Diced

by Deany Ray

  “It was more luck than being a superstar,” Celeste said. “Let’s figure this out later. Now we’ve got to deal with Stanley.” She nodded to the drawer where she’d put the money. “Marge, take that home with you tonight. We shouldn’t leave it here. Or, if you’d prefer, I can take it home with me and put it in my safe.” She pulled up a chair and sat. “So, Charlie, did you sleep well after last night’s adventure? Your mom get home okay?”

  “Yeah. I thought that she might sleep in, but she was up and cooking breakfast. Sometimes I wonder if she ever sleeps.” I leaned against the desk. “So, where do we go from here? Stanley-wise?”

  “Let’s review the facts,” Marge said. She took a seat behind her desk and pulled her notebook from the top drawer. She frowned. “We need to have a big board where we can write a timeline. That’s what they do on CSI, and it almost always helps them realize something huge.”

  “Noted,” Celeste said. “Until then, we have a notebook. A notebook will do just fine.”

  “Okay, what do we know? We know that Stanley is a gambler,” Marge said, scribbling in the book.

  “And that recently, he’d been gambling more than ever.” I hopped up on the desk to sit. “So there must be something…about money. He was gambling, and taking money from the joint account that he shared with Deborah.”

  “We know someone got murdered while Stanley was inside the Busy Bee,” Celeste said. “Then Stanley disappears.”

  “I think the question is, why is he still in town?” Marge asked. “And why would he go back to a place where so many people knew him?”

  “Something doesn’t add up,” Celeste said. “Girls, what are we missing?”

  We were quiet for a moment, each of us lost in thought.

  “We need to find that man. Where else might Stanley go?” Marge asked. “Where else might we look, in case he’s still in Springston?”

  “Somewhere else to gamble?” I tried. “We could look into that, find some other places in Springston or nearby. Or would he go back to the Bumpy Cashew?”

  “I doubt it,” Celeste said. “I think he found out right away that was a bad idea. The three of us should go back, though. We should keep asking questions. I bet someone at that bar knows something that could help.” She thought some more. “He might go visit Marty. We could drive by his house on weekends when we know that Marty’s home.”

  I thought some more about where Stanley’s haunts might be. “Do you think he would go back to Deborah’s?” I asked.

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Celeste frowned. “That would be an even worse idea for Stanley than appearing at the Cashew.” She gazed out of the window into the parking lot. “Speaking of the devil, batten down the hatches. I’m afraid that our pleasant morning is about to get a little rocky.”

  Marge and I turned to look as well. Sure enough, our client was heading toward the door. The expression on her face was a warning to us all. It was more than her usual look of mild disgust. The woman was on fire.

  “Uh-oh, she’s looking kind of scary,” Marge said. “She can be so mean. Even considering that we’re on her side! We’re not the enemy.”

  I so didn’t want to deal with Deborah. Not until we had a clear plan about where to go from here now that Stanley had been spotted.

  “Maybe we should get some kind of blinds,” I said. “So that in cases just like this, we can pretend we’re not here.”

  Celeste stood up and exuded calm. “Hold your heads up high. We’ve done nothing wrong. We’re good, and we’ve got this. Remember, we have news for her: that her husband showed up last night at The Bumpy Cashew and we were right there on the scene.”

  “And we let him get away,” I said.

  “Still, we have a plan.” Celeste lowered her voice to a whisper.

  Deborah was getting closer.

  “What plan?” Marge looked confused.

  “I don’t know,” Celeste said. “That’s what we have to figure out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Deborah marched in like a storm. I stood, ready to face our client. Once I got a look at the fury in her eyes, I backed away a little, nearly bumping into Marge. Celeste was on it. She greeted Deborah with a smile, as if our guest wasn’t shooting daggers through us with her glare.

  “So nice to see you, Deborah!” Celeste said to her.

  “Well?” Deborah barked out angrily. “What have you got to say? I thought you’d have things wrapped up by now. Do you still not know where Stanley is?”

