by Diane Kelly
An investigator had to start somewhere, I suppose, and I’d been on the beat long enough to know that not everyone was who he or she appeared to be. Admittedly, I felt a little green with envy that Tara got to perform investigations. My work as a street cop was more akin to putting out small, arbitrary fires. I looked forward to the day when my job would involve interviewing witnesses and suspects, examining crime scenes and digging for clues, solving cases and bringing criminals to justice.
Tara handed me her business card. “My review of the store’s books should be complete by the end of the week. If you need to reach me for any reason, my mobile number is on the card.” She asked for my contact information and added my cell number to her phone’s contact list. “If I find the evidence I’m looking for, I may need your assistance with the arrests.”
I nodded. “Good luck.”
With that, Brigit and I headed out to make our rounds, window-shop for holiday bargains, and sniff out trouble.
Chapter Three
Sad Sack Santa
Fort Worth PD K-9 Officer Brigit
Brigit had smelled sadness on the man in the funny suit. Sadness and loneliness. It wasn’t fair, especially since he also smelled faintly of medicine, latex, and the sick children he’d tended to at the hospital last night on his 6 PM to 6 AM shift.
Brigit might only be a dog, but she’d do whatever she could to lift the man’s spirits. After all, they don’t call dogs “man’s best friend” for nothing.
Chapter Four
Baubles, Beads, and Bean Counters
Tara
I was a bit jealous of Officer Luz. Having a K-9 partner would be fun. A dog could fetch things for me, keep me company on stakeouts, bring me my slippers after a hard day on my feet. I loved my two cats, but I had to admit they were pretty useless. They mostly just ate my houseplants and coughed up hairballs. On the other hand, feeding my two cats didn’t set me back much. Feeding Brigit, who looked like a black bear and was nearly as big, had to cost a fortune.
I followed the mall manager into Freitag’s Fine Jewelry, where he introduced me to Phillip Freitag, the store’s owner. Phil’s thick patch of silver-tinged brown hair sat atop a longish face etched with the beginnings of crow’s-feet. Both his appearance and demeanor seemed refined, dignified, and gracious. Briefly I wondered whether I’d made a mistake coming here. But when a spark ignited in his eyes at being informed of the alleged reason for my presence, all doubts fled.
Freitag looked from me to the mall manager. “I assure you, Mr. Johnson, my wife and I have paid every cent of rent owed.”
The manager raised a placating palm. “I don’t doubt it, Phil. But the mall’s owners instructed me to run a routine check of all tenants with variable rent.”
Phil turned accusing eyes on me. “No doubt this ‘check’ was suggested by the accounting firm to generate fees.”
Sheez. This guy sure had a bug up his butt. A big old humbug.
He continued to impale me with his glare. “What firm are you with?”
“Scrooge and Marley.” Ridiculous, I know, but it was the first name that came to mind. Before he could catch my blunder, I added, “I’ll be quick. A day or two at most and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“I hope so,” he replied testily. “Christmas is our busiest season, and we don’t have time for needless distractions.”
So I was a “needless distraction,” huh? Way to make a girl feel special.
The mall manager left and Freitag quickly escorted me back to the small business office at the rear of the store. The store showroom had given only a nod to the holidays with a small menorah and a three-foot potted pine on the display case, but it looked like Christmas had thrown up in the back office. A cardboard cutout of Santa with movable arms and legs hung on the office door. Colorful twinkle lights adorned the built-in cabinets mounted over the modular desks. A nativity scene complete with donkeys, camels, sheep, and a plastic baby Jesus spread across the credenza. The place even smelled like Christmas, thanks to the cinnamon-scented candle burning on top of the bookshelf.
Phil’s wife, Deidre, sat in a rolling chair at one of the two desks and pecked away at her computer keyboard as she computed the week’s payroll. Brown felt reindeer antlers topped her silky, corn-husk-blond hair, which curled up about her roundish face in a cute flip. The red sweater she wore featured a Christmas tree covered in more sequins and beads than a dozen drag queens.
She turned and caught me eyeing her sweater. “I know. It’s unbelievable tacky, isn’t it?” She stood and offered a broad smile. “I just couldn’t resist. I love the holiday season.”
This woman looked like someone who’d lead a PTA bake sale or take meals to shut-ins from church. I could understand why Officer Luz had seemed skeptical. Still, the fact that Megan interacted regularly with Deidre could cloud her judgment. Familiarity could make it difficult to remain objective.
Phil introduced me to his wife and explained why I was here.
“Welcome, Tara,” Deidre said, taking my extended hand in both of hers in a friendly gesture. “It’ll be nice to have some company back here.”
Phil offered a grunt that told us he felt differently.
“I’ll be as quiet as possible,” I assured the two of them. “You won’t even know I’m here.” Until I lowered the boom, of course. Then—kapow!—these people wouldn’t know what hit them.
After Phil left, Deidre offered an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind my husband. Phil can be a grouch sometimes, but underneath that grumpy exterior he’s a nice guy at heart.”
A nice guy? It would take more than Deidre’s words to convince me of that.
Deidre pulled the spare rolling chair over next to hers and patted the seat. “Here you go, Tara. Sit down and I’ll show you the ropes.”
“Great.” I deposited my purse and laptop bag on the second desk, retrieved a pen and legal pad, and settled in next to Deidre. As I scooted my chair closer, I glanced around her desktop. Situated along the back were a trio of framed family photos. The first was a formal portrait featuring Freitag and his wife, along with two pretty blond daughters who appeared to be in their teens. The second photo showed two cats, both orange tabbies, curled up together on a white sofa. Their disgusted looks indicated they’d been none too happy to have their catnap interrupted for the impromptu photo session. The final photograph was a candid, casual shot of what appeared to be extended family, a dozen people of assorted ages sitting on a wide staircase, Deidre sporting bunny ears courtesy of the mischievous, grinning adolescent boy sitting behind her on the steps.
Whoa.
Was that—? No, it couldn’t be. Could it?
I squinted and leaned in closer.
Yep. On the right side of the staircase, three rows down from the top, sat Nadine Gramercy. I’d seen the woman for only ten minutes or so the preceding day, but there was no mistaking her feathered hair, giraffelike neck, and pearl choker. This discovery added an interesting wrinkle to the case.
“Cute, huh?” Deidre asked.
I glanced her way and realized she’d thought I was eyeing her daughters in the photo. “Adorable.”
She beamed. “They’re precious. This little guy, though-” She pointed at the rascally young boy forming the bunny ears in the photo. “He’s only semi-precious.” She chuckled and rubbed her hands together eagerly before putting them together with a clap. “Enough of the jeweler’s humor. I suppose we should get down to business, hm?”
Deidre walked me through their bookkeeping system, showing me how the accounts were organized, how she input inventory purchases and sales data, and how she processed the accounts receivable, accounts payable, and payroll. As she scrolled through the payroll account, I noticed that not only did she and Phil pay an above-average wage to their sales staff, but that they had provided each employee with a generous holiday bonus, two grand each for the full-time staff and one grand for the part-timers. Not too shabby. But I wouldn’t let their generosity sway me. After al
l, human behavior could be inconsistent, unpredictable, and misleading. How many times had people been shocked to find out their upstanding, amiable neighbor had a slew of bodies buried in his backyard?
Deidre stood and gestured for me to follow her. She stepped up to a four-drawer metal filing cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. “We keep the hard copies of the records in here,” she said. “The paper files are organized the same way as the online system. If you need anything more than five years back, I’ll have to get them from our archives.” She winked at me. “That’s a fancy word for our attic at home.”
Now that she’d finished explaining the bookkeeping system, she padded over to the spare desk and booted up the computer. “You can use Phil’s machine. He spends most of his time on the sales floor anyway.”
“Thanks.” I rolled my chair over to the spare desk. Though I was eager to delve into the accounting records, I was even more eager to determine the connection between Nadine Gramercy and the Freitags. Unfortunately, I couldn’t perform the necessary research on their computer and I couldn’t very well excuse myself for an extended period after having just interrupted their work. I’d have to do my digging after hours.
I tapped away at Phil’s keyboard and maneuvered the mouse, pulling up the accounts payable. If Nadine had sold the “stolen” jewelry to Deidre and Phil, the evidence would most likely show up in the form of an invoice from Gramercy Gems and Jewels. Though I supposed it was possible that Deidre had stolen the jewelry without Nadine’s knowledge, now that I knew the two shared a family connection, I wouldn’t bet on it. Deidre would risk being caught if Nadine happened to drop by the store and find the stolen jewelry in the display cases. Though it was also possible Deidre had sold the jewelry off the books to a third party, I wasn’t betting on that scenario either. The Freitags’ operation appeared to be retail only, their sales made piece by piece to individual consumers rather than in bulk for resale.
Still, I could be wrong and my search could be in vain. Intuition wasn’t entirely reliable, after all. Sometimes my gut was spot on. Other times it just rumbled incoherently or demanded an Oreo cookie.
When I was an hour into looking through the store’s purchase records, Deidre yawned loudly. “I could use a siesta.”
She wasn’t the only one. My midafternoon doldrums had kicked in, too.
Deidre walked over to a small cart. “Coffee?” she asked, gesturing to their fancy one-cup-at-a-time coffee-making gizmo.
“Sure,” I replied. Agents were forbidden from accepting gifts from taxpayers, but I was undercover here and had to play my part in a believable manner. What person in their right mind would say no to a free cup of good coffee on a cold and dreary winter afternoon? A cup at the mall’s coffee stand would set me back four bucks.
Deidre spun the revolving stand with the individual cups of flavored grounds. “We’ve got regular, chocolate brownie, hazelnut cream, and gingerbread. What’s your pleasure?”
Decisions, decisions. “Let’s go with gingerbread.”
She slid the coffee pack into the machine, jabbed a button, and thirty seconds later handed me a warm mug of steaming brew.
“Thanks.” Mmm. Fa-la-la-latte. I was grateful for the caffeine boost. I loved my job, but reviewing paperwork was the least interesting part of it. I’d been about to become Ebenezer Snooze.
Deidre sat down at her desk to pay this month’s electric bill.
Bzzt. The intercom buzzed, Freitag summoning his wife to meet with a customer who’d come to make an installment payment.
“Excuse me.” Deidre left the office and returned a moment later, followed by the shopping mall Santa I’d passed coming out of the employee lounge earlier.
I glanced up, doing an inadvertent and embarrassing double-take when I noted Santa’s sexy, ice-blue eyes. This Santa was younger than I would have expected, though to small children a thirtyish person probably seemed ancient. While his white hair and beard appeared to be real, the blondish undertones told me he’d bleached his hair to look authentic for the role. This man was definitely a dedicated St. Nick.
“Hello, Santa,” I said. “Here to buy a Christmas gift for the missus?”
He forced a feeble smile. “Not exactly. The woman I’d planned to marry on Valentine’s Day up and ran off with my engagement ring still on her finger.”
Realizing I’d unintentionally touched a sort spot, I cringed. “That stinks. But I bet a guy like you”—hot, hunky, hubba-hubba!—“could have his choice of women in no time.” Heck, if I weren’t attached, I wouldn’t mind taking a ride in the backseat of his sleigh and joining the mile-high club.
Santa shook his head. “Never again. I’ve taken a vow of celibacy. I might even join a monastery.”
What a shame.
The man handed his debit card to Deidre.
She processed his payment, credited his account in the computer, and gave him a receipt. “Only one more payment to go.” She poked her head out the door as if to ensure her husband wasn’t nearby. “Tell you what. If you get that ring back, I’ll give you a full refund. Just don’t tell my husband. He’s a sticker for our store-credit-only policy.”
“I appreciate that,” Santa replied. “I’ll make sure your name goes to the top of my ‘nice’ list.”
“Take care, Santa,” I called, ogling his glutes as he left. Really, even in those ridiculous red pants, I could tell the guy worked out.
As soon he’d gone, Deidre fell back into her chair with a wide grin on her face. “It is wrong to fantasize about Santa Claus?”
“Nah.” I couldn’t blame the woman a bit. With that man at the north pole, it was no wonder the ice caps were melting.
Chapter Five
Teenaged Grinches
Megan
On Wednesday morning, Brigit and I cruised down University Drive, which bisected the TCU campus. Not much going on at the college with the students off for winter break. Only a few squirrels scampering around looking for pecans. Procrastinators. Their more organized compatriots had already stored more than enough nuts for the relatively short north Texas winter.
Brigit barked at the rodents and clawed at the window.
“Sorry, girl,” I said. “No chasing squirrels today.”
I waved at another division W1 officer as he drove up University from the other direction. He raised his fingers from his steering wheel in acknowledgment.
Keeping an eye out for trouble, my K-9 partner and I headed east through the University Place neighborhood, angling north toward Fairmount. I issued a citation to the driver of a Mercedes speeding down Allen Avenue, though I gave only a warning to an older, haggard woman driving a ’92 Toyota Corolla station wagon, which was also old and haggard. The car’s registration and inspection sticker were expired and one of her taillights was out, but the woman looked like she could use a break.
“I’ll let you slide,” I told her. “But get this car looked at ASAP.”
Her face relaxed in relief. “Thanks, Officer. Merry Christmas to ya!”
Around noon, Brigit and I were hanging out near the mall’s antique carousel, keeping a close watch on a trio of teenage boys engaged in a friendly shoving match in the busy food court nearby. I had three younger brothers, so I knew exactly what their interactions meant. The one in the black leather jacket had dared the others to perform one kind of dumb-ass stunt or another, the others had balked, and leather jacket had questioned the size or existence of the others’ testicles. Now, they were engaged in primal negotiations to see which of them would be stupid enough to carry the stunt through.
The only question at this point was the nature of the stunt. My guesses, in no particular order, would be that leather jacket had dared the others to do one of the following:
(1) speak with the cute girls sitting in the food court sipping strawberry Frappuccinos, giggling, and darting glances at the boys
(2) sit on Santa’s lap and ask for something totally inappropriate, such as an anatomically correct blow-up doll
, a subscription to Penthouse, or a hooker
(3) steal something
I pulled my walkie-talkie from my belt and contacted mall security. “Got three boys poised to cause trouble. Stand by.”
As I maintained my surveillance, the manager of the mall’s Victoria Secret location entered the courtyard. As noted previously, I’d made a point of introducing myself to the mall employees, so I knew her name was Charlotte Singletary. Charlotte stood around five feet nine inches, with enough curves that she could have modeled the lingerie she sold. She had a young son who appeared to be about four years old. She often brought the adorable, towheaded tyke to the mall on the weekends to ride the train and carousel. She wore no wedding ring.
As Charlotte entered, Brigit lifted her nose to the air and scented. At first I thought she’d smelled one of the store’s signature fragrances on the woman, but instead Brigit turned to glance at Santa. Though Santa’s head was angled down toward the thumb-sucking toddler on his lap, his eyes followed Charlotte across the food court as she stepped up to the Tex-Mex counter.
It didn’t take my exceptional powers of observation to see that Santa’s vow of celibacy had been premature and disingenuous. While I had to use my eyes to gather these clues, with her superior olfactory senses, Brigit must have scented Santa’s ectohormones. Commonly known as pheromones, ectohormones were released by a person’s eyelids, lips, underarms, and naughty bits. The scents could be picked up by another’s vomeronasal organ, located between the nose and mouth, and trigger a response of attraction.
How did I know these odd little factoids? Because I’ve always been curious and read a lot, especially about human behavior. If I couldn’t make detective, maybe I’d aim for becoming a profiler.
While I would’ve loved to continue to observe and speculate on Santa’s motives where Charlotte was concerned, duty forced me to follow the teenage boys out the doors and down one of the outer mall extensions. Looked like they had no plans to flirt with the girls or ask Santa for tacky gifts. Theft it was, then.
