by P. J. Conn
"All right, but I can't talk about Matteo without crying. He meant the world to me."
Joe spent a while longer offering what comfort he could before telling her good-bye. He tried Constance's number again, but there was still no answer.
When his office telephone rang, he hoped for a new case that wouldn't involve murder. "Discreet Investigations."
"Hi Joe, it's Hal." An insurance executive and former client, Hal Marten was Joe's golf buddy. "We spoke a while ago about your working on insurance fraud cases for California West. Are you still interested?"
"Sure. Tell me what you need."
"Let's meet at noon for lunch." Hal named a café near his office building.
"I know the place." Joe got there a few minutes early and found secretaries and women out shopping also ate there as well as successful businessmen whose suits cost more than he would spend in a year on his wardrobe. Detective work required him to fit in rather than stand out, and he made no effort to be as sharp a dresser as Hal Marten.
Hal was five foot ten with fair hair and blue eyes. He had a lean build, but there was nothing boyish about him. He'd served in the Quartermaster Corps during the war and, like Joe, had not seen combat, but he was proud to be a veteran. He slid into the seat opposite Joe and picked up the menu.
"Let's eat and then talk," Hal suggested.
"Fine with me." Joe loved bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches, and the café served an exceptionally fine one. The quality of the bacon made all the difference, and he ate every crumb. When Hal finished his sandwich, Joe took out his notebook and pen.
"Emily MacNaughton and her husband, Daniel, have been insured by California West for nearly twenty years. She claims her two carat diamond engagement ring has been stolen. She usually wore only her wedding band and saved the diamond ring for special occasions. She wanted to wear it for a lunch date with a friend, but when she opened her jewelry box, it had disappeared."
"Did she report the loss to the police?"
"That very morning, but nothing else was missing from her home, and there was no sign of a break-in. She's had the same cleaning woman and gardener for years, and insists a stranger must have entered her home and stolen the ring on a day both she and her husband were out."
"Why wouldn't a thief have taken everything in her jewelry box, or the box itself?" Joe asked.
"My thoughts exactly. Daniel is recently retired, and he's in and out of the house as well as his wife, but one or the other is usually at home."
"So with no date for the loss, or evidence of a break-in, you suspect fraud?" Joe asked.
"That's the question I want you to answer." Hal handed Joe a California West Insurance identification card. "Will you talk to the couple and give me your opinion on them? We'll double your usual fee, plus a bonus if you locate the ring."
Joe would gratefully add it to the wedding fund. "I'll be happy to speak with them. If the man is retired, he might be short of money and could have pawned the ring without telling his wife."
"Or maybe just sold it, but California West isn't paying their claim without being certain it's an actual loss." He pulled the couple's contact information from his breast pocket. "Your visit might be enough to inspire them to tell the truth. Threaten jail time for fraud if you need to." There was no mistaking the seriousness of Hal's mood.
"I hope I won't have to go that far."
"So do I. On a lighter note, how are the wedding plans coming along?"
"Mary Margaret is such a terrific gal. I adore her, but planning a wedding in Seattle is way beyond me."
Hal rose with him. "Let her handle everything. All a groom has to do is show up on time."
If the ceremony were going to be in Los Angeles, Joe would have asked Hal to be his best man. He supposed he'd have to ask one of Mary Margaret's brothers. She'd choose one to escort her down the aisle, and he hoped the other one would be gracious about being his best man. He'd hate for their marriage to begin with trouble between her brothers, but not having met them, he couldn't help but fear the worst.
* * *
Once back at his office, Joe called the MacNaughtons and introduced himself as an investigator with California West. He made an appointment to see them that afternoon at four o'clock. They lived in a quiet West Los Angeles neighborhood in a brick home with sparkling white shutters and window trim. The lawn was a verdant green and the flowerbeds filled with yellow chrysanthemums in full-bloom. Joe strode up the walk, and rang the doorbell.
