The Clockwork Teddy
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
A TEDDY BEAR ARTISAN PROFILE
Afterword
Praise for the Bear Collector’s Mysteries
“Has the potential to quickly turn into a favorite series of many.” —The Mystery Reader
The Crafty Teddy
“Don’t be fooled by the teddy bear theme. Lamb’s mysteries are full-bodied police procedurals, and the identity of the primary villain will come as a real surprise.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“A page-turner . . . [with] plenty of action. This is an original, refreshing change in the overcrowded amateur-sleuth genre.” —Romantic Times
“Be warned that if you pick this book up, you won’t put it down until you’ve finished reading it . . . You’ll want to read every one of the books in the series—and jump into the world of teddy bear collecting, murder, and intriguing mystery.” —Armchair Interviews
“The story skips along with plenty of humor, interesting and unusual characters, recognizable scenery, and quick-paced action.” —The Fredericksburg (VA) Free Lance-Star
“Full of interesting information on teddy bear lore (including a profile of a genuine teddy bear artisan at the end of each novel), a complex and interesting mystery, and a macabre and twisted sense of humor.” —Gumshoe Review
The False-Hearted Teddy
“With a quick-moving plot that’s neither too cozy nor too hard-boiled, a likable sleuth, and an original premise, Lamb has another honey of a mystery.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“A quirky but surprising read, and one that readers who prefer a little plush to gore should relish.”
—The Carlisle (PA) Sentinel
“A fast-paced trip . . . Mystery fans will follow the twists and turns of this tightly woven tale with pleasure.”
—Teddy Bear and Friends
“A fast and fun romp into murder and mayhem . . . An enjoyable read.” —Armchair Interviews
“Both story and dialogue are fast paced . . . I finished The False-Hearted Teddy in one lazy afternoon because I couldn’t put it down.” —Cozy Library
“John J. Lamb will drive you absolutely ursine with his series of Bear Collector’s Mysteries.”
—Raleigh News & Observer
“The False-Hearted Teddy can’t help but make you smile and want to read more of this series.”
—Reviewing the Evidence
The Mournful Teddy
“Once you start, you can’t bear to miss a teddy mystery.”
—Rita Mae Brown, New York Times bestselling author of the Mrs. Murphy Mysteries
“A smart debut.” —Mystery Scene
“[Lamb] provides readers with a delightful whodunit that more than just bear collectors will enjoy.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Skillfully blends elements of the traditional cozy with the gritty instincts of a tough but tender ex-homicide detective . . . The Mournful Teddy is one teddy bear you won’t take for granted.”
—Ellen Byerrum, author of the Crime of Fashion Mysteries
“The Mournful Teddy is a cozy police procedural, an unusual but not unheard-of combination. The author has pulled it off so well . . . I look forward to many more in the series.” —Mystery News
“Entertaining . . . A fun romp . . . [Lamb] evokes the beauty of the valley while creating characters and a puzzle worthy of the setting. Fans will need to bear patiently the wait for the Lyons’ next outing.” —Richmond Times-Dispatch
“The Mournful Teddy is a fur ball of fun. There’ll be no hibernating once you start reading it. Best of all, it’s the first in Lamb’s Bear Collector’s series.”
—Harrisburg (PA) Patriot-News
“This is the start of a series and already I want to know more about these people and their lives; so I look forward to the next adventure and to learning more about bears.”
—Gumshoe Review
“The unique mystery surrounding collectible teddy bears provides this cozy an element of fun that is hard to find. The author’s personal experience as a police officer shines through the tale and lends an air of unmistakable authority.” —The Romance Readers Connection
“The Mournful Teddy is a cozy police procedural . . . The author has pulled it off so well—and with subtle humor—that I predict readers of both subgenres will find it more than satisfying.” —Cozy Library
Berkley Prime Crime titles by John J. Lamb
THE MOURNFUL TEDDY
THE FALSE-HEARTED TEDDY
THE CRAFTY TEDDY
THE CLOCKWORK TEDDY
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE CLOCKWORK TEDDY
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / October 2008
Copyright © 2008 by John J. Lamb.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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eISBN : 978-1-436-29048-7
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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For Daniel Ahrens,
my best friend, my wife’s cherished brother,
and the finest backup a cop could ever have
One
I couldn’t help but notice that the guy dressed in the furry brown bear costume didn’t quite grasp the concept of being a teddy bear show mascot. Instead of playfully interacting with the early-bird attendees and their children, the ersatz Ursa was about as cheerful and communicative as the backside of a gravestone. He plodded down the aisle with his woolly head downcast and swiveling back and forth, peering glumly at the exhibitor’s tables.
