Blake and Janie looked at each other.
She snickered. “I mean for groceries. For both of you. I’ll come by your place in an hour, Mom.” She waved good-bye.
Janie shook her head “I thought she always had to be there when Ellie and Jamie got home from school.”
“They carry their own keys. It gives them a bit of independence. The helicopter mom has landed.”
“You think so, huh?”
“The kids are getting older, Janie.”
She shoved her lips to one side. “As am I. She hasn’t landed, my friend. She’s hovering over me instead. Groceries, indeed.” Janie waved good-bye as the orderly wheeled her out.
Blake grinned. Yep, role reversal. Yet he knew his mother-in-law all too well. Like a bronco not used to being ridden, put too much weight on her back and she’d buck. He admired that quality in her, though at times it almost caused him to take an extra blood pressure pill.
While he dressed, Blake pondered the house number sequence. Surely a coincidence. Right? Of course. Purely circumstantial that the two places burglarized had addresses of threes and sixes. More likely the connection merely meant both owners were not at home. The perps probably staked out the retirement community to see who left in their cars and who didn’t. They hit one at night, saw it went over without a glitch, and became bolder. Happens all the time.
Still, in order to placate Janie and to keep the Bunco biddies at bay, he’d ask Chief Gates to provide extra security measures in case the idiots tried it again. Third time would not be a charm. No, sir. Those folks at Sunset Acres worked all their lives to procure a little peace and quiet in their old age.
Besides, he had a vested interest, and not just because of his mother-in-law. He’d be living there in about twenty-five years or so. He hoped. Assuming a bullet didn’t find him first as it had Jack, Janie’s late husband and Melody’s father. It happened all too often, especially nowadays. His own partner had caught one three months ago, and his medical leave didn’t end until next week.
Blake raised his eyes to the ceiling and whispered a short prayer for protection for himself and all of those in law enforcement as he dug his cell phone from his pocket. Then he called his underling, Detective Hemphill. “Hey, Connor. Yeah, I’m out of here. Do me a favor, though. Ask Gates if he’ll beef up the patrol in Sunset Acres.”
The detective chuckled. “Already done, sir. Tell your mother-in-law we’ve got this.”
“Sure. You wanna try to convince her of that?” He clicked off, pocketed his phone. and went to meet his son, Jamie, in the lobby, discharge papers in his hand. No way was he waiting for the orderly to bring him a wheelchair.
THREE
Janie rolled out the makeshift map of Sunset Acres onto her dining room table, securing the edges with salt and pepper shakers, a small vase, and a crystal sugar bowl. She’d drawn it when one of their newest residents, Edwin, had been found diced up in the community dumpster. At that time, she used it to divvy up the troops as they canvassed their neighbors in order to glean clues. Now she began to write the names of the streets and as many house numbers as surfaced in her mind. But the residents?
“So many blanks. In the beginning, I knew almost everyone, but now the community has grown and several homes have switched occupants as people moved into the higher care facilities. I need to be more diligent about getting to know my neighbors.”
“We all should.” Ethel angled her neck to peer at Janie’s scrawl. “Wouldn’t it be easier to use the map from Mrs. Jacob’s office? The one hanging on the wall.”
Janie slapped her forehead. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? I mean, duh. I work there part-time and glare at it at least twice a week. Everyone’s names are on it as well as the house numbers.”
Betsy Ann knitted her brows. “Won’t she miss it if we take it?”
“I’d do no such thing.” Janie elevated her nose as she sniffed. “I’ll simply snap a picture with my phone, download it to my desktop, and print it out when I return home.”
“Oh. You’re so smart.”
“Well...” She glanced up as the mantel clock in the living room bonged eleven. “I’ll do it this afternoon. Right now, I’m starving. Barely ate a bite of the hospital food while I was held captive there. Blech.” She shuddered.
“Dining hall?” Ethel ran her tongue over her lips.
“Hmmm. Not a bad idea. Then I wouldn’t dirty up the kitchen. Fridge is bare anyway until Mel comes with groceries. We were kidnapped on the day I usually head for the supermarket.” She suddenly felt sheepish over her remark to Blake earlier. Her voice volume lowered with her head. “Guess my daughter figured that one out.”
