“How could Julie be such a convincing liar? Matthew Seton, too. What is this world coming to?” I asked Jack.
“Fear is a powerful motivator. Julie was scared. That was no act. Matthew's cry of alarm when he got that call from her seemed genuine, too. Before we jump to conclusions, let’s see what Julie has to say. Somehow, I don’t see her as the bloodthirsty killer type, do you? Or Matthew Seton, either.”
“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “You have more experience dealing with this kind of deception than I do.”
“I do. Still, I’m a little surprised too, Georgie. My guess is that these two got tangled up in a bigger mess than the one you rescued Julie from earlier tonight. Young people can do some dumb things. Remember that awful situation on the beach when you were Julie’s age?”
“I certainly never saw that coming. Let’s hope you’re right, and this is more about them being young and scared rather than vicious and deceitful.”
“I’ll be direct with Julie when I ask her to give us a formal statement tomorrow,” Jack said. “We need to have another chat with her boyfriend, Matthew, too. Let’s get you home.”
“What if Julie makes a run for it tonight?”
“She and Matthew are both under surveillance. If either one of them takes off, we’ll be on it, I promise. I don’t know about you, but I could use some sleep. I’m getting too old for these late capers. You younger women have to take it easy on us old guys.”
“Oh, please, what a line. I’m not even five years younger than you.”
“You know what I mean. Besides, Miles is probably worried and upset. I’ll bet he’s staring out the window, waiting for my car to pull into the driveway. You know who he’s going to blame for keeping you out late, don't you? Not to mention, I still haven’t had my dessert.”
“I thought you said you were tired.”
“Never too tired for dessert. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Jack said, in his hokey PI voice as he pulled me close. His kiss lit a fire, but also put out the one that had driven me to keep searching for missing pieces of the puzzle despite the late hour.
Fatigue hit me like a ton of bricks. I leaned my head against his chest for a moment, and then gave him a good thump.
“Okay, let’s go face the music. Miles is going to have a few trumpet blasts for both of us. I’ll do my best to explain it was all my fault.”
“He’ll never believe it, but thanks for trying,” Jack said as we walked out, arm in arm.
“I need that chocolate fix more than ever,” I said.
Chapter 11: Ella Sings
The following evening, Jack sat with me on the veranda in a state of near-bliss. The man loves chocolate as much as I do, which was only one of the reasons we might be soul mates. He had just finished a hot fudge brownie sundae. I had made everything from scratch: brownies; hot fudge sauce; and vanilla ice cream. A culinary event that wasn’t likely to happen again soon. The avalanche of sugar and caffeine was fabulous, but I didn’t want to kill the new man in my life by assaulting his triglycerides too often. I told him that.
“We’ve all got to go sometime. Death by chocolate is about as good a way to go as any. Eat dessert first and die a happy man.”
We had skipped our meal and settled for eating dessert because he had been held up by some last minute mix-up at work. There was a lot going on as they sifted through the information collected at multiple crime scenes and interviewed all the parties involved.
“I have to agree with you about death by chocolate,” I said. “Not right away, I hope. I’m looking forward to years of adventure with Jack Wheeler. I could do with a little less murder and mayhem, but I guess it goes with the territory when you date a homicide detective.”
“Several of my homicide investigations this year involved you, one way or another. I’m beginning to suspect you’re a dangerous woman, Georgie, and that's more than your knife skills or your capacity to deliver death by chocolate. Despite its reputation, Marvelous Marley World is no haven.”
“That has a lot to do with the legacy of our very own Cruella de Vil. Who knew she could reach out from the grave with one of those bony fingers of hers and wreak such havoc?” I bristled at the thought of the destruction one woman had wrought.
“Poor Max,” Jack said, “I’m sure the last thing he needed was to find out that his dead daughter had planned yet another surprise for her dear old dad before she died.”
“He’s taking it pretty well, Jack. In fact, it’s been a big relief to find out that Mallory didn’t succeed in selling his artwork and collectibles as she intended to do. Max and Clara were beside themselves that night, because they both knew many of the items on display were fakes. Clara had only recently made that discovery when Max asked for the space to feature the artist renderings and a scale model of New Arcadia. When Clara inventoried the items on display, she got a shock.”
“So much for museum-quality security, huh?”
“The high level of security is the main reason Clara suspected Mallory had to be behind the fraud. Whoever did it had ongoing access to the archive and knowledge about the contents, as well as time and money to replace the real items with fakes. None of the items had shown up at auction or on the Internet so she held out hope that she’d find them. Which she did after going through Mallory’s personal records. Clara found payments from Mallory to a high-end facility where she stored her furs.”
“Would you expect anything else from Cruella de Vil?” I asked in response to Jack’s raised eyebrows. “Clara contacted them and found they not only stored the furs for her, but also a wine collection and art—including the items she had stolen from her father.”
“It's a shame they didn't tell us all of this that night. I’m not sure what difference it would have made, but I would have preferred to know that Mallory might be in the mix, somehow,” Jack said as he set his spoon down next to his empty bowl.
