Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2) ddm-2

by Norah Wilson

  A see-through teddy! I could picture her now sitting on the couch, laughing up a storm.

  I slept in my clothes. Uncomfortably.

  Dylan was the perfect gentleman — he kept to edge of the bed, and I took my stretched-out place on the middle. God, we both must have been tired. Dylan was gently snoring before I was asleep, and it wasn’t ten minutes until I was in dreamland.

  To no surprise, my REM sleep disorder kicked in. And dreamland was wild.

  I had that dream I was standing on stage with my high school glee club and I was the only one in my underwear. I dreamed Noel Almond was wearing spaghetti and a pack of Labradoodles was hot on his heels. I dreamed of cheesecake, and sticky buns and golf balls and crib boards. I dreamed of a giant frog and a blue-haired hooker.

  I dreamed of Peter Dodd.

  When I awoke, every sheet and blanket was off the bed. The lamp and clock radio were placed safely on the floor. Dylan knew I had the sleep disorder, but had never truly seen it first hand. Until last night, apparently. My assistant was currently hunkered down on the chair in the corner with the bedspread tucked around him.

  Under normal circumstances, I might feel half bad about that. But this was no normal circumstance. For I also awoke knowing damn right well who’d set up my mother for the jewel thefts. And I was betting my bottom dollar, this might just lead us also to good old Frankie Morrell.

  Chapter 10

  Whereas the night before I looked undisputedly hot, this morning, I looked undisputedly… well, like I’d slept in my clothes. Rumpled. Crumpled.

  But I was too pumped to give it much thought.

  When I’d awoken with the knowledge of who the actual thief was, I practically jumped on Dylan to wake him up so I could test my ideas on him. Intently, he was right there with me, following my logic, all the while wearing that thinking man look of his. He listened to every word. Followed every bit of evidence and supposition I put forth. And when he asked, I had to admit it; yes, my intuition was tingling all over on this one.

  He also interjected his own logic. “Going to be hard to prove, Dix.”

  I gave a Harriet-style hmph.

  Dylan was right, of course. But hard never stopped me before.

  We had to play it cool. Had to play it carefully and not let anyone know just exactly what we’d deduced until we were ready to spring into that beloved a-ha! moment.

  Yes, I admit it. I wanted badly to go straight to Deputy Almond and waggle my know-it-all finger (or fist) in his face and tell him who the real crook was. But I knew I had to wait on this. I didn’t want to quietly tell Almond. I wanted to shout it from the roof tops. Hopefully, from the rooftops of the Wildoh. Or at the very least, the rec room. And I wanted to do it with the loudest “Ha! Up yours!” in the world.

  Petty of me? Oh, yeah. Big time. But Almond had humiliated my mother in front of the residents of the Wildoh. I wanted to embarrass him and prove him wrong in front of the same.

  And personally, I think ‘petty’ is underrated.

  Way underrated.

  But there was another reason I’d wait to thump the culprit in front of everyone (I mean besides my penchant for grabbing the spotlight every chance I got). First things first.

  And the very first thing to be done this sunny Florida morning was to get my mother out of jail. Despite the crumpled/rumpled way I looked, I headed over to the jail rather than going back to the Wildoh to change. I gave a quick call to Mrs. Presley. She was fine, just having an early breakfast with Mona. Mrs. P said she didn’t do a thing last night — just relaxed. Florida was doing her wonders, she said. Big Eddie Baskin had tried to get her to have a go at golf. She’d declined. She had answered a few rude calls from nosy neighbors. Didn’t mince words with any of them. Cal called twice — he’s lonesome. Craig called once but talked longer — he’s more lonesome. Oh, and the young Miss Elizabeth Bee had broken Cal’s heart. Apparently, she’d found greener (greener being more moneyed) pastures elsewhere.

  Dylan had headed out the door of the Goosebump Inn a good half hour before I did, on the way to his security job at the Wildoh.

  “Big Eddie has me doing windows today,” he’d said. “Followed by more painting, and caulking around his apartment. Think we can wrap this thing up early?”

  I smiled. With any luck, Dylan would be out of that security guard outfit in no time.

