A Box Full of Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

“Oh, Mom. Vinnie Richlieu? Really?”

  “Julia, we’ve known the Richlieus forever. Your cousin Grace is married to Vinnie—Vincent’s third cousin on his mother’s side.” Her mother stirred her now cold cup of coffee. “And you remember Vincent from middle school. He’s quite grown out of his acne and braces.”

  “Mom, I’ll get the security system. I’ll add flood lights, motion activated lights, to the house. I’ll even call every night when I get home. But I draw the line at Vinnie Richlieu.”

  Audrey Hampton smoothed the immaculate surface of the Irish linen tablecloth. “I understand.” She rose from her chair and picked up her cup and saucer and turned toward the kitchen. “Your father will be so disappointed.”

  Julia groaned inwardly. Her mother had fired the winning shot. Her comment was code for a command appearance. She spoke in the language of Southern women. Women who never raised their voices, never quarreled, who never made outright demands. That code was universal throughout the South and it always achieved the desired result.

  “And, Julia,” her mother said, “wear something with sleeves before it occurs to your father to question all the Band-Aids on your arm.”

  * * *

  Sandra looked up from the reception desk when Julia pushed through the front door of The Weatherby Insurance Agency.

  “Julia!” She was all smiles. “Did you get my email?”

  Julia, who had just survived a bad night, and it could be argued, a worse morning, was at a loss as to what Sandra was referring.

  Sandra must have read the lost expression on her face. She said, “The website. You know. Doug’s profile.”

  “Doug’s profile?” Julia frowned then she remembered. “Douglas. Douglas Heinz.”

  “Yes!” Sandra looked as if she would pop with barely suppressed excitement. “Isn’t he a dream?”

  Julia smiled at Sandra’s enthusiasm and her own memory of the website photo. “Not bad. If it’s a real photo of a real guy. Everyone lies on those sites.”

  “No, no, no.” Sandra shook her head. “He’s as real as they come. I know because we posted the profile.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Debbie.”

  Debbie was the secretary for the claims adjustor for The Weatherby Insurance Agency.

  “So who is he?’

  “The new guy.”

  “The new—Wait. What new guy?”

  “Well, not new, new. He’s been here almost a year.”

  “Now I see why he looked so familiar. I must have glimpsed him around the office at some point.” She dug around in her briefcase and came up with a daily reminder. “I have an appointment…”

  “Julia!” Sandra slapped her hands on the desk. “What about Doug?”

  Julia raised her gaze from the page of her daily reminder. “What about him?”

  “Don’t you want to—you know—ping him?”

  “Ping him,” Julia said in amazement while she silently thought, matchmakers to the left of me, matchmakers to the right of me. “I’m not going to date some guy who has to resort to the internet to get someone to go out with him.” All the time she was really thinking loser.

  “But he didn’t.” Sandra looked crushed.

  “I’m sorry,” Julia’s eyebrows rose in question, “didn’t what?”

  “He didn’t post the profile. We did. Me and Debbie.”

  “You mean he doesn’t know?”

  Sandra shook her head.

  “Oops.”

  Julia could see doubt spreading across Sandra’s face and wished she had held her tongue.

  “You don’t think he’ll be mad?”

  What to say? Julia knew she would be spitting mad if any of her friends pulled such a stunt on her.

  “Maybe not. If he’s such a great guy I’m sure he’ll take the news in the spirit in was intended.”

  Just then the door to the inner offices of the insurance agency flew open and none other than Douglas Heinz marched into the reception area. “Sandra.”

  Sandra stood so quickly her chair flew back against the partition wall.

  “What are all these messages in my inbox? And what the heck is Couples Connection?”

  Julia couldn’t help but notice that Douglas Heinz looked even more attractive when his dark eyes flashed with what appeared to be more than a little anger.

  “D-d-doug,” Sandra stammered. “Douglas Heinz, this is Julia Hampton.”

