"She's my associate," I said. "Now, are you sure you haven't talked to Kristee this week?"
"No," she said. "I haven't. I talked to her Friday, but when I called the house Saturday, there was no answer. I've been calling ever since, hoping she'd answer. I even took a cab over there Monday, but I didn't have the nerve to ring the doorbell, so I walked around outside the house and left."
"Where do you think she's gone?" I asked. "Didn't the two of you plan to meet up and split what she stole from the Beemishes?"
"I keep telling you, no," she repeated. "I don't know anything about any plan to steal anything. Kristee was the one working for them. I just work for the company that placed her."
"I don't believe you," Edna piped up. "Why don't you tell us where you and your girlfriend hid the stuff? Just give it all back, and I'll bet our client will forget all about this misunderstanding."
It had been a mistake, bringing my mother along on this interview, but I'd needed somebody to watch the back of the motel unit while I knocked on the front, in case Ardith decided to take off. As it turned out, I needn't have worried. There was no back door. So now Edna was in the room with us, doing her best bad-cop imitation. I could have strangled her.
"She's right about one thing," I told Ardith. "If you and Kristee make complete restitution, including the jewelry, and especially those missing business documents, our clients won't press charges."
"What charges?" Ardith said belligerently. "I don't know what you're talking about. What have I done to the Beemishes?"
"Well, there's conspiracy to defraud, theft by taking, and blackmail," I said. "Oh, yes, and since you arranged this little farce over the phone and by mail, we can add mail fraud and wire fraud. Those are federal charges, sweetie. I'm afraid you and Kristee won't be in any diversion center this time. Of course, once the cops pick up Beverly Mayes, there'll be even more charges."
"Why would the cops pick up Beverly?" Ardith asked warily. "She's a nanny, doing her job. She's not in any trouble."
"Cut the shit, Ardith," I said. "We know Beverly cleaned out the Sheehans in Savannah, and we know she's someplace in Atlanta. Is she staying with you?"
Ardith shook her head, unconvincingly. "Beverly is in Savannah."
"She's not in Savannah," I said, nearly shouting now. "Look, Ardith, I don't think you realize the seriousness of what's going on here. Beverly Mayes left Savannah last week after she stole some computer discs and a lot of other stuff belonging to the family she worked for. Kristee Ewbanks has more than a hundred thousand dollars' worth of the Beemishes' property, plus some important business documents. You're a party to all this, and the cops won't have a hard time proving it either."
Tears welled in Ardith's eyes. "You can't prove anything," she said bitterly. "Nothing. You say you want information from me? I'll give you information. Kristee's gone. And I think Bo Beemish killed her."
Just then I heard Edna start to groan, loudly. We both looked at her. She was clutching her stomach, bent nearly double.
"My diverticulitis," she gasped. "Can I use the bathroom?"
"It's in there," Ardith said, jerking her head to indicate an open doorway.
Edna rushed for the room, then slammed the door. "She all right?"
"Probably. This happens sometimes," I said. "Look, can I use your phone to check my answering machine?"
"Yeah, but how about leaving me fifty cents? They even charge for local calls in this dump."
I took the phone off the nightstand, punched in my number, and beeped my beeper into it. While I was waiting for the tape to rewind I noticed a newspaper folded to the want ads. There were circles on the "help wanted" column.
Lilah Rose Beemish had called three times. Each time she phoned, she emphasized that she needed to see me at 9:30 A.M. at her house tomorrow.
I hung up. Ardith went to the door and opened it. "Rain's stopped," she announced. "I'm gonna go for another run. I can't stand being closed up in this room."
She started pulling on shoes and socks and went to the dresser and pulled out a headband, which she put on.
Edna was still in the bathroom. What in God's name was she doing? Finally I heard a flush and the sound of water running.
She unlocked the door and stepped daintily out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on the seat of her polyester slacks. "You're out of towels, did you know?" she said pleasantly.
"I know," Ardith said. She went back to the front door and opened it, then stepped aside to make it clear she was ready for us to leave.
