Alibis Can Be Murder

by Connie Shelton

  Clover had already posted several pictures from our hike, mostly selfies that included Freckles. She had tagged me in one where I was opening the picnic cooler. There was a shot of the twins together, posted yesterday, but the photo hadn’t been taken then. In it, both girls were wearing sweaters. Our spring weather had been too warm recently. I stretched the picture and saw a fuzzy glimpse of what appeared to be Christmas lights in the background. Funny, she would choose that one now.

  On Zayne’s page, there were pictures from a party and the comment “OMG last night’s frat party!” I didn’t recognize any of the other kids, but the backgrounds suggested an outdoor setting. Each photo that included Zayne showed her miming a silly action—dancing with the beer keg, draping a flimsy scarf around her neck, pouring a cup of beer over a boy’s head. The photographer’s words came back to me, the man who’d talked about his teen daughter and the things her friends posted online. Maybe Zayne was called Zany for good reason.

  Movement behind me caught my attention. Drake emerged from the bedroom, smelling of soap and fresh clothing.

  “Hey, you’re not going all teenager on me, are you?” he teased, looking at the phone in my hand.

  “Only a little bit.” I dropped it into my purse and told him the results of my call to Ron.

  Freckles dashed willingly to her crate in exchange for a doggie cookie, and we walked out to Drake’s pickup. A glance up the street showed both sports cars in the Delaney driveway. I suspected Zayne’s Facebook post about a frat party was actually one of the river parties here in Albuquerque. Maybe she’d told so many people she was going to State now she had to keep up the pretense through social media. I shrugged off my doubts. It was anybody’s guess what those girls were up to. I felt a tad guilty for befriending Clover when I only intended to spy, but I wasn’t going to let it bother me tonight. I had chicken enchiladas on my mind.

  Ron’s car sat outside Pedro’s, our favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant just off the Old Town Plaza.

  “You got my message,” I said when we walked in.

  He and Victoria exchanged a blank look. It’s when I noticed they sat at a table for two.

  “He’s leaving his phone muted for awhile,” she said. “Kind of hiding out.”

  “I’m not hiding out,” Ron said with a testy grimace. “I just don’t want to talk to Bobby Lorrento or his wacko wife right now.”

  I got the feeling something had happened in my absence this afternoon. Drake and I pulled up chairs and joined them without asking.

  “Bobby and Marcie on the warpath with each other again?” I asked, accepting the margarita Pedro brought over.

  “Lorrento’s on the warpath with everyone at the moment, including you and me.”

  “Me? What did I do?” Wasn’t my trip down to El Paso and the long drive back to deliver the ring last night going to count for anything?

  “Someone switched the ring.”

  “Whoa, whoa—back up and fill in the gaps.”

  “Last night, Bobby was out when you delivered the ring. He came in late but I’d waited up, knowing he would be thrilled to have it back. He comes in, I hand it over, he takes one look and says ‘this isn’t mine’.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “It had to be. I looked at it before I handed over the money. It was never out of my possession until I gave it to you.”

  “How closely did you examine it?”

  “Did I have a jewelers loupe and really check the diamonds? No. I just figured Livingston only owned it a couple days, he wouldn’t have had time to commission a zirconia version.”

  My chicken enchiladas arrived but my stomach was in a knot and I couldn’t take a bite.

  “Ron, are you saying the ring is a fake?” Drake asked. He took my hand under the table.

  “It’s not a fake, it just isn’t Bobby’s. Remember how I said the whole team, the coaches, managers and everyone on the winning team gets those rings? This one belonged to an assistant coach. Its value is about a quarter of Bobby’s. The diamonds are smaller, the platinum is thinner, and that doesn’t even count the value as a collectible.”

  I did the math in my head. “We just paid more than a hundred thousand for a ring worth twenty-five?”

  “Well, Marcie did. With Bobby’s money.”

  “My god, Ron, what are we going to do?”