All three ladies swiveled to the sound of the front doorbell. Mildred stood on the stoop with a paper sack from the organic food store in the outlet mall. “Hiddy hi. I brought tarragon chicken salad with pecans, cilantro, and celery. It’s stuffed in avocado halves.” She rushed inside and continued her speech as she headed for the kitchen counter. “Plus, sea salt baked potato chips, gluten free brownies, and fresh strawberries. Enough for everyone.”
“Way to go, Mildred.” Janie raised her hand to slap her friend’s.
The other ladies began to shuffle for plates, forks, and glasses as Janie rolled up the map and leaned it against the wall. Soon, all sat around the table chatting and munching. Once the initial conversation waned, Mildred dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin and informed them of her findings.
“I drove through the garden homes section. A few of them on Radiant Way and Solar Boulevard have numbers starting with three, but none match the pattern.” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a folded tablet slip. She flipped it over. “I wrote them down, just in case, though. There is a 306 Radiant Way, and a 316 Solar Boulevard, where Gail Morris and her mother live. They are always away on cruise ships. Of course, number 313 sits across the street. Debbie Hainey and her hubby, Dale, live there, but they’re in Wisconsin this time of year.” She cocked an eyebrow. “One of the snowbirds. They only stay down here from October through April. So, I doubt they’d leave anything of value behind.”
Ethel pouted. “Which leaves the condos. They’re, as we all know, designed in clusters of four. Do you think any of them have only threes and sixes?”
Janie snapped her fingers. “Wait. Yes. Annie Schmidt lives at 363 Sunrise Court. Her back door faces the golf course. Well, beyond the alleyway and carports, that is.”
Ethel clunked down her glass. “You’re right. But she’s in Florida visiting her daughter. Besides, do y’all remember what she said when we found the baby in the bathtub?” She jutted her hand to her hip and raised her voice an octave to imitate Annie’s. “Everything happens on Solar Boulevard. Nothing ever happens on my street.”
Betsy Ann sputtered her iced tea into her napkin.
“Ethel, that is not a very Christian way to behave.” Mildred tried hard to keep a stern face. It didn’t work. Her face reddened and she, too, burst into giggles.
Janie snickered as well. Oftentimes, Annie could be a bit uppity. Even so, she was their true friend, despite the fact she had an annoying habit of rolling multiple baby buncos in a row. With her natural born luck, she’d make a killing in Vegas, if any of them believed in hard gambling. Which they didn’t. “Did she leave a key with anyone?”
“Probably Rosanne. She lives down the street. Annie wouldn’t abandon her green babies on her special patio without making arrangements for them to be watered at least every three days.”
Mildred held up her finger. “Excuse me. You mean newly renovated, totally enclosed, all-weather Florida room? She’d shudder if she heard it called a simple patio.”
Nodding murmurs sprinkled around the table. No one else in the condo section had more than a large back stoop. But Annie possessed a knack for gardening and had maneuvered through the community association’s red tape to enlarge, enclose, and weatherproof her outdoor area to accommodate her potted plants. She now had access
into it from her living room as well as a bedroom sliding door. It reminded Janie of a Victorian atrium.
Janie set her fork onto her empty plate. “Scrumptious, Mildred. I’m going to call Detective Hemphill and fill him in.”
“About the gourmet café?”
“No, about Annie’s vacant condo.” An idea flashed through her brain. “Say, what if we took turns spending the night over at her place the next few days? The burglars might think twice if the lights are on and people are inside.”
“For once, Janie, one of your cockamamie ideas makes sense,” Betsy Ann agreed. “Annie displays her grandmother’s sterling tea service as well as some priceless bone china high tea sets from her ancestors in England. One, she claims, was used to serve...”
“Queen Victoria,” the others replied in unison.
Ethel extended her pinkie as she raised her glass.
Mildred gave the queen’s sideways wave.
A new burst of giggles fluttered over the dining table as the afternoon sun peeked through the clouds, shining onto the map perched in the corner. Janie smiled. “Operation Threes and Sixes commences.”