“That’s what Clara and Max were arguing about. Once Clara had located Mallory’s stash there wasn’t any crime to report, and until she went through everything in that vault, she couldn’t vouch for the status of the collection.”
“I suppose Max didn’t want that information to get around.”
“Yes, Jack. In its entirety, Max's collection is valued at tens of millions of dollars. Piecemeal or picked over it’s worth a lot less. Max couldn’t afford for that to get out because he’d put the archive up as collateral for a loan to ‘seed’ the New Arcadia venture. He had already started talking about putting a chunk of his personal assets into ‘making the real world an even more marvelous place.’ Stacy had the PR machine cranking, creating the buzz needed to attract investors.”
“Since there’s been no news about it, I presume that means Max’s precious collection is intact.”
“For the most part. Clara’s still going through everything, but Max’s most prized possessions are there and in good shape.”
“A heist to cover a heist—who could have imagined that? Those goons who thought they had scored big were dupes, too. A heist in which the thieves get suckered is a new one for me. I’ve dealt with all sorts of fraud over the years, but this one takes the cake.”
I turned things over in my head. “Hmmmm. Mallory’s reliance on boy toys from Marley World and the bad boys she had met in rehab might have worked if she’d been around to play mistress of the dark. But without her calling the shots, it all went off the rails, fast. She hadn’t told any of them the whole story, so they had no idea they were stealing fakes to cover up her theft and fraud.”
Jack chuckled. “The two thieves who are still alive are passing the blame back and forth about who decided they needed hostages. Damon gets credit for coming up with the bright idea to put Mallory’s plan into action even though she was dead. Damon’s not able to dispute that claim since he’s joined Mallory in the grave, but stealing the art collection and the Marvelous Marley World Crown Jewels must have been tempting.”
“Maybe not s
o tempting if they had known those crown jewels were nothing but gold plated brass and paste after Mallory had her way with them.”
“You’re probably right. Most of what Damon and his greedy sidekicks hid in a storage locker in the backstage area is junk. It wouldn’t have remained hidden in there for long. They planned to waltz back in there the next day and claim it, after making their escape. Julie told us exactly where to find it.”
“She’s lucky to be alive. You made the right call when you guessed that she and Matthew were both young and scared. Misguided, too, for Julie to try to help out an old boyfriend who was in the wrong. The same for Matthew, trying to cover for his new girlfriend.”
Jack smiled sadly. “At least she told the truth when it came time to give us a formal statement. All I said was, ‘Georgie thinks you lied to her,’ and the whole story came tumbling out along with buckets of tears. She felt guilty about dumping Damon for Matt, but Damon got himself into that trouble. He might still be alive if he had given up when his pal started shooting at people in the Gallery.”
“Even if the disastrous heist had been his idea, I doubt he was calling the shots by then—no pun intended.”
“It could be, but as soon as they hit the tunnels, Damon called Julie. He told her he'd been shot and needed to get to a doctor quick. She left her shift early to make sure the employee area was empty before he and his thieving buddies arrived. Julie also found that empty storage chest in the men's outfitter's room to use as a hiding place for their loot. As you suspected, Julie hadn’t overheard much at all. Most of what she learned came directly from Damon. He told her they planned to change into character outfits so that they could escape through the park and out of the back door of Catmmando Mountain.”
“What would she have done if an associate had been in that area?” I asked.
“She didn’t say. I hope she would have passed along Damon’s message to hide. Damon was wary enough of his companions by then that he had the decency to tell Julie not to make a sound when they arrived. That's how she found out that their plan included taking hostages, despite the fact that Damon didn’t like the idea.”
“Maybe Damon wanted to get caught, given how much information he gave to Julie.”
“He sure did lay it all out for her. Originally, they planned to take the tunnels to an employee parking lot where they had left their getaway car. That option vanished once the alert went out about 'shots fired' in the Gallery.”
There was still one question puzzling me. “How did Damon come up with the idea to use that back door out of Catmmando Mountain?”
“That's not clear. Mallory could have told him about it. Dan was correct that he had seen Damon before. Damon Saunders' name was on a roster of construction team members that toured Catmmando Mountain. Who knows if Damon joined that crew and went on the tour to scope out an alternate escape route, or if he came up with the idea on the spur of the moment? Damon would have known how to get in there without using Mallory's keycard. They wouldn't have needed to use Tom-Troopers to find their way out, either.” Jack shrugged and sipped a cup of decaf coffee. “Who knows? They might have pulled it off.”
Strains from Thelonius Monk's Round Midnight fit the languid mood that overtook me. A chill blew in off the Pacific Ocean, as the sun sat on the horizon like a big orange pumpkin. All Hallows’ Eve could have turned out so much worse than it had.
“I doubt they would have gotten away, Jack. Not with S.W.A.T. waiting to greet them when they left out that back door. I take it Julie told the truth when she claimed she heard that gunshot,” I said
“Yep. Her story about getting ensnared when she panicked and ran for it was real, too. That gunshot was the reason she called Matthew. She was sure Damon was dead. Matthew was truly terrified when he shouted for help, but he still had the presence of mind to tell Julie not to say a word about helping Damon.”
