Art of Deception

by Brenda Donelan

  “No contact with Bridget? None at all?”

  “None. The jail wouldn’t let you two have contact and neither would I nor your attorney.”

  “Look, I heard that Bridget may have confessed to stealing the urn. I know she wouldn’t do it, and I didn’t have anything to do with the theft either. I think she’s being set up. Maybe we both are. I just need to talk to Bridget so we can get this figured out,” Marlee pleaded.

  “Absolutely not. Any communication will go between your attorney and myself. Thanks for calling me.” A click signified that the conversation was finished. If Marlee had to guess, Renee was probably already on her way over to the jail to see Bridget. Marlee smiled knowing Bridget was in good hands.

  Marlee moped around the house until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She locked the front door behind her and jumped into her Honda CR-V which had been parked in front of the home instead of where she normally parked her car in the detached garage behind the house. Since she left earlier than necessary, she found herself driving by the county jail even though she knew it wouldn’t yield any new information.

  Denny Harlow was on a phone call when Marlee arrived at his office a few minutes earlier than their prescribed appointment. The dark, windowless office reeked of cigarette smoke. Marlee held her breath as she slumped into one of the bright orange chairs in the outer office. Denny was in a back office talking to whom Marlee suspected was a female. Most likely a female to whom he was not married. As the call progressed from flirtation to phone sex, Marlee coughed loudly to alert Denny of her presence. Marlee never could figure out how this weasel always had ladies lining up for him.

  Moments later, Denny emerged from his back office, looking as creepy as usual. His thinning brown hair was combed over the bald spot on top and his bushy mustache made him look like a porn star who had been out of work since the 1970s. His dark green suit was rumpled as if he’d slept in it the night before. Denny’s eyes were watery, suggesting he got a head start on cocktail hour.

  “Marlee McCabe! Come on in. Let’s talk about your case. First, I need you to fill out some paperwork so I can legally represent you. Then we’ll get this all figured out,” Denny said, showing the professor into his office. After filling out papers that hired Denny as her lawyer, Marlee began to talk about Bridget’s arrest for the theft of the antique urn.

  “Wait a minute. How did Bridget come into contact with this urn in the first place? Did she break into somebody’s home?” Denny asked as he lit up a cigarette.

  “No, Bridget was in charge of this presentation on campus called The Showcase. It involved film, art, and music from the 1920s. Several pieces of art were loaned by museums and private collectors. The urn belonged to somebody here in Elmwood. Bridget is a visiting professor of film studies at Marymount College. She was working on a joint project between Marymount and Midwestern State University which was to involve the Elmwood community in learning about and discussing the 1920s through art, music, and film.”

  “So museums and individuals just turned over valuable collectibles to your cousin to use in her little project?” Denny balanced his lit cigarette on an overflowing ash tray and leaned back in his chair. “Did Marymount have an insurance policy in case something from the project was damaged, lost, or stolen?”

  “I don’t know anything about the insurance aspect, but I know a private security company was hired to watch over the items. Bridget had to arrange that herself. Well, I helped a little bit. I gave a good reference for one of my former students who is running his own security company. He was a police officer here in town for a couple years before he decided to branch out on his own with private security.” Marlee swelled with pride as she talked about her former student. She was impressed with his ingenuity in starting his own company when he recognized a need for security beyond what law enforcement could provide.

  “What’s his name and how can I reach him?” Denny grabbed a pen and a yellow legal pad from among the clutter on his desk.

  “Sean Yellow Tail.” Marlee reached in her purse and found a business card Sean had given her. She handed it to Denny, and he copied down Sean’s contact information.

  “Do you think I’ll be charged in this? I didn’t do anything, and I don’t think Bridget did either, but the cops did search my house and found the stolen urn hidden in the room where Bridget was staying.”