I handed her one of my business cards. "If you hear from Kristee, tell her to call me. Tell her to make it soon, too, before the Beemishes call the cops."
"Right," she said through clenched teeth. "You can tell Bo Beemish if he's done something to Kristee I'll make him pay. Tell him that."
I nodded and stepped out into the warm spring night.
"She's lying," Edna said, as soon as we'd closed the car doors.
I was busy trying to make a turn onto Cheshire Bridge, so I didn't answer for a moment. "About what?"
"All of it," she said. "Kristee's been in that room— recently. And somebody else has been staying there too."
"How did you figure all this out?" I asked. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with your sudden bout of diverticulitis, does it?"
Edna patted her hair, tucking a blue-tinted lock behind her left ear. "Well, I needed an excuse to spend some time in the bathroom. Your great-aunt Opal had diverticulitis, and she used to live in the bathroom."
"So what'd you find?"
"Well, she may be staying there alone now, but she's definitely had company," Edna said. "She's got a box of groceries under the bathroom sink. There's a jar of peanut butter and a box of crackers about two thirds gone, and three kinds of cereal."
"So?" I said. "She's getting low on money, so she's eating in. Big deal."
"Do you know any adults who buy three different kinds of cereal for themselves?" she said.
"Did you find any long bleached-blond hairs in the shower drain?" I asked facetiously.
"Don't think I didn't check," Edna said. "There were just some short brown ones."
"What makes you think Kristee was there? She could have had other company, you know."
Edna got a smug look then, that smug look I hate. She squirmed around in her seat, finally pulling something out of her pants pocket. "Look at this," she said triumphantly.
I glanced at the small plastic bottle she held in her palm. "What is it?"
"A prescription pill bottle for Kristee Ewbanks," she said. "I found it in the bathroom and copped it. It was in a brown paper bag with some clothes and stuff that I bet belong to Kristee. This was the smallest thing in the bag. It was filled last week at the West Paces Ferry A&P pharmacy."
This time I didn't try to hide my annoyance. "What'd you take it for? If the cops come in on this thing, that could be evidence. You should have left it right where it was."
Edna didn't have an answer for that. So she sat quietly and sulked.
After ten minutes I couldn't stand it any more. "What's the prescription for?"
She held the bottle about an inch from her eyes and squinted. "I can't pronounce it. Wait, it's Pyridium. The bottle's still nearly full."
"Wonder what she was taking it for?"
"I know a way to find out in a hurry," Edna said. "Call your sister and ask. She'll know."
I made a face. Maureen and I were currently feuding over something her husband said to me a few weeks back. I called him on it and she stood up for him. Maureen is three years younger than me. She's a nurse at Grady Memorial Hospital, Atlanta's huge charity hospital. That's where she met Steve Kusic, the ambulance driver she ended up marrying. He's a lazy loudmouth slimedog, but you'll never get Maureen to see that. Since she married Steve, I've kept my distance. I can't stand the guy. Edna can't either, but she won't admit it.
"I could call Maureen. Or I could go to the library and look it up in a Physician's Desk Refere
nce."
"Do what you want," Edna said. She clutched her big white plastic purse to her chest and pooched out her lower lip. Just like a goddamn baby, I thought.
Five minutes later I heard a sawing noise. Edna's head lolled over on her right shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was wide open. Her snoring nearly drowned out the chugging of the van's muffler.
11
THE PHONE IN MY BEDROOM WAS RINGING as I stepped out of the shower. I let it go a couple of times, hoping Edna would catch it, but she didn't.
So I padded out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water on the carpet. "House Mouse."
"Oh, it's you," I heard my sister say. "Yeah, it's me. This is my house, you know. You calling for Mom?"
Maureen let out a long audible sigh. "No, I can just tell you. Mom said you wanted to know something about Pyridium, right?"
I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice, but I'm sure my sister knew I didn't want to talk to her. "Well, I was gonna look it up for myself. But OK, what's the stuff for?"
"Bladder infection," Maureen said. "Fairly common in women. Why, do you have one?"
"No," I said. "I'm just checking out something for a client."