Emily came to the door. She was a petite woman who stared up at him through her glasses with an inquisitive owl-like glance. "Mr. Ezell? I'm so pleased to meet you. I miss my ring terribly, and hope to replace it soon."
Daniel waited for them in the living room. He extended his hand, but dropped Joe's after a perfunctory shake. The room was comfortably furnished in greens of varying hues, and Joe chose a leather armchair. Emily and Daniel sat together on the sofa. She moved close and clutched her husband's arm.
Emily repeated the same story Hal had told him. She impressed Joe as being sincere, while Daniel stared at the rug. He was a chubby fellow with thinning gray hair, and let his wife do all the talking.
"I'll check with the police for reports of robberies in the area. Have any of your neighbors mentioned suffering any losses?"
Emily glanced at Daniel, who shrugged. "No, but I've been too embarrassed to tell anyone my ring is gone. That it was in a jewelry box that doesn't even have a lock makes it seem as though I'm careless with my things, which I assure you isn't the case."
"You don't recall coming home and finding a window open or a door unlocked that you were certain you had locked when you left?" Joe asked.
"No, not even once. What about you, honey?" she asked.
Daniel shook his head. "No. We're careful and don't leave a key under the doormat like many people do."
"That's good," Joe replied. He trusted his instincts, and while Emily projected a concerned innocence, Daniel had difficulty meeting his eye. He wouldn't admit anything in front of his wife, however.
"Mr. MacNaughton, would you please walk with me around the exterior of the house? We might see something that's been missed."
A flash of alarm crossed Daniel's expression before he leaped to his feet. "Sure. Whatever you think we need to do."
Joe ushered him out the front door before Emily could join them. He took a few steps on the lawn and looked up at the house. "This is a beautiful home."
"Yes, we've been very happy here."
Turning to face him, Joe lowered his voice, "Valuables don't just disappear. Is your wife the type who might have left the ring on the counter in the kitchen where it could have been inadvertently swept into the trash?"
Daniel concentrated on the chrysanthemums while he answered. "Oh no, never. She's not a careless woman, and she didn't wear the ring while working in the kitchen."
Guilt nearly dripped off the man. "What did you do with the ring, Mr. MacNaughton? Did you need money and sell it without telling your wife?"
Daniel took a staggering backwards step. "You've no proof of that," he stammered.
"I soon will. Insurance fraud is a serious crime, and California West will insist you're prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Drop the claim now, and we'll erase it, or you can risk prosecution if you so choose."
"I'd never meant for things to get so badly out of hand." Daniel pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. "Do you ever go to Hollywood Park or Santa Anita for the racing?" he asked.
"I've been to both places. Did you bet money on horses you couldn't afford to lose?"
Tears filled Daniel's eyes, and he reached out to clutch Joe's arm. "You won't tell my wife? She doesn't have to know, does she?"
"Tell me the truth first, and then I'll decide." Joe could be tough when he had to be, but he felt sorry for the poor guy.
"Emily believes we're comfortably well-off, and to some extent we are, but we need to watch our expenses. She can't seem to
understand that."
"Blaming the mess you've gotten yourself into on your wife won't impress anyone at California West," Joe warned. It certainly didn't impress him.
"Oh no, I'm not blaming her," he insisted. "I just thought if I won money at the track, we'd have more of a cushion."
"And not surprisingly, you were wrong?"
"Yes, I don't know how I could have been such a fool. I won quite a bit the first time I went to Hollywood Park, but then fell into a losing streak. I took Emily's ring to a jeweler, and asked him to replace the stone with one of lesser quality. I sold him the flawless stone to make up for what was missing from our savings. I didn't think Emily would ever notice."
The matter was predictably appalling, and Joe shook his head. "But Emily discovered the ring was missing before you could return it to her jewelry box?"
Sweating now, Daniel folded his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "She didn't wait for me to get home before she called California West and the police. I didn't know what to do other than to go along with the robbery story. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cheat California West. I know it's a crime."
