The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One

by Ann Warner

  “That’s why I don’t have guests.”

  “But you can’t keep the entire staff out forever. Although, you do have everyone pretty well cowed. I’m the only one who will volunteer to come speak to you.” Her eyes continued to twinkle throughout this speech.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Maybe hang it in your bedroom, out of sight.”

  “What’s the point of having it, if it has to be out of sight?”

  She sighed. “I guess you’re right. You want it here?”

  “Yes, please.” I knew I was being stubborn, but I’ve gotten used to having the Hopper in the living room. It just fits. And the Demeri is perfect for the bedroom.

  While we re-hung the paintings, an idea of a different kind, one that had been casually percolating, popped to the top of my thoughts.

  “You know, there’s something else you can do for me, if you will. I need to buy a car. Maybe you can help me pick it out? That is, if you aren’t too busy?”

  “Do you know what kind of car?”

  “Not exactly. We could go to the auto mall and just look around.”

  “Now, you mean?”

  When I nodded, she smiled and agreed to the outing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Josephine

  The afternoon of car shopping with Devi was the most fun I’d had in a while, and the most fun I’d ever had picking a new car. Thomas always decided what I would drive, and his picks were all boring sedans. Devi and I didn’t even look at sedans, instead we took turns test-driving a mix of sporty offerings from Mazda, Subaru, and Lexus.

  “Which would you buy, if money were no object,” I asked her.

  She pursed her lips. “Hmm. I do love how the Lexus looks and handles, but it isn’t very practical, is it, with that tiny backseat? And winter’s coming. I’d probably buy the Subaru.”

  “What color?”

  “I like the neon green, don’t you? But I’d probably buy the blue.”

  “Let’s not get too practical. It’s only a car, after all. Neon green, it is.”

  We returned to the Subaru dealer, and I filled out the paperwork. The car had to be located and delivered, and that could take anywhere from a week to a month. The computers were down, so the salesman couldn’t check availability. But a week or a month made little difference to me since I still had a long list of things to do before I could think about moving to a place of my own choosing.

  The car purchase completed, I proposed an early dinner. I let Devi choose, and her choice was a Mediterranean restaurant. As we ate, we had no difficulty coming up with things to talk about, and by the time we shared a baklava for dessert, she was calling me Josephine, and the forty years between us felt like no time at all.

  ~ ~ ~

  “So,” Myrtle said when I finished reporting that Devi couldn’t help us with our Eddie problem. “If Devi won’t speak to him, do you think we should talk to Eddie ourselves?”

  Although we had the cards and paper clips out, we’d left them sitting while we discussed our investigation of what I was calling the Eddie Diddle.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Didn’t Devi have any suggestions?” Myrtle said.

  “To get more solid evidence.”

  “Which we’ll try to get Thursday,” Lill said.

  None of us was happy with that, but we had no other options.

  ~ ~ ~

  On Thursday, we added four more people to the list of Eddie’s customers. This group presented a new wrinkle. In addition to one being shorted on her change, two of them had been charged for gift cards they’d neither ordered nor received—one for ten dollars, the second for fifteen.

  And obviously, Eddie had failed to notice the romance of the century going on between Myrtle and Bertie, because Bertie’s receipt included a twenty-five-dollar gift card.

  “But if we report Eddie, he’ll probably be fired,” Myrtle said when we met to discuss our findings. “And that would be too bad. After all, he’s so nice to us. And it is pleasant having someone so good-looking at our beck and call, don’t you think? I’m sure if we tell him what we know, he’ll stop cheating people, and that’ll take care of it.”

  In my opinion, Myrtle was acting like she was back in junior high. “I think confronting him is a dreadful idea. I say let the police sort it out.” I knew the specific details of what we could prove since Edna and I had spent the afternoon getting affidavits from Bertie and the other customers who’d been charged for gift cards or given too little change. But I didn’t think fifty dollars in purloined gift cards and a few bucks of pocketed change was going to move the police to do anything useful. Still . . .

  “I agree with Josephine,” Lill said. “I don’t think we should confront him on our own.” She paused, her expression changing.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “It’s just, well, I heard an interesting rumor. You know Glenn Bascombe, the man who died last week?”

  “What does it have to do with Eddie?” Myrtle said.

  “Well, let me finish.” Lill’s tone was as snippy as I’m sometimes accused of sounding.

  It’s clear she’s spending too much time in my company.

  “Glenn had a baseball card collection, you see. After he died, his son came to clean out his apartment, and he discovered Glenn’s most valuable card was missing.”

  “So? How valuable can a baseball card be,” Myrtle asked.

  “It’s Willie Mays’s rookie card,” Lill said. “Worth at least a couple of thousand but, if it’s in good condition, it could be a lot more.”

  Edna gasped and sat back, blinking. “If that’s the case, why on earth didn’t his son make sure it was in a safe place?”

  “It was Glenn’s to do with as he wished.”

  “But he was going senile. His son should have made sure it didn’t get lost.”

  I could well imagine what Edna would say about my painting.

  “Maybe it isn’t lost,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Myrtle said.

  “Maybe it was stolen.”

  Edna scoffed, but Lill beamed at me as if I were a student who’d just mastered a difficult concept. “That’s certainly what the son suspects. But I doubt he’s going to be able to prove it since there’s no evidence Glenn had the card here at Brookside. Or that’s what Mr. Souter is claiming.”

  “How do you know all this?” I said.

  “I went to the funeral and I heard the family talking about it. And there’s something else. After Gladys Turpin was moved to the memory unit, her daughter claimed a gold necklace had disappeared. Said her dad gave it to her mom for their fiftieth anniversary, and it was worth several thousand dollars.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

  “Maybe Gladys lost the necklace, or she put it some where and the daughter just can’t find it,” Edna said.

  Lill tapped her lip with her finger. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “It would be so easy to steal things in a place like this. And if the thief takes small items that the owner might not miss right away, well . . .”

  “And you think Eddie’s responsible?”

  “We already know he’s a thief.”

  “But if he’s taking valuables worth thousands, why nickel and dime his grocery customers?” Myrtle said.

  “Because he can?” Lill offered.

  “Do you think either loss has been reported to the police?” Edna said.

  Lill shook her head. “Mr. Souter’s working hard to keep it hush-hush. If it got out there’s a thief, it would certainly put a crimp in resident recruitment.”

  “But there must be insurance to reimburse the families for the necklace and card,” I said.

  “Since the card, at least, wasn’t declared on the property inventory when Glenn moved in, Brookside doesn’t have to pay a thing.”

  “Property inventory?”

  “
Why, yes,” Myrtle said. “Don’t you remember, Josephine? It was that tedious form we had to fill out, listing anything worth more than $250.”

  “I’d forgotten that.” Actually, I hadn’t forgotten. I’d never seen the form. Jeff must have filled it out for me along with the other paperwork.

  “You know what this means,” I said. “Anyone with access to the forms could easily see what valuables were listed by each resident and plan accordingly. Although that doesn’t explain how someone learned about Glenn’s baseball card if it wasn’t listed. Maybe stealing it was simply luck.”

  “We can’t pin those losses on Eddie,” Myrtle said.

  “But it does give us additional information to share with the police.”

  “If you go to the police, Josephine, I will not be among his accusers,” Myrtle said. “And neither will Bertie.” She sat back with a humph, folded her arms— a neat trick, by the way— and gave me a satisfied look.

  And it was perfectly clear. Myrtle and Bertie had been plotting. “What is it you, and Bertie, want to do, Myrtle?” I asked in my sweetest voice.

  Lill kicked me under the table. I winced and rubbed my shin with my opposite foot as I glared at her. She looked serenely back.

  “As I’ve already suggested,” Myrtle said, “we should talk to Eddie. Tell him we know what he’s been doing and let him know we’ll be watching him very carefully from now on.”

  “Admit it, Josephine, that’s not a bad idea,” Edna said. Not a surprise. Edna usually sides with Myrtle.

  “So that’s settled, then,” Myrtle said with a satisfied smile.

  “Wait. That’s only two in favor.”

  “I assumed when Lillian said nothing that she was in favor.” Myrtle gave Lill an arch look. “Doesn’t matter. Bertie’s in favor, so that’s three against two. We simply have to decide when and where to do it.”

  I sat back and folded my considerably leaner arms.

  Myrtle did that squirmy thing that usually means she either has to pee or has great cards. “Bertie and I think we should meet at my place. Tonight, if it can be arranged. After dinner.”

  “I don’t think you can fit thirteen people in your living room.” I’d once caught a glimpse of Myrtle’s apartment when I was walking by and she was just coming out.

  “Thirteen?”

  “The four of us, Bertie, the other seven customers, and Eddie.”

  “Bertie feels only he and I need to meet with Eddie. After all, I’m the one who noticed what was happening, which is the only reason you know about it.”

  “But we’re the ones who did the investigating.” Really, the woman was insufferable.

  “I agree with Josephine. I think all four of us should be included in the meeting,” Lill said.

  Finally, a voice of reason, even if it was too late to alter the most egregious part of Myrtle’s plan.

  “I suppose that’s all right. But I’ll have to check with Bertie.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Well, because—”

  “He’s a man?”

  “Yes, I do think it’s important a man is present. And since Bertie lost the most, he is the logical choice to do the speaking.”

  “How perfectly reasonable.” I smiled at Myrtle.

  “Yes. Man to man. I think that’s best.”

  “Of course you do.” I moved my leg before Lill could whack me again. “You’ll arrange with Eddie to be there, of course?”

  “Of course,” Myrtle said.

  “Now that’s settled, shall we play cards?”

  ~ ~ ~

  “We asked you to meet with us,” Edna said, speaking out of turn, I might add, “because we need your advice.”

  I thought it an uncomfortably bogus way to begin. We were gathered in Myrtle’s apartment, and there was barely space for the six of us to sit, what with the way the living room was stuffed with furniture and knickknacks. Clearly, if Myrtle had made any effort to downsize when she moved to Brookside, it wasn’t successful.

  I was squashed between Lill and Edna on the sofa, and although that was preferable to sharing the other sofa with Bertie and Myrtle, it wasn’t comfortable. Eddie had pulled up a chair from the dining room table, and I envied him that solitary seat. I wished I’d thought to do that instead of sinking into the depths of Myrtle’s puffy couch.

  Eddie cocked his head and smiled at Edna. “You know I’m always happy to help you guys.” He turned the grin, full of teeth, on the rest of us.

  Deciding enough was enough, I squirmed to my feet, collected one of the dining table chairs, and seated myself. There, I could breathe again.

  Everyone waited until I was settled, and then Bertie cleared his throat, thoroughly, as was his habit. “We called you here in order get to the bottom of some . . . uh, discrepancies we’ve happened to notice.”

  “Discrepancies?”

  “Yes. Well. I don’t suppose there’s any good way to say this.” He halted and cleared his throat again.

  Really, the man needed an antihistamine.

  “Recently, Myrtle noticed that you didn’t return the proper change when you did her grocery shopping.” Bertie pushed the words out quickly and then sat back, blinking at Eddie and looking, to my eyes, rather like a tortoise.

  Eddie frowned and sat up straighter. “Yes. I remember that. A calculation error. I tried to correct it, but she refused to take the money.”

  “Yes. Hmm.” Another round of throat clearing.

  My normal level of tolerance is two throat clearings followed by two less-than-stimulating Bertie pronouncements, and that had now been officially exceeded.

  “It so happens that last week my change was also shorted, and this week, I was charged for a gift card I didn’t order,” Bertie said.

  “Oh shit. Did I mix that up? Sorry, man.”

  Eddie’s eyes swung to his left, something detective dramas claim is a sure sign the perp is lying. But I’ve heard it discussed by more competent experts on NPR, and they said the best way to spot a liar is by watching for micro facial expressions.

  “That was supposed to be on Mary’s bill.”

  Furtive. That was my diagnosis.

  “No, no. Mary had a gift card on her bill as well. But it wasn’t hers.”

  Eddie’s face twitched, and although it was over in a fraction of a second, I saw guilt in that twitch. He sighed and looked left again. So maybe detective dramas have a point.

  “Sounds like I screwed everything up.”

  He continued to look everywhere but at any of us. And that decided it for me. He was lying. No question.

  “Guess I’d better go over my notes to see who the card belongs to. Thanks for letting me know.” He stood.

  “Just a moment, young man,” Edna said. “I believe you better hear us out.”

  Eddie still held on to that cocky smile, but he slumped back on the chair.

  Edna nodded at Bertie, no doubt urging him to continue, but I decided man-to-man just wasn’t getting the job done.

  “We did some checking this last week,” I said. “Besides Bertie and Mary, we found two other customers who had gift cards on their bills they didn’t order. And several residents can document you shorted the change you gave them. We consider that evidence you’ve been systematically stealing from residents. I suggest you stop with the lame excuses and tell us how you plan to repay those you stole from.”

  “Wow. I knew you didn’t like me, Josephine, but to accuse me of something like this. It’s just, well, it’s mind-boggling.”

  “Ah, yes. The best defense is a strong offense defense. And if you please, don’t Josephine me. I am Mrs. Bartlett.”

  Eddie looked around the group, beginning, I believe, to comprehend his dilemma.

  “We have the receipts documenting the fraudulent transactions, and based on those, we’ve made some best-guess estimates of what you’ve likely embezzled over the past year. We believe the amount could be substantial.”

  “Embezzled is such an ugly word.”
r />   “What word would you use?” I said.

  Eddie shook his head. “I . . . I did it for . . . S-sara.” His lip trembled and his eyes teared up, but the microexpression looked calculating to me. “She’s sick. That’s why I took this job. For the insurance. But it doesn’t pay well enough, and I’m desperate. I just want my baby girl to get better.”

  I glanced around at the group, trying to gauge their reactions. Myrtle was dabbing at her eyes, and Edna was clearly softening, but Lill was tapping her lip, which meant she didn’t buy Eddie’s story any more than I did.

  “What’s wrong with Sara?” I said.

  “She has cancer.”

  “Yes. What kind of cancer?”

  “Something’s wrong with her blood.”

  “Do you mean leukemia?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Leukemia.” The man might look bright, but looks were clearly deceiving. He was, however, sly and clever. “She needs lots of medicine, and it makes her really, really sick.”

  “You poor man,” Myrtle said. “I had no idea you had a sick daughter.”

  “I don’t like to say much,” Eddie said. “I mean, everyone here has problems, haven’t they?” He shrugged. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

  “But maybe we can help you,” Myrtle said.

  Bertie was nodding, whether from sleepiness or as a Pavlovian response to what Myrtle was saying, I had no way of knowing.

  “Tell us what we can do to help,” Myrtle insisted.

  I snorted; I couldn’t help myself. The meeting was turning into a shambles, and all because Myrtle let emotions rule rather than common sense.

  “Now, Josephine,” Myrtle said. “I can’t allow us to do something here that would hurt a little girl.”

  “Of course you can’t, Myrtle. But I’m not sure how he plans to pay medical expenses with a Cheesecake Factory gift card.”

  “I . . . I just wanted to give her a treat. As soon as she feels like eating again.”

  Eddie had his head down but he shot me a glance, and I could see he knew he’d won. This round, anyway.

  “It would be devastating if I lost this job,” he continued, his voice cracking.