Diamonds Aren't Forever

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  In the desk drawers, he found the instructions for the laptop and a few miscellaneous receipts. The closet revealed a scarcity of clothes. As he dug through the dresser, his hand hit a hard object. He carefully unrolled a pair of boxer shorts, and found a small caliber handgun concealed within the fold. Hopkins’ prison record prohibited him from owning any type of firearm, so he'd obviously purchased this illegally.

  Hawkman stared at the weapon, wondering why the man needed a gun. The thought sent a chill through his body. Careful not to touch it, he snapped a picture, then refolded the underwear around the pistol and closed the drawer.

  Checking the time, it surprised him that he'd been there almost an hour. He decided he'd better leave and retrieved the feather he'd placed under a glass on the table.

  He pressed his ear against the wooden door and listened for several seconds before opening it a couple of inches. The dimly lit hallway revealed no one in sight, so he stepped out of the room, stuck the feather on the top of the door and closed it. He hurried down the stairs and just bounded off the last step when he collided with the clerk rounding the corner from the lobby. Hawkman grabbed the man's shoulders to prevent him from falling.

  "What the hell are you still doing here? I told you there ain't no vacancies,” the clerk said, frowning.

  "Uh, yeah I know,” Hawkman stuttered. “Just thought I'd look around a bit and see if I'd like it here.” He moved toward the exit. “I must say it's a quiet place.” With that, he rushed out the door.

  Close call, he thought, trooping briskly across the street to his 4X4. He glanced back at the hotel as he climbed into his vehicle and noticed the clerk watching him through the large front window.

  Hawkman decided to stop by Curly's bar before heading home. He lucked out and found a parking place nearby. None of the cars around the establishment resembled Hopkins’ junker, but he figured it could be in the alley where many of the employees put their vehicles to save room for the customers.

  Several patrons mingled on the front patio enjoying the mild evening temperature. A few recognized Hawkman and waved as he made his way toward the entrance. Inside, he weaved through the customers to the bar and perched on one of the stools. He heard Curly's irritated voice coming from the kitchen, complaining about the low stock of hot wings.

  He ordered a beer and swiveled around to search for Hopkins. In the far corner, he spotted the long-haired, bearded man loading a cart with dirty dishes as he cleared and wiped off tables. He appeared oblivious to the people around him.

  Curly stormed out of the kitchen mumbling, threw a towel over his shoulder and helped the bartender load the trays for the cocktail waitresses. It took him several minutes before he spotted Hawkman.

  He dried off his hand and stuck it out. “Hawkman, how the hell are you? Hey you look different, lose some weight?"

  "No, got a haircut,” Hawkman said, suppressing a smile.

  "I think I know why you're here.” He winked and nodded toward the corner of the room.

  Hawkman grinned. “Yeah, you got that right. So, how's business?"

  "Couldn't be better.” He lowered his voice. “That is, if I could keep my damn cooks on the ball so they'd let me know what I need to order. That's what I pay ‘em for, but they're so anxious to get out of here at night, they don't even take inventory of what we need.” He shook his head and wiped off the counter.

  "You want me to go get something?” Hawkman asked.

  Curly waved a hand. “Naw, we'll make it through the evening. Thanks though, appreciate the offer."

  "How's the new man working out?"

  "So far, so good. He doesn't seem to mind the dirty work. I told him if he did a good job, I'd start training him for a different position."

  "Did he like that idea?"

  Curly nodded. “Yeah, seemed to, but what surprised me, is when he told me he's a teetotaler. Wonder why he chose a bar to apply for a job?"

  Hawkman furrowed his forehead. “Really? That's very interesting."

  "Little hard to believe. You'd think the first thing a guy would want when he got out of the joint would be a good stiff drink.” Curly slid a beer down the slick bar to a customer at the far end. “I'll keep an eye on him."

  Hawkman finished his drink and set the empty bottle along with the tab on the counter. “I'll be talking to you, Curly.” He turned around to find Hopkins standing directly behind him. His steely blue eyes stared into Hawkman's face as he stepped closer. “You here to cause me trouble?” he spat.

  "Not unless you start it.” Hawkman said, returning the glare.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next morning, Jennifer arose early and had coffee with Hawkman.

  "I received a call from Marge. She told me about your visit and promised to call me the minute they heard from Jamey Schyler."

  "Good. Did she by any chance mention whether they used e-mail or the phone?"

  "I got the impression they're using e-mail. Why? Is it important?"

  "Not sure. But the next time you talk to her, ask how they're corresponding."

  "No problem."

  "How come you're up so early?” Hawkman asked.

  "Have an appointment to get my hair trimmed this morning. The ends are splitting."

  He crinkled his nose. “How can the ends of a tiny hair split?"

  She laughed. “Don't ask me, but they sure do.” Pulling a long strand from her head, she held the split end in front of his face. “See."

  "I'll be damned."

  "If I don't get them cut off, it makes my hair look fuzzy."

  He opened his mouth in surprise. “Well, you certainly can't have that."

  "Are you making fun of me?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip.

  He grinned. “Not me. I wouldn't do such a thing."

  "Hawkman, you're a pill."

  Wrapping his arms around her small waist, he hugged her close and nuzzled her neck. “Hmm, you smell good."

  "Now don't get any ideas, I don't have much time."

  "Ah, shoot. Why didn't you show me the split ends sooner."

  She pulled away laughing and shook her head. “You're something else.” Glancing up at the wall clock, she gasped. “Oh, my gosh, I've got to get going. I'll see ya later."

  After she left, Hawkman went on the computer and viewed the pictures he'd taken of Hopkin's room. He saved them in a file on the hard drive, then left the house. On the way into Medford, he debated whether to drop by the police station and inform the detective about Hopkins’ gun. He could lose his license for breaking and entering, but Williams never questioned his source of information. Hawkman knew the pictures he took were useless in a court of law, but it proved the felon had a gun. And he'd show them to Williams if needed.

  The computer under the mattress bothered Hawkman. American Title did a lot of work on the internet. If Hopkins hacked into their files and found out Jamey's arrival schedule, he'd be waiting.

  Carl's demeanor gave the impression he really resented Jamey. She'd caused him a great deal of suffering and gotten off scott free. Obviously this didn't set well. Hawkman didn't like the scenario forming in his head. If Jamey came into town as Shirley Ann Noland, it might throw Hopkins off and save her life. Hawkman hoped she didn't have time to create another name change. At least it gave him some advantage.

  He drove past the police station and decided he'd wait a while before telling Williams about the gun. First he'd like to get into Hopkins’ computer and find out if he'd stored anything which might give a clue as to what the man had in mind.

  He swung by the hotel and glanced up at the window of Hopkin's room, but the big sign hid most of it. Scoping the parking lot, he spotted the gray Toyota in the same slot. He drove past and decided he'd stop by Curly's house since the bar didn't open until four. While waiting at a stop light, he punched in Curly's number on his cell, then put the phone to his ear. It rang four times and the answering machine picked up. “You've reached Curly Spencer. Leave a message after the beep."<
br />
  "Hey, Curly, Hawkman here. Pick up if you're there."

  Within a few moments, Curly came on laughing. “You son-of-a-gun, I think you've got me pegged."

  Hawkman chuckled. “Yeah, I screen my calls too."

  "Whatcha need?"

  "Thought I'd drop by if you've got the coffee pot on?"

  "Yep. It's brewed and waitin'."

  "See ya in a few minutes."

  Hawkman pulled in front of the house at the same time Curly's son drove into the driveway. Mark jumped out of his car and approached Hawkman with an extended hand.

  "Hey, long time no see."

  "Mark, you look great. What are you doing with yourself nowadays? You've finished school, right?"

  "Yeah, got a good job and am on my way right now to a business meeting. Had a few minutes and thought I'd check in on Dad. So what's up with you?"

  "Let's go inside and we'll talk."

  Curly's eyes lit up when he saw his son. “Hey, great way to start my day, having coffee with my two favorite people.” He slapped Mark on the back and dragged out the chairs around the kitchen table. “Sit, sit."

