by Jim Stevens
“Ms. Andrews office.”
“It’s Richard Sherlock. Is she available?”
I’m patched to her without further comment.
“Richard, how are you feeling?” Anthea asks immediately.
“Physically, horrible; emotionally, better,” I tell her. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Reserve the Richmond Suite at four-thirty.”
“I can’t do it at four-thirty,” she says. “The vault floor closes at four.”
“With the amount of Moomah money in that bank, get your boss to make an exception. Please.”
“Do you have it all figured out?” she asks.
“All except for the sibling who copped the big one.” I must be talking a mile-a-minute. I get like this when I’m on a roll. “Once I get them all in the same room and start asking questions, one of them will screw up. I’ll nail them like a carpenter pounding a ten penny.”
“I’ll do what I can about the room,” she says. “Don’t worry.”
I am about to hang up, but instead say, “Anthea, I don’t have my kids this weekend. I wonder if we could do something?”
“Sure.”
“I’d love to get out of town.”
She hesitates, no doubt grasping the full meaning of my intentions. “Where?”
“Anyplace but the Wisconsin Dells, that’s where Oland will be.”
“Sounds good to me.”
This day is getting better and better.
The Toyota kicks over on my next attempt and actually breaks a few speed limits on the way back downtown. I park in the Deliveries Only spot behind Moomah’s building and hustle inside. I’m moving so fast, waiting for the three-hundred-year-old doorman to buzz me in is extra excruciating.
Bertha opens the door and the first noises I hear are the Munchkins celebrating a death. “She’s better,” Bertha assures me.
Tiffany comes out of the kitchen nibbling on a carrot stick, “Mr. Sherlock,” she says, but can’t finish, because I blow by her running down the hallway into Moomah’s bedroom.
Tiffany takes chase, calling out, “Wait, I have something we have to talk about.”
Tiffany catches up to me just as I am opening the second drawer in Moomah’s chest of drawers and pulling out stacks of underwear. She’s shocked. “Mr. Sherlock, now you are getting really crazy weird.”
The folds are different. Someone has been here since I last visited.
“Oh please, tell me you’re not kinky,” she says.
I close the drawer. “Tiffany, where are Kelly and Care?”
“Eating.”
“Get them, we’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
Tiffany is worried. “It’s not like one of those weirdo sex stores, is it?”
“No. It’s worse.”
“Oh my God.”
I pile the kids in the back seat. Tiffany takes the passenger’s side. “I hate this car. I hate it,” she says as we pull out onto the Drive.
“We don’t have far to go,” I tell her. “You can handle it, Tiffany.”
Tiffany grits her teeth as if she’s at the dentist.
“Where are we going?” Care asks.
“You’ll see.” I exit the Drive at Belmont.
I park in front of a three-flat with a garden apartment, close to Wrigley Field. “Who lives here?” Kelly asks.
“You’ll see in a minute.”
We exit the car as a group. The girls follow me to the walkway of the building. At the steps, I say, “Wait here.”
I take the short stairway down and knock on the door of the garden unit. In a few seconds, Johnny Spaccone in a robe probably stolen from some elegant, well-known hotel opens the door.
“I would’ve thought you’d live in the penthouse, not the basement, Johnny.” I say instead of my usual “Hey, how ya doing?”
“These are just temporary digs.”
Johnny looks behind me to see Tiffany, “Hey, little lady,” he calls out, as he gives her a little wave with his diamond studded pinkie finger.
Tiffany’s face turns pale as an albino ghost. “I think I’m going to hurl,” she blurts out, and quickly walks away.
I get right in Johnny’s face. “Interested in settling out of court, Johnny?”
“I’d consider it.”
“Then be at Northern Trust today at four-thirty.”
“I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“Cash will be on the table, Johnny.”
“Cash?”
“In fifties. Lots of fifties.”
“How long will the meeting take?” he asks
“I’m not sure.”
“Happy Hour starts at five.”
“I’ll do my best to have you back on your barstool in time.”
“That would be greatly appreciated.”
I pull out the picture of Melvina Lange and put it in front of his nose. “You know this woman?”
He studies the photo intently. “Well, I’ve had my share of women, maybe a couple of other guy’s shares too, but it’s impossible for me to remember all of them.”
I retrieve the picture, “Okay, Johnny, I’ll see you this afternoon.”
_____
“How could you do that to me?” Tiffany asks incredulously, as we stand at my car.
“You should’ve seen your face,” Care tells her. “It went all white and creepy looking.”
“Don’t you let anybody ever know that,” Tiffany chastises my youngest. “As long as you live.”
“No problem,” Care says. “I can keep a secret.”
“Back in the car, everybody. We have another stop to make.”
“Oh my God. I hate this car.”
“Are we going to be driving by any shoe stores?” Kelly asks as the Toyota kicks over.
“No.”
“Damn.”
“What did I say about swearing, Kelly?” I pause then ask, “Does anybody ever listen to me?”
Nobody answers which tells me nobody was listening.
I get back on the Drive, going south.
