“Let me take the card. I might know someone who can authenticate the card for us.”
“Sure,” Perry said. “Come by tomorrow. I’ll be here at two for rehearsals.”
***
The next day Cal was with me as we got the card from Perry.
“You wanted to come along because you’ve been doing research on baseball cards?” I said as we left the club.
“Uh huh.” Cal stared at me. “I was curious.”
“Like you need to be an expert on anything else,” I laughed.
Cal studied the card as I drove down south Broadway, a street filled with antique and collectible stores. He carefully took the card out of its plastic box. “I wonder if this card is real,” he said.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
I pulled my Forerunner into a metered parking spot in front of Classic Hollywood Memorabilia, a store run by my friend, Henri Benoit. He was a World War II vet who was born in France, but had lived in the United States for years.
“Ah, Reed,” Henri said when he saw us. “My friend, I owe you so much.”
I had saved Henri’s life while working on a case [author’s note - see This Doesn’t Happen In The Movies], and he never let me forget it.
“It was nothing,” I assured him.
“Are you here about a poster?” Henri was an expert of Hollywood memorabilia, and knew of my love of Humphrey Bogart and film noir.
“Not this time,” I said, setting the baseball card down on the counter. “I’d like you to take a look at this card.”
“That’s funny,” Henri said, pulling at his long white ponytail. “I saw this exact same card just the other day.”
“What?” Cal and I said in unison.
“Did a woman bring it in? Tall and thin, looked kind of like Diana Ross?”
Henri laughed. “No, it was a man. He wanted me to authenticate the card.”
“Did you?” I asked.
“No.” Henri shrugged. “I know about movie memorabilia, not baseball cards. I took a look at the card but I couldn’t tell if it was a fake or not. I referred him to my friend, Jack. He owns an antique store a mile up the road. He’ll be able to authenticate the card, or he’ll call someone in who can.”
“What did this guy look like?” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
“He was shorter, like me,” Henri said. He stood a good four inches shorter than my six feet. “The whole time I was talking to him, I kept thinking he reminded me of someone else.”
“Did he look like Bobby Darin?” Cal asked.
“No,” Henri stroked the ponytail. “But now that you mention it, he sounded like Bobby Darin.”
“Don Adams?” I said. “From that show, Get Smart?”
“Yes!” Henri smacked his forehead. “That’s been bugging me. That was a silly show.”
“Sounds like Barney took the real card,” Cal said.
“Did you just figure that out?” I rolled my eyes at him.
“Ah, you are on a case, yes?” Henri said, his eyes twinkling.
“Yup,” Cal said.
I turned to Henri. “What’s the name of that antique store?”
“In The Old Days.” Henri walked us to the door. “It’s just up the road, on the east side of the street.”
We thanked Henri and left.
“I wonder how Barney stole the card from Perry,” Cal said as I pulled the Forerunner onto Broadway.
“If he did it.” I donned my sunglasses to help with the bright Colorado sunshine.
“How many other guys that look surprisingly like Don Adams, but sound like Bobby Darin, do you know, that would just happen to have a 1952 Mickey Mantle baseball card?” It was Cal’s turn to roll his eyes at me.
“Just trying to give him the benefit of doubt.”
I found a parking space on the street and pulled in. After slipping a quarter in the meter, Cal and I walked down the block to In The Old Days Antiques.
“Man, there’s a lot of stuff here,” Cal whispered as we entered the store.
“No kidding.” My eyes roved around the place. Dishes and other glass items loaded the shelves, along with nic nacs of all sorts. Old posters hung from the walls, but I didn’t see any of the classic noir films. A series of glass cases lined the back part of the store, full of old antiques: coins, jewelry, baseball cards and signed balls.
A huge man stepped out of a hidden room at the back, pausing behind the display cases.
“Can I help you?” he squeaked like Minnie Mouse.
“You think he got bullied in school?” Cal murmured.
“Shut up,” I muttered back. The man may have sounded like a mouse but he was built like a bull, and I didn’t want to get gored by him. I strode over to him. “Are you Jack?”
“Yes.” Jack put immense hands on the edge of the counter and leaned toward me. “Who are you?”
“I’m Reed Ferguson. Henri at Classic Hollywood Memorabilia said that you might be able to help us.”
Jack relaxed slightly. “Henri’s a good man. He knows his movie memorabilia.”
“And he said you would know baseball memorabilia.” I set the baseball card box on the display case. “Could you take a look at this and tell me if it’s an authentic card?”
Jack picked up the box and gazed at the card. Then his eyes fell on me. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Cal sidled up next to me. “Why do you ask?”
Jack turned his attention on Cal. “Because I’ve seen this card before. Or one like it. Two identical cards don’t waltz through the door within a week of each other without something being fishy.”
“I think this card is a fake,” Cal said. “The coloring doesn’t seem right.”
Jack opened the box and let the card fall gently onto the glass display top. He pulled an eyepiece from his pocket, squeezed it in one eye, and leaned down over the card. “Hmm,” he said. “The border isn’t right at all, is it?”