  After they were seated, Mark turned to Hawkman. “Now tell me what business you have with my dad at this hour of the morning?"

  Hawkman glanced at Curly. “Your dad's hired on a new hand. Maybe he should give you the skinny."

  Curly explained he'd hired Carl Hopkins and his son's face paled. “What's that man doing here?” His gaze locked on Hawkman. “Has someone seen Jamey? Is she alive and well?"

  "Yes, to both questions,” Hawkman said, without going into detail. “But she's disappeared again."

  "Damn! I'll never forgive that woman for using me after Dad hired her as a cocktail waitress. I fell for her immediately. She led me on until I fell in love, then treated me like a piece of dirt.” Mark slammed his hand on the table. “And I still have her stupid cat, Mitzi."

  "You aren't the only one who got shafted,” Hawkman said. “Unfortunately, I think Hopkins has more of a vendetta. She framed him into taking the fall for the heist and he's spent a year of his life in prison. Jamey just stole your heart."

  Mark's face fell. “You're right. But I barely escaped arrest. She tried to suck me into her plan. Thank God it didn't work.” Then a look of concern swept across his features. “Is Carl Hopkins looking for Jamey?"

  Hawkman shifted in his seat. “I suspect he's trying to locate her."

  Mark stared at him with wide eyes. “Why?"

  Hawkman raised a hand. “Don't jump to conclusions. He'll have a hard time finding that gal."

  "You know where she lives?"

  "Only that she resides somewhere in South America. And that's a big continent."

  "Why did she come back?"

  "Mark, you ask more questions than Jennifer.” Hawkman turned his attention back to Curly and changed the subject. “I need to know Hopkins’ work hours."

  "Sure, I've got the schedule on my desk.” He left the room, returned within a few seconds and placed a piece of paper on the table. “I worked on this last night and will post it at the bar this evening.” He tapped it with his finger. “This carries into next week.” Taking a sip of coffee, he winked at Mark. “I'm not going to ask why you want it."

  Hawkman pulled a small note pad from his pocket and jotted down Hopkins’ hours. “It's best neither of you know,” he said, handing it back to Curly. “Looks like you have him coming in on a pretty regular basis."

  He nodded. “Yep. The man said he wanted to work as much as possible."

  "How does he get along with the other employees?"

  "Little early to tell. So far, he's kept pretty much to himself."

  "If you're not concerned about Hopkins finding Jamey, why are you so interested in his whereabouts?” Mark intervened.

  "Precautionary procedures.” Hawkman rose from his chair. “You make a mean cup of coffee, Curly. That'll hold me for the day.” He then turned toward Mark. “Good to see you again. Best of luck in your job."

  Standing, the young man held out his hand. “Nice seeing you, too. I hope nothing happens to Jamey."

  Hawkman frowned and stared at Mark. “Don't forget she's a con woman and will scam anyone that gets in her way."

  Leaving the house, Hawkman dropped by Charley's place on his way to the office. It amazed him how the garden had grown in just a couple of days. He spotted the old fellow at the opposite end with a garden hose. Strolling around the outer edge, he watched the farmer move along each row letting the water run into the small furrows he'd dug between each line of plants.

  "Hey, Charley, this garden's going to be huge. It really looks green and healthy."

  The old fellow nodded. “Yep. It's a good lookin’ little plot. I'm right proud of it. Just hope the varmints stay away."

  "Had any problems with gophers?"

  "Not yet. Reckon they haven't found the tender roots. I'm keepin’ my eyes peeled for them little buggers."

  "You might not have any trouble for a couple of years until they discover good stuff growing over here."

  "Hope you're right. So what brings you by today?"

  "Wondered if you'd heard from the title company."

  "Nary a word. But I've got plenty of time."

  "If you hear from them, let me know. This whole deal is getting more complicated by the day."

  "Oh yeah,” Charley said, glancing up. He dropped the hose and turned off the water spigot. Taking off his hat, he wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve and pointed toward the chairs. “What's happenin'?"

  The two men sat under the oak tree as Hawkman clued Charley in on Carl Hopkins.