  “You’ll be questioned for sure. Don’t talk to any of the cops without me present. I know you’re a professor and fancy yourself a bit of an amateur detective, but you’re too close to this situation to make the best choices for yourself. When the cops come a-knocking don’t say a thing until I get there. Understand? Not one word.” Denny looked Marlee square in the eyes and stared her down until she nodded.

  “Yeah, okay. I know,” Marlee said, doubting Denny’s proclamation. She was aware that many criminals work against their own best interest when talking to law enforcement without the assistance of an attorney. Her situation was different. She had a Ph.D., experience in law enforcement-related fields, and was not going to be easily tricked into incriminating herself or Bridget. Plus, there was the fact that she and her cousin were both innocent.

  “You want to know the difference between the people who get convicted and those who don’t?” Denny asked as he snuffed out the last of his cigarette and reached to light another.

  “Those who get convicted are guilty?” Marlee asked, aware that this was not true. She knew it would piss Denny off and that right there was worth something.

  “Hardly!” Denny snorted and a puff of smoke shot out of his nostrils. “Those who get convicted tend to think they’re smarter than everybody else. Innocence and guilt don’t have a whole lot to do with it. Even though you didn’t have any part in the theft, you can’t be a hundred percent sure that Bridget is innocent. Keep in mind, her lawyer is there to protect her even if that means sacrificing you to the wolves.”

  “Yeah, right. Bridget wouldn’t let her do that. And I don’t see Renee Salazar playing dirty just to win.”

  Denny leaned across the desk, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Then you don’t know jack shit about the legal system, kid.”

  Marlee sat back in her chair, convinced that Denny was being overly dramatic. He just wants to make sure I hire him instead of handling this myself, she thought.

  “You can choose to believe me or not. Up to you.” Denny threw his hands up in the air in mock defeat. “But I could give you a whole list of innocent people sitting in prison now because they thought they knew better than me.”

  “Now, who other than Bridget could’ve stolen the urn and put it in your house? Who has a key?” Denny had his pen in hand ready to list the names of those with access to Marlee’s home.

  “Well, there’s Bridget, as you already know. My friend Diane Frasier has a key, but she wouldn’t steal anything. My ex-boyfriend, Vince Chipperton has a key too but he’s a probation officer, not a thief. Then there’s Hector Ramos, a friend of mine. He has a key. Plus, I keep a spare key in the garage under the dust pan hanging on the wall.”

  “Who knows about the key under the dust pan?”

  Marlee thought for a minute. She’d told all of her friends about the spare key. Living alone was ideal, most of the time. But she worried about what might happen if she tripped over her cat, fell down the basement stairs, and knocked herself unconscious. “Um, there are probably several people from campus that know about the spare key. Plus, my Mom knows and whoever she told.”

  “And the garage is unlocked?”

  “Yep. I never lock the garage. Sometimes I don’t even lock the back door to the house.” Marlee stated.

  “Are you nuts? Don’t you know people break into houses all the time because the owners left the door or window open?” Denny shook his head in disgust, appalled that he needed to have this conversation with a former probation officer.

  “I know, but my neighbor and I share books and magazines and we just leave them inside each
other’s back doors. Look, I’m not an idiot. I know it’s not the safest thing in the world, but the neighbors and I watch out for each other.”

  “All of the neighbors?” Denny asked. “Are there any neighbors that might take advantage of an unlocked door?”

  “Not that I know of. A skanky lady moved in with a bunch of kids and dogs in the house next to me. She’s a terrible neighbor, but I don’t think Skank-asaurus would walk right into my house,” Marlee said.

  “Skank-a-what?”

  “Skank-asaurus. That’s my nick name for the sleazy neighbor with four different kids from four different daddies. She has a new boyfriend now, so I’m sure she’ll have another kid soon. And she’s a pet hoarder,” Marlee dished, even though she knew none of that information had anything to do with the case at hand.

  Denny shook his head and jotted some words on the legal pad while lighting up his third cigarette since their conversation began. “Okay, here’s the deal. I don’t know if you’ll be charged with anything. It depends on what Bridget says to the police. You’ll be questioned for sure and I want to be present for that. Until that happens, go home and don’t talk to anyone about this case. The less said, the better. I’ll try to find out more from the prosecutor. As soon as I have something to report, I’ll give you a call. Deal?”