  Doug nodded in Julia’s direction, then took a breath in preparation for what Julia was sure would be a diatribe at Sandra. But he stopped as if in mid-thought and turned back to Julia.

  “Julia Hampton?”

  “Yes.”

  All the anger disappeared from his expression. “The private detective of The Hampton Detective Agency?”

  Julia smiled. “One and the same.”

  “What brings you to The Weatherby Agency?”

  “An appointment with Peter Ryder.”

  “Too bad. I was hoping it had something to do with the prank Debbie and Sandra have gotten me into.”

  “Prank?” Julia knew he was flirting and she liked that he was. Who wouldn’t trade Vinnie Richlieu for this single, thirty-two, fairly new to the area, antique car enthusiast?

  Douglas Heinz revealed a perfect row of pearly whites and said, “It seems I’ve been languishing on the shelf for too long, in their opinion.”

  “Ah,” Julia said. “So Couples Connection isn’t a marriage counseling service?”

  “If it is, the ladies have made a grave mistake.”

  “How so?”

  “I have no wife, no significant other, no better half.”

  “A pity.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  Julia was accustomed to male attention. Doug’s flirting didn’t make her blush. She realized she was enjoying it. But she was here on business. She smiled at Douglas Heinz then returned her attention to Sandra who was beaming like the mother of a newborn baby.

  “Sandra, would you let Peter know I’m here?”

  “Oh,” Sandra said. “He isn’t here. In fact I can’t find him.”

  “Since when?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. He checked in after his morning appointment then was a no-show for his two o’clock.”

  Doug said, “I saw him just before lunch yesterday. Have you tried his home?”

  “Home, cell, and beeper. I can’t reach him anywhere.” Sandra frowned. “It’s not like him to simply duck out on his appointments.”

  Julia returned her calendar to her briefcase. “I’ll try to reach him and reschedule. Let me know when he checks in.”

  Doug touched Julia’s arm lightly. “How about a cup of coffee? I mean now that your calendar is open.”

  Julia thought about the disarray still awaiting her at her office but then she looked at the invitation in Doug’s eyes and allowed herself to be swayed.

  Chapter Two

  The night had turned cool for September in Savannah. The following day held a crispness that Julia loved. Autumn was her favorite time of the year. The alfresco tables at Aldopho’s had been the perfect choice for the dinner invitation Julia had, over coffee with Douglas Heinz the previous day, turned into the more innocuous lunch they had just enjoyed. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror of the powder room where she had just reapplied her lipstick. There was potential here, she decided. Doug was witty, intelligent, and a far cry from Vinnie Richlieu.

  He waited on the sidewalk outside the entrance to the restaurant and turned to her with a smile as she came through the door. The slant of the autumnal sun etched his face in sharp contrasts of light and shadow. Sunglasses hid his eyes. For an instant his expression brought a wolfish image to Julia’s mind. It passed before the thought could fully take hold as he reached out his hand to her and threaded her arm through his.

  They turned down the sidewalk in the direction where Doug had parked his classic 1966 Ferrari Spyder a block and a half away.

  “So,” Doug said as
he snugged her arm more securely in the crook of his elbow, “did I pass muster? Table manners up to par? Proper wine selection? Passable meaningless conversation?”

  Julia laughed. “You’ll do in a pinch.”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “A compliment of the highest magnitude, coming from the daughter of Woodrow Hampton, as in The Bank of Savannah Hamptons?”

  Although he posited his statement as a question, Julia felt a slight let down for she knew that knowledge changed things. She didn’t allow her disappointment to show but said in a like teasing manner, “Oh, my, yes. Or as we in the family refer to it, The Bank.”

  “As everyone in Savannah refers to it as well, probably even in the hallowed halls of Wharton Business School.” He sighed. “Worse luck.”

  Julia kept her tone light and teasing. “Why’s that?”

  Doug stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face her as her arm slipped from his. “Because I like you.”

  “Okay. And why is that bad luck?”

  “Pretty girl, old family, rich and powerful daddy. He’s probably running a background check on me as we speak.”