"So you're cleaning houses and prescribing medicine these days?"
"No," I said shortly. "But if somebody didn't take all their pills, would they still be OK?"
She laughed. "Obviously you've never had a bladder infection. You feel like you have to pee all the time, and then when you do, it's this godawful burning sensation. The Pyridium is just to help the pain. You also have to take antibiotics to kill the infection. What kind was your client taking?"
Edna hadn't seen any other pill bottles in Ardith's motel room. "I don't know," I told her. "Look, I'm standing here dripping wet. I'll talk to you later. Thanks for the help."
"Sure," she said shortly, and hung up without saying good-bye. "Bitch," I told the receiver.
The phone rang again just as I was trying to struggle into a pair of jeans. They were extra tight, so I had to lie flat on the bed and suck in my belly to get them zipped. I'd already made a resolution to buy myself a case of Ultra Slim-Fast.
"House Mouse," I said, trying to sit up straight without popping the snap of the jeans.
"Callahan, did you get my message about meeting me at Rich's this morning?" said the harried voice of Lilah Rose Beemish.
"Good morning, Lilah," I said. "Yes, I did get your message. I was just going to call to ask if we couldn't make it later in the day. I do have a business to run here, you know."
"Later won't work," she snapped. "I need you to meet me at the fur vault at the downtown Rich's when they open at ten A.M. That is, if you want to continue to work for us."
I could feel my chain being yanked, but there was nothing I could do about it. I needed the Beemishes' money. "What's this about anyway?"
"Oh, Bo's giving me fits about the jewelry and the other stuff Kristee took," she said. "He finally talked to our insurance man about filing a claim, and he said we have to file a police report."
"I thought you didn't want the police involved," I said.
"We don't. But Big Mama's gonna notice sooner or later about the amethyst ring and the silver and coins and stuff. So he decided to tell the police the house was burglarized."
"I don't think it's a good idea to lie to the cops, Lilah Rose," I said. "They're not stupid, you know."
"Now don't you start lecturing me too. Bo's been after me all morning. Besides, the house was burglarized. It's just that in this case we happen to know who the burglar was."
I decided to skip the lesson on the difference between breaking and entering and theft by taking.
"If you're filing a police report, why do you need me and why at Rich's fur vault?"
"Because I can't find my furs," she said. "And I'm not absolutely certain Kristee took them."
"Where else would they be?"
"Well, usually I have my maid take them to Rich's for storage as soon as fur season is over, sometime in March," Lilah said. "But Regina, that's my maid, quit right around that time, and I can't remember if she took them in, and I can't find a claim check. I called them yesterday, but they say they can't trace anything without a claim check. And I don't dare tell Bo I don't know where they are."
"What do you expect me to do at Rich's?" I said. "Search the store?"
"Exactly," she shot back. "See you there at ten. And for God's sake, please don't dress like a cleaning woman. Someone I know might see us."
I exhaled loudly and was rewarded by hearing my jeans pop open. Just as well. I wriggled out of them, kicked them under the bed, and walked into the closet in my underwear. Things didn't look good. My wardrobe tends to run to slacks and T-shirts these days. There were a few dresses, though. I picked out a navy blue linen thing that didn't look too bad, and looked around for a pair of shoes that weren't Nikes or Adidases. Found a pair of navy blue flats. I don't wear heels any more. Not since the days I worked vice squad and had to spend eight-hour shifts dressed in five-inch spikes as part of my hooker getup.
After I'd dressed I glanced quickly in the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair. It's short and curly, like a poodle's, my hair is. It used to be coal black, like my dad's was before he got sick. But I started going gray at sixteen, and now it's totally salt and pepper. "Stress highlights" is what Frank, Mom's hairdresser friend, calls my gray hair. "Old lady hair" is what Edna calls it. She's always after me to have Frank color it, mostly, I suspect, so people won't know she has a daughter old enough to go gray. I kind of like it, though, and I'm too lazy to keep going to a beauty shop to have somebody slather goo on my head every couple of months. Just as long as my skin stays good, I decided, I'd let my hair go stark white if it wanted to. I have good skin, everybody says. For twenty years I'd been lathering moisturizer on it morning and night, and now I could see the extra attention was paying off.
