say you're normal, but you seem to be okay. You sure?"

  "Yeah, I'm positive." If I told him how truly rotten I felt, he'd have forgotten the EMTs and called the morgue instead. What difference does any of it make, anyway, I thought. I'm doomed.

  Wolfie thrust his head onto my lap. I jerked, surprised and a bit fearful as well. True, he'd taken my side. He even seemed to have accepted me. But his yellow eyes, staring unblinking at me, were formidable to behold.

  "Tom, look. He's got something in his mouth."

  "I see." Tom picked up the stuffed dog toy from the floor and traded it for what was between Wolfie's teeth.

  Wolfie's yellow eyes had followed the transaction carefully, and he seemed satisfied with the trade. Tom handed me the scrap of material Wolfie had released.

  I studied the torn piece of thick beige fabric. Wolfie's teeth marks were visible along the ripped edges. I'd read the startling statistic that every forty seconds someone in the United States seeks medical attention for a dog bite. What, I wondered, were the stats on wolf bites?

  "Looks like cashmere." I handed it to Tom.

  "And lined," he added after turning it around a few times.

  Michael Drake had described a beige cashmere coat worn by my office burglar. If this was a piece of the attacker's overcoat, perhaps the attacker was the same guy who'd trashed my office and the same guy who'd ... what, murdered Ken and Marcie and Oscar? Was I the next victim?

  "This didn't come from some gang-banger, DD. I hope Wolfie didn't jump some poor passer-by. Could you describe your attacker?"

  "No" I shook my head and was instantly sorry. The sharp pain nearly made me faint. It subsided quickly though, and I tried to pretend nothing was hurting. "He hit me from the side just as I was closing your door."

  "Did you notice anything particular about him-his shoes maybe? His wristwatch? A ring?"

  "No, I didn't see anything. I'm pretty sure he was wearing gloves. He hit me so hard, I went right down. I'm just glad he didn't break my shoulder or my leg. Probably."

  "DD you have to call the cops if only to report the theft of the Burns artifacts. Those are worth big money. You have to call."

  "Tom, I can't. Don't you see? Auntie has no real provenance and reporting it would really put her in hot water. They'd probably arrest her for trafficking in stolen property. I'd never hear the end of it. I've got to think."

  "You'll have to tell her they were stolen, DD."

  My stomach flipped and then flopped. I couldn't tell Auntie I'd failed to protect her treasures. But what else could I do?

  Wolfie made a strange little mouselike noise.

  "Wow," Tom said excitedly. "That's really rare. You just rated one of Wolfie's social squeaks. You're lucky. He only makes that sound for his owner and for me."

  I smiled, even though it hurt. "Wolfie, your pizza's on me tonight." I reached down and gave his head a pat. His fur felt wiry, not soft. Then Wolfie cocked his head to the right and let me rub his ear. Wolfie had indeed saved the day, and I wasn't worried anymore about coming back tomorrow. That is, if I was still alive after telling Auntie the bad news.

  I left with Tom still wanting to call the paramedics and or the cops. But I was feeling better physically with every passing minute. Even if I did have a concussion, I refused to spend the night in some hospital. For one thing,
Scotty was in town. And I didn't need another interrogation by another set of cops. They wouldn't find the guy who'd hit me anyway. All good reasons to avoid giving Wolfie, my new best friend, a police blotter. As to what I was going to do about the precious artifacts and Auntie, I was at a loss, except I knew I would have to beard the lion in her own lair.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  WITH THE SANTA FIASCO, my office break-in, and now the mugging, I had to consider that the mugger had been after the Burns artifacts and wasn't connected with HI-Data. Something had to be done and done quickly, and questions needed to be answered so I could move forward.

  As I parked in front of Mother's, I felt sick to my stomach.

  Auntie Dragon was there, alone. "Your mother's at one of her club meetings," she informed me.

  "We need to talk, Auntie."

  "Aye. I wanted to know how your investigation is coming. Want a wee drink?"

  "No. No drinkies. I've had one hell of a day. Let's just get this over with. You know I'm concerned because of the Santa burglary, and..."