“No,” Cal concurred.
Jack popped into the back office and returned with a black light. He turned it on and held it over the card.
“See how the edges kind of glow? It shouldn’t do that. My guess is someone touched up this card. It could be a real Mantle card, but it’s been restored.”
Cal bent down and got as close as he could to the card. “I hadn’t noticed that.” Those were rare words from Cal.
Jack picked the card up by the edges. “Whoever did this spent some time on it.” He flipped the card over and studied it some more. Then he dropped it back into its box. “But it’ll never get a grade that would authenticate it.”
“Just like I thought,” Cal said.
I shot him a sidelong glance.
“So it would never have the value of an original,” I said, thinking back to my research on baseball cards.
“Yes,” Jack replied. “A restored card could still be worth some money, but nothing like a true original.”
“Someone’s trying to put one over on Perry,” Cal said.
“So, which one of you is going to tell me what’s going on?” Jack squeaked.
Since I was the detective, I took the lead, much to Cal’s chagrin. The sleuthing seemed to be growing on him. “The one you looked at the other day was real?”
Jack nodded. “It sure was. I told the guy he had a beauty on his hands. I offered him five thousand for it, but he wanted to try listing it on EBay. I told him that any buyers would want it authenticated and he might have some trouble selling it without that.”
“What’d he say to that?” I asked.
“That he might be back.” Jack pointed at the card. “Where’d you get that card?”
“I think the same man who visited you used this one to fool the original owner,” I said.
“So he stole the card he showed me.” Jack grimaced. “That’s not cool.”
“No, it’s not,” Cal edged into the conversation. “How would you like to help us get the card back to the original owner?”<
br />
Jack and I both stared at Cal.
“What do you have in mind?” Jack asked.
I turned to Cal, all ears. What was my sidekick conjuring up?
“Is there any way you can get a hold of that guy again?”
“Sure,” Jack smiled. “When we were dickering over price, he asked if I would let him know if I had someone interested in buying the card. He said if he could get a solid buyer, that he’d come down on his price.”
“Call him,” I said, seeing where Cal was going with this. “Get him down here.”
“Should we call the police?” Jack asked.
“I don’t want to scare him off,” I said. “Contact him and see when he can come back down with the card. Cal and I will handle it from there.”
“I can do that,” Jack said. “Give me a minute.” He disappeared into the back room.
“Not bad,” I glanced at Cal. “You’re starting to enjoy this detective work, aren’t you?”
“As long as I’m out of the house, I’ll make the best of it,” Cal shrugged.
Jack returned, smiling. “I told him I have a buyer interested in the card, so he said he’d come right down. You sure you don’t want the police here?”
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” I said. I looked all around the store, forming a plan in my mind. “Okay, this is what we’ll do.”
***
An hour later, Barney Whitman sauntered into the store.
“He’s here,” Jack whispered, poking his head in the back room, where Cal and I were quietly waiting.
Cal nodded at me and dashed through a back door that led out to the alley. I edged up to the inner door. Jack was talking to Barney.
“It is a nice card,” he was saying.
“Yeah,” Barney replied in his Bobby Darin voice. “So you can pay me cash, right?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “It’s easier than messing with EBay.”
“You got that right,” Barney said.
“Where’d you get this card?” Jack asked. That was my cue.
“I’ve had it around for-” Barney stopped when he saw me step into the room.
“You’ve had it around?” I repeated. “Or you stole it?”
“What are you doing here?” Barney snarled.
“He knows you?” Jack’s eyes widened.
“Uh huh.” I moved toward the display case, where Barney’s, or more correctly, Perry’s original card, lay in a clear plastic box. “How’d you steal it?”
Barney snatched the box and whirled around, ready to bolt out the front door. But at that moment Cal opened the door. He stood with arms crossed, blocking the entrance. Barney took a step back and I grabbed the box out of his hand.
Barney cursed at me.
“Want to go to jail?” I held up the card. “Time to spill the beans or I call the cops.”
Barney sighed and his shoulders drooped. “No cops, please.”
“Start talking,” Jack squeaked. Whoa, what a threat, coming from Minnie Mouse.
“Perry talks about that stupid card all the time. It was like his good-luck charm. Elvis and baseball, that’s what he loves. Before he went onstage, Perry would sing that Elvis song, ‘Good Luck Charm’ while holding the card. It was stupid, but Perry said it helped him to put on a stellar show.”
Now I knew why Perry didn’t want to tell me why he kept the card at the club instead of safe at his house.
Jack’s eyes darted between Barney and me, confused. “Who’s Perry’s?”
“He’s an Elvis impersonator,” I said.
“How did he know about the card?” Jack gestured at Barney.
“Barney sings with Perry.” I turned back to Barney. “So you saw Perry get the card out of the safe.”
Barney nodded.
My mind raced back to the night we saw him perform. “The card tricks.” I paused. “You’re some kind of memory expert, right? You saw Perry dial the combination on the safe, didn’t you? And you memorized it.”
