by Ann Warner
“If I were to speak to these other ladies and this gentleman who were present for the confrontation with Mr. Colter, would they back up what you’ve told me?” the detective asked Josephine.
“I don’t know,” she said. “You see, Eddie told this cock-and-bull story about having a sick daughter, and I think Myrtle believed him. She was ready to give him more money, not take this accusation any further. And Bertie does whatever she tells him.”
“What about the others you say he stole from?”
“They were all angry about it. But I don’t know how they’ll react if they believe Eddie was doing it for a sick child.”
“You’re certain he doesn’t have a daughter?”
“He might, of course. But she doesn’t live with him, nor does she visit, according to the rental agent at his apartment complex.”
The detective blinked. “You went to his apartment?”
“Just to the complex. We wanted to see where he lived.”
“I see.”
I was certain Detective McElroy was struggling not to smile about our amateur sleuthing.
“We discovered he’s living well beyond his means,” Josephine said.
“And you know that because?”
“Megan, that’s the lady who rents the apartments, she told me what they cost.”
“Maybe he has roommates.”
“No. Megan was certain he doesn’t. But he does have lots of visitors of the female persuasion.”
McElroy’s lips twitched.
“She has a crush on him, you see. And it’s too bad, because she seemed like a nice girl. Eddie is not nice, but he’s very good-looking, which I’m sure prevents many women from recognizing that he’s pond scum.”
“Yes. Well.” The officer cleared his throat and concentrated on his note-taking.
I was almost certain the words he’d just written were “pond scum.”
“And you, Ms. Subramanian? Is that your opinion as well?”
“I agree, Eddie Colter is definitely pond scum. Toxic pond scum.”
He looked across at me and blinked, and I clamped my lips shut. This was no place to put my Eddie prejudices on display.
“Besides,” Josephine said. “Having a sick daughter does not give him the right to help himself to other people’s money.”
That statement, which brought us back to the issue at hand, showed off Josephine’s tart side to good effect.
“Do you have any evidence?”
“Yes, we do,” Josephine said.
I handed over the bag, and Josephine and I watched as he went through it. He glanced at the receipts and then concentrated on the spreadsheet and the affidavits.
“What I get from this is that he overcharged eight people one time each by about $10 on average.”
“That’s only what we can prove,” Josephine said. “But he’s been shopping for some of these people for over a year. And we discovered they never check their receipts and change, so it’s likely he’s stolen a good deal more.”
“But all you can document is roughly a hundred bucks’ worth.”
“Theft is theft.”
“Of course it is. But to get this department involved, I need stronger evidence that he’s stolen a lot more than this.”
“What about the baseball card? And the necklace? Don’t forget those.”
“Those are rumors. And you’re a third party.”
“So that’s it?” Josephine said. “You do nothing?”
“I can arrange for someone to speak to Mr. Colter. Likely that will put a stop to it.”
“Can you do it now?” I said.
“Why the rush?”
“Josephine feels insecure. You see, Eddie has access to a master keycard. And neither of us doubt he’s capable of more than a little petty larceny.”
McElroy sat back and rubbed his knuckles across his lips. “Okay. Where’s this Eddie likely to be right now?”
I glanced at the time. “He should still be at work. And I need to get back. I have an activity in twenty minutes.”
“Tell you what. You head on back, and I’ll follow along and talk to Eddie. Let him know we’re aware of the situation. That should stop him from harassing you.”
“Can’t you arrest him?” Josephine’s voice held a uncharacteristic plaintive note. Given my experiences with Eddie, I didn’t consider it an overreaction on her part.
Detective McElroy shook his head. “Doubt it would stick. You’d be better off reporting this to whoever’s in charge at Brookside so they can fire him.”
“The manager is his uncle,” I said.
“Like I said, I’ll talk to him. Let him know I’m keeping an eye on things and that if anything happens to either of you, I’ll be looking into it. Would that help?”
“Guess we have to hope it does,” Josephine said, sounding more like her usual self.
“I have a request,” I said. “Please don’t mention my name when you speak to Eddie.”
He cocked his head. “You have a history with Eddie?”
I knew what he was asking. Especially after Josephine said Eddie was good-looking.
“He’s a bully. I try to avoid him whenever I can. But, well, once I didn’t quite manage it.”
He sat back, pursing his lips, giving me that aware look that made me feel he knew more about me than I would like him to know.
“And?” he said.
“He grabbed me and tried to kiss me.”
Josephine shifted. I glanced at her to find her lips set in a firm line.
“When was this?” the detective said.
“Two weeks ago. I’ve been avoiding him ever since.”
“I hope you can see, Officer, that something needs to be done,” Josephine said.
He nodded. “I see no reason to mention your name, Ms. Subramanian. After all, you weren’t involved in confronting him about the thefts. I would have advised against that, by the way.” He turned that piercing look on Josephine, who didn’t seem the least bit fazed.