Blue veined hands lifted with palms outstretched to slap each other in victory.
Ethel winked and leaned to Betsy Ann’s ear. “Game’s a foot.”
Betsy Ann sighed. “Yep. I better tell George.”
~*~
Hemphill rubbed his right temple as he spoke into the hands-free speaker phone. “I’m not sure, Mrs. Manson.”
“Pshaw. People house-sit all the time. That way, if we hear anything, we can call it in.”
“Assuming the TV isn’t blaring, and they remember to wear their hearing aids.” He continued to click away at his report, which was due on the chief’s desk fifteen minutes ago.
“Now, Connor. That is not very nice.” She scolded him in a motherly tone.
Hemphill glanced around the room mutually shared by the Alamoville detectives. Everyone’s head craned in his direction, their eyes twinkling with mirth.
Phil Edwards, one of the sergeants on the force, leaned toward another policeman, Mike Martin’s, ear. “Bet he’ll be glad when Blake returns.”
Officer Martin chuckled as Hemphill pointed a finger at them, stating he’d caught the gist of their conversation. His attention returned to the woman on the other end. He punched off the speaker and lifted the receiver. “You are right, ma’am. Sorry. It’s been a bit stressful around here.”
“Well, of course it has. No offense taken.”
“Are there any other condos we should be patrolling?”
“Well, I’ll let you know this evening as soon as I study the map in Mrs. Jacob’s office.”
“Um, pardon me for asking, ma’am. You aren’t thinking of breaking in there, right?”
She scoffed. “Oh, my word, no. I work there in the afternoons a few days a week.”
A cold dampness of relief washed over his face. “Oh, OK. One more thing, Mrs. Manson. Should you or your friends notice anything suspicious, please let us handle it. Blake will tan my hide if you become involved in anything during his brief absence.”
“Is he returning to the office before he goes on vacation in five days?”
“Nope. The mayor wants him to rest and relax. Part of it means, and I quote, ‘keeping a rein on his mother-in-law.’”
The clamor of a pot or pan clunking into the sink in her kitchen blasted through the receiver. “He said that? Of all the nerve. After everything we Bunco biddies did to solve two horrendous crimes. Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.”
“Yes’m. But I’m certain your safety is at the forefront of his mind.”
“Young man, I helped my late husband, the honored and respected Austin Crime Detective Jack Manson, resolve felonies while you were still in diapers.” She’d lowered her voice.
Hemphill cracked the vertebrae in his neck. “Yes, Mrs. Manson. I do realize that.”
“Therefore, you are aware Blake has come to rely on my keen observations.”
“Yes. Look, all I’m saying is to involve us and let us do our job. We are already canvassing neighbors to see if anybody witnessed anything suspicious over the past two days.”
“As are we, Detective Hemphill.”
She hung up. Hemphill sighed and leaned back in his seat to stare at the ceiling. “I was afraid of that,” he muttered.
FOUR
Blake paced in his bathrobe as Melody lugged the suitcase from the back of the closet. “I wish you’d let me help, Mel.”
She sauntered over and laced her arms around his waist. “I know, dear. The doctor said for you to rest, though. When do you go for the debriefings?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat on the edge of the bed. “They’re coming here. This afternoon.”
She slammed the luggage closed. “What? Blake, you do recall we stopped the maid service, right?”
“Yeah. In order to save up for Ellie to get a car for college next year. So?”
“I haven’t vacuumed or dusted in a week. Arggh.” She stomped from the room.
He flopped back onto their queen-sized mattress. “I am totally worthless these days. I’m in a boatload of trouble because I let my mother-in-law persuade me to play James Bond games. Now my wife is irritated with me. I feel like a wimpy punk due to those knock-out drugs. I can’t even help around the house right now. Dear Lord, am I any use to anyone at all?”
In the solitude of his master bedroom, as the vacuum cleaner hummed downstairs, Blake allowed one tear to pool in the corner of his eye.
~*~
As soon as the bell over the business office door tinkled, Mrs. Jacobs leaped to her feet. “Janie? What on earth are you doing here? You should be resting.”