  I could picture it now.

  Damn … could I ever picture it now.

  Whoa, Dix. Back it up here.

  What I meant to say was, with any luck he’d be out of that security guard outfit, I would introduce him to mother, and we’d have a great time in Florida for the rest of our short stay. Yes, I remembered, Mrs. Presley wanted to go to bingo before we went home. With a fat red marker, she’d been circling the big money ones in the local newspaper.

  ~*~

  True to his word, Cotton Carson was at the courthouse when I arrived. I don’t know what I expected. Visually, I pictured someone somewhere between Matlock and that cranky guy from Law and Order. I was wrong.

  Cotton Carson wheeled himself along the halls of the Criminal Justice Center at a faster clip than the two flustered young articling clerks carrying his briefcase and court papers could keep up with. He growled at the prosecutor, nodded to the clerk, grumbled to the deputy, and smiled sweetly at my mother as she sat down beside him. They’d had the opportunity, of course, of a pre-hearing consultation. And I learned that all this took place in the early hours of the morning. Apparently, Carson had been at the jail before 7 a.m., sent one of his clerks out for coffee and croissants for him and my mother, and spoken to my mother for a solid hour and a half. No, he hadn’t needed to be there so early. Nor go over matters with her for such a lengthy time period, but if it got her out of that jail cell, that was good. And if it intimidated the bejesus out of the cops, all the better.

  By the time I saw Mother at the bail hearing, she was much more relaxed than I’d left her last evening. Not exactly all smiles; she looked like she hadn’t slept a wink. But some of the tension had subsided.

  I liked Cotton Carson.

  Mother turned in her seat and offered a half-hearted wave to me. She pointed me out to Carson and I could make out the words, ‘That’s my daughter’.

  I wished of course that I could stand right up, jump over the partition and tell Mother the good news. But that fun would be reserved for the Wildoh.

  I had put in a voice mail to Deputy No-Nuts before I’d left Dylan’s room at the Goosebump Inn. He’d be at the rec room for the early-morning gathering, I had no doubt. If for no other reason, to ask how come I knew so many four-letter words as per the voicemail.

  So no, I couldn’t jump over the railing and yell my ‘a-ha!’ right then and there. But I did relax in my seat a bit, leaning back with a self-satisfied smile. I just damn well knew the day would be ending on a happier note than it began.

  I was wrong. Damn wrong.

  Oh boy … wrong.

  ~*~

  “Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars!” Judge Wm. P. Robbins didn’t need to bang the gavel. I jumped in my seat without it, thank you very much.

  The dick of a crown prosecutor had convinced Judge Robbins that Mother was a definite flight risk with her expertise in stealth, “Expertise to which her daughter attested to in the presence of Deputy Almond.”

  A hundred thousand freaking dollars!

  This was way beyond what I’d expected. Way beyond what I’d scraped together. Mother would have to spend a few more hours — God if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d soon have the fucker in jail, probably a few more days — in jail before I could get this together. Of all the rotten….

  “Ready to go, Dix?” Mother was all smiles.

  “There’ll be a slight delay, Mother,” I sputtered. “That hundred thousand dollars caught me off guard. But with any luck, I’ll have you out of here by noon without posting a dime.” Of course I didn’t know if Noel Almond would move all that fast to get my mother
out. And there still was the matter of the missing Frankie Morrell.

  One problem at a time, Dix.

  Cotton Caron leaned forward and shook my hand. His grip was firm, rough and warm. “Ms. Dodd,” he began. “There seems to be a bit of a miscommunication here. Bail has been taken care of. Instructions were left with my assistant last night — no matter what the sum.”

  Holy shit!

  “Holy shit.”

  My first thought was of Peaches Marie. But on associate professor salaries, both of them, I doubted that either she or her girl friend would have that kind of cash on hand. And how the hell would she have found out? I know bad news travels fast, but really! That fast across the ocean?

  Dylan? The Foremans had money, and they could certainly swing it. But this fast? And Dylan would surely have told me.

  Mother looked at me, perplexed. “If not you, Dix … then who?”