  The smile faded from her expression. “And what will he find?”

  Doug lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “Middle class, state college educated, nose to the grindstone average Joe.”

  She thought of the expensive classic car he drove. Vulgar as her mother thought the habit, her job had taught her to assign value to rare objects of beauty. The Ferrari was probably worth more than half a million dollars. Doug wasn’t such an average Joe as he pretended.

  “Well, in that case,” she said, the humor returning to her voice, “you’re perfectly safe from Daddy’s objections. He knows I’m only interested in equally old family, rich, and powerful contenders.”

  Doug grinned and they turned back along their path. “Thank god. I didn’t think I could dodge that bullet.”

  “Well, since you now know you’re safe from my feminine wiles, I have a favor to ask.”

  “A damsel in distress? Is that your ploy?”

  “I find it works on occasion.”

  “Okay,” he said, “lead me down the primrose path.”

  “There’s an event I have to attend on Friday evening. One of those fusty old gatherings to grace the anointed with my presence.”

  “Command performance?”

  Julia sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then I’m at your service. Where and what time shall I pick you up?”

  “Black tie at the The Club and seven o’clock.”

  “Black tie, huh. And The Club would be, of course, The Savannah Golf Club.”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  He laughed. “Well, count me…”

  The words died on his lips as they came abreast of his car. The pristine red paint had the letters D I C scratched deeply into the hood. A long keyed scratch traveled down the passenger side from front to back.

  “Son-of…” He paled, snatched his sunglasses off, and ran his hand over his eyes if to erase the image. “What in the hell!”

  “My god, Doug.” Julia stared at the damage. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Doug turned from the car, his back to Julia. She saw his shoulders draw in as if in pain for just a second then his posture straightened, his shoulders squared and he turned back toward the car. There was a change in his voice when he spoke, a deadly quality that caused Julia to take a small step back. His words belied his expression. “Vandals.” He cleared his throat. “Damn, fool kids, probably.”

  “Surely not.” Julia’s gaze settled on the capital letters across the hood of the car. They were deep and the lines sharp and smooth as if done quickly, as if the perpetrator were in a rage, no hesitation, just violence. Kids would perhaps key the side of the car, maybe even try to steal the Ferrari emblem, but would they be so wrathful as to gouge letters deeply into the hood?

  Julia dug into her purse and brought out her cell phone. “I’ll call the police.”

  Doug’s reaction was immediate. “No!” He raised his hand, palm toward her in a placating gesture. “No. Let’s not get bogged down in legalities. We’ll never know who did it and,” he sighed and dropped his hand, “it’s insured.”

  She had already punched in 911. “But it has to be documented. You know better than anyone how difficult a claim on a car this rare will be to negotiate.” As he started to protest again, she turned slightly from him. The dispatcher was on the line. “Yes, there’s been an act of vandalism…” From the corner of her eye she saw Doug jam his sunglasses onto his face and turn his head from her. She gave the dispatcher the particulars of their location and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Doug. It’s such a beautiful car.”

  He turned back to face her, shrugged then adjusted the knot in his tie. Before he could speak, an unmarked dark sedan came to a screeching halt in the street on the driver’s side of Doug’s car.

  The tall drink of water who unfolded himself from the driver’s seat had Julia’s full attention. When he walked around the hood to stand in front of her and Doug she had to suppress a sigh.

  “Hello, Doug. What seems to be the problem?” He removed his Ray-Bans and glanced at Julia then back to Doug.

  “Mitchell.” Doug rolled his shoulders and squared his stance. “What are you doing here?”

  “Heard the call from dispatch.” He lifted his hand in a nonchalant gesture. “I was in the area and thought I’d check it out.”

  Julia took in the dark, nondescript sedan with antennas sprouting from the back and cleared her throat.

  Doug looked down at the sidewalk, gave a small shake of his head, then made the introductions. “Julia, this is Mitchell Lawson. Lawson, this is Julia. She helps Peter Ryder occasionally.”

