by Nic Saint
“Three or four different girls?”
“Sometimes five or six.”
“But where does he meet them?”
“Mostly online.”
“He’s got several dating apps on here,” Chase confirmed. “Though it doesn’t look like he uses them under his real name, or even with his real picture.”
“No, Carl is a very private person, and very scared to have his dating life become a matter of public scrutiny,” Gustav confirmed. “Every girl he invites over also has to sign an NDA before she’s allowed to share his bed with him.”
“And they do?” asked Odelia, surprised.
“Oh, sure. Once they discover their date is the famous Carl Strauss they’ll sign anything for a chance to spend the night with the guy. He’s very popular.”
“Also very rich,” Uncle Alec said.
“That could have something to do with it,” Gustav admitted.
“Well, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” said Uncle Alec. “And the first order of business will be to find this Zoe and see what she has to say about what happened here tonight.” He directed a look at his deputy. “Chase, you dig through that phone of Carl’s some more—check all of his dating apps and see if you can’t find Zoe. Meanwhile I’ll have another crack at Emma Hudson and see if she won’t give up her criminal associates.” He gave them a grim-faced look of determination. “This is the first chance we have at pouncing on those so-called Hampton Heisters and by God I’m going to nail them. If it’s up to me this is the last heist they’ve pulled in my town.”
17
Vesta and Scarlett had just received word about the terrible events that had unfolded at the house of Carl Strauss, and so they were extra vigilant as they rode around the neighborhood, keeping an eye on things as the diligent members of the watch they were.
“It’s those Hampton Heisters again,” said Vesta. “I should have known that sooner or later they’d end up murdering one of their victims.”
“He’s not dead, though, is he?” asked Scarlett.
“Not yet,” said Vesta ominously. “Though Odelia didn’t sound very hopeful. She said Carl looked terrible when she found him. More dead than alive.”
“Who would have thought that a gang of celebrity burglars would resort to murder?”
“I would. I just told you.”
“I know, but why murder one of their victims?”
“Odelia caught one, did I mention that?”
“Yes, you mentioned that. About five times already.”
“A young girl. Barely out of her teens.”
“Stands to reason. These young people are raised with celebrities on their minds. They read the magazines, they follow them on Instagram, and they want a piece of them.”
“That’s what you get when you post all of your wealth on Instagram all the time,” said Vesta. “It makes people get jealous and decide to get in on the action.”
“At least Odelia is safe. They could just as well have taken a whack at her as well.”
“She should have taken her husband’s advice and brought him along for that so-called interview.”
“So-called? You don’t think the interview was real?”
“Of course it wasn’t real! You know Carl’s reputation. He sees a woman he likes and immediately he expects her to jump into bed with him. He probably thought Odelia would be an easy target, so he invited her over in the middle of the night.”
“She just got married! She wouldn’t fall for that guy’s nonsense.”
“He didn’t know that, did he? Now will you look at that?” She pointed to a car that was driving very slowly in front of them. Too slowly to her liking.
“The Hampton Heisters!” said Scarlett. “Looking for another target!”
“Let’s nail them!” said Vesta, and punched down on the accelerator. She would have preferred if her son had allowed her to put one of those police lights in the car, and a police siren, too, but unfortunately Alec was very strict about that kind of thing.
“Ram them!” said Scarlett when Vesta had approached the car within ten yards. “Just ram them, Vesta—these are hardened criminals!”
And since Scarlett was always the more sensible of the twosome, Vesta decided to do as her friend suggested, and hit the car in the rear as hard as she could, consequences be damned!
The car in front was unceremoniously pushed out of the way, and made a kind of scissoring movement that caused it to end up across the road, hitting a mailbox and coming to a full stop. Immediately Vesta and Scarlett were out of the car, shaking off the slight sense of vertigo that had hit them when they hit the other vehicle. They were armed to the teeth with stun guns, cans of mace and the old shotgun Vesta’s husband had left her.
Only when they came upon the Hampton Heisters, ready to take them down, Vesta saw that a familiar figure was behind the wheel.
“Wilbur!” she cried as she caught sight of the face of the driver.
“Francis!” Scarlett called out when she came upon Wilbur’s passenger.
For it were indeed Father Reilly and Wilbur Vickery who were in the car.
“Are you the Hampton Heisters?” asked Vesta, pointing the can of mace at the owner of the General Store’s face. “Confess!”
“Of course not!” Wilbur cried. “Are you nuts?”
“Now why did you hit us?” asked Father Reilly, who looked a little dazed.
“We thought you were the Hampton Heisters,” said Scarlett.
“Are you the Hampton Heisters?” Vesta demanded.
“No!”
“Then what are you doing here in the middle of the night acting all suspicious?”
“Patrolling the neighborhood, just like you are!” said Wilbur.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re Hampton Cove’s newest neighborhood watch,” Father Reilly said.
“I don’t understand,” said Scarlett. “How can you be the neighborhood watch when we’re the neighborhood watch?”