  Wrapped up? The woman had no patience. We’d been going at it hard. So hard that my legs still ached from the night before. Did Deborah even have a clue how fast her man could run and hop into a taxi?

  “Well, as a matter of fact…” Marge said.

  But Deborah wasn’t finished. “How long does it take to find one nincompoop?” Her voice grew even louder.

  “The thing is, just yesterday…” I tried.

  “Do I need to round up a gang of school kids from the playground down the street?” Deborah was shouting now. “They might find him faster than you so-called pros.”

  It’s a bad day at the office when your client is almost scarier than whatever criminals you’re chasing.

  Deborah sank down in a chair. “I gave you just one job – one really easy job.”

  Not so easy, lady.

  The woman was a terror. No wonder Stanley ran so fast, no matter how middle-aged and slightly dumpy he might have been.

  “Now, I have just one question.” Deborah took a deep breath and then started up again. “What have you been doing so far? Spending all your time on manicures and nonsense, I suppose. You don’t fool me for a second. I’ll just bet that you…”

  Celeste held up a hand. “Deborah, we have news.”

  “News?” our client yelled. “Why didn’t you speak up?”

  It was not for lack of trying.

  Celeste pulled a chair up next to Deborah and spoke in an even tone. “Last night we saw Stanley.”

  That news left our client speechless for one lovely, quiet moment. Then she started up again.

  “Stanley? You saw Stanley? You saw Stanley where? And why was I not told? I’m the one who’s paying perfectly good money for you to tell me where he is. Yet you keep me in the dark. Did your cell phones disappear? Did you forget how to text a client? It’s really not that hard to just pick up the phone.”

  I could barely hold my tongue. It appears that she forgot the fine art of conversation. Ask a question, pause, and listen. The pause and listen is important. It’s in the moments when your mouth is shut that you might learn something new. However, I had to be professional; I had to play the part.

  “We were going to call today. It happened last night. We’ve been investigating, and we had reason to believe we might find him at a bar. It’s called The Bumpy Cashew. Perhaps you know the place?”

  “No. That’s a stupid name. Must be a stupid place. And where is my husband now?”

  She wouldn’t like the answer.

  “That, we do not know,” Marge answered in a quiet voice.

  Celeste headed off the tirade we all knew was coming. “He figured out that he’d been seen and he took off in a cab. Although I can assure you that we were close behind him. I had my eye on Stanley until he jumped into that car. Then there was nothing we could do.”

  “We feel that this is progress,” Marge said, jumping in to help. “We feel there’s a good chance he may still be close by. We’re on the case, we promise.”

  Now, it was our turn to question Deborah.

  “So I take it you didn’t see him?” I asked. “He didn’t stop by your house or work?” Which I guess was a stupid question. Surely she’d have mentioned running into Stanley.

  “No sign that he’d been at the house while you were at your job?” Celeste looked intently at our client. “Nothing missing? Out of place?”

  “Not that I noticed,” Deborah said. “But I’ll look around.”

  I didn’t men
tion gambling and neither did Marge and Celeste. I guess we all felt the same. That it would only bring more questions that we couldn’t answer. Best to find out what was up with Stanley before we said too much.

  “Let us know if you hear anything,” Marge said. She stood, which hopefully signaled to our client that the meeting was now through.

  “And we’ll do the same,” I added, trying to sound optimistic. “We were just working on a plan when you walked into the office.”

  “As you should have been,” she said. “That’s what I’m paying you to do. You need to find my husband. Fast.” She pointed a finger at my face.

  Then she was off without so much as a Goodbye and have a lovely day. When it came to clients, we had drawn the booby prize.

  We watched out the window until she got into her car before we dared to breathe.

  “The sooner we find Stanley, the sooner we never have to see that witch again,” Celeste finally said. “I need a cigarette.”

  “And an aspirin,” Marge chimed in.

  “And a gin and tonic,” I said. “Where’s my mother when you need her?”

  “That’s for later, hon,” Marge said. “What we need now is Stanley.”

  “Where to start?” I asked. The question was met with silence as we all thought about the next step. My eyes wandered over to the laptop. “Has anybody had a thought on how to fix that thing?”

  “Not a clue,” Marge said.

  “No idea,” Celeste said. “My inner computer genius still hasn’t come out to play.”

  After a moment’s thought, I had an idea. “How about Marty? I think he might be our best bet. Maybe Stanley got in touch with him.”

  “You might be right,” Marge said. “It might be good to talk to Marty one more time. But today is Monday so I guess he’s on the road.”

  “Just one way to find out.” Celeste walked over to her purse and fished out her phone.

  We watched as she punched in some numbers.

  “Aurora!” she said brightly. “Good morning to you, dear. This is Celeste Ortiz – the detective who came by?” She paused and frowned. “Sounds like a commotion. Is everyone okay?” She listened for a moment. “Yes, they’re a handful at that age, but so very precious. I won’t keep you long. We have some other questions that we’d like to run by Marty. Is he home, by any chance?” She paused to listen to the answer. “Well, that’s just wonderful. I do appreciate it, and we will be in touch to schedule.”

  After she hung up, she gave us the good news. “It seems we’re in luck. He gets one week off a month, and this week is the one. So, what now?”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Marge said. “If Marty knows what’s going on, he isn’t telling.”

  “Which isn’t good for us,” I said, pushing my glasses up my nose while I pondered our next move. “He’s covering for his cousin if he knows anything at all. I wonder if he knew that Stanley was in town last night.”

  “That guy might be Stanley’s ride when he’s not jumping in a cab.” Celeste took a seat and leaned back against her chair. “Who better to get you out of here than a buddy with a big rig? I’m sure Marty puts some miles on that truck of his.”

  “If we do talk to Marty, what exactly do we say to him?” I turned to the others. “With them being close and all, it’s not like we can ask him if he knows where Stanley is hiding.” I twisted my hair in thought. “I don’t think he’s gonna tell us.”

  “I think Charlie’s right,” Marge said.

  “But what if we…what if we send a text?” I think I just had a genius idea.

  “What do you mean?” Celeste asked.

  “What if we sent a text to Stanley as if coming from Marty? Asking Marty to come to him. Then we just follow Marty and see where he takes us. That might be crazy enough to work.”

  “Yes! I love it,” Marge squeaked. “We could say that Stanley needs a ride. Or that he needs a pizza, maybe toothpaste, things like that.”

  “That’s actually a very good idea,” Celeste said.

  “Of course it is,” Marge said. “I’ve seen this work before. One time on CSI…”

  “Let’s focus on our real case.” Celeste waved the thought away. “Let’s all stay in the real world until we solve this case.” She stopped to ponder something. “Okay. Here’s what we can do. We’ll get the kind of cheap-ass phone that people use and toss. You know, the ones that are prepaid. Marty won’t recognize the number, but I think that’s okay. Being on the run, it wouldn’t be unusual for Stanley to change phones.”

  “Excellent,” I said, excited by the plan. “Then we’ll wait near Marty’s house and we’ll see where he goes.”

  “That’s right,” Celeste said. “Let me call Aurora back and ask for Marty’s cell.”

  “What if she says he’s right there and hands the phone to him?” Marge asked.

  “That won’t be a problem,” Celeste told her. “She said she’d sent him out on errands, so I know he’s not home. After I call Aurora, we’ll head out to the mall and get a burner phone.” She stood up. “And while we’re at the mall, who’s up for a cinnamon sugar pretzel to celebrate our plan? They’ve opened a new dessert place and I’ve heard it’s really good.”

  “I know the one you mean!” Marge squeaked. “With the little dipping sauces for all the big, soft pretzels? We definitely have to check that out.”

  Thirty minutes later over gigantic pretzels, Celeste typed our message into “Stanley’s” brand new phone.

  Need to talk. It’s urgent. Can you come by at eight?

  She signed it simply S.