It was a sunny morning on the first Saturday of September and my wife, Ashleigh, and I were in Sonoma, California, getting ready to present our stuffed animals at the Teddy Bear Flag Republic, one of the most popular bear shows in the country. The annual event attracts participants from all over the world and we had spotted well-known artists from across the U.S., Australia, Japan, and even the Netherlands. The show’s venue is unique for being held outside, under the enormous eucalyptus trees of the lovely downtown Plaza. Primarily known now as the capital of California wine country, back in 1846 Sonoma was also the site of some momentous history. That’s when American settlers gathered in the square to declare their independence from Mexico and proclaim the establishment of a republic. It was a mostly peaceful revolt and the rebels soon raised over the Plaza their flag, which featured a crude brown silhouette of a grizzly bear—a creature once very common throughout the region—and before long, the new country had a nickname: the Bear Flag Republic. Hence the unusual name for the teddy bear convention.
Using the handle of my blackthorn cane to gesture at the morose bear mascot as he shuffled past, I asked Ash, “What do you suppose his major malfunction is?”
She looked up from the soft-sculpture cougar she was carefully positioning on our table amidst our other more traditional teddy bears. “How can you be sure that’s a he?”
“I can’t be absolutely certain, but he’s taller than me and—”
“He walks with his weight on his heels, like most guys do,” said Ash, giving the bear mascot a closer look.
“Good obs, Deputy Lyon,” I said, referring to her new status as an auxiliary deputy sheriff, back home in Massanutten County, Virginia. “Now, can you tell me why he’s so sulky?”
“Honey, it’s probably hot and stuffy inside that costume.”
“That’s no excuse. And if we’re talking hot and stuffy, let me remind you of that time right after I made detective when I was working a stakeout and—”
“Had to dress up like a lobster and stand day after day in front of that seafood restaurant in North Beach?” As usual, Ash had read my mind. She put a hand over her mouth to conceal a smile.
“Which was a much bulkier suit than the one Grumpy Bear there is wearing,” I said defensively.
“I think we have a Polaroid of you in that suit in one of the photo albums.”
“I don’t need a picture to remember it. That costume had a stuffed tail and I could barely move my arms inside those big freaking claws.”
“You had cute orange antennae that bobbed up and down.”
“And that were attached with hard plastic bolts that scraped my head every time I moved. When they told me that, as the junior man in the detective division, I would have to wear that lobster costume, what did I say?”
“That you were going to throw yourself in front of a BART train.”
“But I didn’t, did I? No, I wore that ridiculous outfit and did the surveillance while pimping the catch-of-the-day like I was Barney the Dinosaur on crystal meth.”
Ash giggled. “All the other detectives said that you were a very animated crustacean. But what does that have to do with that guy in the bear suit?”
I watched as the unhappy bear disappeared around the corner of Sonoma’s city hall, a handsome old two-story stone building near the front of the Plaza. Shrugging, I said, “Nothing, I guess. It just bothers me that he’s trudging around a teddy bear show looking as if he’s on the Bataan Death March.”
“I agree. But maybe you’re mistaking embarrassment for a bad attitude. For all we know, he’s someone’s husband or boyfriend who got roped into wearing that costume when he’d rather be out on a golf course.”
“I guess that would explain why he’s so fur-lorn.”
Ash rolled her eyes at the bad pun. “Or maybe it’s someone’s teenaged son.”
“And what kid wouldn’t enjoy spending his Saturday morning wearing a fuzzy costume and hanging out with a bunch of silly adults who love teddy bears?”
“Exactly. So, if he comes by again, why don’t you say something to him? Maybe he just needs a little encouragement.”
“But it’s way more fun to be grouchy and make snap judgments about strangers.”
“That’s the Brad I know and love.” Ash kissed me on the cheek. “And now I’ve got to get back to work. The show starts in less than an hour.”
Ash and I had attended the Teddy Bear Flag Republic shows religiously back when we still lived in California, but only as collectors. This was our first experience here as exhibitors, which was why she was so focused on making our display of handcrafted stuffed animals look perfect. I also knew that the best way I could help was to stay out of her way and keep quiet. So I sat down in one of our folding chairs and watched her work, a more than satisfying pastime given that my wife is the most beautiful woman I know. And I’m not just saying that to score husband brownie points. Ash has luxurious blond hair and a magnificent figure that I could contemplate for hours, and frequently have.
