Midnight Mysteries: Nine Cozy Tales by Nine Bestselling Authors

by Ritter Ames

  “You think that’s your codpiece? Where’s this private bidding happening? Online?”

  “In the Atlanta area. They didn’t give an address. At a special auction.”

  “Perfect. I’ll find out if it belongs to your family, then tell the auction folks it’s stolen. Easy peasy.”

  “In our private exchange, I mentioned that it was stolen. The purveyor revoked my invitation. Then sent me a virus that blanked out my computer. I now have the blue screen of death. I can’t even search from my laptop.”

  I took a moment to reflect on the kind of person who ran private auctions and would send computer viruses as an un-invite. “I’ve got a friend who enjoys auctions. Mostly Old Reb type artifacts, although he is an art appreciator. He might know someone who can get me in.”

  This particular friend would also have connections to auctions of stolen items. Max Avtaikin aka the Bear entertained the rich and famous of Forks County with illegal gaming, then used that booty to buy War Between the States memorabilia.

  “I knew I could count on you,” said Josiah. “You’ve got underworld connections. Just as I heard.”

  My underworld connection was bankrolled by Josiah’s middle-aged friends. “Your cat lady is still the best lead, so I’m going to find me some bait to trap her.”

  Except I’d use a Bear instead of a mouse.

  * * *

  ALTHOUGH MAX AVTAIKIN’S hometown was far east of the South—in a country that had thawed some since the Cold War—his favorite historical period was our War of Northern Aggression. This had led him to purchase property in Georgia. Low real estate taxes accompany the historic appeal. He brought his knowledge of casinos and smuggling with him. Illegal in Georgia. Probably illegal in his home country, too. His nickname, the Bear, also traveled with him. It served as a warning or a description. Or both.

  Deputy Luke Harper neither liked nor trusted the Bear. The feeling was mutual.

  By asking the Bear for assistance, I’d be furthering my trouble with Deputy Luke Harper. But the way I figure, by not admitting he’d been with some trashy Honkers girl, the trouble was reciprocal.

  Besides, I had a goat to save. And a man’s dignity to restore. Or Josiah’s mother’s dignity.

  Whatever.

  The Bear greeted me with affection, which meant not kicking me off his porch. After settling me in his office of leather, wood, and Civil War artifacts, we got past pleasantries and to the point.

  “I’m on the hunt for a historical item of considerable value, stolen at a Halloween party. The victim was invited then uninvited via a computer virus to bid on his possibly stolen legacy at an Atlanta auction. What do you know of these things?”

  “You were right to call on me.”

  Sometimes you had to wait out the Bear’s braggadocio. “And?”

  “There is many private auctions in Atlanta. But a stolen item of major historical value? I know of only one such auction. The address is only revealed to certain customer and never held in same place twice. What is plan? Are you paying top dollar for this heirlooms?”

  “No, if the piece in question is there, I’m going to prove it’s stolen with the provenance and return it to the owner. Can you get me an invitation?”

  “This is what I thought.” He sighed. “Getting invitation is not the problem.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Your scheme is problem. The point of stolen items is not to return to rightful owner.”

  “Then we’ll leave and I call the police to raid them. Or we have the police raid the place before the auction begins, although this wouldn’t please my friend. He’s hoping to keep this legacy under wraps.”

  “They will not bring the items to auction until all invited have arrived. This traps buyers. It’s not possible to leave until auction is finished. They confiscate your phone. You see, they must protect their identity and the identity of the purchasers.”

  “Because they’re moving stolen goods. So if you get me an invitation, we have to purchase the artifact? I don’t think my neighbor has that kind of cash.”

  “If it is an actual neighbor of yours, I am sure they don’t.”

  “Dammit. I guess I’ll have to appeal to the person buying it. Maybe if I can befriend them, they’ll give it back.” I didn’t need the Bear’s low, mocking laugh to understand the idiocy of the plan. “What else can I do?”

  “Is this valuable heirloom large?”