  “Yep, that sounds fine.” Marlee pushed back her chair and stared at Denny through the cigarette haze hanging over the office. “What do you think will happen to Bridget?” Marlee wasn’t so worried about herself, since she knew without a doubt that she’d done nothing wrong. But Bridget had been tricked into admitting to a theft.

  “It doesn’t look good, girlie. It doesn’t look good at all.”

  When is a fib really considered a lie? What if you believe it?

  Chapter 4

  The sky clouded up later that afternoon, looking as dismal as Marlee felt. She recalled the warning her attorney had given her just minutes ago: “Don’t talk to anyone about the case.” Still, Marlee needed to talk to someone about the predicament Bridget was in and the impact it might have on her. She would put Bettina Crawford in a bad spot if she called her, since Bettina no doubt had more information on the case and might even be one of the detectives assigned to it by now.

  Instead, Marlee called her four friends from the supper club and asked them to come over for food and drinks. The group had originally come together as a way for the members to demonstrate their cooking and entertaining skills. That soon went by the wayside as the members decided it was quicker and easier to order pizza. Plus, it gave them more time to gossip about the goings-on at Midwestern State University.

  The women were all able to make it over, so Marlee hastily tidied up her kitchen and shoveled off the dining room table. She ordered the usual pizzas; one vegetarian and one meat-lovers. Within minutes, the group rolled in, each taking a spot at the now-clean dining room table.

  Marlee poured Pinot Grigio for both Diane and Kathleen and made margaritas for Gwen and Shelly. For herself, she poured a glass of Cabernet. Without delay, Marlee launched into her story of Bridget McCabe’s arrest and alleged confession. She told them about the search warrant for her home and that the police found the stolen urn in the room where Bridget stayed.

  “Oh my God! Bridget’s in jail?” Gwen asked.

  “Yes, and I can’t talk to her because both of our attorneys are restricting contact between us. Plus, I might be charged since the urn was found in my house when the police searched it. The cops will be talking to me soon.” Marlee hung her head as she told the story, not in embarrassment, but because the story hadn’t seemed real until now.

  “What are you going to do?” Shelly asked, taking a sip of her margarita and wincing from the ice headache it induced.

  “I don’t know. I have an attorney and he tells me not to talk to anyone about this. I can’t even speak to Bridget.”

  “This doesn’t sound like you,” Kathleen said bluntly. “I mean, you’re usually all about finding solutions, but now you just sound defeated. Why aren’t you trying to figure out what really happened?”

  Marlee’s blood began to boil. How dare Kathleen talk to me like that, she thought. I’m doing the best I can. Her anger dissipated as quickly as it rose. Marlee wasn’t one to play the “poor me” card for long. “You’re absolutely right! I should be trying to solve this case instead of sitting around worrying about Bridget and myself. The attorneys can only do so much.” In that instant, she was back to her old, feisty self. Kathleen had given her the kick in the ass she needed.

  She jumped to her feet with such force that part of Gwen’s margarita sloshed over the side of the glass and onto the table. “I think we need to work on a crime chart!” Marlee scurried from the room and came back with a large piece of poster board and a fist full of markers. “The crime chart worked for us before.”

  Diane was not convinced. “I don’t remember this actually working. We started it but then got distracted and forgot about it.”

  “Well, it didn’t work immediately, but I came back to it later and it helped me organize my thoughts about the case,” Marlee said, recalling her role in solving the Shane Seaboy murder in 2005. “Hector and I put together a crime chart when we were working on the Roxie Harper death investigation and that was helpful too.”

  “Speaking of Hector, what’s going on between you two? And what about Vince? Have you chosen between your many suitors?” Shelly asked with a laugh. Marlee was still in limbo, trying to decide between Vince Chipperton, the probation officer that she’d been interested in for years, and Hector Ramos, an out-of-town cop she met while looking into the death of one of her students.

