More Than Great Riches

by Jan Washburn

  Did he give you the money up front?

  No, he gave me twenty-five. Said he’d give me the rest when I had the information for him. He gave me two days to find out—said he’d meet me behind the church on Monday evening. Sylvester frowned in disgust. I had to spend twenty bucks to get the loan of the car.

  So, did this guy come back and meet you?

  Yup. He showed up and paid me the seventy-five bucks. But he told me I better keep my mouth shut about the whole deal or he’d hunt me down. He looked like he meant what he said.

  Leif was silent, pondering the story. There had to be a reason the mystery man didn’t call on Tracy himself. He paid good money to a total stranger when all he needed to do was knock on Tracy’s door. And then Leif felt a familiar tingle at the back of his neck. He had a hunch.

  He stepped to the door. Will was still outside, waiting for further orders. Leif opened his wallet and handed him a fifty. Will, I want you to take this gentleman to Brockton and put him on the bus to Portland. There should be enough money there to buy him a meal.

  Lucille’s mouth fell open and Will stared at him in astonishment. What about the trespassing charge?

  Mr. Sylvester was kind enough to assist me with another case. We’re going to overlook the trespass.

  Yes, sir. Will shrugged as though there was no point in arguing with someone who was clearly insane. Reluctantly he removed Sylvester’s handcuffs and escorted him out to the patrol car.

  The last thing Leif heard was the hobo’s plaintive voice, My back pack’s still in that shed.

  Leif gave Lucille a wink and returned to his desk. Ideas bounced around in his head like ping pong balls. The mystery man had to be Rick Timmons. Knowing Tracy would recognize him, he sent a stranger to get the information—a stranger who didn’t know him, who couldn’t be connected to him. But why was Timmons interested in Tracy’s car? There must be something special about that old Galaxie.

  Leif’s suspicions began to take shape. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out the Timmons file. Detective Diaz had faxed the list of jewelry stolen from Ronda Starr’s home. He scanned the list of items. There were detailed descriptions of each piece—a twenty carat solitaire, a gold choker, an antique brooch set with rubies and emeralds. There were eight pieces in all. Leif trusted his instincts and they told him that Timmons had stashed a small fortune in jewelry in Tracy’s car.

  The very idea sounded like something out of Mad Magazine. But more often than not his crazy hunches were on target. He paused, jolted by another thought. A bigger question loomed—if that jewelry was in Tracy’s car, did she know it? He didn’t want to believe that.

  Lucille, he called. I need to talk to Henry.

  I’ll get him, Leland.

  Leif shoved the file back into the drawer, his mind racing at warp speed. To prove his hunch he needed to be careful. If he made an illegal search, he jeopardized the case. He had to talk to Tracy before he touched her car.

  Henry’s on the line, Lucille called.

  Leif snatched up the phone. Henry, have you called Tracy to tell her that her car is ready?

  Not yet. I just finished some final adjustments. I’m just getting ready to call her.

  OK. This is important. Tell her I’m on my way out there to get her. I want to be with her when she comes to pick up that car.

  ****

  Tracy held the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she tried to persuade Thor to chew on his rag doll instead of the coffee table. She had discovered that puppies were hazardous to clothing, furniture, and anything else that didn’t move fast enough. To protect Pansy Panda, she moved her stuffed childhood friend from the place of honor on her pillow to the top shelf of her bookcase.

  Hi, Mom, she said as her mother answered her call. How’s Aunt Grace doing?

  Her mother tended to see the gloomy side of life. Well, the doctor says she’s doing fine, but I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to have much pep.

  Mom, she just had a triple bypass. She needs a lot of rest.

  I know, I know, her mother fretted, but she doesn’t have much of an appetite, and Grace has always been such a good eater.

  Tracy tried to bolster her mother’s spirits. Just give her some time. Everyone here at church is praying for her and for Jeff.

  At the mention of Jeff’s name, Faith grew weepy. Oh, my poor boy.

  Mom, don’t give up. Tracy wanted to instill in her mother the feeling of peace she had about Jeff—that wonderful sense of God’s presence telling her that all would be well. There’s some good news. The doctor is really encouraged about the way the skin grafts are adhering.

  Her mother’s answer was interrupted by a knock at the door. Hold on a minute, Mom. Someone’s at the door. Tracy put the phone down. Remembering to leave the chain in place, she opened the door a crack. Joy bubbled up. There stood Leif. But the bubble burst when she saw his grim expression.

  She removed the chain and opened the door. His frown gave her prickles of anxiety. Hi, Leif. What’s up?

  Thor danced up to the door, trying to win his attention, but Leif didn’t seem to be aware of the puppy. His penetrating gaze searched her face. Didn’t Henry call you?

  She shook her head. I guess he couldn’t reach me. I’ve been on the phone. She decided not to mention that Keith Bradford had called. He had located the charred remains of Jeff’s car. She knew Leif shared her aversion to Keith.

  Your car is ready. I told Henry I’d bring you in to pick it up.