  “For its purpose, yes, but objectively, no. You wear it.”

  His left eyebrow rose, boosting the small scar above it.

  I gasped. “Don’t tell me you want me to steal it from the fencers. I am many things, but a thief is not one of them.”

  “Then you must tell your neighbor that you have given up.”

  “I can’t give up.” I chewed my lip. “But just in case, do you have room at your house for a goat? And an unemployed artist?”

  “Are we done?” Max turned to his phone. “I have much work.”

  Considering his work was usually after hours, I didn’t feel rushed. Which brought me to a big idea. “You should have a Halloween party. You’d attract the kind of man Catwoman wants.”

  “Artist, I am flattered.” He smirked. “However, even with the citizenship, I am not American enough for your Halloween silliness.”

  “A private costume party. For the geezers who play poker in your basement.”

  “Why?”

  “The missing heirloom was stolen from a certain upstanding Halo geezer at the Line Creek Country Club Halloween party. Another geezer tangled with her, too. I want to entice this Catwoman to your party.”

  He leaned back in his leather chair and folded his hands on his desk. “I see how this helps your geezer. However, what is the benefit for me? Other than submitting my home and friends to possible burglary.”

  “Don’t you usually make money off these parties? Don’t worry, I’ll nab the Cat before she takes anything. But lock up your good silver. And priceless artifacts.”

  “What is this ‘upstanding geezer’ doing for you that you would hunt down a Catwoman for him? There is more to this story or he would simply use the authorities to solve his problem.”

  “I can’t reveal who he is. I promised. But he is helping me with some city ordinance issues I am suddenly facing.”

  His ice blue eyes bore into me with the subtlety of a jackhammer on concrete. “I will have your costume party. On certain conditions. First, you will assist me in hosting it.”

  “I’m in charge of decorating. And making our costumes. Although I’ll charge you for that.”

  “No. Second, I want introduction to the ‘upstanding geezer.’”

  “Why?”

  He blinked. “I am a collector of the American antique.”

  “He won’t sell it. And besides, it’s not even American.”

  “A family heirloom that’s not American? And his ancestors came to the America when?”

  “I don’t know. Before it was America?”

  “Excellent.” Bear’s smile gave me the jitters. “First, party. And if you cannot catch your thief, then we turn tables and steal back your item at the auction.”

  I’d better catch that thief. Or Luke and I’d have bigger problems than his possible cheating between us.

  Like a felony.

  SEVEN

  IT’S AMAZING HOW quickly a party can be thrown together if you have the right sort of venue and know the right sort of people. For example, a walkout basement with a hidden casino and folks who punch their own job clocks.

  “You’re late,” said the Bear. “And you look ridiculous.”

  I scowled. I had overlooked the proportions of my costume—the Mona Lisa complete in frame—and had to enter his doorway sideways. “I had a recon mission at Honkers. But it was a bust. Also, it took several shades of makeup to get the right sepia tones for my skin. I’m still not satisfied with the line crackling. Painted them on with a sable detail round and still got streaky.”

/>   The small scar rose with his eyebrow. “Your dedication to classic art is admirable. But not practical. Perhaps next time a Venus de Milo or the like would be simpler?”

  “How would I do Venus? Saw off my arms?”

  “I am thinking the ease of a toga.”

  “She’s topless, too, remember?” I snorted. Then noticed his expression and changed the subject. “Where’s your costume?

  He gave me a look that would wither candy corn.

  “I brought chips for the party.”

  Rolling his eyes, he tossed my chip bag onto a hall table and pointed me across his marble foyer to the basement door.

  I stepped sideways down the stairs, my frame bumping the rail. Closed doors lined a hallway. His nimble fingers stroked a security keypad before I could catch the code.

  We entered through one door, that led to another, and into a large carpeted room. An odalisque hung above a brass bar like in a Western, but the rest of the room spoke of Vegas, Atlantic City, or maybe, Monte Carlo. Not sure. I’ve only seen Vegas. Once.

  Didn’t end well, but that’s another story.