Ash pulled Becky Birthday Cake from a box, smoothed some stray strands of russet fur between the costumed bear’s eyes, and set it carefully on the table. The stuffed animal was one of the newest members of Ash’s “Confection Collection,” a line of twenty-inch mohair bears dressed as decadent desserts. I’m partial to all of my wife’s creations, but Becky is a work of art. Ash had spent several hours twisting sturdy wires into a drum-shaped framework around the bear’s upper body. Then she’d upholstered the cylindrical frame in an ivory-colored satin that looked exactly like vanilla frosting, and painstakingly hand-stitched five pink faux-icing rosettes to the top of the cake. A sixth oversized rosette, sporting a birthday cake candle, doubled as a hat for Becky. And if that wasn’t impressive enough, nestled inside of Becky was a small potpourri bag containing cinnamon sticks and cloves, which made her smell just like a spice cake.
I thought the bear was a masterpiece, and tangible proof that Ash had elevated her skills as both a designer and artist to a new plane of excellence. Of course, the fact that I have an informed opinion about artisan teddy bears at all does permanently demolish whatever street cred I used to have as a tough guy.
My name is Brad Lyon, and before a .357-magnum hollow-point destroyed my left shin and I was medically retired from the force, I was an SFPD homicide inspector. Now I’m an apprentice teddy bear artist and avid collector, having moved from grisly crime scenes to grizzly bears made out of mohair. Governor Arnold would probably call me a “girly man,” but not in Ash’s presence, unless he wanted a roundhouse left to the jaw. My wife of twenty-seven years is a sweet-tempered and beautiful woman, but if she thinks my manhood is under attack, she’s as ruthless as an Israeli army border guard.
In the aftermath of my forced retirement, Ash and I realized that we were weary of the hamster-on-an-exercise-wheel pace of city life. Our two children, Christopher and Heather, were grown and there was nothing to keep us in San Francisco, so we relocated to Ash’s childhood home of Remmelkemp Mill, a tiny village in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley that was simultaneously three hours ahead and fifty years behind the “Golden” State. Surprisingly, the only thing we really missed about
California was our daughter, Heather, who’d carried on the family tradition and was a San Francisco cop. We were thrilled at the prospect of spending all of Sunday with Heather, and our only regret was that Chris, who was in Missouri, pursuing his career as a vintner, couldn’t be here, too.
The Teddy Bear Flag Republic was the first and probably the only West Coast show we’d be attending, however. Shipping the bears was a hassle, air travel is one of the few forms of torture yet to be addressed by Amnesty International, and this time, as always, I ended up seated next to someone who was “just getting over” the flu, yet coughing so badly I suspected it was actually bubonic plague. Then there were the costs of renting a minivan, staying at a nice-enough motel to ensure that our morning wakeup call wasn’t the cops serving an arrest warrant next door, and restaurant dining—which is never cheap in wine country.
The bottom line was that we were going to have to sell beaucoup bruins to break even with the expenses. Indeed, the only reason we’d been able to afford the trip at all was that a prominent San Francisco attorney had actually paid for my airline tickets and two days’ worth of meals and lodging. Big surprise: This wasn’t an act of altruism, but so that the attorney could grill me at a deposition, which I deliberately scheduled so that Ash and I could both come to the Teddy Bear Flag Republic and visit Heather the following day. Unethical? Maybe, but given the circumstances, I didn’t feel too broken up about it.
Five years earlier I’d been shot and crippled for life while chasing a lowlife who’d stabbed and killed his former girlfriend. As I’d crashed to the pavement in front of a crowd of stunned witnesses in Ghirardelli Square, my old partner, Gregg Mauel, had demonstrated why he’d once won a gold medal in marksmanship at the police athletic championships by double-tapping the shooter and killing him instantly. The unbelievable postscript to this tale was that the criminal’s mother had now filed a $17 million civil rights lawsuit against Gregg and the San Francisco Police Department, claiming police brutality. There are plenty of occasions when suing the cops is appropriate, but this wasn’t one of them. So, long story short: As one of the most crucial witnesses to the suspect’s death, I’d been brought back to San Francisco to testify at a lengthy and contentious deposition in advance of the civil trial. It was an infuriating experience, but I’d resolved not to let the encounter ruin the rest of my and Ash’s weekend.