Edna does not want to be bothered. She is too busy packing away the costumes and the mermaid outfits. She keeps muttering to herself in French.
“Excusez-moi,” I say. The look of disgust on Edna’s face tells me she does not like me trying to speak French.
“I just have a couple of questions to ask you,” I say, and show her my pad.
“There is no time,” she says, trying to dismiss me with a flick of a wrist. I stand in front of the mermaid skirt she was just about to grab.
“This won’t take long, I promise. Where were you when the lights went out?”
Edna Blanchett lets out a long sigh. “By Delphine, where I always am. Right by her side for more than ten years.” The costume designer continues to pack her costumes.
“Did you hear or see anything? And what about the diamond cap?”
Edna places the mermaid skirt on the table before her. “I wish I had never made the Bejeweled Aqua Chapeau. They don’t deserve it.”
She didn’t really answer my question. I ask again.
“I saw and heard nothing. The cap was taken backstage, then everything went dark. I was by Delphine. That is all.”
She is not a very agreeable suspect. Then again, it’s late and everyone is tired, including me. Walt and I exchange notes. One of my many great detective skills is my neat, legible handwriting. Walter, not so much, but that’s fine because I’ve learned to read his chicken scratch. I start to read back what Delphine told me and wait for Walt to give input.
“Everyone pretty much has an alibi. The blackout lasted only a few minutes, not nearly long enough for a person to run back to the dressing room, in the dark, without falling,” Walt says. “Whoever stole the cap knew exactly where it would be kept and was able to leave during the blackout without being detected.”
“I doubt that it was an inside job. It must be Scoops Malone. No one else locked me in the shed while working on his or her ‘story,’” I say. “He was desperate enough to do that; maybe he’s desperate enough to steal the cap for a front-page headline.”
Walt doesn’t agree. “He left empty-handed. I saw to it myself. He also wasn’t here long enough to venture anywhere but a few feet from the entrance before we nailed him. You’ve got to remember; the place was completely dark.”
A blackout. Another blown fuse or did someone purposely cause the club to go dark?
“I’m going to look out back for more clues,” I say. Walt continues with his interviews.
There are so many different ways to generate electricity into the club, but only one fuse box. It’s not far from where Scoops locked me in the shed, so I walk gingerly over to it and use my magnifying glass to search for clues, from the obvious to the almost invisible. Evidence can come in all shapes and sizes, like a receipt, a tossed cigarette, or even hair. Anything at all. The dirt is dry enough that I can see a few shoe prints. So many workers dealt with the fuse box today, especially after the blackouts, so it will be hard to pinpoint any differences.
“Hold on. What is this?” I say.
I kneel down closer to the ground. I find several footprints, but these sets of footprints don’t quite follow the same pattern as the others. For starters, the footprints show toes with tiny wings attached to them. Are they the footprints of an animal? Alligators, geckos, and birds all call St. Pascal home, but these prints are kind of strange. Whatever or whoever walked behind here earlier exhibited fabulous and unusual webbed toes. I follow the footprints and they lead right to the secret back entrance of the club. This is definitely a clue.
Strangely, the footprints show someone entering the club but not exiting the same way. Where did the culprit run to afterward? They surely didn’t leave the same way they came in, but there would have been no way for them to exit through the main entrance. I would have run into them as I was entering the club, and I didn’t see anyone.
Unless…
Unless, once inside, the thief was hiding in the dark somewhere, and when I came running through the front door, they could have easily exited. I go back to the front entrance of the club and search the area with my magnifying glass. The thief could have dropped an item while they rushed out of here.
I find something! More strange footprints similar to the ones near the back entrance. The suspect must have bided his or her time until the coast was clear to storm out of the entrance. My guess is they took advantage of both the blackout and the Scoops Malone distraction. This person knew what they were doing and had a plan to steal the cap. This wasn’t random. I take a couple more steps, and I notice something white.
“What is this?” I shine my flashlight on it. A worn white leather glove. I search for the other one of the pair but come up with nothing.