  "I want you to beware of this man. If he happens by and ask questions about a Jamey Gray, one and the same as Jamey Schyler, you don't know anything. Then I want you to notify me immediately. Even if you see an old gray beat-up Toyota drive past, let me know. I'm not saying he's a danger to you, but I don't trust him."

  "Hmm,” Charley said, his eyes twinkling. “Think I'll keep my shotgun handy."

  "Now don't do anything you'll regret."

  "Don't worry. I don't even have to load it, just pump the damn thing and if a man has any sense at all, he'll back off."

  Hawkman laughed. “You've definitely got a point."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Hawkman left Charley's place, and prayed the old fellow wouldn't load his pump shotgun. He had a feeling the farmer enjoyed all this excitement and wanted to be involved. How to keep Charley out of it, he didn't know.

  It ran through his mind, a trip to Hopkins’ room might be in order for tonight, but on the other hand, maybe he should wait until he knew more about Jamey's planned return. Then he'd have enough information to verify Carl's hacking skills.

  Heading to his office, he decided to try concentrating on the projects piled on his desk. This Jamey thing ate at him so much he couldn't focus. How he'd like to see that woman pay for what she'd done.

  * * * *

  Bob stayed his distance from a very agitated Jamey as she shouted orders to the servants and stormed through the house, clothes draped over her arm.

  He finally followed her upstairs to the bedroom where he stood in the doorway watching her open and shut drawers. Then she reached into the closet, yanked out a suitcase and plopped it onto the bed.

  "Honey, what are you doing?” he asked, throwing his hands up in desperation. “It's only Friday and your appointment isn't until next Tuesday. Why are you packing tonight?"

  She shot him a wicked look. “I'm not, I'm just preparing. It takes a woman longer to get ready and I sure don't want to forget anything."

  He shook his head. “You're only going to be there one day. What's there to plan? You don't even need a change of clothes."

  Putting her hands on her hips, she stared at him. “You definitely don't understand. The clothes I arrive in, I won't be wearing when I leave. Remember, I have Hawkman to think about. I've got to keep one step ahead of him. And to do that, I have to change my app
earance.” She pointed at her head. “I'll arrive with my dyed brown hair, but depart wearing an old woman's gray wig and frumpy clothes."

  "What about your ID? It shows you with brown hair. I don't have time to get you one that makes you look older."

  She waved a hand. “Don't worry, that's the least of my problems. Women change their hair color every day. But the name on the ID does bother me since I used it the last time. I'm afraid Hawkman will recognize it.” Pacing the room, she tapped her forefinger on her chin. “I won't make reservations until the last minute so there won't be a record until I'm ready to board. And a round trip ticket is out of the question as I don't want Shirley Ann Noland's name showing up on a returning flight.” She stopped and looked at the ceiling, gnawing her lower lip. “The planes are not normally full at this time of year, especially in the middle of the week, so it shouldn't be a problem. I won't have to get a motel, so that's one less worry."

  "But honey, you'll need some rest. That's a long haul and more so with a change of planes in San Francisco."

  She waved a hand. “I'll get plenty of rest. I sleep well on flights. But Shirley Ann Noland's name mustn't be plastered all over the town of Medford.” A smirk curled her lips. “I'll change clothes in a public bathroom. I'm an old hand at that."

  Bob crossed the room and put his arms around her. “God, you're something else. You have this all worked out, like a super grifter."

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Well, that's why we're here today.” Then she frowned. “My only worry is Hawkman. I know he can't do a thing, but the man gives me the chills. He showed up everywhere on the last trip."

  Bob nuzzled her neck. “Yeah, but he obviously didn't know who you were. And as I've told you over and over, they have nothing on you, baby."

  "Then why do I continue to have to have a chill run down my back?” She pushed away and looked him in the eye. “What if something did happen? Would you come to my rescue?"

  He put his hands in his pockets and turned away. “You know if I entered the States, I'd be arrested.” Then he faced her with a big grin. “But I can hire the best lawyers around to defend you."

  She slumped down on the bed. “Oh, thanks. And I'll be in jail while the trial is pending."