  The poker, roulette, and baccarat tables had been removed. A small jazz ensemble played while costumed partiers milled around, chatting and holding drinks. No Catwoman yet. And no chips.

  As Halloween parties went, I’d call it a snoozer.

  “You need to get some games going. And a costume contest,” I said. “You don’t even have decorations. Where’s your jack-o-lanterns? No one will hang around for this. If Catwoman shows, we want her to stay.”

  “She will come. Look at the women.”

  I saw a sparkly array of jewelry on Cleopatras, Marie Antoinettes, and Queen Elizabeths. “Where are all the cheerleaders, naughty nurses, and sexy angels? Anyway, Cat Woman doesn’t steal jewelry from women. She steals luxury items from rich, horny men.”

  “There is also the rich, horny men here.”

  “They’re with their wives. This isn’t going to work.” I tried to cross my arms, but couldn’t get them to meet around the frame. “You better get me into that auction.”

  “You know what the auction means,” he grumbled. “Why I do these things for you? No gratitude. I must circulate.”

  “Dangit.” I parked my hands on my hips. The frame swung out and bumped a pirate.

  He bowed, sweeping his coattails behind him. “Milady. Might I interest you in a spot of rum?”

  “Better make it a beer.” I followed him to the bar. Standing on my toes, I reached for a beer from a long, copper ice bucket. The frame smacked a wine glass, shattering it. I swung around to grab a napkin and a knocked over a glass of scotch. Giving up, I leaned my back against the bar and sighed.

  “I was so proud of this costume.”

  “And who are ye? The Mona Lisa? Argh.” His ruffled sleeve caught on the corner of my frame. “It’s not you. Damn lace keeps dipping in my drink, too.”

  “You could stuff them inside your coat sleeves.” I helped him slide off the doublet and fingered the heavy material. “Velvet? This is no Party Barn costume.”

  “Thank ye, milady. Yes, it’s a copy of the original dress of one of my ancestors, Henry Morgan. Was forgiven for his acts of piracy by the crown when he took Panama from the Spanish. England knighted him and made him governor of Jamaica.” He pushed back the lace sleeves and I helped him slide the tight-fitting coat over it. His chin rose with his eyebrows. “A rogue and a hero. The painting’s from the late seventeenth century.”

  “Why aren’t your people still in Jamaica?”

  “We got around. You ever heard of Captain Morgan’s Rum?” He winked. “His great-grandnephew was a Revolutionary War hero and his descendant was the Confederacy’s General John Hunt Morgan. I had this made and go as Captain Morgan every year.”

  “A DAR and UDC son. I understand why you’re a friend of the Bear—I mean, Max Avtaikin’s.” I eyed the expensive costume. “By chance are you wearing a codpiece?”

  He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Across the room, a caped Darth Vader caught my eye. His lightsaber was of the cheap plastic variety, giving me a new appreciation for Josiah’s treasured accessory. Darth stood alone, watching a small group of flappers and zoot-suited gangsters dance before the three-piece band. A door opened behind Darth and a cat slithered out, followed by three superheroes. The cat slunk toward Darth.

  She did have a thing for capes.

  “I want to hear about your codpiece, but first I’ve got to talk to that cat.”

  “I’ll be waiting, milady.” Captain Morgan held up his drink, his smile wide and his eyes appreciative. “Shall I order another round in the meantime?”

  “Sure.” He was going to be disappointed in my real interest in his codpiece.

  I maneuvered through the dancers, my frame catching on Flapper fringe and smacking into Tommy guns. Darth Vadar had not moved, standing sentinel on the edge of the party. I admired him for staying in character even while a cat stroked his lightsaber. Her tail swung, brushing the tops of thigh-high stiletto boots. I understood why Josiah and Sterling had been seduced into a stupor. Literally.

  It seemed the cat had stayed in character, too, what with her obsession for capes and sabers.

  “Trick or treat,” I said to the pair. “Miss Kitty, I need a word with you.”