Hmmm. Whoever dropped this glove surely must have its companion? And who wears leather gloves in June? In Florida? In this heat? Whoever wore these gloves wanted to avoid leaving any fingerprints. Suspicious. Very suspicious.
I tuck the glove into my pocket and write down in my pad my latest findings. I can’t wait to share my discoveries with Walter. As I continue, I consider that the person who stole the Bejeweled Aqua Chapeau must have walked around shoeless at some point to avoid making any noise. But how would they have left the club without being detected? And does this all tie back to the Crossed Palms? So many questions and not enough time to answer them. I’m missing something. But what?
Inside, Mr. Davenport is just beginning his own interrogation. His approach involves accusing the person closest to him of failing to do their job and then yelling at the next person and the next. What a gentleman, right? (That’s sarcasm.)
As soon as Mr. Davenport sees me, he makes a beeline in my direction.
“I’ll have you know that your mother was the last one seen with the chapeau.” Mr. Davenport points his cigar in my face, which I do not appreciate.
Walt rushes over to my side, shaking his head back and forth slightly, as if to say, Turn around—you don’t want to be here for this. What is going on? Mr. Davenport continues to scream about my mother and the chapeau. Walt places a hand on my shoulder and that’s when things start to click together. I totally get it. Mr. Davenport has really jumped in the deep end.
He cannot be serious. Mr. Davenport can’t possibly think my mother has anything to do with the missing diamond cap.
“Is it not true that your mother was the last person to take the cap back to the dressing room? No one else saw her give the cap to anyone else. She said she secured it.” Mr. Davenport is on a horrible roll. “I told her not to touch the cap, but for whatever reason, she couldn’t keep her mitts off it. Why? Because she wanted the cap for herself.”
I can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. He’s a fool. I want to take his cigar and crush it so he can’t use it to point in people’s faces.
“Now, hold on a minute,” Walt says. “Ms. Bell has been working at the Mermaid Club for years. She was vetted to work on this movie not only by the Crossed Palms Resort but by the very owners of this club. She has absolutely no reason to steal such a valuable piece of work, especially at the cost of her whole livelihood and her family.”
Mr. Davenport won’t stop. “It’s precisely because of her family she would do it,” he says. “Everyone always needs more money. I know people. Everyone is capable of corruption.”
“You’re wrong. She would never steal a thing,” I say. “Mom would never jeopardize her job. Our life. Me.”
He turns to Walt with a growl. “If you do not do something to rectify this, it will be your head,” he says. “You are a detective, aren’t you? I insist you question her and her motives.”
Mr. Davenport points to Mom, who has sat listening to this entire conversation, looking very worried. Walt is horrified. I’m horrified. This can’t be happening.
“Do something,” Mr. Davenport says.
Walt doesn’t know where to turn or look.
“Walt, you can’t be serious!” I say.
“I’m sorry, Goldie.” W
alt walks over to Mike. Seconds later, they call Mom for questioning.
My stomach is about to drop. This can’t be happening. Walt can’t possibly have it in him to convince the Mermaid Club owners, my mom’s bosses for so many years, to not only get her fired but to also send her to the cops. What is this movie madness? I wish Mr. Davenport and this entire creature feature had never come to Crossed Palms. The longest movie shoot day ever has now turned into the most horrible day, all because of a diamond swimming cap and a man who can’t see beyond his fury.
But I won’t get angry. I need to think fast, act fast, and find the thief!
Chapter Eleven
MR. DAVENPORT HAS VEHEMENTLY DECIDED MOM IS guilty of stealing the bejeweled swimming cap. Yet Mom has absolutely no motive to take it. Even if Mom decided she needed the Bejeweled Aqua Chapeau in order to become the Queen of the Mermaids or to get rich quick, how would she unload such a thing without everyone finding out? St. Pascal is a small town. She couldn’t just show up at Jim’s Emporium with a diamond swimming cap and ask if he wanted to buy it. Mom wouldn’t jeopardize the things she loves, especially her daughter and her job. Mom loves working at the Mermaid Club.