  That’s great! At last, Tracy cheered. But Leif was scowling as though he were bringing her bad news.

  She waved him into the house. Come in a minute while I finish this call. As he followed her into the living room, she picked up the phone again. Mom, I’m sorry, I’ve got company. Keep praying and keep your chin up. I’ll call you back tonight.

  Don’t forget, her mother chided.

  I’ll call, Tracy promised. She hung up the phone and turned to Leif. Just let me take care of Thor. He loves playing with the toilet paper roll. I’ll put him in the kitchen. He can’t get into too much trouble there.

  When Tracy returned, Leif was pacing the living room floor. He was usually as excitable as a rock, but today he seemed to be on edge. I’m ready, she ventured.

  He held up a hand in a signal to stop. Before we go, I need to ask you a few questions.

  Tracy felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Leif was acting so strangely.

  Sit down for a minute. This was a cop talking, not a friend.

  Hesitantly she sank down onto the sofa. Something is very wrong.

  On the night you went to Ronda Starr’s party, where was your car?

  Tracy felt her mouth drop open. She had managed to push the jewelry theft to a distant corner of her brain. And what did her car have to do with anything? It was in the parking lot behind my apartment in Brooklyn.

  And Rick Timmons lived nearby?

  Now they were back to Rick Timmons. She struggled to follow Leif’s train of thought. I don’t know exactly where Rick lives, but I’m sure it was somewhere nearby in the neighborhood.

  Did you always park in the same place? This wasn’t a conversation, it was a quiz.

  Yes, it’s my assigned space. I pay to park there.

  Is the parking lot fenced? Is there a security guard?

  She felt as though she were back in that dingy interrogation room with Detective Diaz. There’s a fence and a twenty-four hour attendant at the gate. The attendants can see anyone that comes through the pedestrian entrance and any car that comes in or out through the gate. And there are several security cameras around the lot.

  So the attendant would know if a stranger entered the lot.

  Well, not necessarily. It’s not always one of the regulars on duty.

  So a stranger could enter the lot?

  The questions were endless. A stranger could get in, but the attendant can see what’s going on. Monitors show him what the security cameras are focusing on. Besides, no one coul
d take a car out of the lot. We each have our own remote to open the gate.

  Leif paused, but there was more. When you came home from Miss Starr’s party that night, did you check on your car?

  Tracy shrugged. There was nothing to check. I saw it there in the parking lot. I just went to bed. Leif, why are you asking me these questions?

  I’ll explain later, he said tersely. After that night, when was the first time you used your car?

  Tracy thought back. The next morning, Sunday, I had to go to the police station, but they sent a patrol car to pick me up. Then on Monday I got the call from Maggie about Jeff’s accident. I threw some clothes in a suitcase, jumped in the car, and left town. About eleven o’clock, I think.

  Were there any signs that someone had tampered with the car?

  Tracy frowned, trying to remember. I didn’t notice anything unusual.

  Abruptly Leif stood up. All right, let’s go.

  The knot in Tracy’s stomach grew painfully tight as they drove to Henry’s garage. Leif was silent, his jaw set firmly in concrete.

  Henry greeted them as they walked into the garage through the open bay doors. I’ll bet you thought you’d never see your car again, he joked.

  Tracy smiled, but Leif was all business. Henry, I want you to listen to what I’m going to say to Tracy.

  Henry looked as surprised as Tracy felt. Sure, he agreed.

  Miss Dixon, Leif said formally. Do I have your permission to search your car?

  Search her car? For what? You have my permission, she murmured.

  She stood mesmerized, watching as Leif began a thorough search of the old Ford. He started in the trunk, pulling up the carpeting and digging under the spare tire. He lifted the hood and studied the engine. He pawed through the glove compartment and peered under the front seat. And then he pulled out the back seat cushion. She heard his grunt of triumph. He paused to pull on a pair of latex gloves, and then reached down to remove a battered leather case. It looked like a smaller version of an attaché case. Tracy gaped at Leif’s find.

  He laid the case carefully on the hood of her car and tried to open it. The case was locked. He turned to Tracy. Do you have the key?

  Tracy shook her head in bewilderment. Leif, I never saw that case before in my life. It must belong to my mother, but I can’t imagine why she would put it under the seat.

  Do I have your permission to break the lock?

  Yes, of course. She hoped the contents weren’t fragile. Her mother would fall into a dramatic swoon.

  Henry, I need a hammer and a screwdriver.

  Henry thrust the tools into Leif’s hands. Carefully Leif inserted the screwdriver into the seam next to the lock. A few quick taps with the hammer and the case sprung open.

  All Tracy could see was what looked like rags inside the case, but Leif examined the objects wrapped in the cloths. He looked up at Tracy with those stormy eyes. Miss Starr’s jewelry, he said flatly.

  Tracy felt her heart hit the soles of her feet. What? Her head reeled. If she didn’t sit down, she was going to black out. This was unreal. She had actually driven that car from New York to Allerton with Ronda Starr’s priceless jewelry inside. Groping for a seat, she found a pile of tires. Are you—are you going to arrest me?