  She turned, side-stepping away from Darth. No mask. Just a pointy-eared headband and a black bodysuit. Not Catwoman at all. Only a cat. She hadn’t even bothered to draw whiskers on her face. She had the bodily description of Sterling Childs’ fantasy, but the glittery blue-green eyes and auburn mane were unmistakable.

  “Shawna Branson.” For a half-second, my disappointment flipped as I considered Shawna as the codpiece burglar. I’d strew roses at the feet of the arresting officer. But my conscience kicked out my pettiness. “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” she drawled, eyeing my Mona Lisa creativity. “This is my crowd. Shouldn’t you be trolling the County Line Tap?”

  I attempted a dignified Mona Lisa smile. “My patrons are in this crowd.”

  “Not anymore.” Her tail twitched. “Like I said, this is my crowd. As in...”

  “You don’t have to spell it out for me. You’ve besmirched my career with these art buyers.”

  “Just the local art appreciators with money. And now they come to me for their family portraits.” Her shoulders lifted along with her cleavage. “There’s still the NASCAR crowd. Maybe you could paint, what is it your Grandpa farms? Goats?”

  I hid my snarl and sucked in my breath. Had she heard about Tater’s staycation?

  “I’ll have you know the NASCAR crowd also has money. I once did a Dale and Junior for a fan.” Turns out proprietary issues keep me from that business, so I couldn’t blame Shawna for that failure. “However, I heard you’ve instigated a hit to shut me down completely. Or at least prevent me from working at home via certain city ordinances.”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “There are still some in this town who consider my work a service to the community—”

  “I don’t care how you spin it, art is a commercial venture, not a community service.”

  “And there we have it. You know nothing about art, but you do know about the zoning falderal.” My accusatory finger knocked my frame sideways. “That wasn’t the community service I was speaking of, but I feel I have made my point.”

  “I’ve never understood your points. Or your costume.”

  “Speaking of costumes, I don’t suppose you were at the country club Halloween party the other night? In this getup with a mask?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “It’s to someone I know. He’s searching for a Catwoman he met at the party.” Behind my frame, I crossed my fingers. “I’m playing cupid.”

  “What kind of someone?” Her voice rose.

  “An older male.” I motioned toward Darth Vader. “Another Star Wars buff.”

  “No, I wasn’t
Catwoman.” Her voice twisted, making me wonder about her earlier excitement. Could Shawna be looking for love? “I was a cheerleader.”

  Figured. “Did you see a Catwoman?”

  “I saw several.” Her lip curled. “Tacky.”

  “How is Catwoman tacky and a skintight cat costume— Never mind.” Shawna often defied logic. “Did you know any of these Catwomen?”

  Her auburn ponytail swayed with her tail. “I didn’t recognize them, but they all wore masks. I’d swear there must’ve been a sale at Party Barn or something.”

  Party Barn. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of checking the costume outlets? And there were multiple Catwomen at that party. They could have been working in tandem. The timing made more sense with multiple men.

  “You think Party Barn is still open this time of night?”

  “How would I know?” she snapped. “You think I shop at a place with barn in the title?”

  I swung around, smacking Shawna with the frame. “Sorry.”

  “Not half as sorry as you’re going to be,” she called, rubbing her shoulder.

  I scooted toward the bar, seeking Max. Captain Morgan had disappeared. I found the Bear in a dark corner with a caped figure.

  “Max, I need to talk to you. Supergirl, a moment please.”

  She shot me a caustic look—with the mask, one more felt than seen—and stalked away.

  “Artist, your timing, as always, could be improved upon.”

  “There’s no time for getting frisky. I need your eyes. I’ll be gone a minute to call Party Barn before they close.”

  “You are hoping they will deliver you new costume?”

  “To learn who bought matching Catwoman costumes. And if those persons bought other costumes.” I scanned the party. “There were a bunch of Catwomen at the country club. Josiah’s Catwoman and Sterling’s Catwoman might’ve been different cats. I don’t see any matching costumes tonight, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I fail to see the meaning.”