Mike places his hand on Mom’s shoulder. She nods to him. I can’t read their lips but I can imagine the exchange. Mom grabs her things and walks over to me.
“I’ll be heading over to the precinct with Mike. I want you to go straight to your dad’s. Understand?” She places her hand under my chin. “Babe. No worries. This will all be sorted out soon. Promise me you will go to Crossed Palms.”
“I promise, Mom,” I say, and give her a hug. “I’m not worried. I’m determined.”
Mr. Davenport has a smug look on his face. If I weren’t just a sixteen-year-old girl, I would give him a piece of my mind. But that wouldn’t help. Plus, it would probably only get Mom in more trouble. Mr. Davenport thinks he’s got it all figured out, but I know in my gut that he is dead wrong, which means there is still a case to be solved. The sooner I find out who stole the diamond cap, the quicker my mom will be cleared.
“Walt, I need to go,” I say. I don’t wait for him to respond. Time is of the essence.
“Now, hold on there,” Walt says. “I’m going to take you to your dad. It’s what your mom wants.”
“But, Walt! It’s important I speak to Scoops Malone. And what about the weird footprints and—”
“It’s been a long night,” he says. “Yes, we have to process everything we’ve seen. Go over clues. Devise a plan for tomorrow. You also have to rest.”
My engine is revving up, not slowing down, especially now with Mr. Davenport trying to place the blame on my innocent mom. I need to solve this case ASAP. Jobs are at stake. Entire careers. Reputations. Most important, my mom’s reputation. She’s spent all her life working hard, taking care of me, making sure I’m well fed, and buying me the right capris (ones that have tons of pockets and allow me to climb or run). She’s my everything. And I’ve only known her to be honest and fair.
As Walt drives us slowly up Lime Street, I go over the events from the past two days, from the minute I met Mr. Davenport in Walt’s office to Delphine almost tripping in front of Crossed Palms to the last blackout. Each of these moments must be connected in some way. They can’t all be coincidences.
“What is going to happen to Mom?”
Walt keeps his eyes on the road, but I know he’s also thinking really hard. He would never sugarcoat anything. Being a detective means uncovering the ugly, and sometimes hard, truth. I don’t expect him to hold back now.
“What do we do when we are presented with evidence?” he asks.
“We log it down.”
“Mr. Davenport has no proof of your mom taking the Bejeweled Aqua Chapeau,” he says. “He only has his anger and a lot of hot air.”
“And a stinky cigar,” I say.
“Exactly. Your mom will be taken to the precinct. She’ll share what she heard and saw, which she has already shared with me. They will let her go, and that will be the end of that for now. She’ll probably be fired from the movie set.”
“No movie! I can’t believe it,” I say. “Mom’s Hollywood dreams crushed before they even make it on to the big screen.”
“The important thing for us to do is to keep our heads up and our eyes wide open. The sooner we can find out the real culprit the better it will be for your mom, for me, and for everyone involved,” he adds. “Now tell me what you found.”
I tell Walt about the unusual footprints and the white leather glove. I also tell him about my theory. Walt slows down the car as we approach the entrance to the Crossed Palms. It’s late. There’s not the same level of commotion as earlier, with sea creatures and bejeweled swimming caps making their entrances. Instead, it’s just a few guests taking a peaceful stroll on the grounds. I wonder if Delphine has settled in by now, and whether she knows anything about what has happened to my mom. I would like to think she would be upset.
“Scoops Malone must have known about this incident, don’t you think?” I ask. “He was so persistent in getting into the club. He must have something to do with the robbery.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. Think of motivation. Why would Scoops Malone want the swimming cap?”
“It doesn’t pay to be a writer?”
Walt laughs at this.
“To steal something as extravagant as the bejeweled swimming cap, Scoops would have had to line up a buyer right away,” he says. “Keeping the cap under wraps would be hard to do.”
Hmmm. Walt might be right. Who would be motivated to steal the cap?
He parks the car. “It’s time to let the evidence you’ve collected start percolating inside your head. Try to get some sleep and hopefully some answers will come to us by morning,” Walt says. “Hey, your mother is beloved and we all believe her. Mr. Davenport’s loudness will be shut down by the truth.”
