by Ellery Adams
Licking the fingers of her right hand, Millay examined the sheet. “Ridgemont.” She read the address aloud. “Sandpiper Shores. Jesus, who names these developments? The same people who write Hallmark cards and listen to Christmas music all year long?”
Olivia laughed. “Everything has to have a theme. Her house is on Blue Heron Circle, right? So, in this case, we have a shorebird theme. How original.”
“Hey, not everyone has our vivid imaginations,” Millay replied. “Personally, I’d like to see a bunch of streets named after food. I could live on Steak Street, you’d be on Pickle Place, and all the people we didn’t get along with would be stuck on Cauliflower Court.”
“I take it you don’t enjoy the nutty flavor of the cruciferous vegetable,” Olivia remarked. “Do you like other members of the cabbage family? Broccoli or Brussels sprouts.”
“Ick, ick, and ick,” was Millay’s only response as they pulled into the driveway of a Dutch colonial.
“You’re missing out,” Olivia said, turning off the engine. “Michel makes the most unbelievable broccoli dish. He tosses market-fresh broccoli with olive oil, garlic, and pine nuts. Adds a little salt and viola! Perfection.”
Millay frowned. “I get my fiber by eating edamame. Enough about food. I can only stand this preppy girl outfit for so long.”
The Ridgemonts obviously had children, for their pricey SUVs were plastered with gold bear paw-print decals, the mascot of one of the area’s prestigious and very expensive private schools. In addition, decals in support of various sports’ teams, from lacrosse to swimming to tennis, declared that athletics played a major role in the Ridgemonts’ lives.
Unlike Christina Quimby’s house, this home lacked curb appeal. The lawn had been mowed and the bushes trimmed, but there wasn’t a flower in sight and the potted ferns on the stoop were brown and wilted. Several newspapers littered the welcome mat, and the door’s brass kick plate and knocker were being eaten away by rust.
Sue Ridgemont answered the bell wearing paint-splattered jeans and an equally colorful T-shirt.
“Oh, dear! I forgot you all were coming today. Sorry! Come on in.” She gestured at her clothes. “I’m in the middle of a do-it-yourself project in the guest room.” Leading them into the kitchen, she pushed a pile of books, newspapers, unread mail, two pairs of balled-up socks, and a Nerf football to the other end of the table.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Olivia said, trying not to frown at the dirty dishes in the sink or the brown bananas on the countertop. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
Sue blinked. “You mean because of the hurricane?” She laughed merrily. “I have two teenage boys. My whole life is a hurricane!”
Olivia smiled, quickly warming to Sue Ridgemont.
“So tell us about the robbery. Just start at the beginning and try to give us as much detail as possible.” Olivia waved a hand at Millay. “My assistant will take notes as we talk.”
Millay did better than that. She produced a mini recorder from her bag, pressed a few buttons, and placed it on the table near the pile of unopened mail. She then settled a notebook on her lap and grinned at Sue. “Just pretend the recorder’s not there. I only brought it to ensure accuracy on our part.” She then uncapped a pen and looked at Sue expectantly.
Sue’s story was remarkably similar to Christina’s except the Ridgemont family hadn’t gone out of town. They’d spent the better part of a Saturday at a Little League All-Star game in Fayetteville.
“When we got home, we didn’t think anything was wrong.” She gestured at the kitchen. “It’s pretty tough to tell if something’s missing in this chaos, but it didn’t take long for the boys to notice the big holes where their TVs, computers, and stereos had been. The thieves took my good jewelry, my husband’s Rolex, and our emergency cash. We kept it in a lockbox under the bed. I guess we should have been more creative, but there you have it.”
Olivia was struck by the fact that both the Quimbys and the Ridgemonts had been attending athletic events during the robberies. She asked Sue if they knew the Quimbys.
“Afraid not,” she said. “I wondered about that when I read about their robbery case in the paper, but I think her kids go to Neuse River Academy. We’re at The Bellhaven School. Goooo Bears!”
As Millay took down a list of stolen items, Olivia tried to deduce who would have knowledge of the family’s weekend schedule. She waited for Sue to finish speaking and then asked, “How did the thieves get in?”