  Julia inclined her head slightly taking in Mitch’s jeans and plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled back revealing tanned forearms and a serious watch. She let her gaze travel down to long fingers, no ring. “And you know Doug how?”

  “College. Looked him up when I got assigned here from Tampa. Heard he was in insurance.”

  “Assigned?”

  Doug smoothed his tie into place. “Mitch is a U. S. Deputy Marshal.”

  “Oh.”

  Mitch smiled. “It sounds more dangerous than it is. The truth of the matter is I’m just another paper pusher.”

  He didn’t look like any paper pusher Julia had ever seen. In fact, there was an air of strength and perhaps even a hint of danger about him. “And you needed insurance?”

  At that comment, his smile reached his eyes. “Doesn’t everybody?” Then he looked down at the Ferrari’s hood and said, “Ouch.”

  Julia let her gaze slide over the damage to the car and frowned. “It just seems so violent, more than some kid keying a car or cutting a ragtop.” When she glanced up she caught Mitch Lawson studying her and she returned his regard with an equally unflinching once over.

  He grinned just as a patrol car drew up behind his sedan. Julia felt her face grow hot.

  Mitch took out his phone and snapped several photos of the damaged car, slipped it back into his pocket and with a mock salute to Doug, got behind the wheel of the sedan and drove away.

  * * *

  Mitch sat at his desk, reared back in his chair, and scrolled through the photos he had taken at the scene of the vandalism to Douglas Heinz’s Ferrari. The one that held his attention had nothing to do with the car or Doug. When he first stepped around the hood and got a good look at the blond standing there, the old movie Rear Window popped into his head. She was his Grace Kelly. He grunted and sat up straight at his desk. Well, she wasn’t his Grace Kelly. But who was she, this Julia no-last-name? And what was someone that classy doing with my old friend Doug?

  He had to agree with Julia. The damage to Doug’s car was not some idle act of destruction for its own sake. It had been personal. Mitch looked across the room at a deputy sitting at another desk. “Hey, Jones. We need to tighten surveillance on Pretty Boy.”
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  Jones looked up from a stack of files on his desk, a scowl on his face. “What’s up?”

  “Not sure. But someone is very unhappy with him right now. Let’s hope it isn’t someone from the old neighborhood.”

  Jones glanced at the stack of files and sighed. “I’m not sure which I hate more, paper work or surveillance.” He stood and caught his jacket off the back of his chair. “Home or office?”

  “You take home. I’ll send Handel to cover the office.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Legwork.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Mitch grinned and logged into his computer. He did a search for Peter Ryder. He already knew Ryder worked for the Weatherby Insurance Agency. He knew about all the people at Doug’s place of employment. That was part of his job. What Mitch didn’t know was what possible help someone like Julia could render an insurance adjustor.

  A quick background check revealed a fifty-six year old native of Savannah employed for the past twenty-three years by The Weatherby Insurance Agency as their in-house claims adjustor. The tax records valued his house at just over two hundred thousand. He drove a four-year-old Ford Explorer. Still making payments on it. No red flags there.

  Next he searched for all the affiliates for the insurance agency. As he read down the list of everything from office products suppliers to the local newspaper’s ad department, he saw The Hampton Detective Agency. On a hunch he typed the name into a new search.

  “Well, well, well.” So, Julia no-last-name was, in fact, Julia Hampton. The same Julia Hampton who had just been hired by the insurance agency Doug Heinz worked for to investigate two major art thefts. The same Julia Hampton that Dougie had been so reluctant for him to meet.

  * * *

  The days were getting shorter and the slant of the sun lower in the southern sky. The Italianate building that housed The Weatherby Insurance Agency cast a long shadow across Jefferson Street. Mitch closed the door of the sedan and looked up and down the block. This particular area of the historic district didn’t get as much tourist foot traffic as the well-marketed squares. He spotted Handel three buildings down at a sidewalk coffee bar reading a book.