“Yes,” I say. “You’re right. Mom didn’t do a thing, and Mr. Davenport is going to know soon enough. Tomorrow is the perfect day to solve this mystery.”
“Get some rest, Goldie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I bypass the entrance of the hotel and head across the way to the cottage. The wail of a saxophone can be heard from our door. After a long day, Dad likes to listen to music from his large collection of jazz albums.
“Hey, Dad,” I say. He places his glass down on the coffee table. His suit jacket hangs across the back of a dining room chair. His tie is slightly loosened.
“Just got off the phone with Mom,” he says. Dad pats the sofa, urging me to sit beside him. “I think you deserve a big bowl of ice cream. What do you think?”
“Yeah.” I slump beside him. “Vanilla ice cream would be amazing.”
“One bowl of ice cream for my little girl,” he says. Before he gets up, Dad gives me a long hug. I really needed it and I really need the ice cream. I take my time, enjoying every sweet spoonful.
“Mom says you are not to worry. She will be fine. The owners of the Mermaid Club reassured her that this is only a technicality until things are cleared up,” he says. I take another large spoonful.
“Ouch ouch ouch!” Brain freeze.
Can today get any worse? I can’t even enjoy my ice cream. I push the bowl aside. “Dad, what if I can’t find the person who stole the diamond swimming cap? What if they blame Mom and she ends up going to jail?”
“There are way too many ‘what-ifs’ happening. Slow down your mind. It’s the end of the workday and we should not bring our problems with us to the pillow. There is simply no room for them on there. Is there?”
I shake my head.
“Come. Lay your head right here.” He points to his heart. “Listen to Charlie Parker play his tune. Do you follow the notes? Let the melody soothe you. Go on, close your eyes.”
My head feels heavy against his chest. Before I can even stop myself, I let out a bit of a snore. Oops.
“Time for sleep,” Dad says. Although he doesn’t carry me
to bed, he does the thing he always used to do when he tucked me in: Dad gives me a kiss on the forehead.
I RIDE MY BIKE DOWN LIME STREET, STRAIGHT TO THE office of the Daily Gazette, which is located in a plain, unimpressive storefront. Nothing about it screams news or that a reporter works there. You would only know from the small sign that says, GOT A TIP? CALL SCOOPS MALONE.
The door is slightly ajar and all I can hear is the clanking of a typewriter. I’m expecting to see a newsroom full of reporters on the phones, gathering tips and interviewing leads. Instead, the office consists of a small desk, a file drawer, and copies of newspapers haphazardly thrown up on the wall. A fan swirls mostly hot air. At the solitary desk sits Scoops Malone, hunched over the phone while simultaneously typing. It appears the Daily Gazette is a one-man job.
“I’ll be with you in a sec,” Scoops says, writing down a message on the back of an envelope. When Scoops finishes with his conversation, he turns around and is slightly startled to see me.
“Well, if it isn’t Goldie Vance! You are up bright and early this morning. How are you doing?” Scoops turns the envelope over to the other side. “I heard a really important diamond cap went missing last night. Do you care to comment?”
The guy never stops. “No can do. In fact, I’m here to ask you questions,” I say. “I figured you owe me, especially after the whole locking-me-up-in-a-shed bit. You do remember that, don’t you?”
“Now, now. There are no hard feelings. Are there, Goldie?” Scoops places the palms of his hands together as in prayer. “You can’t blame a guy for trying, right? I just wanted to capture the great Delphine Lucerne in action. She was filming there yesterday. Wasn’t she?”
I have no idea if Scoops really knows Delphine was filming in the Mermaid Club or if he is just testing to see if I will answer. He probably has proof, but my job is to keep Delphine Lucerne’s secret a secret. So I refuse to confirm or deny. Instead, I do what Scoops does. I smile widely until we are both just standing there, eyes wide and making funny faces, waiting for the other person to blink.
The Hotel Whodunit Page 10