Sue got up and pointed at the cat door carved into the wall next to the door leading to the garage. “We have two cats and an aversion to litter boxes. When we’re going to be out all day we leave the garage door cracked a bit. That way Lucifer and Beelzebub can come and go as they please.”
Millay giggled. “Nice names. Very Old Testament.”
“Like I said, I’ve got two teenage boys. God forbid they call our cats something sweet like Checkers or Mittens. The cats were strays three years ago but now they totally rule our lives. You’d of thought they were honorary members of the royal family the way they’re treated around here.” Sue walked over to the door leading to the garage. “We usually lock this, but I think we were in such a hurry to get to the game on time that we forgot. I guess we made it easy for the bad guys. They just slipped in under the crack in the garage door—we hadn’t made it small enough—and walked into the house. I doubt they spent more than thirty minutes taking what they wanted.”
Olivia nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s a shame someone took advantage of you when you were merely trying to be considerate of your pets.” She rubbed her chin. “Can you think of anything else we should know? Did the thieves leave anything odd around the house?”
Sue picked up a slingshot from the next chair and brandished the weapon. “You’ll have to be more specific!”
In response, Olivia told Sue about the melted butter and knife left on the Quimby’s countertop.
“Actually, I would have never thought about this if you hadn’t asked, but there was a deck of cards on this table. Two hands had been dealt, like the boys had just finished playing a game of poker or something.” She shrugged. “The weird thing was I hadn’t seen them get the cards out before we left. I never thought to ask them either. I just shoved them into a stack and put a rubber band around them.” Picking up the crumpled newspaper, she began to search for the cards.
“Can you ask your sons about the cards?” Olivia asked. “If the deck doesn’t belong to them, it might have been placed there by the thieves. They may have even left their prints on them.”
Her eyes widening, Sue nodded. “They’re at a friend’s house clearing downed trees, but I can send them a text.” She felt her pockets. “Now where did I leave my phone?”
The three women began a fruitless search for Sue’s cell phone until Millay had the smarts to suggest Sue simply dial the number and listen for its ring.
“Before I do, I want you to know that my sons programmed the phone to play the song ‘Bootylicious’ whenever someone calls me. It’s completely embarrassing but I don’t know how to change it.” She picked up the kitchen phone and dialed. Millay followed the sounds of Destiny’s Child into the front hall and pulled a phone in a magenta case from the soil of a fake potted Ficus tree.
“How on earth?” Sue shook her head in wonderment. She fumbled over the keys, trying to recall how to send a text message until Millay offered to complete the task for her. That being done, she also changed the ringtone so that Sue would now hear Handel’s “Water Music” instead of “Bootylicious.” “Thanks. That reminds me of my wedding, before my life wasn’t in a complete state of chaos!” She sighed happily. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“You don’t seem to be too upset over the robbery,” Millay remarked. “I’d be furious.”
Sue put a hand over Millay’s. “My family was unharmed. What was taken can be replaced. They can’t. Let those guys have our stuff, as long as they never return. That’s why I agreed to talk to y
ou. Anything I can do to help catch them means that they won’t come back.”
Her phone blipped and she examined the screen. “The cards are theirs, but they haven’t played with them since the vacation we took in June.” She glanced at Olivia with excitement. “Wouldn’t it be something if the thieves get caught over a deck of cards?” She put a finger on her lips and tapped. “The question is . . . where did I put them?”
“Did you return them to one of your son’s bedrooms?” Olivia hazarded a guess.
Sue smirked. “That would be the logical place to start, but I’m easily distracted, so even if I meant to put them away, it doesn’t mean I succeeded. Let’s see. I put a rubber band around them and stuck them in a pocket while I was still standing in the kitchen.” She touched her pants. “But it was a deep pocket, like you’d find on a coat.”
“It’s too hot for a coat, unless it was a rain jacket,” Olivia pointed out.
Throwing open a hall closet, Sue shoved coats around but came up empty-handed.
“An apron?” Millay asked.