  Leif didn’t answer her question. He looked directly into her eyes as though he were trying to read her thoughts. You didn’t know this jewelry was in your car?

  Leif, I swear I had no idea. She dropped her head down into her hands to fight the waves of dizziness.

  I have to take this back to the station, he said without any trace of emotion. He placed the case into an evidence bag and then aimed a fierce look at her. I don’t want anyone else to know that the jewelry has been found. Not a word to anyone. Tracy, you don’t tell Maggie. Henry, not even your wife. Do you understand?

  I hear you, Henry responded.

  Tracy nodded weakly.

  Leif gave her one last glance. Tracy, I’ll be at your house in an hour. Henry, don’t let her drive that car until she’s feeling better.

  Tracy gazed helplessly after Leif as he strode from the garage holding Ronda Starr’s treasure and her future in his hands.

  More than Great Riches

  CHAPTER XII

  Cradling the evidence bag in his arms, Leif entered the police station through the back door. Lucille was on the phone, as usual. Impatiently he tapped his foot until she finished.

  Lucille, hold my calls. I don’t want to be disturbed unless the station is on fire or there has been a murder.

  His right-hand lady gaped at him in astonishment. It took a lot to surprise Lucille. She had probably seen and heard everything in her day. Yes, Leland, she managed.

  Locking the door behind him, Leif laid the bag on his desk. His pulse raced as he opened the Timmons file and pulled out the fax with the list of Ronda Starr’s missing jewelry.

  Pulling on his gloves again, he unwrapped the items in the case. One by one he matched each piece to Diaz’s checklist. Diamond tennis bracelet, Vacheron Constantin watch, antique brooch with rubies and emeralds, star sapphire ring, diamond earrings, twenty carat diamond solitaire, gold choker, art deco bracelet. The eight pieces were all there.

  With a groan, he wrapped the pieces again and placed them back in the leather case. The case went into the evidence bag. He hoped the whole thing would fit into his small office safe. He wouldn’t breathe easy until this small fortune was safely back in Miss Starr’s hands.

  Dialing the combination to the safe, he edged the bag inside. A close fit, but the treasure was as secure as possible for now.

  He dropped into his chair. Now he had to call Diaz, but he hesitated. Before he contacted the detective, he had to know where Tracy fit into the picture. The stunned look on her face when he found the jewelry seemed completely genuine. But her shock could be due to fear of a prison term.

  Still, he couldn’t make himself believe she was a criminal. The pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit together. If she was involved, why would Timmons have to trick her into revealing the location of her car? He would have no reason to break into Henry’s garage to get the jewelry.

  And Leif knew something about basic human nature. A jewel thief wouldn’t spend her free time at church, singing like an angel and leading a handbell choir. She wouldn’t be worrying about her family, visiting her brother and calling her mother. She wouldn’t be soothing a frightened baby or a seven-year-old boy. She would be in Boston looking for a place to fence those jewels. There was only one way to prove her innocence.

  He picked up the phone and punched in Diaz’s number. The familiar raspy voice answered. Detective Diaz.

  Chief Ericson here. I have Ronda Starr’s jewelry.

  You what? Diaz’s voice shot up a full octave.

  I have Miss Starr’s jewelry here in my office. Send someone to get it, pronto. My safe isn’t exactly a bank vault.

  Diaz seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. You’ve got the jewelry? Did you get Timmons too?

  No, not yet, but he’s definitely somewhere here in the neighborhood.

  Diaz grunted. I don’t know if you got the word. Ronda Starr’s butler didn’t survive the beating. Now we’re looking for a murderer. If you didn’t nab Timmons, how did you get the jewelry?

  Leif forced the words out of his mouth. It was hidden under the back seat of Tracy Dixon’s car.

  Diaz whooped in triumph. I knew that little con artist was in on the theft.

  I’m not so sure, Leif protested. I don’t think she knew it was there. How could he convince the detective? I have a theory. I think Timmons stashed the jewelry in Tracy’s car that same night it was stolen. He figured that if you caught up with him, you couldn’t find anything in his possession to connect him to the theft. If you did find the jewelry, all the suspicion would fall on Tracy. Timmons must have decided to wait a day or two to let things cool down before he went back to get the jewelry, but by the time he got there, Tracy and the car were gone.

>   Go on, Diaz said, his voice heavy with skepticism.

  The day after Tracy arrived here in Allerton, her car threw a rod. It was towed to the shop for repairs. A week later her house was broken into and ransacked, but nothing was taken. We couldn’t figure out what the burglar might have been looking for.

  Hmm, Diaz muttered. He didn’t sound impressed.

  Leif hurried on. Then a stranger came sniffing around, wanting to look at the car. He said he was interested in buying it. Tracy told him it was in the shop for repairs. This morning we picked up the man who asked about the car. He claimed some guy gave him a hundred bucks to find out where it was. Why would anyone pay a stranger a hundred bucks to locate a ’74 Galaxie?