  “I told Bobby we’d stay on the case and find it. For tonight, I’m lying low and letting Lorrento get used to the idea. I got him a room at the Marriott and told him if he had to talk to someone, it better be his buddies. After he left our place, I called Marcie, explained the situation to her and suggested she not talk with Bobby. He’s placing the blame squarely on her. Well, a little bit on us too. Once I feel like he won’t come and bash my head in, I’ll start working to find the real ring.”

  He had managed to polish off a huge burrito while he talked, obviously not as bothered by this whole mess as I was.

  “I know you’re still working on the Delaney twins deal, but I’m going to need you on this one too. You went to Livingston’s house, met with him. We need to talk about that. See what possible leads you might give.”

  I stared at my untouched enchiladas. I couldn’t think of a single clue, nothing I’d seen in El Paso that could lead us to the real Super Bowl ring. Drake prodded me to eat something, but my usually favorite dish held no appeal tonight.

  Chapter 30

  I lay awake long into the night, berating myself for not having examined the ring more closely before handing over the cash. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’d checked the team name and year, both were correct. It simply hadn’t occurred to me Livingston would have another team ring on hand to substitute. And that must be the case. He’d planned well in advance, and the scam was the big reason he’d been so willing to sell his new purchase. But still, if I’d only looked closely, handled the ring and read the inscription inside. I’d been such a fool.

  On the other hand, Marcie Lorrento was the real fool, falling for Livingston’s pickup lines when all he really wanted was money. It would be interesting to see her reaction to the betrayal.

  After stewing for hours over my own culpability, transferring the blame to Marcie and thoroughly chastising her in my mind, I gave up on sleep. I got out of bed to relieve Drake from my tossing and turning, pulled on a robe and went into his office. I closed the door, not wanting Freckles to think we were starting a new day already, and turned on the computer.

  Where to start? At this point I had no idea whether Livingston was actually a collector or if he was in the business of turning a quick buck whenever he could. My guess was the latter, seeing as how he’d almost immediately agreed to sell his new purchase to me. I began my search by looking up football memorabilia for sale.

  The search results were a bit overwhelming, with thousands of sites. I started with the largest and most popular. Several Super Bowl rings turned up, most with photographs from multiple angles and promises of squeaky-clean provenance.

  I didn’t find Lorrento’s ring but I learned a bunch of the markers I should have checked. No wonder Livingston had been so cordial to me. He spotted me for the uneducated dope that I was. Again, I felt myself going down the blame path but steered the other direction. Whether my lack of knowledge or Marcie’s hormones were to blame, it didn’t matter. The job was now to retrieve the ring. Getting Livingston for fraud and grand theft would be the icing on the cake, and yeah, you betcha I planned to get this guy.

  On to other sites listing football collectibles. Still no Lorrento ring. Okay, I decided, let’s switch to finding the man if we can’t find the ring.

  Searches for Jay Livingston gave me a few leads. Unfortunately, there was an actor by the same name, a middle-aged guy who’d played minor roles in nearly every incarnation of Star Trek and had a list of film credits a mile long. His name came up with regularity in the searches, along with a John Livingston who made the circuit of motivational speakers claiming to offer the secret to make anyone’s life perf
ect. None of these Livingstons appeared to be the one I wanted, unless the man I’d met had managed to lose fifty pounds and twenty years since the actor’s publicity shots were taken. The speaker Livingston had the right physique, from what I could tell, but his sandy blonde coloring, vivid blue eyes and deep dimples didn’t match.

  Okay, so the internet didn’t have all the answers. In the morning I would go back to square one, the pawnshop where Livingston had purchased the ring. Someone there would have a vivid memory of the man and maybe I could learn more.

  I yawned and shut down the computer. Only when the room became dark did I realize I could see the faint light of dawn around the window shades. Cripes—I’d been awake all night. My eyeballs burned from the hours at the monitor. I blinked hard a few times to work up some moisture then tiptoed back to bed. Drake groaned and rolled toward me when I slipped under the covers. I nestled into his warmth and let the heaviness of sleep settle over me.