“I don’t cook. I heat things up or order takeout.” Sue began tapping her lips again. “Oh! I remember! I was painting the day after we’d been robbed. I was hoping it would settle me down, but I ended up covering up the whole thing with primer and starting all over again. Didn’t like the color. Still, the cards must be in my smock.”
She dashed from the room and quickly returned, holding the cards by the edge. They were loosely wrapped in a tissue. “Let me stick these in a plastic bag.”
Once the cards were safely sealed in plastic, Olivia reached out for them. “I’m meeting with the chief of police in about two hours. I’ll see that he gets these.” When Sue looked perplexed by the declaration, Olivia colored. “It’s okay. He’s a friend of mine.” With the deck of cards safely in her purse, Olivia shook hands with Sue and thanked her effusively for an interesting afternoon.
Back in the Range Rover, Haviland looked up from his bone and sniffed the air, his warm brown eyes alight with curiosity.
“Dirty socks and rotten bananas. That’s all, Captain,” Olivia told him.
Millay scratched the poodle behind the ears and then chucked Olivia on the arm. “Smooth move back there, by the way.”
“Which one?” Olivia asked in jest.
“You told Sue you’d deliver the cards to the chief of police, but you neglected to mention that the chief you’d be seeing rules over the Oyster Bay fuzz, not Beaufort’s men in blue.”
Olivia’s laughter filled the car’s cabin and then floated out Haviland’s open window. “I didn’t want to burden Sue with such a trivial detail. She’s got enough going on, wouldn’t you agree?”
Millay shrugged. “I am so not doing the married with kids thing.” She paused. “At least not until I’m forty. By then, I’ll be too old to care.”
“Watch it,” Olivia growled. “I’m forty.”
“I’m just kidding. I really want to be you when I grow up,” Millay continued wryly. “I’d especially like to have your bank account.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to dress in a very provocative way tonight to make up for two nights of lost tips. We’re talking hoochie mama gear. Like Old Mother Hubbard, my cupboard is freaking bare!”
Later, Olivia pulled up in front of Millay’s apartment complex and wagged a finger in mock warning. “You’ve been compensated for this afternoon’s work, so there’s no need to dress like a prostitute. I appreciated having you along today.”
Millay frowned in confusion.
“Check your bag,” Olivia directed with a smile. “See you Saturday.”
She was pleased to see Millay’s mouth drop open in surprise as she removed a gift card to the Piggly Wiggly from her bag. She flipped it over, noted the amount of the card, and widened her eyes in delighted surprise.
“Haviland.” Olivia ruffled the black curls on her poodle’s head. “Our work here is done.”
Chapter 10
Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.
—VOLTAIRE
Olivia’s laptop was open on one of the small café tables at Bagels ’n’ Beans. Aside from her coffee mug, every inch of the table’s worn, wooden surface was covered with her copies of Laurel’s notes from the interview with Christina Quimby and Millay’s from their meeting with Sue Ridgemont earlier that day. Olivia piled newspaper clippings on area robberies on the spare chair under which Haviland dozed.
The laptop was less than a month old and Olivia wasn’t familiar with the nuances of the new program bundle. She’d bought the lightweight machine online and had had no problem figuring out how to write and save documents, send and receive e-mails, or print, but she didn’t know how to create a chart showing comparisons between the robberies. If she weren’t so impatient, she would have invested time in reading the program’s Help section. Instead, she called Harris.
“Where are you, my resident IT genius?” she asked.
Harris shouted over the loud hip-hop music playing in the background. “In the car! I just got off work! I’m rolling with the windows down and, uh, hold on a sec . . .” Abruptly, the music ceased. “Sorry, I can hear you now.”
“Can you change into your superhero costume, come down to Bagels ’n’ Beans, and rescue me? I need to make a spreadsheet on my computer.”
Clearing his throat, Harris responded in a lower octave. “I won’t let you down, ma’am. Let me pick up my cape and Lycra tights and I’ll be right there. But I will exact a price for my services. The Firewall Avenger only operates after an eight-hour day when fueled by an Asiago bagel with cream cheese and a large mocha latte.”
