"Hey! Stop that! Talk to you later, Danny Boy. One of the DePinna kids is trying to tip over my candy bar machine."
So I spend the day with some other buds on the beach. Twenty-five is not too old to boogie board.
On Friday, Ceepak and I are back on days. There are no FBI bulletins to deal with, which is a good thing, because we get another 911 call from the Mussel Beach Motel.
This time it's Connie DePinna.
Somebody stole her ring.
* * * *
"It was Donna. Or that witch Jackie. Maybe they're in it together. Seriously."
Ceepak, Becca, and I are in Room 202 with Connie DePinna and her mother. They're both sitting on the edge of the bed. Becca is pacing behind us, back and forth in front of that clattering air conditioner. I can see a small dent where Billy kicked it last weekend.
Becca looks horrible. Like she hasn't had time to wash her hair, sleep, or eat. She's not even wearing a swimsuit. She's in baggy sweats.
"I swear! It was Donna and Jackie! Or their husbands!"
"You don't know that, Connie,” says mom. Her pants suit is pink today.
"I do too! They've been trying to break in and steal the ring all week!"
"How's that?” asks Ceepak.
"There have been some . . . incidents,” says Becca. “I didn't want to bother you guys again."
Connie (who is dressed in a sensible black tank suit in mourning for her lost ring) flaps her hand toward the door. “Every night this week, ever since mom gave me the freaking diamond, somebody has been trying to break down that cheap, freaking door. I'd fall asleep, and boom—two or three in the morning, someone would be banging on it. One time, I swear, I heard this guy grunting and stuff, trying to jimmy up the window. That was probably Tony, Donna's new husband. She probably put him up to it."
I grin a little because I suspect it was actually, young Mr. Bill, her fiancé, who had slipped past Mr. and Mrs. DePinna's door in the wee hours of the morning, eager for a “premarital relationship."
"Last night,” says Connie, nearly hyperventilating, “I swear, I heard a crowbar."
"And what does a crowbar sound like?” Ceepak asks without busting a gut like I would have.
"You know.” She does a quick vocal impersonation of a metal rod ripping into a metal doorframe. It involves a lot of “skreek-skreeks."
"There was damage,” says Becca. “Claw marks up near the lock. Like somebody went at it with a hammer or, like she says, a crowbar."
"We're not paying for that!” says Mrs. DePinna. “You have no proof it was somebody in our party."
"Did I ask you to pay for it?"
"No, but I heard how you just said what you said."
Becca curls her lower lip and blows out a quick blast of air, enough to send her limp blonde bangs flying up over her eyebrows. She is completely wiped out. The puffy bags under her eyes are the size of marshmallows. “I should charge you people. I haven't had any sleep all week, what with this one ringing the front desk every night at two, three, four a.m.!"
"Oh, I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you,” says Connie sarcastically. “But that's when my sisters or their husbands chose to try to break down my door."
"It's not your sisters,” screams her mother. “They didn't take the ring!"
"Then who did?"
Now the mom is pointing at Becca. “One of her maids. They're all Hispanics."
That totally burns Becca's bacon. “What?"
"Don't pretend you don't know you're hiring illegal immigrants, young lady.” The mom gets all patriotically snitty—like that nutjob on Fox. “I'm surprised your Mexican employees haven't stolen everything out of all our rooms!"
"They're hardworking, decent people,” says Becca practically shouting. I think the DePinnas have officially worked her last nerve, as my mother used to say whenever I, you know, worked her last nerve. “They're better than you and your family, that's for sure!"
Mrs. DePinna doesn't like that. “The Better Business Bureau is going to hear about this! Today! I'm mailing that letter!"
"Fine!” snaps Becca. “I'll give you the freaking stamp!"
"Don't think I won't!"
Ceepak stands.
"Enough,” he says. “Becca, please wait for us downstairs in the office. Mrs. DePinna, kindly return to your room and call your other daughters. Ms. DePinna, contact your fiancé. Please advise everyone that my partner and I will be coming around to ask them a few questions."
"What?” says Connie. “When?"
"Now."
"I have a manicure appointment."
"Cancel it."
The way Ceepak says that, I know we're not leaving the Mussel Beach Motel until the ring is found or somebody confesses to stealing it.
* * * *
Our interrogations begin with the bride-to-be.
"When did you notice your ring was missing?” says Ceepak.
"Like an hour ago."
"Had you taken it off your finger?"
"Well, duh. My sisters are vicious old hags but I don't think they'd chop my finger off to get at the diamond."
"Of course. But, last Saturday, you told us you never intended to take the ring off."
"Well, I didn't mean never never. Rings can make your skin kind of skanky underneath, especially if you spend a ton of time in the pool, which I have to do. For my tan. I want to look good in my wedding dress. It's white. You need a tan to wear white, especially a backless."
"Where did you store the ring?"
She flicks her naked hand with the ring tan line toward the bedside table. “Usually in there. Next to the Bible."
"Was anything else missing?"
"From the drawer? Nope. The Bible's still there. The Yellow Pages. Billy's condoms."
She freezes.
Then, she tries to make us think she's a cute Kewpie doll by crossing her legs, putting two fingers to her lips, and saying, “Oops."
Ceepak is not susceptible to cute.
"Has your fiancé been a frequent visitor to your room during your time here at the motel?"
"Maybe. You won't tell my parents, will you?"
"No. Unless they specifically ask me about it."
Then he'll tell them the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth because, so help him, God, