by Norah Wilson
I hadn’t told Mother yet that I’d solved the crime. Why? Well, I knew she’d argue with me when I told who committed the crimes and was trying to frame her. This was going to hurt mother.
Also because I’m a great big freakin’ show-off. I wanted to do this — have the whole it-was-the-butler-with-the-candlestick-in-the-library moment — in front of my mom. A person just never outgrows that. Whether it’s jumping in the pool, riding a bike with no hands, marching down the aisle at graduation or kicking a jewel thief in the crotch — really, a person just never outgrows those ‘look, mom!’ moments.
Mother stiffened noticeably when we walked into the rec room. Well, noticeably to me, and no doubt to Mrs. P, who flanked her on the other side. But Mother’s obvious tension was probably not that noticeable to anyone else. Katt Dodd’s million-dollar smile beamed across her face.
The rec room was packed. A smiling Mona sat at the crib table, but flanked by an angry Roger Cassidy and an even angrier Vanessa Trueman. Annamarie Tildman didn’t so much as turn her head mother’s way. She just stared down into her crib hand, boring a hole into the cards with her eyes. Beth Mary was nearby in the kitchen, and her glance at mother, Mrs. P and me was brief and to the point. She was obviously firmly now on the “I-Hate-Katt” bandwagon. With her hands behind her back and one foot hiked up onto the wall, a short-skirted, tight-sweatered Tish leaned up against the wainscoting. Big Eddie looked frankly chastising as he surveyed the three of us. I didn’t see Wiggie for a minute. Not because he was completely hidden behind Harriet standing in front of him there by the windows (he was only half hidden), but because he looked just that despairing as he stood there. Harriet herself was in her typical hmph-mode. She stood heel to heel, toes out and arms crossed so tightly in front of her, it looked like she was going to slice her skinny self in half at the middle. (One could only hope).
And then there was Dylan Hardy (yes, heavy on the ‘har’) standing close to one wall. White paint flecked his muscled forearms. Under my gaze, he crossed his arms across his chest, which did lovely things for his biceps. He really did look every inch the security guard/handy man. Poor guy. With any luck, he’d be putting that paintbrush down very shortly.
And guess who else was there?
“Well, hello Katt, Mrs. Presley, Dix! So good to see you all again. As always, ladies, you’re looking lovely. Did you enjoy the chocolates and flowers?”
Noel Almond.
Of course the asshole had shown up. The voice mail I’d left for him had been pretty explicit. When. Where. What would be happening. The only thing I left out was ‘who’.
But I was surprised that he hadn’t shown at mother’s door before this little meeting. I know cops, and they don’t like surprises. They don’t like having their thunder stolen. They don’t like when smart women come in and show them up by doing their jobs for them.
So yeah, I was surprised. And a little suspicious. Did Deputy Almond know something I didn’t? Something I should?
Mrs. P was so kind as to answer Almond’s question. “We certainly did enjoy the presents. I love chocolate. Can’t go wrong with flowers. But I wonder, Noel, did you enjoy your bill from the restaurant where you and Dix dined last night?”
Apparently, Deputy Almond had yet to receive that bill, for he looked truly taken off guard by Mrs. Presley’s comment. But he wasn’t the only one.
When I shot a look at Dylan, his face was carefully, tellingly blank. He’d known that I’d met with the deputy; I’d told him as much. I think I even told him it was over dinner. I just hadn’t mentioned it had involved chocolates and flowers. Shit.
Almond recovered quickly, pushing any uneasiness he might have felt from Mrs. P’s jibe aside, and smiled again. “The main thing is that our Ms. Dodd had a wonderful time last night. Fine French restaurant, a little laughter, coziness, small talk…. Did I mention how helpful the talking part was?”
Grrrrrrrrrrr.
Okay, firstly the ‘our Ms. Dodd’ sounds like something out of a Jane Austen novel, and I’m the last candidate for a character in one of those. Secondly, did he have to blab to the whole world I was so foolishly manipulated?
“Why Deputy,” Tish purred. “A French restaurant? You’d think you’d have taken a real lady.”
“Maybe someday I will, Tish.” He smiled at her and winked.
Oh God, he winked!
I cleared my throat. Twice. This one was for my mother.
I nodded to Mother and Mrs. P, who each took a seat on the small sofa at the room’s far end. Sensing something was up, Mona left the crib table and joined them.
With a quick look to Dylan (who was still unsmiling), I began. “I am sure the fact that my mother, Katt Dodd, has spent the night in jail hasn’t escaped the notice of anyone here.”
Beth Mary faked a hand-to-chest, I-had-no-idea gasp, but dropped it when she looked around the room and realized she was the only one pretending.
“It would be pretty hard to miss such a thing,” I said, “since Deputy Almond was kind enough to send a full police escort to pick up my mother. Apparently, the Sheriff’s Department feels they need full backup to escort a compliant, upstanding, innocent (if I said little old lady, Mother would kill me) woman to jail.” I looked to Almond. “Did I mention innocent?”
His expression had not changed — the smirk had not dropped, the eyes didn’t betray anything but that annoying amusement I loathed. “Katt Dodd, innocent?” he said. “That’s not where the evidence leads.”
I laughed. “Oh, that’s exactly where the evidence leads. I know who the real thief is.”
Yes, I can’t help it. My own personal theme song was playing through my mind.
Harriet grunted. “I hardly think we need be wasting our time listening to this.” She turned to Deputy Almond. “Is this how you conduct your investigations, Deputy? By letting some … some porn star,” (and she said it like it was a bad thing!) “make accusations? Refute evidence?”
I glared at Harriet Appleton. And though Wiggie (looking paler by the moment) seemed to deflate behind her, she didn’t budge under my best evil glare.
“My first thought — hell, my first prayer — Harriet, was that you were responsible for the thefts.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she said.
“Like I said. That was my first thought. But unfortunately, wishes don’t always come true. You’re a loud-mouthed, obnoxious, mean-spirited old coot, but you’re not a thief.”
“Is this what we have to expect from this little show of yours, Dix?” Tish poured her words into the room. “One by one, you go around insulting us? This your hard evidence? Name calling?”
“Not quite Tish. And may I ask where you were on the night the broach was being stolen from Roger’s condo?” My eyes narrowed.
“That’s easy,” Tish said. “That’s idiotic also. I was down at the Roxie’s Bar. Ask Buckie, the bartender with the mermaid tats on his forearms. He’ll tell you.”
“I will.”
I wouldn’t. I had nothing on Tish. Just wanted to see if I could get her to answer. me. God, I loved the power. Okay, now with that out of the way….
I addressed the crowd again. “Any one of you could be responsible for the thefts. You all know each other. You know where each other lives. Hell, if my guess is right, you know the details of each others lives very well — right down to the rings on and off fingers, the birthdays, weddings and funerals. I’ve seen this community. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“It’s called caring, Dix,” Mona said. “And that’s not a bad thing.”
She was right of course. And she squeezed my mother’s hand as she said it.
Oh I wanted her to remember those words.
“I know it is, Mona. And for the most part, it’s a great little community you have here. But there is a thief in the henhouse. A rooster in the tool shed. A goat in the foyer. An umbrella in the….”
Jesus, I really do suck at metaphors.
I quit while I w
as ahead. (Okay, so maybe I wasn’t ahead, but I quit anyway.)
“Get to the point, Dix.”
Okay, if anyone but Noel Almond had said that, I would have gotten to the point. Because I was damn good and ready to. I would have gotten to the point right then and there. But because Noel said it, my first inclination was to drag it out as long as I could
No chip on my shoulder. Much.
“My point is,” I said. “The real thief here at the Wildoh is not Katt Dodd as you’ve all been so willing to believe. My mother has been set up. Set up by the only one who could possibly do such a thing. By the only one who had the technology. The capability to enter locked doors so very well.”
Harriet hmphed. “Your mother’s the escape artist. The one with the expertise.”
“Ah,” I said. “Big Eddie Baskin is the one with the keys. Big Eddie, aka the Taker-Charger, is the one with the access to every accommodation on site, day and night, without suspicion. The one who could sneak into my mother’s place, take her watch and plant it for evidence at Roger Cassidy’s”
“That’s preposterous!” Mona leapt up. Judging from the brilliant flush on her face, I’d say her blood pressure had just shot up to way-too-big-a-number over holy-shit. She looked ready to rip me apart in defense of her boyfriend. “Eddie is as honest as the day is long. I’ve known him for years! We … we all have.” She looked to Mom. “I’m sorry, Katt. I want your name cleared as soon as possible. I know you’re not one bit guilty. But we were together the night the watch went missing. All night, Dix. I stayed over at his place.”
There was a collective mumble of agreement around the room. Mom looked at me with a half sympathetic “You sure, honey?” look.
Okay, usually when I reveal the culprit, it’s to a little more fanfare than this. A little more ‘Dix, you’re so wonderful. So great. Fantastic. Smartest PI ever.
And the absence of fanfare would have been fine. Except for one thing. While everyone else was hotly denying Big Eddie Baskin’s guilt, Big Eddie wasn’t. He wasn’t saying a word. Silently smiling.
I didn’t like when the person I had just accused stood silently smiling.
Not at all.
The hush went in a wave around the room and crested in the middle where Big Eddie stood. Big Eddie walked over to me with an unsettling confidence. All eyes were upon him now. Well almost all eyes were on him. Dylan was watching me. So was Deputy Noel Almond, damn it.
“Interesting theory you have there, Dodd.” Deputy Almond said. “But it’s full of holes. Completely full of holes. Keys were not used in the break-ins. All locks were picked.”
“Exactly!” I said. It didn’t take a genius or crack PI to figure that one out.
But the tides had turned. I was on the defensive now. Right about this time, Big Eddie was supposed to be defending his position, justifying his every move. Damn it! He should be flustered. Panicking and giving me more rope to hang him with. But that wasn’t happening.
I continued. “Eddie couldn’t use his keys on the break-ins. The cops would be smart enough to be able to tell if a lock had been picked or key had been used. No, Big Eddie had to be sure that he wouldn’t be suspected. He had to make it look like the locks were picked, thus he picked the locks.”
No reaction. Geez! No reaction.
“I found this.” I held out the little tool thing.” She held out the tiny golf club-ish/hockey stick-y thing. “I was snooping around yesterday when I found this on the floor.”
“That’s … that’s Eddie,” Mona said. “It’s just one of his charms.”
“One of my many charms, Mona,” he said, winking at her.
Dear God, why wasn’t he turning pale? Why wasn’t he blustering and running from the room? At the very least sitting down. Big Eddie was looking far from the criminal I was trying to peg him to be. Far from a man with something to hide.
And then there was the polyester pants thing….
“Search me.” Big Eddie spread his arms wide, palms open in an offering gesture.
“Ew—”
“No, I’m serious,” he said. “I get my groceries brought in. I sold my car a month ago. I’ve not been off the grounds for weeks. Haven’t had to. And I’ve been so damn busy with repairs around here. Harriet’s ring went missing just two days ago; Roger’s broach was stolen last night. If I was the one who took the jewels, then I’d have to still have them. Check me.” Again he spread his arms, oh and yuk, his stance. He turned to Noel Almond. “Deputy, get your colleagues in. Get the feds. Hell, call in the Marines if that’s what it’ll take to shut this girl up.”
Oh, I was getting mad. And a little worried. I looked at Dylan. His brow was lined too. He was still in character — still Dylan Hardy, the thick as bricks security guy, but where no one else could, I could read the concern on his face.
Deputy Almond took the floor. “Whereas Big Eddie brought it up….” he punched him in the arm in some stupid male bonding ritual. As if he’d shot him with HGH, Eddie Baskin stood a little taller. “I’m going to bring my officers in to search the place. The whole place — all the grounds and everyone’s condo. I don’t have search warrants. But I don’t need them if there are no objections. You’re all gathered here. This seems to be pretty much everyone. Does anyone object to a search of their premises?
The fucker! How could anyone object?
Harriet glanced at Wiggie, and he actually kept eye contact for a change. Tish only smiled, but it wasn’t her place but Mona’s that was going to be searched, so why should she mind? Mona’s face shot red again.
“And remember,” Almond added for selling emphasis. “We still have a missing person on our hands in the suspicious disappearance of Frankie Morrell. If everyone is agreeable, and we can bypass the warrants, we’ll possibly be one step closer in solving that murder.”
“Who said anything about a murder?” I said. “All you have is a missing persons case.”
He looked over at me that dismissive, oh-are-you-still-here? look I was too damn used to from my years working at Jones and Associates. Then he smiled broadly, as if I was supposed to melt or something. “Right, Dixie. Until we actually find out where your mother … um, I mean, where the body is stashed, then we get to call it a murder.”
Within the hour, fifteen officers were pulling into the Wildoh.
I recognized Officer North from the other night. Almost imperceptibly, certainly apologetically, she waved at my mom. One by one, while the residents waited in the rec room, the condos were checked.
Big Eddie insisted that the officers start at his place — his shop, his apartment. He helped all he could. Thought of places to check that the officers perhaps would not (air ducts, vacuum cleaner bags). He unlocked every door for them, pointed out every wall safe, and stood by while each was opened. All the while Dylan tagging along in good, old thick-as-a-brick fashion in case any heavy lifting was required.
Oh, and guess what they found?
Not a damn thing.
Not one single shred of evidence to point to Big Eddie, or anyone else.
Chapter 12
So what did I learn from the search?
I now knew that Roger Cassidy had the largest collection of big boob magazines on the planet — dating back to when the big boobs of yesteryear had yet to be dwarfed by their silicone sisters. Harriet and Wiggie had separate bedrooms (surprise, surprise). He slept on a twin bed while she reserved the queen sized bed for her own pencil-like form. Beth Mary had the second biggest big boob magazine collection on the planet — though hers wasn’t as neatly stacked as Roger’s.
Vanessa Trueman’s place was neat at a pin, while Quinn Foster hadn’t done the dishes in a week (which is two days longer than my record, thank you very much). Big Eddie had piles of underwear — literally. Boxers. And about two weeks worth of laundry undone. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by his slob state. Laughed it off. Happy as a clam the whole time Deputy Almond and the others searched his place.
Many of the resid
ents seemed to swear by Bengay. There were too many litter boxes around for a residence that was supposed to be pet free. Six out of ten people really do not make their beds up before leaving the house in the mornings (I would have guessed higher), and hotel-stolen ashtrays are the norm rather than the exception.
Yes, through Dylan, I learned all the above and more (in many cases TMI) about the Wildoh residents.
Oh, and I also found out that Mona Roberts slept on the floor in a sleeping bag in an empty room. No furniture. Nothing in the closets. Just a few meager belongings spilling out of one old suitcase on the floor.
And of everything Dylan told me, this latter fact surprised me the most. While Tish McQueen enjoyed the big double bed in Mona’s master bedroom, Mona slept on a sleeping bag on the floor in the one unfurnished spare rooms. Mona’s cupboards were all but empty, her cookie-jar money stash (all old folks have one — it’s the law or something) consisted of three bucks in Canadian change.
But despite all these interesting discoveries, there was no sign of any of the jewels gone missing. Nothing. Nada. I’d figured that the items stolen earlier would be long gone by now, but I’d have thought Roger Cassidy’s recently stolen broach would turn up. It hadn’t even been 24 hours! According to the notes taken by Officer North, with all the commotion, no one had been off the complex in that time frame. No one except for … FUCK!
Katt Dodd, of course.
Me, Mrs. Jane Presley and Katt Dodd.
This trip just kept getting lovelier by the minute.
Actually Mrs. P just laughed off Deputy Almond’s suggestion that she was in cahoots with my mother. We’re talking knee-slapping laughter. She laughed all the harder when he later tried to turn on the charm. Mrs. Presley was driving Almond nuts (no pun intended). But I have yet to see something or someone that Mrs. P is afraid of. Or someone who could sweet talk her. Not after all those years of running a no-tell motel like the Underhill.
And though I wasn’t worried about Almond’s accusations about me (and the prick wouldn’t dare try to sweet talk me after the other night), well, I was getting more pissed off by the minute.