“I quite agree with you, but Myrtle and Bertie were determined.”
“We’d better get back,” I said, standing. “Thank you for your help, Officer.”
“My pleasure. Here’s my card. If anything makes you uncomfortable, you can call me. Anytime.” He handed us each a card, then came around the table and opened the door for us.
I turned and glanced back at him as I held the second door for Josephine. He looked solid and reliable, and I was glad to know he was on our side.
“Do you think that did a bit of good,” Josephine asked as we got back in the car.
“I don’t know. But I do know I’m not comfortable leaving you alone until we see what happens when he talks to Eddie.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Come to dinner with the group tonight. We can squeeze in one more, and I’ll feel better knowing where you are.”
“I do think something needs to be done about that young man before someone gets hurt,” Josephine said, pursing her lips. “And I thought we were doing it today. But now, I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“So, you will come to dinner with us tonight?”
“I’ll still have to come back to my apartment afterward.”
“I could spend the night? On the couch. With my phone set to speed-dial Detective McElroy.” I’d looked at his card before putting it in my purse and realized we’d used the wrong form of address.
Much to my surprise, Josephine said, “Yes, I’d like that.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mac
Since the divorce was finalized, my brothers have been urging me to get out there. Meet someone new. My sister went even further. She posted a profile for me on MatchMadeinHeaven.com and then bugged me to get in touch with the women who responded. After one appalled look, I told her to delete the profile or I’d have her arrested.
She might have a point, though, given the highlight of my week, heck, my whole month, was a theft report by a senior citizen. A
lthough if I’m honest, it was her companion who was the highlight. If Devi Subramanian had responded to that profile my sister posted—and if the last ten years hadn’t happened—I would have been tempted to respond.
Except, I still haven’t worked out how to ask a woman I’ve just met whether she wants kids. Lisa and I tried for seven of the ten years we were married, and it exhausted us emotionally, financially, and physically. I still feel tapped out whenever I remember that time.
Mostly I don’t think about it. And I don’t date. Not yet, at least. And maybe not until I’m old enough for women whose biological clocks have run out.
After I ushered the two women out, I returned to my office to finish up the report I’d been working on. Ten minutes later, I saved my work, picked up my keys, and told Doreen I was going to interview a suspect.
Approaching Brookside, I saw a shuttle bus was parked by the front door and Devi was assisting with the boarding. I drove past and did a circle of the neighborhood to give the bus time to load and take off. Then I returned and did a circuit of the facility before parking and going inside.
“Good afternoon, Officer,” the pretty young thing at the reception desk bubbled at me after I showed her my ID and asked to see Eddie Colter. “If you’d take a seat, I’ll see if he’s available.”
Instead of sitting, I walked over to the bulletin board. It was divided by day and listed the activities for the month. There were a substantial number of them including trips to the mall, concerts, and this evening’s dinner at Red Lobster.
I’d just finished doing a count when a loud squawk made me jump. That was followed by a whistle and a croaky, high-pitched voice saying, “Pretty boy, pretty boy.”
I turned to see the speaker was a parrot whose cage was decorated with a prominent sign stating Don’t touch me, I bite!
Following the parrot’s announcement, the receptionist chimed in with, “Here’s Mr. Colter, Officer.”
I switched my gaze from the parrot, which, I realized in retrospect, had made no remarks about my arrival, and watched Colter walk toward me. Tall and muscular, he moved with an athlete’s grace and the arrogance of someone who knew he was better looking than ninety-nine percent of the species. I wondered how the parrot knew that. Or had someone trained it?
It wasn’t easy feeling dissed and dismissed by a parrot, a thought that had me stifling a grin as I greeted Colter. He stuck out a hand and squeezed mine far more firmly than necessary.
“Lucy said you wanted to speak to me?” He smiled at Lucy, who blushed and smiled back.
Clearly a fan. Unlike Devi Subramanian. Another thought that made me feel like smiling.
“Do you have an office, Mr. Colter?”
“We can use the manager’s.” He gestured to show the way.
In what was clearly a power play, he took the seat behind the desk. It’s the sort of tactic that neither impresses nor intimidates me. I sat in the guest chair and took my time getting out my notebook and pen, and then making a note of the time and place.
“What’s this about, Officer?”
“Just a routine check, sir.”
“Routine check? At five on a Friday afternoon? I doubt it.”
I smiled at him. I’ve been told my smile is either reassuring or menacing, depending on whether it’s aimed at an accused or an accuser. Colter didn’t smile back.
“Completely routine, sir. Your name and address, please.”
Colter sat for a moment, his jaw working before he spit out the information.
I got a phone number and the name of his supervisor. By that time, he was getting restless.
“And your job here at Brookside?”
“I’m the client liaison.” He leaned back and chewed on a hangnail. Not his best look. “In laymen’s terms, I’m here to keep the old biddies happy.”
“And how do you do that?”