Joe wasn't fond of sniveling. "You ought to explain what you did to your wife."
"Oh no, I could never do that. Her father was a gambler, and she'd never forgive me for risking our savings betting on horses."
"Where is her ring?" Joe asked.
"It's upstairs in my dresser. It's so beautiful, she'd never have noticed the stone had been replaced."
As Joe saw it, he'd saved California West the cost of replacing a diamond ring, which is what the job required. He couldn't walk off, however. "Go get it. When you come back, you're going to pretend you found the ring under a window where the 'thief' dropped it as he hurried away."
Daniel's face brightened with hope. "You think it will work?"
"It's worth a try if you're opposed to the truth, which is what I really recommend."
Daniel hurried around to the rear of the house to enter and returned in under a minute. "The powder room on the first floor has a window that's often left open. A thief might have used it to come and go. Let's find it there."
Joe walked with him to the side of the house where a low hedge bordered the lawn. "If the ring had been dropped in the dirt, it would have been easily recovered before the man sprinted away. Let's say a glimmer of gold caught your attention. You leaned over to investigate, and found the ring in the hedge."
"Yes! That's believable." He looked into the hedge and placed the ring on a small branch. He stepped back to make certain it could still be seen. "I'll say I found it right there should Emily want to come out and see the exact spot."
"Before you speak with her, I'd like your promise you won't do something this foolish ever again."
Daniel raised his hand. "I swear it. I'll insist we make a budget and stick to it."
"Set some money aside for taking your wife out for dinner and the movies. She also ought to have a clothing allowance."
"Entertainment, of course, I'll include it, and she loves new clothes. I'll make certain she understands we need to be more frugal now that I'm retired."
Joe followed him inside and stood back as Daniel showed Emily the ring. He was so excited to escape an insurance fraud charge every word rang true. "I'd never have found it had Mr. Ezell not suggested we check the area around the first floor windows. He deserves all the credit!"
Emily slipped the ring on her finger, hugged her husband, and then Joe. "Thank you so much, Mr. Ezell. I was so afraid my ring was lost forever. What do we do now? Are there papers to sign to withdraw the claim?"
Joe thought there must be. "I'll turn in my report, and you'll hear from California West. In the future, it would be a good idea to make certain the powder room window is closed and locked before you leave home."
"It won't be overlooked ever again," Daniel promised.
Joe walked out feeling he'd handled the job to everyone's satisfaction. Now would be a good time to visit Matteo da Milano's apartment building when residents would be getting home from work.
* * *
Streetlights coming on in the gathering dusk gave the twelve unit building on Almont Drive a pale, iridescent sparkle. Lamps brightened the windows in ten of the apartments. Joe checked the mailboxes for names. Number one had only Manager neatly printed on the card in the slot. He began there.
A tall, thin man with thick, dark hair answered the door. There was an odd twist to his mouth, as though he preferred a sneer to a smile. Joe introduced himself and handed him his business card. "I represent clients concerned with Matteo da Milano's death." He showed him the photo of the woman swathed in furs. "Does she look familiar, Mr.?"
"Perkins," he replied, and his voice held an odd hollow ring as though it echoed from his toes. "Never saw her."
"You were aware Mr. da Milano frequently had female visitors?"
"So?"
What was required was the dental approach, because getting anything worthwhile out of Perkins would be like pulling teeth. Unfortunately, Joe had yet to perfect such a useful technique. "One of those women may have killed him. That a murder happened here isn't a plus for the building."
"There's a long waiting list," Perkins replied.
"I'm sure the owners are pleased." Joe responded. "Good evening."
Perkins hesitated before closing his door. "If any of the tenants complain you're ruining their evening, I'm calling the cops."
"That would be excellent work on your part." Joe turned away, but waited until he'd heard Perkins lock his front door before he knocked at number two. The resident was listed as Winifred Lacewell, and he couldn't wait to meet her.
"Miss Lacewell?" he asked when she opened her door. He introduced himself and handed her his card.
