by Alex Ames
I was in total deflection mode, all shields up, wisecracking out of desperation. “I was amazed that Billy Bounce actually was his real name; I had expected Olof Lipshutz or something more ordinary.”
“Either way, I decided to involve you in my case. I had a loose trail all the time and my colleagues were telling me that you are a very careful person. If you don’t want to be followed, you won’t be followed,” Ron said. “And in some instances you were gone for more than a day.” He gave me a tut-tut look.
I seethed but managed to swallow, everything.
Ron put away his fork and finally found my hand again. He had to pull hard to get it back to the tabletop. “Poor Calendar, I know that this hurts, being used by someone you trusted. Well, trusted a little bit.”
I took my fork, poked his hand hard to hurt him, and pulled my other hand away. He gave a small yelp and sat back forcefully. I stood up. “Fuck you, fuck you, Ronald Closeky.” The result was a stark silence in the restaurant, everyone looking at me. “What do you want now? That I tell you the names of everyone involved?”
“No, no, I don’t want that. Please understand—you were a tool for me. And a very useful one. You gave us the murderer of Wally Eastman and the stolen goods. Despite the fact that Phoebe’s murderer is still running free, this is a great success. It is your success. Come on, Cal, we’ve had the FBI and the State Department both on our backs.”
“Glad to be of help to your career, Mr. Detective.”
“Calendar, please forgive me. When I said that you were just a tool for me, I lied. Maybe in the beginning, but what I said in Mexico still holds true. After the case is finished we may see where something… well anything may develop.”
A look at me and he realized that his chances were dwindling by the minute.
“What do you want to do now? With me? On the case,” I clarified. “More murderers? More thieves?”
“Nothing of that sort. Looking at Billy Bounce, I think it would be very unwise to make you rat out the whole jewelry art crime society of America. The way I see it, you helped us, you did a great job, and you are an honest… ” I bet he wanted to say ‘thief’ but he caught himself again and finished lamely with “… an honest person. And I am in love with you.”
I looked at Ron, closed my eyes briefly and decided not to slug him in front of a hundred people. I took my bowl of carbonara and my fork and went over to the bar to finish eating. The barkeeper put a glass of Johnnie Walker in front of me, unasked. I downed it in one swallow and it brought tears to my eyes.
I took a taxi to my parent’s house. Ron followed in his car. I paid, jumped out and ran to the door.
“Calendar, wait. Hear me out,” Ron shouted after me through the passenger window.
I had to fumble with the front door lock so he had time to say his thing. “Remember Mexico City. It was a very nice moment, don’t you think?”
That made me lose my key, I had to search for it in the dark.
“And I still hope we can be best of friends after all,” Ron continued. “And maybe a little more.”
I finally had the key, managed to open the door and flee into the kitchen.
“I love you, Calendar,” Ron shouted after me.
The door slammed shut, I locked up and leaned against the frame, closing my eyes. The tacky ending to a very terrible evening.
“I remember, we had a similar scene many years ago,” Mom said, holding her night-tea mug, observing me. “That guy from your school theatre group? William Bolding? Wolding?” She was sitting at the kitchen desk, catching up with the evening edition of the Sunday paper. It featured our story on pages 1, 2, 3 and 4. Joni Mitchell was crooning quietly from the kitchen stereo.
“Mom, I don’t feel like 1999.”
“You could at least have answered him. He sounded sincere.”
“Ron is a weasel. A sharp-toothed weasel. He used me from the beginning to crack his damned case.”
Mom poured me a tea and led me to the table. “Well, you didn’t resist, did you. You were eager to help and crack the case yourself. Surely, out of your incurable curiosity. And partly to be around his very nice eyes.”
“Curiosity killed the Cal,” I cited a pet-aphorism of Dad. I sipped some tea. “Now I know what guys mean when they claim to think with their pricks. Exactly my problem here: I thought with my pussy, that’s what happened. Ron’s puppy eyes hung to every word I said and I had the hots for him. I had fantasies of him and me and Hawaii and the warm surf. And I let down my guard.”
Mom regarded me for a few moments. “Cal, apart from all that motherly mumbo jumbo I usually fill our conversations with, please let me tell you this, I think I am a good judge of human nature. In my humble opinion, I think that Officer McCloseky is a decent guy, very likable and trustworthy. From the tone of his voice that I managed to make out over the music, he honestly cares for you. His only fault that I can spot is that he takes his profession over his feelings. And Calendar, whatever the problem between him and you is, I think he is a very good person to let down your guard for. For once.”
Mom patted my hands, gave me a hug, refilled my mug and started to leave the kitchen. “Let down your guard and simply be held by a man, honey. It would do you good.” Mom sighed. “Enough said from an old hippie hag. I leave you alone with your defeat. And your victory.” She patted the newspaper, gave me a kiss and went upstairs. On the stairs, I could hear her mumbling to herself, “Who would have thought that I defended a police officer in front of my daughter? Must be getting old.”
I drank up the tea, cried a little on the kitchen table, killed the lights, went to bed and cried some more.