“That was awful what you just did to me,” Tiffany says, her cheeks redder than Santa’s. “The last person in the world I ever wanted to see again was Johnny Spaccone.”
“Well, you better get used to it, Tiffany, because you’re going to see him again this afternoon.”
“If he shows up in that bathrobe, I’m going to hurl,” Tiffany warns us.
“Are you going to tell us where we’re going, Dad?” Care asks again.
“No.”
I get off at Michigan Avenue and drive south into the Loop. I park the car in a city lot where it costs twenty-five dollars for the first fifteen minutes. “Do you have cash, Tiffany.”
“I always have cash.”
Something is bothering Tiffany, and it is not just Johnny Spaccone. As the girls follow me into an office building, I pull her aside. “Tiffany, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Tiffany is sheepish as she answers, “Mr. Sherlock, what happens if one of my family stole Moomah’s jewelry?”
“They’ll get arrested and thrown in jail.”
“And what if the word gets out and our family name gets plastered across the front pages of the Sun Times?”
“I thought the people in your social circle only read the Tribune?”
“Oh my God, it’ll be all over the Internet, too.”
Tiffany gets even more sheepish, walking with her chin almost on her chest, as we enter the building. We stop at the elevator bank. “Tiffany, is there something that you’re not telling me?”
“I saw Uncle Elmhurst last night. I think somebody beat him up.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because his face was all punched in.”
“Excellent deduction. You’re learning.”
An elevator arrives. We step inside. I push the 43 button.
> Tiffany is about to break into tears. “I think he stole the jewelry to pay off his gambling debts.”
“If he did, it’s no reflection on you.”
“Yes, it is,” she says, with a tear rolling down her cheek. “Everyone in this whole town will know. And if it comes out that I helped put the finger on him, I’ll be branded as the “Arnold Benedict” of the family.”
She’s too upset to be corrected. “Tiffany,” I tell her. “Don’t worry. I’ll do my best to keep whatever goes down today as quiet as possible.”
“You will?”
“I promise I’ll do my best,” I speak sincerely. “Nobody will know unless you tell them.”
“No way, Mr. Sherlock!” Tiffany shouts out. A reaction I certainly didn’t expect. “I can’t be trusted with that kind of responsibility. You know how not good I am at keeping secrets.”
I can’t win with this woman.
The elevator stops. The doors open. The girls follow me down the hall to the office labeled E Carrington Smithers, CPA.
E Carrington has a small, two-room office with a terrific view of Lake Michigan.
“What are you doing here?” E asks as we stand in his small reception area which doesn’t have a receptionist.
“I’m going to require your accounting skills this afternoon,” I inform him.
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
I walk right past him and into his office. I scoop up his desk calendar. The entry for today is completely blank. “You might want to reschedule what you don’t have scheduled, E, because I’ll be dispersing close to a million dollars in Moomah’s money.”
E’s glasses slip all the way down the bridge of his nose. “You what?”
“You heard me.”
“You what?” Tiffany says.
“You heard me, too,” I say. “I’m doling out cash. This afternoon.”
“Do we get any of the money?” Kelly asks.
“I doubt it.”
“You have no rights to give away any of her funds,” E snaps at me.
“It’s the cash from her safe deposit box,” I tell all. “It’s not like anybody’s going to be missing money that’s already missing.”
“The ransom money?” Tiffany asks.
“It came back.”
“Oh, Dad,” Kelly says. “I definitely think we should get a piece of that.”
“Whatever you’ve got in mind, it’s undoubtedly against the law,” E Carrington barks out.
“Trust me. I’ll be doing everybody a big favor.”
“Not me,” E argues.
“Especially you. I’ll put this entire absurdity to bed and everybody will go home happy. Well, almost everybody.”
“Who won’t be happy?” Care asks.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Me, if I don’t get any money,” Kelly says.
E Carrington huffs and puffs, but has little else to add to our conversation.
“All you have to do is invite the family to a little get-together at Northern Trust this afternoon at four-thirty in the Richmond Suite.”
“Do it yourself.” E can be defiant when he wants to.
“It’ll sound better coming from you,” I explain. “You’re the family CPA.”
“No. I won’t do it.”
“Tell them, there’ll be almost a million dollars on the table up for grabs,” I say. “I bet that will assure a one-hundred percent attendance.”
“This is highly irregular,” E says.
“But you’ll do it anyway.”
“Excuse me,” Tiffany interrupts. “But does my Dad know you’re doing this?”
“Not yet.” I turn back to the accountant. “There might even be something for you, E, monetarily speaking.”
E Carrington mulls it over. I can almost see the dollar signs in his eyes. After a moment he nods his head. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Splendid. See you at four-thirty.”
As I turn to exit the office, Tiffany taps me on my shoulder. “Don’t you think it might be a good idea to clear it with Daddy first?”
“I was counting on you to do that, Tiffany.”
“Me?”
“Yes”
“You want me to tell my Dad you’re giving away a million dollars of Moomah's money?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s a worse fate than a haircut at Supercuts,” Tiffany says, as we walk into the hallway.
“You can do it,” I tell her.