“Pay them compliments. Spend time with them. Pretend their conversation is interesting. The old bats love it.” He gave me a satisfied look as if to say Not everyone can manage such a tough assignment.
I examined him—the relaxed posture, the arrogant glint in his eye—and thought about Josephine’s assessment that this man was capable of more than petty thievery. I didn’t disagree, although I suspected he mostly avoided physical confrontations. Wouldn’t want to take a chance on messing up that carefully moussed hair. That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t be both tough and dangerous.
“You still haven’t told me what this is about, Officer. Unless I know that, I’m afraid I can’t be much help.”
“Detective.” I only correct people about my title if I don’t like them. “We had an anonymous report that several Brookside residents have been missing valuable items. Small things that can be slipped into a pocket.”
As I spoke, he relaxed.
Good. I wanted him relaxed.
“If anyone is missing anything, they’re supposed to inform me as the client liaison.”
“I see. So that’s one of your responsibilities? Along with paying compliments?”
“We need to make sure none of our residents is taken advantage of.” The words were delivered in a singsong, like he was parroting an orientation packet.
“Can you check and see if you have any recent reports in your file? Our source did say there was an attempt to make management aware of the, um . . . thefts. But since there’s been no investigation, they came to our department.”
I’d rattled him with that. He shifted, then leaned forward with what he no doubt thought was an earnest look.
“We get these kinds of complaints occasionally, Off—uh, Detective. And we always investigate them thoroughly. But we’ve had no complaints for at least six months.”
“When you’ve investigated in the past, have you found the culprits?”
He chuckled. “The culprit is usually a memory lapse. Many of our residents have memory difficulties. Often the item they’re reporting as lost is something they gave away years ago to one of their kids. That’s why we do a thorough inventory when someone moves in.”
“That sounds like a difficult proposition.”
“We do whatever it takes to assure our residents, and their families, peace of mind.” There was that orientation blather again.
“Does anyone on the staff ever handle money for a resident?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The resident gives the staff member money and asks that staff member to purchase something for them?”
“You think our residents use illegal drugs?”
That was certainly an interesting assumption. I sat back, pretending to make a note. Finally, I looked up.
“Not at all, Mr. Colter. I’m talking about legal purchases. Like groceries, perhaps. That sort of thing.”
“I do some shopping for residents.”
“I see. What’s odd is that in addition to reporting these rather substantial thefts, our anonymous source sent us some receipts. They didn’t make much sense to me.” I shrugged, giving him my best dumb-cop look. “They were grocery receipts, you see. Can you think why they would have been sent to us?”
He frowned, obviously trying to appear to give the question some thought. “Maybe they were sent by mistake. If I could see them, I might have a better idea.” He leaned forward, his expression much less self-satisfied, which pleased me no end.
I wrote another note—cannot explain receipts—then sat back. “I don’t think that’s possible. We might be able to make a copy for you. But they’re evidence. At least until we figure out their significance.”
“I don’t see how they can have any.”
“You’re probably right.” I shook my head as if in wonder at the vagaries of human nature and the oddities of anonymous informants. “As long as there aren’t any further developments, they’ll likely remain a mystery.”
“Further developments?”
“You know. Any unexpected injuries or deaths. Or we receive another report of missing items
or shorted change.” I closed my notebook and gave him my most serious look. “You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Colter. You might want to let the manager know about my visit since I may have to speak with him.”
I stood and avoided a second handshake by using both hands to put away the notebook and pen, then I nodded at Colter and turned to leave. At the door, I turned to face him.
“It’s good to know you have such a caring attitude, Mr. Colter. I have no doubt the residents love the attention you pay them.”
That erased the smile. Good.
Back in my vehicle, I checked the time and realized I was five minutes from the end of my shift. I called in to say I was going off duty. From my reading of the bulletin board, I knew where Devi and the group were having dinner. I drove there instead of home.
I’d given her and Mrs. Bartlett my number, but I’d neglected to get theirs. If I needed to contact them, I didn’t want to do it through the switchboard at Brookside and take a chance that might lead to Colter connecting them with my visit. Red Lobster presented an opportunity to obtain the numbers discreetly. Besides, I was hungry.
The Brookside party was large enough, they were easy to spot, and I asked the hostess to seat me nearby so I could catch Devi’s eye. The first time I did, she looked away. Then she looked back, and her eyes widened.
I tipped my head toward the exit. Then I set my glass down and walked out to the entrance. A couple of minutes later, Devi joined me.
“Let’s step outside, shall we?” I said.
She nodded and followed me out. What I’d neglected to consider when I made that suggestion was that it was chilly and Devi had left her coat in the restaurant. I took my jacket off and, after a brief hesitation, she let me drape it over her shoulders.
“I didn’t realize it was you at first,” she said.
“I noticed that.” We smiled at each other. “I also noticed you have Mrs. Bartlett with you.”