“You don’t have a monopoly on being the neighborhood watch, Scarlett,” said Wilbur. “Anyone can start a neighborhood watch. That’s the point of a neighborhood watch. Concerned citizens looking out for each other.”
“And since you refused to allow us back on your watch,” said Father Reilly, “we just figured we’d start our own watch.”
“You can never have too many watches,” Wilbur chimed in, then pushed the can of mace out of his face. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You knew it was us and you decided to get rid of the competition. Wreck our car and wreck us!”
“I told you, Wilbur,” said Father Reilly. “Vesta and Scarlett aren’t the competition. We’re all in this together, working together to keep the streets of Hampton Cove safe from the kind of criminal vermin we don’t like to see crawling out of the gutters.”
“Then why did they attack us, huh? Tell me that!”
“We didn’t attack you,” said Vesta. “We thought you were the Hampton Heisters.”
“And we thought you were the Hampton Heisters!” said Wilbur.
“Oh, jeez,” said Scarlett.
“Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Scarlett,” said Father Reilly.
“I think I liked it better when we were working together,” said Wilbur, gingerly touching his forehead.
“Okay, I want you both to go home and stop this nonsense,” said Vesta, putting her can of mace away.
“And I want you to go home and stop this nonsense,” said Wilbur with a touch of belligerence.
“Look, we are the official Hampton Cove neighborhood watch. So I’m telling you to cease and desist now. That’s an order.”
“You cease and desist!”
“I’m not telling you twice, Wilbur.”
“You already told him twice,” Scarlett pointed out.
“Well, I’m not telling him a third time! Go home and stay home, and let us deal with the violent criminals and the thugs and the Hampton Heisters.”
�
��This really is not a job for a woman, Vesta,” said Father Reilly. “So why don’t you go home to be with your family, mh? And let Wilbur and I deal with these monsters.”
“Francis Reilly, one more word from you and I will be forced to use lethal force!” Vesta growled. If there was one thing bound to get her worked up it was this nonsense.
“You’re not seriously considering attacking a man of God, are you, Vesta?” said Scarlett, shooting a stern look of warning in her friend’s direction.
“I will if he doesn’t clear out immediately,” said Vesta, standing her ground.
“Okay, fine,” said Wilbur. “You won this round. But tomorrow night we’ll be out here again, Vesta, patrolling these streets, and the night after that. We’re not going to stop providing the good people of Hampton Cove with the kind of protection they deserve.”
And with these words, he tried to start his engine. After a couple of tense moments, it actually turned over, and soon they were backing away slowly, causing the mailbox to collapse to the ground. And as they drove off, the engine making a strange rattling sound, Vesta and Scarlett were left looking at the first victim of what would from now on be known as the Watch Wars.
They restored the mailbox as well as they could, then got back into the car. But when Vesta tried to start it, the engine whined and complained for a few beats, but finally refused to be induced back to life.
Vesta pounded the steering wheel in frustration.
“Great. Wilbur and Francis killed our car,” said Scarlett with faux cheerfulness.
“They think they won the war,” said Vesta, “but what they did is win the battle.”
“So it’s war?”
“You bet your ass it’s war,” said Vesta with grim determination. “They want it—they got it!”
18
After an eventful night, Dooley and I were on the case again, accompanying Odelia to the hospital, where she hoped to talk to Carl. But when we got there it immediately became clear he wasn’t in a fit state to talk to anybody. The man was still in a coma, and the doctor confided in Odelia that things weren’t looking too good for the golfing pro.
“I didn’t know a golf club could be such a dangerous weapon, Max,” said Dooley as we sat at the foot of the bed while Odelia conducted a murmured conversation with the doctor about Carl’s chances of survival.
“Yeah, those golf clubs are pretty heavy,” I said. “And if you get a good whack across the noggin from one of them it probably does some serious damage.”
The golf club that had been used on Carl’s head was called a sand wedge, and was among the heavier ones in a golfer’s arsenal. It was mainly used to drive a ball out of a sand bunker, though clearly it could also be used for other purposes. The doctor, himself a golf enthusiast, was waxing eloquently now on the different kinds of clubs, claiming Carl’s attacker had picked the perfect club for the grisly task he or she had performed.
“Part of a golfer’s expertise is to pick the right club,” said the doctor. “And I’m sure that if Carl were to wake up right now he’d applaud his attacker’s good sense as well as his remarkable follow-through. See, it’s all about the wrist action.” And to demonstrate to Odelia what he meant, he did a few practice swings with an imaginary sand wedge.
“When do you think he’ll wake up, doctor?” asked Odelia.
“Impossible to say, I’m afraid. He might never wake up, or he might wake up right now.”
Accompanying Odelia was Ellie Pack, the wannabe arsonist from the day before, who’d suddenly and overnight become a wannabe reporter instead. A good decision, as there’s probably more future in journalism than in arson.
“So we can’t interview him right now?” asked the girl, who’d put on a sensible blouse for the occasion, and a sensible skirt, and looked very different from the day before.