“Yeah, Tiffany,” Care says. “You can do it.”
“And ask him if we could have some of the money go to Abercrombie and Fitch while you’re chatting him up?” Kelly says.
“Mr. Sherlock, I’ve been punished enough. Don’t make me tell him that,” Tiffany pleads.
“Tiffany, no one in the world could handle this assignment better than you. I’ll bet you’ve discussed money with your dad plenty of times.”
“Yes, but asking for a few extra grand is a lot different than telling him a million dollars is going out the window.”
“Suck it up, Tiffany. You can do it.”
“Sure you can, Tiffany,” Kelly joins in the cheerleading. “I really want to buy a pair of those shoes the lady had on in the picture.”
_____
I gather everyone at the car after Tiffany pays the exorbitant parking fees. My headache has almost totally disappeared. This is all going well. I’m feeling good about the case. I’m going to get them all in the same room and someone is going to slip up. I’ll nail the thief, take the girls back to their mother’s house, and spend the weekend with Anthea at some romantic hide-away.
I hand my cell phone to Kelly. “See if I have a message on this, and don’t put anymore ringtones on it.”
“You got a call from a Mr. Richmond,” Kelly says, reading the small screen on my flip phone.
“From my Dad?” Tiffany shrieks out. “Call him back and tell him about the million dollars.”
“He won’t take my calls, Tiffany,” I explain. “You know that.”
“Try anyway.”
Kelly listens to the message, then relays to me, “He said he got a call from a guy who has Moomah’s necklace and wants a reward.”
“Good.”
“What?” Tiffany almost explodes. “Who has Moomah’s necklace?”
“The guy I sold it to,” I tell her.
“You sold it?”
“Actually, I gave it to a guy who sold it for me.”
Tiffany is one breath away from hyper-ventilating. “How many millions did you get?”
“I sold it for ten grand.”
“Ten grand!”
Even my daughters look at me like I’m nuts.
“Ten grand wouldn’t pay for the clasp on that necklace,” Tiffany screams.
“Plus, I had to pay a sixty-percent commission,” I add for good measure.
“Sixty-percent!”
“No wonder, I don’t ever get to go shopping,” Kelly says. “Dad, you’re a terrible businessman.”
“Did you do all this before or after Moomah hit you in the head?” Care asks.
“After.”
“Well, at least you have a good excuse,” Care concludes.
“Mr. Sherlock, you must be on drugs. You should check yourself into rehab.”
This has been fun, but enough is enough.
I get serious. “Tiffany, I want you to go tell your Dad about the money. Then, I want you to go back to Moomah’s, get her spiffed up, and have her at Northern Trust at four o’clock.” Knowing Tiffany’s capability for punctuality, she should arrive in time for our four-thirty start.
“How about us?” Care asks.
“You two are going to come with me. We have two stops to make before the party starts.”
_____
Leonard Louie wears a different pair of cowboy boots than he wore the last time I visited.
“Rattlesnake,” he tells the kids, as he props his feet up on the edge of his desk.
“Quite fitting, I have
to admit, but not in terms of size and comfort,” I say, as Care runs her fingers along the toe of the boot.
“Do these shoes shed?” she asks.
“What they shed is class, little lady,” Leonard responds to Care, but he’s more interested in me. “You got my money, Sherlock?”
“You got Moomah’s necklace?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere you can see it.”
“Is it safe?”
“Quite.”
“I have the authority to make a deal,” I tell him.
“Start dealing.”
“I’ll give you ten percent of the appraised value of the necklace.”
“Twenty,” he counters.
“Eleven.”
“Twenty-four.”
“What do you mean, twenty-four?” I ask. “You’re supposed to go down, not up.”
“Whoever made that rule?” he asks.
“It’s standard negotiating procedure.”
“Maybe for you, but not for this bad boy.” Leonard is having a swell time. And for once, I’m glad he’s having it.
“Let’s talk cash, Leonard.” This will brighten his day even more.
“Cash is one of my oldest and dearest friends,” Leonard says and he isn’t kidding.
“We’ll give you ten percent of the appraised value of the necklace. In cash.”
“But didn’t we already agree on twenty?” he asks.
“No.”
He smiles. “Just testing you, Sherlock.”
“Ten percent. In cash. Under the table.” I place particular emphasis on the last sentence.
Leonard smiles, “Because of the incredible, thoughtful, and understanding human that I am, I’m going to accept your not-so-generous offer.”
“Deal.” I put out my hand. After we shake I wipe my hand on the seat of my pants.
“What I want you to do is retrieve the item from wherever it is, and bring it with you to a meeting at Northern Trust at four-thirty this afternoon.
“We could be talking a lot of scratch. Some of those diamonds are as big as my thumb.”
“You’ll need a case that’s thirteen by thirty-three by seven,”
Leonard gives me a very odd look. “Why would you ever know something like that?” Leonard asks.
“I’m a detective. It’s my job.”
Before we leave, Leonard gives Kelly and Care one of his business cards, telling them, “If you ever need a boyfriend checked out, I’ll give you a professional discount.”