  "I curse him, whoe'er he is."

  I looked, but saw no evidence of the Scotch bottle. "Have you been tippling?"

  "I've not, for all that."

  "Well, what I didn't tell you is that Phil's safe was burglarized the next day. And today, my office was ransacked."

  "Oh. That is suspicious, isn't it?"

  I handed her the phone.

  "Call your Mister Murray."

  "What?"

  "He won't take my calls, and we need to talk to him to get to the bottom of this mess. My experts are telling me that the manuscript and the glass are genuine."

  "But of course they are, DD. I ne'er doubted it. I needed you to verify that fact afore I take the next step."

  "What next step?"

  "Where's your briefcase, DD?"

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "Where are the precious things? Oh, my Lord. Did the louts steal them?"

  "No. They're okay, Auntie," I lied through my teeth. "My experts have looked at them"

  "The whole kit `n kaboodle? They must not be out of our possession. Get them back immediately"

  I wasn't about to tell her the adventures her treasures had today, or that they were now in possession of someone unknown, and we might never see them again. I needed some bargaining power, and this was all I had.

  "All right," I told her. "I will. But first call George."

  "That I cannot do. Look at the time. 'Tis nearly two o'clock in the morning in Scotland."

  "Auntie, I won't bring those objects back into the house until you call him. I'm assuming you know his home number. So call him now. Do it."

  "First I need a little drinkie."

  I grabbed the phone from her. "No `guid auld Scotch drink' till after you make the call." "

  I approve you reciting Robbie Burns by heart."

  "Never mind that. Call him. We need some answers."

  Her jaw was squared. She gave me the eye, but she knew she was cornered.

  After many rings, Auntie said hello to someone. Then she said no, she was all right and explained that yes, she was fully aware it was two a.m.

  "Now tell him who I am," I ordered. She glared again but did as I asked.

  I took the phone. "Mr. Murray? My Auntie's told me everything. We have to talk."

  "Very pleased I am to make your acquaintance, even at this witching hour," he said in a deep, pleasant voice. "An' now she's told you about the twa of us, as it were, please convince her to marry me.

  "What? Look, I'm not calling about that. I'm sorry it's so late, but I need to know about those Burns artifacts. Why did you want to sell them to Auntie?"

  "I dinna want to."

  "But she said you approached her and..."

  "Nay, lass. I wanted to give them to her. But she wouldn't have it. She's verra stubborn. Says you are, too."

  "You wanted to give them to Auntie?"

  Auntie nodded in agreement.

  "Aye. She's the one who'll know the right thing to be done with such precious objects."

  "So you believe the artifacts are genuine. But... "

  "Your Auntie's quite the lass. I expect you are, too. She says you're alike as like can be."

  "What about the hundred thousand pounds?" I asked.

  "Aye, the money she insisted to pay? Means nothing to me. 'Tis in an escrow account. I'll not touch it. After Elizabeth decides what to do with the artifacts, I'll donate that coin as well to the Burns House Mauchline Museum. Now then, can you get her to agree to marry me?"

  "Wait. There's something else. Did she tell you someone broke in and tried to steal the objects?"

  "She did not. Is she all right, then? She's not been hurt has she? Let me speak to her again."

  "She's fine," I told him. "But someone knew about these things and is after them. I understand that your partner, Mr. Jack McSweeney, is here in Chicago right now."

  "Jock? That's so. As head of our American branch, he travels to America quite often. But..."

  "Tell me, how did he feel about your selling the Burns artifacts for so little?"

  "That is of no consequence whatsoever. I make the final decisions for the firm. And which in point of this case I did."

  "But maybe he didn't like your final decision," I suggested.

  "I regret that is true," George Murray admitted. "He strongly disagreed with my actions in the matter. An' Jock was verra angry on account I acted without consulting him. But again, that is of no matter. The decision was mine to make. A Murray has run this firm since the time of the Restoration in 1660 after the scourge of the Roundheads, and McSweeneys have been with us only for the past three generations. In any case, it was all settled by the time I informed him of what I'd done. Now tell me, what makes you believe Jock McSweeney is involved?"

