Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  They stared impassively at me.

  “You can drop the surveillance mode,” I told them. “We know why we’re all here.”

  “You shouldn’t be speaking to us,” said the primper, glancing around as if she expected Ricardo to materialize from behind one of the potted plants.

  I rose. “I’m not spending all night here. It’s obvious he’s not going to call, and even if he does, my cell phone travels with me.”

  “You can’t leave,” said the other woman.

  “Watch me.” I shoved my arms into my coat and picked up my purse, the empty duffel, and the money-laden Burberry tote, but I hesitated. I’d already sustained two break-ins at home. The last thing I wanted was fifty thousand dollars of police money sitting in my house all weekend.

  I proffered the Burberry bag to the cop in the purple running suit. “You can give Batswin and Robbins back their money. I don’t want to be responsible for it.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, refusing to accept the tote.

  “I think it’s an excellent idea.”

  “What if the perp comes to your home for it?” asked the primper.

  “I’ll tell him I brought it to the bank for safekeeping when he didn’t call as planned.”

  “The banks are already closed for the night,” said the purple-clad cop.

  I dropped back into the chair and pulled out my phone and Batswin’s business card. “I’m calling Batswin.”

  “Don’t. I’ll call for instructions.” The primper pulled out a cell phone of her own and punched in a number. After apprising the person at the other end of the situation, she hung up and turned to me. “Take the money home with you, Mrs. Pollack. We’ll have someone follow you and keep an eye on your house.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, but with both cops refusing to accept the money, I had no other choice. Leaving fifty thousand dollars sitting in a mall lounge wasn’t a viable option.

  I adjusted my purse, the tote, and the empty duffel over my shoulders. Clutching them tightly against my body, I turned to exit the lounge. The two women cops showed no signs of tagging along. “Aren’t you going to escort me to my car?”

  “Someone else will keep an eye on you,” said the primper. “We don’t want to tip our hand in case the perp is lurking somewhere in the mall.”

  In other words, my safety took a back seat to their completing a successful sting. Anger emanating from every pore of my body, I yanked open the lounge door and headed for the parking garage.

  Several times I had the feeling someone was following me. I hoped it was one of the cops. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed no one paying any attention to me. I quickened my pace anyway.

  Once in the garage, I heard footsteps behind me. Heavy footsteps. This time, instead of taking a look, I broke into a sprint for the last twenty yards.

  After several shaky attempts, I managed to unlock the car. I threw the bags onto the passenger seat, slipped behind the wheel, and locked the door before starting the engine.

  Taking the circular exit ramp as fast as I could without plowing into a concrete pylon, I peeled out of the mall and made the normally twenty-five minute trip back to Westfield in under fifteen. If Ricardo or the police were following me, they were sure taking their bloody sweet time about it.

  ~*~

  I arrived home to a dark house. Totally dark. Not a single light casting a warm glow from any window. Every hair on my body jumped to attention. Even though the heater in the Hyundai refused to exhale anything above a piddling lukewarm whisper of heat, perspiration trickled down my cleavage-challenged chest.

  As I parked the car, I tried to convince myself we’d had a power outage, but the well-lit homes of my neighbors belied that theory. Unless the main circuit breaker had tripped, and no one knew how to reset it. I held onto that glimmer of hope even though the logical half of my brain told me my resourceful kids knew how to reset the circuit breakers, and even if they had forgotten, they would have gone next door for help.

  Grabbing the flashlight I kept in the glove compartment, I quietly eased out of the car, locked my purse and the fifty thousand dollars inside, and crept toward the back door. Along the way, I arced the light across the side of the house to check the basement windows. All appeared still boarded. At the back door I turned the knob and found it locked.

  I decided to check the windows on the other side of the house before entering. Fifty-year-old azalea and rhododendron bushes, planted by the original owners, flanked the east side of the rancher. In order to check the windows, I had to squeeze between the dense shrubbery and the house.