She was a petite woman with snowy white hair, and showed charming dimples when she smiled. "It's Mrs. Lacewell, and I've no need for a detective, young man."
He explained his purpose and showed her the photo. She studied it carefully before handing it back. "I wish you luck with your investigation, but her own mother wouldn't recognize her under all those furs. I loved Matteo's music and attend the philharmonic concerts whenever I can. He'll truly be missed."
"I'm sure he will be. Keep my card. Something relevant may occur to you in a day or two." He bid her a good evening and went on to apartment three. "Mr. Ambrose?"
"Don," he corrected. "My wife and I are realtors, and we like to get to know everyone on a first name basis."
Joe explained his purpose and showed Don the photo. "She doesn't look familiar. Let me ask my wife. Sylvia, will you come here for a minute?"
Sylvia came to the door wearing an apron. "Hello, I'm Sylvia Ambrose. How do you do?"
They were a charming couple, or at least pretended to be to sell real estate. Joe waited while she studied the photo. She bit her lip and looked as though she might be some help, but then shook her head.
"I'm sorry. We meet so many people in our work, and most faces fade from memory before suppertime."
Joe left his card, thanked them, and moved on before they could quiz him on his housing needs. A Robert Galindo lived in apartment four, and he yanked open his door with an absolute vengeance. Joe nearly ducked before he caught himself. He gave his usual introduction and handed him his card.
"Have you ever seen this woman here?"
Galindo gave the photo a quick glance. "No, I'm an attorney and spend more time at my office than I do here. I'm preparing for a trial and have no time to chat about Matteo. I do love the Philharmonic orchestra when I have time to go, however. Good night."
Joe used the stairs to reach the second floor. Michael Campbell lived in apartment five. Of average height with brown hair and eyes, his lime green shirt and brightly patterned tie made him instantly memorable. Unlike his neighbors, he welcomed Joe into his home. A large modern painting hung above the fireplace. The near-blinding bright splashes of color threatened to give Joe a migraine, but he smiled as though he admired it great
ly.
Michael followed Joe's glance. "I'm an interior designer and purchase art for my clients. I'm not sure about this piece yet, but it's beginning to grow on me. Have you been in Matteo's apartment? That's my work. I did his other apartment too. He requested a traditional style there. Ho-hum in my opinion, but my work has to please my client, or I won't be paid."
"I have the very same problem. I'm sorry I haven't seen more than the entryway of Matteo's apartment. Do you know why he bore the expense of having two places so close together?"
"He wished to accommodate visitors from back east, and didn't want them underfoot. I just tell visiting family and friends to rent a hotel room." He laughed and then sighed. "I can't believe Matteo is dead. He was such an attractive man. Creative energy rolled off of him in torrents, and he inspired everyone he met."
"Apparently one person disagreed," Joe reminded him. "Have you ever seen this woman here?"
Michael carried the photo to a floor lamp for better light. "Looks like someone from New York to me. They drape themselves with furs there, and you don't see women wearing them nearly as often here in our warmer climate."
"Thank you, that's an excellent point. Please contact me if you recall something relevant."
"Of course I will. Matteo was popular with the ladies, but I'm often at my design studio until late, and don't remember sharing the elevator with any of his dates."
Sofia Ragland had apartment six. She was a tall, no nonsense type in a navy blue suit. She looked to be in her fifties, and pushed her glasses up her nose to get a better look at him. He introduced himself and showed her the photo.
She peered at it closely. "Odd outfit for California."
"Yes, others have also mentioned it. Does she look familiar in any way?"
"No one I know wears fur coats." She gave him the photo. "Good luck, every murderer ought to be caught."
"Amen to that. Thank you."
Tanya Olson, whom he'd met the day of the murder, lived in number seven. "Thank you again for calling the police. I'm checking with everyone in the building. Do you recognize the woman in this photo?"
"Did she kill Matteo?" Tanya asked, her pretty blue eyes wide.