  When I woke, bright sun cast a square of light through the glass block windows in the bathroom and beamed it via mirror to my shoulder. I squinted against it, but it pulled me toward wakefulness. Drake was nowhere in the room, but I could hear small sounds from the kitchen. A glance at the clock told me it was not quite seven-thirty. I’d had a full two hours’ sleep. Ugh.

  I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head but it was no use. Names and places and photos from my hours online came rushing back at me. Even though I’d found nothing useful, I couldn’t seem to turn off the litany running through my brain. I stumbled to the shower and turned it as hot as I could stand, scrubbed shampoo into my scalp and then turned the rinse water to a tepid chill. Something in the routine would have to wake me up so I could function today.

  Drake stood at the front door, jacket on, ready to walk out when I came out of the bedroom wearing my robe and wet hair.

  “Hey, sleepy,” he said, walking toward me and planting a kiss on my forehead. “I left you a note, didn’t want to wake you.”

  “You’re headed out early.”

  “Yeah, today it’s Fish and Game. We’ll be up near Bandelier. I’ll call you when I’m ready to pull pitch. Well, the note tells you all that.” He stood back and looked into my eyes. “You didn’t get much sleep. You okay?”

  I didn’t go into the full extent of the ring disaster, nor exactly admit my guilt over it, but I got the feeling he saw more than I realized.

  “It’ll work out. It’s just having two cases going at once is leaving my mind a little scattered.”

  He gave me a real, long-lasting kiss this time and promised to keep me updated about his flight. I watched him drive away, toying with the idea of going back to bed for awhile, knowing I’d never actually fall asleep. I poured coffee into the biggest mug I could find and strolled the back yard while I drank it. The flowering shrubs and trees were starting to leaf out and the grass was getting a bit long. If one of us didn’t find the time to mow soon we should call a yard man. I filed the task for later. There was too much going on right now.

  Back in the kitchen I couldn’t think in terms of food yet, so I went into the bathroom to dry my hair and try to make myself presentable. I’m not big on primping. The whole routine took less than fifteen minutes, and I emerged with hair in a ponytail and a swish of blusher to show for my efforts.

  Freckles danced around me, eager for another adventure today. She stuck by my side while I gathered my things and made certain she was at the car door the moment it unlocked. Up the street, I heard an engine and looked up to see the blue convertible coasting to a stop at the edge of my driveway.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  I tossed my purse on my seat and closed the dog inside.

  “Clover, hey. How’s everything?”

  “Fine. Did you see the pics I posted after our picnic? The one with you and Freckles got a ton of likes. I put our selfies on Instagram and Snapchat too. Check ’em out.”

  I nodded a little absently, thinking what a pain it would be to check all these social sites.

  She revved her engine as I was about to ask how Zayne was doing, and with a wave she was gone. Oh well. At this moment recovering our other client’s diamond ring was far more urgent than wondering who liked me on Facebook.

  Chapter 31

  Ron and I arrived at the office at nearly the same moment. I found myself following his vehicle into the driveway and tracking his moves as we pulled into our respective parking spots. Sally’s minivan was already there and I caught the whiff of coffee as we approached the back door.

  “Did you hear anything more from either of the Lorrentos last night?” I asked my brother.

  He shook his head. “Thank goodness—no.”

  “I spent the night on the internet,” I said. “The ring hasn’t shown up on any of the big auction sites.”

  He stepped back and let me precede him into the kitchen. “Damn. I hoped he would try to turn it quickly. Otherwise, he’s likely to hold onto it for a long time. He’ll have to assume Bobby would report this to the police.”

  “Why hasn’t he?” I set my purse on the table long enough to rinse my favorite mug and fill it from the carafe.

  Ron shrugged. “He still might. If we get a call from the major crimes division today it’ll tell us what Bobby was doing last night.”

  “So … maybe we should step back and let them take over?”

  “Bobby left my house shouting ‘This is on you. Find my ring.’ I’m taking him seriously.”