  "Describe him to me, please."

  "Aye. He's fifty-nine, a thin man, taller than your Auntie. Grey hair, light grey eyes, and he has a distinctive hawk-like nose."

  "What kind of coat does he wear?"

  "Coat? He'll be wearing his camel cashmere overcoat as usual. Are we getting somewhere with this, lass?"

  "What good is all this going to do, DD?" Auntie interrupted. "We don't know what Santa looked like."

  "Shh," I said.

  "What?" George Murray asked.

  "Not you, Mr. Murray. Auntie says we don't know what the burglar looks like because he was disguised as Santa Claus."

  "Santa Claus?" His voice went up an octave.

  "Right. What Auntie doesn't know is that somebody trashed my office looking for the Burns objects."

  "Did they get them?" George asked.

  "No, but not for want of trying. Luckily an eyewitness saw him leave my office. This time, he wasn't wearing a Santa suit or a beard, so we've got a description."

  "And is it Jack McSweeney?" Auntie demanded.

  "Does it match what I've told you of Jack?" George asked via the phone at the same time, like a simulcast.

  I glanced at Auntie and said into the phone, "Five feet ten or thereabouts, thin build, grey hair, wearing an expensive tan cashmere coat. And somebody wearing a tan cashmere coat left a piece of it as evidence when he tried to knock me out less than an hour ago. You tell me."

  Auntie frowned at the rug while George swore an oath that made my toes curl.

  "An' are you all right, my girl?" George asked.

  "It's nothing permanent. But..."

  "But the objects were taken, weren't they? You don't want your Auntie to know?"

  "Yes, that's right."

  "I'll see to it right away, my lass. I'm verra sorry. I had no idea he'd react so. This was given to my family for safekeeping, and it was up to me to decide. Jack doesna see the objects as the treasures they are. He sees them only as goods for profit. I'll make it right."

  "What's he saying?" Auntie was beside me, trying to listen.

  "He says he'll make it right," I told her.

  "If that's wh
at he says, then that's what he'll do," she pronounced. "There's no more worry."

  "What's she saying?" George asked.

  "She says you'll take care of it so there's nothing more to worry about. I hope I can count on that"

  "Aye. I'll book the verra first flight to Chicago. I'll let you know what time I'll be arriving. I'll handle Jack and return the objects. Elizabeth will never have to know. Now see what you can do to get her to marry me," he said.

  "Have you ever been able to talk my Auntie into anything, Mr. Murray?"

  "You may call me George," he said with a pleasant laugh. "And right in all, you are. Elizabeth'll do what she'll do only when she's full ready to do it."

  "But I'll ask anyway," I told him warmly. "Auntie, George is down on bended knee and wants me to persuade you to accept his proposal of marriage."

  "Here and now? He's daft."

  "Will you think about it," I asked her.

  "You may tell him that I will."

  "She says you're daft, but she'll think about it," I repeated into the phone.

  "That's a good start, my gel," he said. "Take care of her for me till I get there."

  As I hung up, Mother arrived. Auntie said, "I'm having my wee Scotch now. Where are the treasures?"

  "Somewhere safe."

  Auntie stared at me. "You're more canny than I ken, lassie."

  It had been a very long night.

  THIRTY-NINE

  IT WAS LATE WHEN I got home, and there was Scotty, lounging on the sofa, looking adorable wearing the shirt I'd sent him for Christmas. I intended to tell him about the Burns artifacts, being mugged, and about my awful suspicions concerning Frank's ring. But before the door had barely closed, he had me in his arms and we found ourselves deliciously naked. I forgot everything else, including my sore body. My bed creaked and groaned to our tender then noisy, laughing lovemaking. Just as Scotty made me scream, his beeper went off.

  "Don't you dare stop what you're doing Scotty Stuart, or I'll kill you. Where'd you learn how to do that, anyway?" All my aches and pains had suddenly disappeared. Making love with Frank had been wonderful, but tame. With Scotty, sex was totally uninhibited and full of surprises.