  By the time I had inspected both basement windows and fought my way out of the prickly bushes, I was covered with a wintry mix of icy twigs and dead leaves. I considered it a small price to pay for the satisfaction of knowing no one had broken through my make-shift Home Depot security system. But if someone hadn’t broken in, why was the house dark? I headed for the front door to find out.

  As I rounded the house, a blaze of searchlights blinded me. Someone yelled, “Police. Freeze! Hands above your head!”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Where the hell were you guys a few minutes ago?” I yelled at them.

  “Mrs. Pollack?”

  I recognized Fogarty’s voice. “Mind dousing the glare, Fogarty? You’re blinding me.”

  “Kill the spot, Harley.”

  I blinked into the darkness and waited for my eyes to adjust.

  “What were you doing prowling around your own house?” he asked, advancing toward me.

  I told him.

  “So you decided to play detective?”

  “What would you have done? Blithely walk in on who-knows-what? The creep who’s broken into my home twice could be holding my family hostage in there at this very minute. Meanwhile we’re out here playing Twenty Questions.”

  “You should have stayed in your car and called 9-1-1 on your cell phone,” he said.

  “I was going to. As soon as I checked all the windows.” Except my cell phone was in my purse, which was locked in my car, but I decided not to admit that mistake to Fogarty. Instead, I opted to go on the offensive. “What are you doing here?”

  “We got a call to keep an eye on your place. Seems you’re making quite a few enemies, Mrs. Pollack.”

  More and more, I was convinced I had only one sleaze-ball turning my life upside-down and inside-out, but now was not the time for a discussion on investigative theories. My kids and Mama could be in danger. And Lucille.

  I waved toward my house. “What about my family? They could be bleeding to death in there.”

  He walked back to the cruiser to confer with Harley. A moment later both men approached, guns drawn. Harley carried a flashlight.

  “Give me your house key,” said Fogarty.

  I placed the key in his outstretched palm.

  “Stay here,” Harley told me. “We’ll check things out first.”

  Fat chance. I was right behind them as they unlocked the door and stepped into my foyer. My extremely frigid foyer. Without electricity, the furnace didn’t kick on. The power must have gone out several hours ago for the house to have gotten this cold.

  “The switch is to the left,” I said, indicating the wall switch plate with the light from my flashlight, even though I knew it wouldn’t work.

  Harley spun around, shining his flashlight directly into my eyes. “I thought I told you to stay outside.”

  Ignoring him, I reached for the switch, clicking it up and down several times. No lights. “The electric panel is in the basement at the bottom of the stairs,” I said, pointing the way with my own flashlight. “A few feet down the wall on the right.”

  “Wait here. Or I’ll cuff you to the banister,” said Harley as he headed for the basement.

  “It’s too quiet,” I told Fogarty.

  “Maybe they all went out to dinner or a movie.”

  “In twenty degree weather without a car?”

 
“Someone could’ve picked them up.”

  I shined my flashlight into the living room, sweeping across each piece of furniture, paying particular attention to Ralph’s favorite perches and the cushions where Catherine the Great liked to lounge. “Along with the dog, the cat, and the parrot?”

  “Right,” he admitted. “Odd.”

  “Wait,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Did you hear that?” I could have sworn I heard a muffled groan.

  “The wind’s picking up,” said Fogarty. We had left the front door open. He shut it.

  “No. It wasn’t wind.” I held my breath and listened. “There it is again.”

  “It’s coming from down the hall,” he said. “I’ll check it out.”

  “Not without me.” I dogged his heels as he headed for the bathroom. The door was closed. “We always leave the bathroom door open when no one’s using it.”

  “Get back,” he said. “Over there.” He waited until I stood where he indicated.

  As if on cue, the power came on the moment Fogarty swung open the bathroom door. “Jeez!”

  “What?” I ran up behind him and stood on tiptoe to see over his shoulder. “Omigod!” Alex, Nick, Mama, and Lucille were all trussed up with duct tape, their hands secured behind their backs, their legs bound together at their ankles, all wriggling and squirming and banging into each other as they grunted and groaned behind duct tape gags. Blindfolds covered their eyes.