“Photographic memory,” Barney said. “Perry should be more careful. All I had to do was wait until he went onstage, and I walked right into his room. If someone saw me, I could just say that I needed to borrow makeup or something.”
“But no one saw you. And with Trish’s financial problems, it was easy to let her take the heat.”
“Wait,” Barney held up a hand. “I felt bad that you thought she took the card, so I put it back.”
“You put a fake card back,” I pointed out.
Barney sighed. “Well, sure. The original was worth so much. I couldn’t pass up that kind of money.”
“And Perry made it so easy for you. You pop in there, steal the card, sell it, and no one’s the wiser.”
“I took the card to piss Perry off,” Barney said. “I never even knew it was worth anything until after I stole it. When Perry said it was worth thousands, I decided to sell it.”
“Yeah, I’m buying that,” I said.
“You can think what you want,” Barney snapped. “I was just trying to get back at him.”
“For what?”
“Perry took my girl,” Barney said, his lower lip quivering.
“That’s it?” I cocked my head at him in disbelief.
“It’s true,” Barney whined. “I had the most beautiful woman in the world. I was going to ask her to marry me, and then she fell for Perry. Just because he looks like Elvis.”
“That’s it!” Jack snapped his fingers. “You look like that guy, um...”
“Bobby Darin,” Barney said.
“No.” Jack pursed his lips.
“Don Adams from Get Smart,” I said.
“Yes!” Jack pointed at Barney. “You could be his double.”
“I’m Bobby Darin,” Barney growled. He took a couple of steps back, held up his arms, and started crooning ‘Mack the Knife’. “See?” he said when he’d finished.
Jack clapped lightly, courtesy applause. “Yeah, you sound like Bobby Darin, but you don’t look like him.”
“I’m leaving now.” Barney stared to me. “What are you going to tell Perry?”
“I’ll tell him what you did,” I said. “The two of you can decide how to handle it. I’ve got just one more question. Where’d you get the fake card?”
“On EBay,” Barney said. “It was so good it cost me a couple thousand. It was a real card that was touched up so it would look better, that’s why it was so expensive. I figured Perry would never know the difference.”
“You’d get Trish out of trouble, and still make a tidy profit when you sold the original card.”
Barney nodded.
“Now you’re just out a couple grand,” Jack said.
“Poetic justice,” I agreed.
“Yeah, you got the card back, so leave me be.” Barney edged toward the front door. “I’ll take care of things with Perry.”
“Hey Barney,” I called after him.
“What?” he stopped.
“How far does Perry take his Elvis impersonation?” I said.
“When he’s onstage, he’s the king himself. Why?”
“Elvis knew karate.” I grinned. “Better watch your back.”
Barney paled. Without another word, he jostled past Cal and out the door.
“What a character,” Jack shook his head.
I tossed the plastic box to Cal. “Let’s return that to Perry.”
***
“I can’t believe that little turd stole it.” Perry gazed at his baseball card. Cal and I were in his dressing room, and had just told him what had transpired.
I sat down on a tiny couch across from his dressing table. “He says he did it because you stole his girl.”
“Melinda?” Perry snorted. “She said he was clingy and needy, and she finally got tired of it.”
“Go figure,” Cal muttered.
“You might want to keep better tabs on that card,” I said. “You made it way too easy for Barney to get it.”
Perry nodded. “Yeah, that was
dumb of me.”
The dressing room door opened a crack. “Can I come in, honey?” a sultry voice asked.
“Sure, darlin’.” Perry got up as a woman with huge breasts sauntered into the room. I admit, Cal and I stared. Store-bought, was all I could think.
“Fellas, this is Melinda,” Perry introduced her.
“You dated Barney?” Cal blurted.
Melinda ran her hand through Perry’s hair. “I just love entertainers,” she said through puckered lips.
Old, dead entertainers, I thought.
“Uh huh,” Cal said. He glanced at me. I shrugged.
“We better be going,” I said. Cal and I stood up. “Put that card in a safe place.”
“I’ll do that.” Perry reached out and handed me a check. “You earned this.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” I said.
It slipped out, I swear.
To read other exciting adventures in the Reed Ferguson Mystery Series, or for information on Renée's other books, contests, and freebies, visit her website – www.reneepawlish.com.
Biography
Renée Pawlish is the award-winning author of the bestselling Nephilim Genesis of Evil, the first in the Nephilim trilogy, the Reed Ferguson mystery series (This Doesn't Happen In The Movies and Reel Estate Rip-off), The Noah Winters YA Adventure series (The Emerald Quest), Take Five, a short story collection, and The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within, a nonfiction account of a haunted house investigation.
Renée has been called “a promising new voice to the comic murder/mystery genre” and “a powerful storyteller”. Nephilim Genesis of Evil has been compared to Stephen King and Frank Peretti.
Renée was born in California, but has lived most of her life in Colorado. When she's not hiking, cycling, or chasing ballplayers for autographs, she is writing mysteries, thrillers and horror. She loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim: Genesis of Evil.
Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com.
The Reed Ferguson Mystery Series
This Doesn’t Happen In The Movies available at Amazon.
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