“That wasn’t smart. I guess that call, and the information she gave us later, helped lead to the thieves’ capture.” I sighed.
“Unfortunately, she and Matthew are still facing legal troubles. I hear your corporate lawyers have gone to bat for them.”
“Max says he feels sorry for them, and they've been through enough. Marvelous Marley World won’t press charges, so what happens to them next depends on the police and the district attorney. Can you believe Max is still cleaning up after Mallory even though she's dead? He’s hoping the two murderous thieves who got caught red-handed, will accept plea deals to avoid a trial. He’s called in a few personal favors to keep all of this quiet. Heaven forbid that more murder and mayhem taint the Marvelous Marley World brand. I’m amazed at the clout he has. It is a marvelous world, I guess. 'A Marvelous Marley World.’”
Jack stared at me with an eyebrow arched.
“What?” I asked.
“You're singing Marley World's theme song. Maybe it’s time to consider retirement, Georgie.”
“I will, if you will, Jack. All that cops and robbers stuff has me worried about you, too. Together, I’m sure we could figure out how to make ends meet.”
“Why Georgie, is that a proposal?”
“It does sound like that doesn’t it?” Butterflies flitted about in my belly after I realized that's what it had been. Jack bolted out of his chaise.
“Hold that thought for a few minutes. I've got something to do.” With that, Jack took off into the house through the great room, and disappeared. I heard the front door slam.
“Meow.” Miles issued a plaintive cry and stared at me.
“Don't look at me. I'm clueless.” I grew more distressed by the moment. Had I chased Jack off by springing that proposal on him?
Jazz played in the background, and I felt like the star in the closing scene of a noir film. Sitting there overlooking the Pacific Ocean as the sun sank below the horizon, and my detective pal just made a run for it: fade to black and roll the credits.
Then I noticed the hot fudge sundae dishes, and reality came crashing back into focus.
“Good grief. Let’s put on different music,” I said, grabbing the dishes. I went inside, rinsed the dishes, and then went to switch to something more upbeat. Miles was at my heels when he suddenly let loose one of his ear-splitting howls.
A knock at the front door sent the two of us scurrying to answer it. I opened the door. Jack stood there. He held out a pink and gray pet carrier as he stepped inside and shut the door.
“What's that?” I asked.
Miles wanted to know too. He stood up, leaning against Jack's leg, and then reached up toward the carrier. I leaned over and peered into the container. A pair of gorgeous blue eyes gazed at me.
Miles meowed and got a lovely response.
“Meow.”
My heart sang hearing that sound. “That is the most melodious meow I have ever heard. How can a kitten create such pure, rich, silky tones?”
“Meet Ella,” Jack said. “It’s only fair for Miles to have a girl of his own. Who better for Miles Davis than Ella Fitzgerald?” Jack set the carrier on the ground, and Miles settled into his Sphinx pose inches away. No hissing was a good sign.
“Georgie Shaw, will you marry me?” Jack popped open a little black box he pulled from a pocket.
I barely glanced at the ring before answering. “I thought you'd never ask,” I said as I slipped my arms around his neck and pulled him close. Snap. Crackle. Pop.
--The End--
Anna Celeste Burke is an award-winning and bestselling author who enjoys snooping into life's mysteries with fun, fiction, & food—California style! Her books include the Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery series set in the Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, the Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery series set on California’s Central Coast, and The Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery series set in Orange County, California--the OC. Coming soon: The Misadventures of Betsy Stark that take place in the Coachella Valley. Find out more at http://www.desertcitiesmystery.com.
Accident, Suicide, or Murder: A Jonathan Boykin Short Story
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By Randy Rawls
Editor’s Note: Everyone agreed Jack's death was a tragedy. However, there was no agreement on how he died—accident, suicide, or murder.
Chapter 1
The green of the ninth hole lay in front of me, approximately two-hundred-plus yards away. I wasn't going there, though. I was headed into the rough to find my ball. From the tee, I'd watched it slice majestically, land and take two hops on the edge of the fairway, and disappear in the tall grass. I hoped I had it marked, or it would cost me a two-stroke penalty. With my game, any penalty was too much to overcome.
My cell phone rang, interrupting my concentration. When would I learn to turn the darn thing off? Jerking it out of its pouch, I stared at the number. Local, but not one I recognized. I could let it go to voice mail.
Unfortunately, I came from a generation that believed phone calls were never irrelevant. If it wasn't important, no one would bother. Answering was an automatic response, not something to be considered. “Hello.”
“Mr. Boykin, my name is Dolly Boomer. Homer Whittaker is my boss. He wants to talk to you. Can you come in today? I'm holding five to six.”
An hour? I was pretty certain anything I needed to discuss with Lawyer Whittaker could be done in ten minutes or less—emphasis on less. Maybe unfair, but he ranked high on my list of those not to have a beer with.
“Sorry. I'm playing golf, I'm retired, and I have no business with your boss.”
“Please. Don't hang up. It's very important. He'll be so disappointed in me. I need this job.”
“What's the subject?”
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 37