“A small sacrifice in exchange for wearing tights. Your request shall be granted.”
Once Harris had polished off his snack and was busy creating Olivia’s chart, she pivoted in her seat and sent several withering looks in the direction of a group of high school girls at the other end of the narrow room. Within seconds of Harris’s arrival, they’d been attempting to gain his attention by giggling, shrieking, and taking photos of him with their cell phones.
“Harris. Would it bother you if I scattered that collective of hormone-crazed Hannah Montanas over there? I’m sure it’s nice to have a throng of pretty admirers, but I cannot concentrate in the face of all that hair flipping and squealing. It would be quieter in a slaughterhouse.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Harris met the laughing gazes of four pairs of eyes and immediately turned back to Olivia. “They’re probably just making jokes about my skin. I’m used to it. I ignored girls like them all through high school. It really doesn’t bother me anymore.”
Touching his hand, Olivia forced him to look up from the screen. “Harris, your rosacea has gotten remarkably less noticeable. A few more treatments and you’ll be as unblemished as a Hollywood starlet. Those girls are staring at you because they think you’re cute. Fine. Hot. I’m not familiar with teenage lingo. Most of them speak Text Message—all abbreviations and code. LOL, BFF, WTF.”
Smiling, Harris ventured another glance at the girls, causing them to redouble their giggling. “How are you going to get rid of them?”
“I’ll pretend we’re an item,” Olivia said with a wry grin. “Just act like you’re attracted to older women.”
Harris produced a feline growl, causing Haviland to jerk his head off the floor. “Oh, I do like the cougars.” He put a placating hand on the poodle’s neck. “I am totally kidding, my friend. Please don’t bite any digits off. I need every one of my lightning-fast keyboard fingers.”
Once Olivia had shooed away the gaggle of girls, the two friends concentrated on their task. Harris created a spreadsheet that included the thieves’ method of entry, the items taken from each house, the day of the week in which the robbery occurred, and a complete list of services each family used.
“The houses were entered through the garage or the back door,” Olivia noted when he was done. “And in each cas
e, the thieves were neat and particular about what they wanted.”
“They prefer jewelry and electronics,” Harris agreed. “But I’d imagine bling and hi-tech toys are easiest to unload to a pawn broker or some other shady third party.” He pointed at the screen. “I’d try to track the art. Those paintings are unique, and if these guys are looking for quick, fast cash, then they’re not traveling too far to sell the pilfered stuff.”
Olivia was impressed. “That’ll be the first point I raise to the chief, if he hasn’t thought of it already.” She searched the chart eagerly for connections. “I really thought we’d plug in all the data and voila! There’d be a cleaning service or a housepainter or a pet walker they all had in common. Instead, the only dots connecting these families is that they have kids and those kids play sports, taking the families away from home for a large chunk of time during the weekend.”
“And then there’s the whole weird butter-dish thing.” He eyed Olivia’s purse. “Do you have the cards with you?”
Nodding, she produced the deck in its protective plastic bag.
Sue Ridgemont had removed the tissue encasing the deck after dropping it into the bag. Harris peered through the plastic and then, without asking permission, used his long, agile fingers to push the rubber band off the deck without opening the bag.
“Whoa,” Harris murmured in admiration over the illustrations of scantily clad warrior women. “These are all Boris Vallejo images. His fantasy art is amazing. I’ve got one of his Conan the Barbarian prints. When you look at it, you feel like you could bounce a quarter off the guy’s pecs.” He fanned the cards out as much as he could without removing them from the bag. “Cool. The centaurs are the jacks and these mermaids are the queens. Man, they are smoking hot.” Blushing, he continued to inch the cards apart. “Ah, here’s a quartet of barbarian kings.” He frowned. “Wait a sec. Did I miss one?”
Olivia, who wasn’t as fascinated by the artistry of the cards as Harris, picked up their cups, walked to the counter, and handed them to Wheeler. “Two refills please.” She paid for the espresso drinks and then returned to the table, eager to study their chart in search of inspiration before heading to The Boot Top to meet Chief Rawlings.