  With a snap of his fingers, Cotton summoned forth one of his clerks. She delivered to him a UPS envelope, then backed away practically bowing, to take her seat again.

  “This was couriered to my office last evening. It’s a blank cheque made out to my trust account. I was instructed to fill in the amount, and get Mrs. Dodd ‘the hell out of jail’. It’ll take a couple of hours to clear it through the system — less if I hover around the desk sergeant.” He smiled at my mother. “I’ll do that off the books, Katt. My pleasure.”

  Despite the assurances she was on her way home shortly, despite Cotton’s obvious kindness to my mother, there was worry in her voice when she spoke again. “But who arranged this, Cotton? My friends don’t have that kind of money. I sure as hell don’t.”

  I answered for Cotton. “Jane Presley.”

  The gentleman looked up at me and nodded.

  I knew Mrs. Presley was a shrewd businesswoman. I knew she was a thrifty person. And though I’d never given it much thought, it didn’t really surprise me that she’d have that much cash at her disposal.

  But how did I truly know it was Mrs. P? It was the ‘get Mrs. Dodd the hell out of jail.”

  “Jane? Jane did this?” Mother’s voice was small. “I’m … I’m grateful, but she doesn’t even really know me. We just met the other day.”

  I tried to shrug, but it came out stiff and awkward.

  True to his word, Cotton Carson had Mother out of jail in an hour and a bit. I watched him work, or rather, I watched him watching everyone in the Sheriff’s office work on Mother’s file. He not only watched, Cotton scrutinized. With open hostility. He dogged them with his eyes and chased them with a demanding, unwavering, confident scowl that said ‘screw up and I’ll have your ass’.

  He didn’t have to by any means — and he assured us it was off the clock — Cotton Carson drove us home. His articling clerks looked more than relieved as they headed to the bus stop.

  “Poor kids,” he said glancing at them going. “I ride them hard, but it’s a tough business. I’d rather them get used to the grumpy old bastards like me now rather than later when it really counts. Those two will make hellishly good lawyers some day.”

  “You mean it’s all an act?” I asked from the back seat.

  “An act?” He smiled at me. He winked in the rear-view mirror. “Hell no. I am a grumpy old bastard.”

  Mother laughed, “somehow I doubt that, Cotton.”

  When we arrived back at the Wildoh, it took a minute for the mechanical chair topper to descend the wheelchair from the top of the car. But once it was down, it took no more than ten seconds for Carson to settle himself into it, engage the hand gears and wheel around. He opened the door for mother while I let myself out of the back.

  I knew not to dally getting out of the car. I did not linger or stroll or wait for Mother.

  Much. Okay, so I’m a nosy daughter. I wanted to know what was going on.

  But it didn’t take shitloads of intuition to figure out Mother had a little bit of a crush on Cotton, and though he was younger than she, I knew damn well the feeling was mutual. No harps were playing overhead. No birds were chirping delightfully and smiling in that cartoon way (or I’d have to kill them). And if I ever see anything even remotely resembling a cupid in the offing, I’d gleefully break every arrow on hand.

  Cynical? Who me?

  But it was nice to see this flirtation between Mother and Cotton.

  I’m not saying Mother was ready to jump his bones. Nor am I implying that it was a case of love at first sight. They weren’t holding hands; they weren’t smooching away.

  But there was something more than a little endearing about Mother’s mini crush on Cotton. Namely: he wasn’t Frankie Morrell.

  Yep, I don’t miss much.

  Cotton and mother said their good-bye on the small front step. A long, extended goodbye. Oh yes, all the nosy neighbors were hiding behind their curtains, peeking out the window watching them. I know, for I was hiding behind the curtain on one of the living room windows watching them watching. At the smaller window. Mrs. P had kicked me out of the better view. Mother wasn’t on many people’s happy list right now. And the rumor mill at the Wildoh was already running on tales of her.

  So of course Mother knew as she stood out front with Carson, she was being watched. She knew it as she said goodbye. As she took his hand, and he smiled at her very fondly. And Katt Dodd knew it too, when she bent to kiss the gentleman on the cheek and aimed her ass at the lot of them.