Before Janie could respond, the woman ushered her into one of the chairs facing the executive desk, which, as always, contained multiple stacks of papers. Mrs. Jacobs patted her shoulder. “Sit. Let me fetch you a bottle of cold water. It’s already ninety degrees out there.”
After the manager left, mumbling to herself about the heat, Janie dug into her purse for her phone. She snapped three pictures of the board and returned to her seat before the telltale high heels clicked back in her direction.
Mrs. Jacobs appeared with her drink, wrapped in a paper napkin. “There you are.” She rounded her desk and sat in the black, mesh-backed chair, fingers tented. “Now, why are you here? Surely not to work.”
Janie took a swig and set the bottle on the floor. “I am perfectly fine. A little weak perhaps, but that will fade. They wouldn’t have released me if I wasn’t.”
The woman gave her a soft grin. “Even so, you are a volunteer. I can muddle through without you for a week or so.”
Janie shifted her weight and crossed one leg over the other. “Mrs. Jacobs, what’s happening in the aftermath of those two burglaries?”
“Ah. Now I understand why you dropped by.” She leaned further back in her seat and waggled her finger. “Not much gets past you, Janie Manson, does it?”
She shrugged. “It’s a small community filled with busybodies with nothing else to do but spread gossip. Not much gets past any of us.”
Mrs. Jacobs flipped the paper edges in one of her stacks. “True. The police are investigating. Detective Hemphill and his men are patrolling the area more than usual. He has an inkling someone’s been―how do they say it on TV?―casing the joint.”
“Obviously. Otherwise, how would they determine when each place became unoccupied?”
Mrs. Jacobs leaned forward. “Rather disconcerting. Strangers wandering around where they don’t belong. Especially here. And we have a security-coded entry gate.”
“True, but any car can slip in after another. People do it all the time. My late husband used to say, ‘Gates and locks only keep honest people out.’” Janie reached down for her water bottle and stood. “Well, if you don’t need me, perhaps I’ll take a nap.” At the threshold, she turned and gave the manager her sweet, granny smile. “Oh, by the way
, Annie Schmidt is out of town visiting her daughter in Florida. She left her key with Roseanne Rodriguez. A few of us plan to take turns bopping in and out, turning on and off lights and such to make it appear as if someone is home.”
“Always a wise idea. I’m sure Annie will appreciate it. See you next week.” She slipped her readers up her nose and began to shuffle through a pile of paperwork—a passive-aggressive move Janie surmised meant the conversation had come to an end.
Strolling along the sidewalk past the clubhouse and library, Janie punched in Ethel’s speed dial number. “Got the photographs. Did Roseanne call Annie?”
“Yes. Annie’s more than tickled pink. You know how she values her stuff.”
“Then we’re a go.”
“Yep. I’m packing my overnight bag now.” The sound of a zipper closing came over the phone.
“Excellent. I’ll print this out, and tonight we’ll go over the game plan.”
“Roger that.” Ethel paused. “One thing, though. Who are you putting on interrogation duty?”
“Betsy Ann, of course. She can charm a snake out of its basket. If Mildred wants to help, or Babs, well, the more the merrier. Let’s all meet over dinner in the dining hall. I’m still too weak to cook.”
“Sounds like a plan. It’s pot roast tonight.”
Janie snickered as she hung up. Ethel could eat pot roast every day of her life.
FIVE
Blake slumped down the stairs at a quarter until two. He stopped on the last rung. Whiffs of lemon oil hit his nostrils. Every surface in the foyer gleamed in the afternoon sun as it filtered through the beveled glass panel in the front door. He tiptoed into the living room, freshened with vacuum cleaner tracks. A pitcher of iced tea sat on a tray on the coffee table along with a bowl of bite-sized crackers, another of mixed nuts, and a plate of butterscotch brownies—his wife’s recipe, which always caused a crowd to gather at church events. While he had been elbow-deep in his pity party, she’d been bustling. Now he felt lower than a horned toad lizard’s belly on a flat rock.
Threes, Sixes & Thieves Page 2