I grabbed a lipstick off my dresser and stuck it in my pocket. Since I started my own business, I make it a policy never to wear any more makeup than I can apply at a stoplight. I'll never make the cover of Vogue, but I get ten extra minutes of sleep every morning, and the sacrifice is worth it.
I was maybe ten minutes late getting to Rich's. I'd had to brief Edna on the day's business and then stop at the 7-Eleven to buy a pair of pantyhose, which I'd put on in the back of the van.
It was doorbuster day at Rich's, and the store was crowded with downtown office workers picking through the tables of sale merchandise that clogged the aisles on each floor. I could hear Lilah Rose's voice as I stepped off the escalator on fifth. Everybody in the store, I imagined, could hear that voice.
"Get the manager," she was insisting. "I want him here right now. You tell him Mrs. DuBose Beemish wants to see him."
As I approached the alcove where the fur salon was located, I could see Lilah Rose standing over a woman who was seated at a stylish white-and-gold French desk. A tasteful marble nameplate pronounced her Ms. Reynard. The woman's hair was white-blond, swept back in a chignon. Her skin was a ghoulish powder-white, with two bright red spots glowing on her cheeks. Her thin lips were a slash of matching fuchsia.
Ms. Reynard didn't look like a happy camper. "I've told you, Mrs. Beemish, the store has a policy against anybody entering the fur vault. It's for your own security, you know. I'm sorry you can't find your claim check, but if you'll wait until the computer comes back up, we can see if your furs were logged in. Maybe you'd like to do a little shopping and come back."
Lilah Rose reached in her purse (Fendi, it looked like), brought out a matching billfold, and flipped it open to the credit card selection. She plucked one out and threw it on the woman's desk. "Do you see that card?" she said, leaning down until her face was within inches of the saleswoman's. "That's a Prestige card. It means I spend more in this store than you make in a year. My husband goes dove-hunting with the chairman of the board of Rich's. Now, I want you to let me in that fur vault right now. Do you understand?"
I couldn't stand to hear any more of this harangue. "Excuse me," I said quietly. "Ms. Reynard, I think we can settle all this quietly. Is Horton Lundeen still head of store security here?"
"Yes, ma'am," she said.
"Fine," I said. "Why don't you call and ask him to meet Callahan Garrity at the fur vault? I think he might be willing to help us straighten out this little misunderstanding."
She started to say something but thought better of it. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she made the call.
Horton Lundeen hadn't changed much since the days when I'd known him as a desk sergeant at the Atlanta PD. His hair was in a gray flattop. He wore a cheap dark suit, a severely starched white dress shirt, and shiny black lace-up cop shoes. A National Rifle Association belt buckle the size of a dinner plate had pride of place on his flat belly. His face was scowling as he walked up, but he smiled, sort of, when he caught sight of me.
"Garrity," he said, pumping my hand vigorously. "You been shoplifting in my store?"
"No, chief." I laughed. "But my client here has a problem we were hoping you could help us with."
Lundeen and I stepped out of earshot of Lilah Rose, who was busy glaring at Ms. Reynard. I quickly filled him in on what I'd been doing since I'd left the force and told him why we needed to get into the fur vault.
"It's against the rules," he said flatly. "Insurance company insists."
I cocked my head to one side and fluttered my eyelashes in my most seductive manner. "Since when have you been a strictly by-the-book guy?"
"Fuckin' A," he agreed. "Let's go."
While we were negotiating the maze of elevators, long hallways, and locked doors that led to the actual fur vault, Lilah Rose ran down the list of what we were looking for.
"The most valuable one is the sable," she said. "Opera-length. Bo bought it for me after Carter was born. And then there's my old mink, full-length, with a shawl collar and push-up sleeves. And my fox stroller. I just wear it to run around town in. My name is sewn into the lining of all of them," she said, trying to be helpful.
"How much are these things worth altogether?" I asked, just out of curiosity.
Every Crooked Nanny Page 7