  Mama and Lucille were taped together back-to-back. All were shoehorned into the bathtub with Nick and Alex sprawled on top of their grandmothers.

  Fogarty lifted the boys out of the tub and settled them on the floor. Then he ripped a strip of silver tape from Mama’s mouth. She screamed.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He removed the blindfold. “There’s no gentle way to get this stuff off. Faster is better.”

  “Mama, what happened?”

  “That awful man. He had a gun.”

  “Who, Mama?”

  “How should I know his name? But I think he might have been the same nasty man who ran into me during the first robbery.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Every joint and muscle in my body is screaming. What time is it? I swear we’ve been in here for hours. Where’ve you been?”

  “On a wild goose chase,” I said as I worked free the tape around her body—a task made even more difficult because Lucille continued to squirm and jerk.

  “Stop moving!” yelled Mama, shoving her butt backwards into Lucille.

  Fogarty ripped the tape from Nick’s and Alex’s mouths. “Did either of you boys see anything?”

  “The house was pitch black when I got home,” said Nick. “He came up from behind me. Next thing I knew, I was in the tub with the grandmas.”

  “Same here,” said Alex. “Except Nick was already in the tub when he dumped me in.”

  “When was that?” asked Fogarty.

  “About six-thirty.”

  “Over two hours ago,” said Fogarty.

  “What!” shrieked Mama.

  Lucille twisted, jerked, and growled. Fogarty tossed me a do-I-really-have-to? glance before ripping the tape from her mouth. “Where the hell have you been, Anastasia? If you came home from work at a decent hour instead of gallivanting all over creation—”

  “I’d be stuck in the tub with the rest of you, and who would have rescued us?”

  Harley poked his head into the bathroom. “Looks like he cleaned you out this time, Mrs. Pollack.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He got all the electronics equipment. Stereos. TVs. Computers.”

  “Shit! My term paper’s on my computer,” cried Alex. “All my research notes! The rough draft.”

  “Did you back up?” asked Mama.

  Back up? Since when had Mama become computer literate?

  “Not sure that’s going to help,” said Harley. “Unless you kept the back-ups hidden somewhere. Looks like he took anything that wasn’t nailed down. The desk drawers were all upended. I didn’t see any disks or jump drives.”

  Alex groaned, and it wasn’t from the tape Fogarty was ripping off his wrists.

  “Your bedroom’s been ransacked, too, Mrs. Pollack. Looks like he grabbed some jewelry.”

  Mama climbed out of the tub as soon as her limbs were freed. Poor Mama. Her joints creaked and cracked, but she didn’t complain.

  Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Lucille. “Watch where you’re putting those hands, young man,” she yelled at Fogarty. “How dare you touch me there! I’ll sue for sexual harassment.”

  Fogarty dropped his arms to his sides and stepped away from the tub. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m only trying to help you out. Maybe you’d like to do this on your own?” He spoke in a calm, civil voice, and I gave him credit for keeping his cool. A lesser man would have dumped her back on her rump and walked away.

  “Just give me your hand,” she demanded.

  He stepped forward and held his hand out to her, but she couldn’t hoist herself up. Eventually, she had to give in to the inevitable, and it took both Fogarty and Harley lifting her from under the armpits to hoist her up and over the rim of the soaker tub.

  Alex had retrieved her cane and handed it to her. She waved it in my face. “If you had a normal bathtub, I wouldn’t have had a problem.”

  Of course, it’s always my fault. I’m surprised she didn’t blame me for the break-in.

  “Where’s Manifesto?” she demanded.

  I turned to Harley. “Did you see any animals? A dog? A cat? A parrot?”

  “The dog’s in the kitchen, but I—”

  “Out of my way!” Lucille pushed Harley aside and hobbled out of the bathroom. “Manifesto? Where are you, my darling? Come to mother.”