  “I wish I knew what was going on with both of them. Maybe we should put together a chart to help me figure out which one I should date,” Marlee said, only half-jokingly.

  Before the group could begin work on the crime chart, the doorbell rang. Marlee collected the pizzas from the delivery person and set the boxes on the table. Everyone reached for a slice of their preferred pizza, while Marlee grabbed a stack of paper plates and flung them around the table. Diane rose to grab the wine bottles and margarita pitcher and filled everyone’s glass while they ate.

  No one spoke for a full minute as the women tore into the pizza. “Guess we were all hungry, huh?” asked Kathleen. Nodding heads and garbled words through food-stuffed mouths indicated that she was correct.

  After everyone had put away a couple pieces of pizza, the conversation began again. “I don’t want to make you mad, Marlee, but isn’t it possible that Bridget stole the urn? I mean, I really like Bridget and all, but her as the thief seems to make the most sense,” said Diane.

  “If I didn’t know Bridget, I would think it made the most sense too. She’s not a thief. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my relative. Bridget’s not materialistic at all, and money doesn’t mean that much to her. As long as she has enough to live on, she’s happy. I just don’t see what her motivation would be for stealing some antique.” Marlee was helping herself to a third slice of pizza when she had a thought.

  “What if Bridget is covering for someone else?” Marlee asked, looking around the table at each of her friends.

  “Who?” Gwen and Diane asked in unison.

  “Well, I don’t know who. But she might have a coworker or a friend that made a poor choice and she tried to cover for them and got herself into trouble.”

  “Sounds a bit far-fetched to me,” said Diane, ever the skeptic. “Would any of you sacrifice yourself to save someone else in a theft case like this?”

  “How much do you think the urn is worth?” Shelly asked. “I have no idea what an antique like that is valued at. Who would have a use for it?”

  “All good questions and I don’t have the answer to any them. Maybe my lawyer can tell me when he calls back. Or maybe the cops will tell me when they question me. I’m sure it’s worth quite a bit, a few thousand dollars at least. As for a use, I think it’s just decorative. I don’
t know much about antiques and collectibles other than my ceramic frog collection, which I’m pretty sure isn’t worth a whole lot.”

  “Some day that frog collection could be worth millions,” Kathleen said. The group broke out in laughter as they glanced at the shadow box containing Marlee’s frogs in the dining room. The figures were dressed in various costumes to commemorate the holidays. In the front was a leprechaun frog and next to it were a male and female pilgrim. The Easter Bunny and Mrs. Santa Claus peeked out from the back. “Or not,” Kathleen concluded after the laughter died down.

  “No matter what the urn is worth, it would be hard to sell it in South Dakota. I’m sure it would’ve been on the news even if they hadn’t recovered it.” Marlee felt a sudden downturn in her mood again. “Now Bridget will be named publicly as the one who stole it. I know she’ll be released from jail soon when the police figure out it’s all a big mix-up. Still, this whole thing will tarnish her reputation. I hope she doesn’t lose her job over it. Bridget loves teaching, and I don’t know what she would do if she couldn’t be a professor any longer.”

  “I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out soon. Maybe Bridget won’t even be named in the media as the person in custody,” Shelly said, trying to make Marlee feel better.

  “Even if she isn’t specifically named, word will get around that Professor Bridget McCabe is in the Elmwood Jail. Marymount College will terminate her visiting professor position to distance themselves from this scandal as soon as possible. Most colleges and universities would do the same thing. Bridget could even lose her permanent teaching position back in Minnesota,” Diane said, none too worried about sparing anyone’s feelings.

  “We’ve done enough talking about what might happen,” Marlee said as she began clearing the grease-soaked paper plates and empty pizza boxes from the table. “Back to the crime chart.” After the table was wiped clean, the butcher paper was placed in the middle and the markers were distributed.