  “Okay, then what’s our next move?”

  “I’ll go talk to the pawnshop guy where Marcie originally sold the rings. Livingston seems to have a finger on the pulse of the business. I mean, he knew right away when this ring came on the market.”

  “Yeah, because he was sleeping with Marcie and she told him.”

  “True. But this local guy is probably familiar with his competitors, maybe knows of a place in El Paso where Livingston might try to move the ring. He’s also heavily into the trade show circuit and watches auctions for certain items. I’m grasping for whatever leads we can get at this point.”

  I felt the weight of the task as I walked upstairs and settled at my desk. In the forty-plus hours since I’d seen Livingston he could have done any number of things. With a buyer standing by, all he needed to do was stick the ring into a box and send it by registered mail anywhere in the country.

  On the other hand, maybe Livingston was an avid collector and wanted nothing more than to keep the ring for himself. I thought of his upscale home and his casual demeanor with large amounts of cash. If I met with him again, face to face, maybe I could convince him to undo yesterday’s sale. If he cared a scrap for Marcie, he might do it if he thought she was in danger.

  Across the hall, Ron was on the phone and the gist of the conversation was what he and I had just talked about. While he worked the local pawnshop angle, maybe I could follow my own instincts. I palmed the ring box and shut Freckles into her crate so she wouldn’t panic at my leaving her behind. At the front desk I showed Sally the ring box and told her I was taking it with me.

  My cell phone began to chirp while I sat in the drive-up lane at McDonald’s. Drake. He went through his flight plan and said he would call again when he landed at the customer’s job site. I made a note of his ETA and told myself it was better I didn’t share my current plan. He needed to focus on his flight. I could handle this other business.

  A frisson of worry coursed through me as I stopped to gas up. This was risky, heading on a probably foolish errand without telling anyone where I was going. But Drake had enough on his mind and Ron would stay happy doggedly tracking any leads the local pawn guy might give. This recent mess was my fault and I needed to be doing something.

  The road felt very familiar as I hit I-25 southbound, holding my McMuffin one-handed and leaving Albuquerque traffic behind. Before I’d reached Socorro, Drake phoned again to close his flight plan and let me know he’d arrived safely at Bandelier.

  “Your voice sounds s
haky,” he said. “Or there’s a lot of noise in the background.”

  “I’m in the car.” I told myself he didn’t need to know more than that. Not yet anyway.

  He told me he estimated his job to take six hours or so, and he would call again before he left the site. Standard protocol. Nothing to worry about. I was a little south of Socorro when my phone rang again. The readout said it was Ron and I could only imagine the chewing-out I was about to get. I increased my speed and let the call go to voicemail.

  For the next two hours, I rehearsed my approach to Livingston. “Hi, Jay, remember me? Well, there was a slight mistake with the ring you sold me yesterday and I’m going to need the real one.”

  Geez, that sounded lame.

  How about the emotional approach? “Jay, Marcie is devastated about this ring business.”

  Uh … no.

  Okay, I could always threaten. “Jay, this is big-time fraud and you know it. The money or the real ring, or else I take this to the authorities.”

  And exactly how did I think I would back up such a statement? He would laugh in my face and lock the door and, of course, I’d not planned very well or brought a weapon or any way to enforce my tough statement. By the time I reached the outskirts of El Paso my stomach was in a knot.

  The directions to Livingston’s house were still on my phone and I retraced my previous movements, pulling to a stop in front of the grand house. I took a deep breath and walked to the front door, pressing the doorbell button firmly, as if decisive action would grant me a measure of courage I certainly wasn’t feeling. A minute went by and I pushed the button again, twice. No response, and I noticed there was no car in the driveway today. Well, rats.

  I glanced at the houses across the street and took in the scene a little more fully. Funny, I hadn’t noticed a For Sale sign in Livingston’s front yard last time I was here. In fact, I was virtually certain it had not been there. Had he made a quick decision to sell?