  “Ma’am—” Harley reached for her arm, but she swatted him away and headed toward the kitchen.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “The dog and cat are lying on the kitchen floor. The parrot’s—”

  “Manifesto!” Lucille’s scream cut off the rest of his sentence.

  The Devil Dog, Catherine the Great, and Ralph weren’t dead, just drugged. The thief had apparently laced their food and water bowls with a sedative or something. Fogarty called headquarters to dispatch the Animal Control Officer. Ten minutes later Mephisto the Devil Dog, Catherine the Great, and Ralph were on their way to the We Care Animal Clinic.

  Lucille insisted on accompanying her dog, but Officer Fogarty refused to let her leave. “You’re witness to a crime,” he said. “Either you answer my questions here, or I cart you down to headquarters.”

  “You can’t do that. I know my rights.”

  “Have it your way.” Fogarty reached for the set of handcuffs attached to his belt.

  Lucille’s eyes widened. She stumbled backwards, steadying herself with her cane. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Fogarty called her bluff. Or at least I think he was calling her bluff. “Wanna bet?”

  With a grunt and a mutter, Lucille plopped onto the sofa, folding her arms across her chest. I swore I could see little puffs of steam emanating from the top of her closely-cropped, utilitarian-styled head.

  “Can you describe your assailant?” asked Harley, his ever-present stub of a pencil poised over his ever-present spiral notepad.

  “He was tall,” said Lucille. “Well over six feet. And fat. Maybe around three hundred pounds.”

  “He was not,” said Mama, settling herself in the center of the sofa. “Don’t listen to that crack-pot commie. He was five-nine. I remember because he was exactly the same height as my third husband.”

  “You can’t even remember your third husband,” said Lucille. “You don’t keep them around long enough.” She turned to Harley. “He was at least six-three, maybe six-four.” She pointed to his notebook. “Write that down.”

  “How dare you!” cried Mama. “Are you going to believe this...this communist or a law-abiding citizen and member of the Daughters of the America
n Revolution?”

  She glared at Lucille. “At least my husbands have the misfortune to die. They don’t run off on me and never come back.”

  “Isidore didn’t leave me,” said Lucille. “He was abducted.”

  Mama, the boys, and I exchanged baffled glances. This was news to us. Karl claimed his father had walked out on his mother.

  “By aliens?” asked Nick.

  “By J. Edgar Hoover and his battalion of right-wing cronies,” said Lucille. “I have reason to believe they buried him under one of the goalposts in Giants Stadium.”

  Mama snorted. “That’s Jimmy Hoffa, you pinko idiot. Besides, Giants Stadium wasn’t even built when your husband walked out on you.”

  Way to go, Mama. I had no idea she had such a wealth of trivia hiding beneath those wavy strawberry blonde locks of hers. Maybe I should sign her up for the seniors’ Jeopardy tournament.

  “And for your information, I remember each and every one of my husbands, thank you very much. That man was exactly the same height as my dear departed Oscar Scoffield. And he wasn’t fat.” She turned to Harley. “He was very muscular. Like a body builder.”

  Fogarty rolled his eyes. “What about hair?”

  “Black,” said Mama.

  “Light brown,” said Lucille. “What was left of it. He had a large bald spot in the front.”

  “He had a full head of hair,” said Mama. “Thick. Like my first husband’s.” She turned to me. “You remember what a gorgeous head of hair your father had, don’t you, Anastasia dear?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Fogarty and Harley shook their heads. Lucille and Mama exchanged looks that could kill if given half a chance. Nick and Alex tried to stifle their laughter. They weren’t very successful.

  “Why don’t I make some coffee?” I suggested.

  “I’m hungry,” said Nick.

  “Me, too,” added Alex.

  I headed back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I flung open the freezer.

  I ran across the room and yanked open the pantry.

  “That bastard!” I screamed.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Alex, Nick, Mama, Fogarty, and Harley came running. The refrigerator and freezer doors stood open, bare bulbs illuminating their cavernous, totally empty interiors. The pantry was equally bare.