“No, I’m afraid we’re not going to get a peep out of Mr. Strauss,” said the doctor. He gestured to a television in the corner of the room, where a tape of greatest hits of the golfer was playing. “I thought it might stir his mind to come out of his coma,” he explained. “The human brain is still very much a mystery, and so is the kind of coma Mr. Strauss is now suffering from.” He shrugged. “If it doesn’t help, at least it doesn’t hurt.” And with these words of hope, he left us sitting around the sickbed of the famous golfer.
And as Odelia and Ellie compared notes, suddenly a familiar figure walked in, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. It was none other than Erica Barn, or Strauss. When she saw her husband, his head in a thick cast, and surrounded by all kinds of beep-beeping machines, she gasped in shock. “My God, what happened to him?”
“He was attacked last night,” said Odelia. “Ellie, this is Erica, Carl’s wife. Erica, this is Ellie, my apprentice.”
“How do you do, Erica?” said Ellie politely, and shook the woman’s hand.
Erica sunk down in a chair. “When I heard the news that Carl was in hospital, I had no idea it was this serious,” she said, placing the flowers on the floor. She looked up at Odelia. “I was just going to call you. Did you have any luck yesterday with Carl?”
“No, I’m afraid not. That is to say, I met him at the links yesterday but he said he’d never give you a divorce as long as he thought there was still hope of a reconciliation.”
“A reconciliation!”
“He seemed to believe firmly that you still love him.”
“The man must be absolutely delusional.”
“But then he invited me for a meeting at his house last night, and so I hoped he’d had a change of heart. But when I got there I found him unconscious on the floor, and five members of the Hampton Heisters fleeing the scene. I caught one of them, and she’s now in custody, suspected of the attack on your husband.”
“Who are these Hampton Heisters?”
“They’re a gang of thieves who target celebrities,” Odelia explained. “They’ve carried out half a dozen attacks in the last three months, and Carl is their latest victim.”
“Poor Carl,” said Erica, showing us that in spite of the acrimoniousness of their separation, she still cared for her soon-to-be ex-husband. “But I don’t understand. Where was his security detail when all this happened?”
“He’d sent them all home. On his calendar it showed that he had a date planned with a girl named Zoe, and the guy in charge of security told us that when that happened Carl usually sent everybody home so he would have the house to himself.”
“Oh, I know all about that,” said Erica. “When I had my first date with Carl we were all alone, which seemed a little strange for such a famous person. But then he explained that several years ago one of his security people had sold secretly filmed footage of one of his dates to the tabloid press.”
“Yeah, Gustav told us much the same thing last night.”
“So what are the doctors saying? Is he going to come out of this?”
“They’re not sure. The crack across the head broke his skull.”
Suddenly Odelia’s phone rang out its customary tune, and she quickly picked up. “Yes, Uncle Alec?” She listened for a moment, frowning, then said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” When she hung up, she glanced down at me and murmured, “My uncle wants to see me. Now.”
“Can I come, too, Miss Poole?” asked Ellie.
“Oh, sure. And please call me Odelia.”
“Thanks.” The girl smiled. “This is only my second day, Odelia, but I already know what I want to be.”
“Mh?” said Odelia, looking a little distracted after her uncle’s phone call.
“Reporter, of course. Just like you!”
19
“This is a first,” said Odelia, smiling a little uncertainly. She’d never before been invited into the interview room at the police precinct… at the suspect’s side of the table.
Her uncle was seated across from her, and he wasn’t smiling.
“Do you know why you’re in here?” he asked.
“Um, no,” she said, still s
miling, though less so when she noticed her uncle’s serious demeanor.
“We’ve examined the golf club that was used as a weapon on Carl Strauss last night, and do you know what we found?”
“No, what did you find?”
“We pulled a clear set of fingerprints off that club. Yours.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Your fingerprints were on the club that was used to knock out Carl last night, Odelia. How do you explain that?”
“Um…”
“As far as I can tell there are only two possible explanations,” her uncle went on, without waiting for a reply. “Either you picked up the club when you arrived and found Carl unconscious on the floor, or…” He fixed her with a stern look. “You are the person who smacked Carl across the head.”
“I certainly didn’t touch that club,” said Odelia indignantly. “You know I know better than that, Uncle Alec.” He watched her expectantly. Not unlike a cat watches a mouse. Well, not her cats, obviously, as they’d never been mousers. And then the realization hit her. “You don’t think I would actually…”
He merely arched a meaningful eyebrow.
“Uncle Alec! How can you even think such a thing!”
“What were your fingerprints doing on that club? That’s what I want to know.”
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she sputtered.
“Okay. So what is it?”
“Well…” She cast around for a possible explanation for her prints to be on that club, but couldn’t think of a single one.
“Look, I know you’re not a killer,” said her uncle, softening. “But you can see how this complicates matters, don’t you?”
“I mean, why would I even want to hit Carl? I didn’t even know the guy.”
“I can think of a couple of reasons. We all know that Carl fashioned himself to be something of a ladies’ man. It’s not inconceivable that he came onto you last night and that you saw no other recourse than to defend yourself against his aggressive come-on.”
“Absolutely not!”