  The first thing Mother did when she got inside her condo was to hug Mrs. P.

  “It’s not such a big deal,” Mrs. P said, and her shrug came easily. Or as easily as a shrug can come through the bear-hug grip of Katt Dodd. “You got troubles … we all got troubles. And I’ll get it back just as soon as Dix cracks this case wide open.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

  I had to smile at that one. I was closer than even Mrs. P thought.

  Mother was exhausted. She’d been up all night, mostly consoling Bobbie Sue. Turns out the young lady (aged sixteen) had been out on the mean streets all of two days before being picked up by the cops. She’d run away from her home in Delaware. From what Mother related to me (though she’d never break Bobbie Sue’s confidence and give the specific details, even to me) she didn’t blame Bobbie Sue one iota for leaving home. Things had been bad there. Very bad. But Mother convinced Bobbie Sue there had to be a better life out there than one of selling herself on the streets. By the end of the night, Mother had convinced her to take a bus to North Dakota where she had an aunt she was fond of. Phone calls were made. Tears shed. Truths told and promises given. Authorities notified.

  Bus fair paid (compliments of the blue-haired, Frankie-knowing hooker).

  One hundred and seventeen bucks shoved in her pocket (thanks to Officer North who took up a collection around the station overnight).

  Drive to bus stop given (compliments of Officer Vega who reportedly waited at the bus stop until Bobbie Sue was safely boarded and the bus was heading down the road).

  Hugs and hope given (by everyone there).

  A prayer or two said.

  And strict instructions from Mother to call collect when she settled in.

  That was women for you.

  Chapter 11

  Mother was still upset over the missing watch. More so than ever after it was discovered at the scene of the latest crime. But where it showed up didn’t seem to bother her near as much as who had found it. Roger Cassidy. But why would that bother my mother? I was pretty sure there was nothing going on between the two of them.

  “I just don’t understand how it could end up at Roger’s,” Mother said, worriedly. “I’ve never even been in his place.”

  Well, I understood how that watch could end up at Roger’s. I just had to prove it.

  Mother was very anxious to have the watch back, but of course, the cops were not about to return it. It had been bagged and tagged as evidence.

  “Worse case scenario,” I told her, “I’ll buy you a new watch.

  She shook her head. Not in a
‘no, no, don’t spend your money on me’ kind of way, but more in a ‘you just don’t understand’ kind of way. And she wasn’t about to elaborate.

  Maybe I didn’t understand. God knows I’m no Dear Abby. Maybe such a gift from Frankie really meant something to my mother. Even if Frankie didn’t seem to anymore. And what about that hooker back at the jailhouse who claimed to know Frankie? What about my mother’s flirtation with Cotton Carson?

  Whatever the case, soon enough the real thief would be exposed and Mother would be cleared of suspicion for those crimes.

  Then it would be a heck of a lot easier to concentrate on the disappearance of Frankie Morrell, with mother no longer a suspect in the thefts. At the very least, it would deflect suspicion away from my mother, which in turn would make those who’d been suspicious of her in the first place feel guilty as hell. Good. I hoped they’d lose a month of sleeps. I hope they’d hang their heads in shame.

  Like I said before, pettiness is underrated.

  ~*~

  “Pinch-me Pink? Or something more subdued? Like….” I looked at the label of my own tube as I pulled it from my front pants pocket — “…Chapstick.”

  I held up the choices for mother. She grabbed her Pinch-Me Pink while I smeared on the Chapstick. But she hesitated in her reach. And damn it if I didn’t almost hear her sigh.

  Katt Dodd was wearing down. I didn’t like to see this.

  Power naps taken (yes, even by me), we were geared up for the afternoon at the rec room. Everyone freshened up. It was Wednesday. Three days since Dylan, Mrs. P and I had arrived in Florida and two days until Mona’s birthday party. Something about the Florida weather — all that sun and fresh air, I slept like a log, thoroughly and deeply. Though an hour hadn’t been near enough to fully rejuvenate Mother after the night she’d had in jail, it did help. She was ready to face her accusers again. And she was ready to face her only friend at the Wildoh, Mona Roberts.