Chapter 46
I WOKE UP the next morning feeling as bad as I did the night before. Mom and Dad tried to cheer me up, they meant to help but somehow it didn’t work.
Mundy called around ten and complimented me on making the front pages nationwide. I gave him a roundup of yesterday’s events.
“I read some on the wires and the net. Your name, by the way, is not mentioned. So don’t count on any fifteen minutes of fame.”
He commented less politely on Ron’s confession after I told him of my evening.
“What happens now? Your role in the case is over, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I am still on but not caring about Mr. Closeky.”
“What else is there to do?”
“Well, of course the death of Phoebe. And my personal promise to Thomas to get him the Maximilian Jewels.”
Mundy chuckled. “Which, of course, are now in the possession of the police.”
“That is no problem, I assure you. I have an idea that you can help me with.”
Mundy agreed; glad to see some part of the action, too.
“I will call you on your mobile as soon as I am back in Redondo,” I said after we had discussed the details.
Mundy hung up and I packed my things, kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and hit the Freeway.
Sunday traffic was thick and it took me almost five hours to crawl back to L.A. I called Mundy on the cell phone and he gave me a location where we could meet, near Santa Monica pier.
Another hour drive and it was close to six o’clock, my stomach signaling dinnertime. I parked my car on the beach parking lot alongside the pier and walked up the steep ramp toward Downtown Santa Monica.
“Where are you?” I called Mundy on his mobile.
“I am on Third Street Promenade, at The Gap store.”
A few minutes later, I spotted Mundy in front of The Gap, listening to a street musician, having his five minutes of walkway-time.
“Are you working or what?” I pecked a kiss on his cheek while he gave me a critical look over as if my evening with Ron had left a permanent mark on me.
“Want to do some shopping first or go to dinner?”
“Your suggestion?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
He pointed to a bookstore on the right. “Let’s go, there are some new releases I want to check out.”
Mundy held out his arm, I took it and we walked over to the bookstore just like a regular couple.
We ran into Professor Benito Salanca in the art book section. Mundy had a stack of paperbacks in front of his nose and I was looking into a book about Tiffany jewels of the sixties.
“Benito, how are you?” I tipped him on the shoulder and he looked up from the book he was browsing.
“Oh, Calendar,” he looked happy to see me, eyeing Mundy, who was balancing his stack a little clumsily.
“Oh, may I introduce you. Benito, this is Mundy Millar, a good friend of mine. Mundy, this is Professor Salanca, the one I told you about writing about the Maximilian Jewels.”
Mundy just waved his free index finger. “Read your stuff, interesting.”
“Thank you. I read in the morning papers that the San Diego police retrieved the Maximilian Jewels.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I was involved in that one in my consultant role.”
“The Maximilian Jewels came to a lot of fame, I had so many phone calls from reporters who wanted to know more about them,” Benito said.
“Well, they came to the right person, didn’t they?” I laughed.
Benito’s eyes twinkled. “A little change from the dull university research, so much is true.”
“Listen,” I said, “I have the chance to attend the official handover of the Maximilian Jewels to the Mexican government. Would you like to join me? You were a great help with your insights and I bet you are dying to see them for real again.”
Benito’s eyes were glowing. “That would be possible? What an honor! Of course, I would like to join you. If it is not too inconvenient… ”
“No, of course not. I will let you know when and we can drive down to San Diego together.”
We exchanged phone numbers, I continued browsing through the Tiffany book, didn’t like it, and my stomach was making funny noises.
“Pay up, pal, and then we go for dinner.”
Mundy steered me to his favorite Thai place, just around the corner. I couldn’t deny him this little reward for a job well done.
Monday morning, I opened my shop, started catching up on orders, mail and bills. Mrs. Otis chatted with customers; I did some design work, and ordered salad for the both of us for lunch. Anything to have a regular day.
Around two in the afternoon, Ron called.
“Hi, traitor,” I said.
He was silent for a second, swallowed the retort and turned official. “We are cordially invited to join the official return of the Royal Maximilian Set to the Mexican nation.”
“Oh, very nice, but you are too late because Fowler already invited me.”
“It will be tomorrow, one o’clock, will you come?”
“Of course I will.” I remembered my promise to Benito. “Can I bring that art historian friend of mine, Professor Salanca? He was the one providing me with all the information about ‘The Max’ in the first place. I owe him.” I spelled the name for him.
“Sure, no problem, I will arrange it,” Ron said.
“Another thing,” I started.
“Shoot.”
“This is about something else. Will our common friend Pedro Vasolar be there, too? After all, he is the director of the Mexico City History Museum.”
“Sure, he just got his head out of the sling, saved by the bell. With your help.”
“Is it possible to have a meeting with him earlier? Around noon?” I asked.
There was a very long silence on the phone. Very long. “Hello?” I asked carefully.
“Calendar, is there anything, I mean anything, I should know beforehand?”
“Even if there was, I would not share it with a stupid prick like you!”
I hung up and had the first very good laugh of the day.
Chapter 47
FOR THE OCCASION, I chose a black Armani dress, serious but chic. Worn best with a one-carat white fire diamond on a stainless steel thread around the neck, it was a serious piece of understatement, just like me.