  We were disappointed not to hear a ping that meant Marty had texted back.

  “Patience, girls,” Celeste said as she dipped a piece of pretzel into a paper cup of cream cheese dip. “I’m feeling good about this.”

  Marge looked at the lighted signs across the top of a row of stores. “Well, this is convenient,” she said as she finished up her pretzel. “I have two hundred dollars in new money, thanks to my gambling skills. And we’re at the mall! Let’s see what we can find.”

  “I’m up for that,” I said. Although my legs had not quite recovered from the chase the night before. “Maybe you could buy one of those exercise bikes. We could keep it at the office, think of great investigative schemes and pedal while we ponder.”

  “That’s one idea,” Marge said. “So many things I want to buy.”

  “I’m still not sure you should keep the money,” Celeste said.

  We browsed a book store and a shoe shop and then went back to the cooking store we’d visited before. I spent a lot of time in the section dedicated to desserts. I eyed a cookie press with twenty discs to make your dainty little treats in the shape of moons and stars, butterflies and flowers. There were icings and sprinkles for cookies in all kinds of flavors. Oh, be still my heart. Did my mother know about this store?

  We didn’t have a lot of bags after we were finished browsing. Marge did buy a new book – a detective story – but said she needed more time to think about how to spend the rest of the money.

  “Way too many choices,” she said with a frown, as if this were a problem: two hundred extra dollars and a whole mall full of treats.

  “Yes, your life is hard,” I said sarcastically.

  “Be nice to me,” she answered. “You might get a present. You never know.”

  “I’m getting tired of shopping,” I said. Plus, my legs were hurting. “You girls ready to head out?”

  “That’s fine by me,” Marge said. “Have we still not heard from Marty?”

  Celeste checked the phone again. “Nope. Nothing, I’m afraid. He might just go to Stanley and not bother to text back. I think it’s best that we try to be at Marty’s house by six.”

  “I hope it’s not like last time. When we sat forever in the car,” Marge said. “Just in case we’re there a long time, why don’t we go to Jack’s? We might get hungry without dinner.”

  I’d forgotten how much I hated a surveillance job. Alt
hough, I bet it wouldn’t be as bad as the night before. I’d rather sit in a cushy car seat and wait than chase Stanley down a street. Plus, I was excited. Were we about to solve this thing? To deliver one runaway husband to his angry wife?

  ***

  We had a good dinner at Jack’s and suffered through a few bad jokes, courtesy of my father. The special was chicken pot pie, which had been my favorite since I was a child. I was feeling good, revved up about the night ahead, until I got up to the counter and waited to pay our bills. There, right by the register, for everyone to see, was a handmade sign with my name and cell phone number.

  Computer Problems Got You Down? Charlie Cooper’s Got You Covered! Give Her a Call Today for All Your Computer Needs. Tell Her Jack Sent You.

  “That’s exactly what we need,” Marge whispered in my ear as we waited for the waitress to make her way to the counter. “Can we spill something on that thing?”

  Celeste looked around the restaurant. The waitress was still busy, so Celeste quickly undid the tape that held the paper to the counter. She slipped it in her purse. “One broken laptop’s plenty. We don’t need any more.”

  After loading up our tummies, we stopped back by the office to load up the backseat of Marge’s car with binoculars and surveillance tools. We also grabbed ball caps and wigs. Just in case Marty or Aurora happened to see us, we needed to be somewhat disguised.

  A little after six., we parked near Marty’s house, close enough to see the driveway, but far enough that anyone might assume we were there to see a neighbor.

  “Oh good,” Celeste said as soon as we were settled. “There’s a pickup in the driveway. That must mean that Marty’s home. And with any luck at all, he’ll soon be heading out.”

  I hoped she was right.

  We waited. Then we waited. Then we waited some more.

  I played a word game on my phone. Then I looked at apartments I could (perhaps) afford once I got a paycheck or two. I just wanted to find a safe place that was close enough to the office. I didn’t have the money to be picky.