Benito picked me up with his car on Tuesday morning in Redondo around eight a.m. and we drove down to San Diego with no problems. We had a lively discussion on Mexican art and culture, stopped for Starbucks Coffee Venti and the time passed quickly.
We met with Ron at police headquarters, the first time I ever saw him in a suit and tie. Juanita was there, too. She was a little overdressed but how many times did you meet senators and secretaries of state. We shook hands all around and I introduced Benito. Juanita avoided my eyes, Ron was a little uneasy. Fowler turned up, dressed in a very old-fashioned British three-piece suit. I pulled his leg, saying that he was probably the only guy in California wearing it today. Got a weak smile.
It was only a short walk over to city hall, where the small ceremony was taking place. The sidewalk was lined with TV trucks, their dishes pointing into the sky. All the major networks and news channels plus some Mexican channels would be showing the ceremony live. The ceremony was still over 90 minutes away and they were all in the middle of preparations.
Ron flashed his credentials, our names were checked against the guest list and we were led into the hall where the event staff was in its own preparation process. The TV crews were setting up their cameras and microphones, some poor city hall employees were attempting to arrange everything but failed completely and some bored journalists were already waiting or typing away on their laptops. The official texts of the speeches had been published an hour ago.
One of the city hall minions led our little troupe into one of the back meeting rooms of the hall, where two well-dressed men, who obviously spelled government, greeted us. There was one other, in addition to Pedro Vasolar, who looked considerably more relaxed than at our last interview. Introductions were made and we all shook hands. The officials were John Carver, the representative of the Secretary of State and Franco Pineljo, attaché to the Secretary of Culture of Mexico, Pedro Vasolar’s boss. All were dressed for the occasion in dark suits, decent ties and new haircuts.
John Carver made some pleasant remarks toward me, thanked me again in the name of both nations for my part in the retrieval. And then, of course, asked the inevitable. “Miss Moonstone, you asked for this meeting, the floor is yours. What is it all about?”
All eyes went on me.
“Do you have the Maximilian Jewels here?” I asked.
John Carver nodded and went over to a sideboard. A dark brown polished wooden box held ‘The Max.’ Carver put it on the table and held out his hand for Mr. Pineljo, who opened the box and took out five panels.
The Maximilian Set lay before us, bedded on black satin, shimmering in the light of the meeting room. We were all quiet for a moment, marveling at the beauty. Benito took a step closer and inspected them from very close.
“Miss Moonstone, your turn,” Carver was encouraging me.
I looked around the group. Ron had his skeptical ‘what does she know that I do not’ look. Juanita was still engrossed in the jewels. Pedro Vasolar and the officials looked curiously at me and Fowler simply looked. Outside, we could hear the hall filling with people.
I started, “You know, I really, really hate doing this. You all are so proud of what you achieved,” I nodded to Ron, Juanita and Fowler, “and you Mr. Carver, Mr. Pineljo are proud to return the heritage of the Mexican nation. It is indeed a great day.”
“But, you know there is still one thing that is not solved and I swore to myself to try my utmost to find the killer of Phoebe Eastman.”
Carver and Pineljo had blank faces. They had no clue what this was about. I stepped over to the jewels and picked up the now very famous necklace that had hung around Phoebe’s neck not so very long ago.
“You see these truly beautiful pieces and you know exactly why people want to have them in their possession. They represent everything that jewels and art stands for. Value, style, representation, uniqueness. And the Maximilian Jewels represent even more—heritage, culture and history. They generate passion. A passion to steal them,
a passion to trade them and a passion to kill for them.”
I again looked around the group, held every pair of eyes for a second. I held the last pair of eyes for just a little longer. Those were the eyes of Mr. Pineljo. “I beg forgiveness for what I am now doing to you, Sir. I know that you came here believing that you would receive an important part of your nation’s history, the very same jewels that one of Mexico’s founders brought into the heritage, a link between the Native Mexico and the European Mexico, the Maximilian Set, ‘The Max.’”
Mr. Pineljo nodded his head slowly, not seeing where it was leading.
“You will step out to the podium in a few minutes and you will receive the Maximilian Jewels in front of the eyes of two nations.”
I took a deep breath to deliver the next line.
“And, Mr. Pineljo, you will receive a complete and utter fake.”
Chapter 48
AS FOR PERFECT timing, the door to the meeting room opened and an aide stuck in his head. “Thirty minutes, gentlemen. And ladies.” Gave a smile and closed the door. Opened the door again, because he suddenly realized that the whole assembly either sat or stood frozen. Nobody was moving or talking. “You guys all right in here?” He asked. Carver shook himself from the trance and gave a dismissing wave of his hand.
Mr. Pineljo said in his broken English. “Miss Moonstone, I beg your pardon. Did you say ‘fake?’ Is that what I think it means?”
“Fake!” I said. “As in—Not the original. Not even a copy. Not existing at all.”
Ron stood up. “Cal, hang on a second here. You want to tell us that these jewels here are not the original Maximilian Jewels? That there has been a replacement?”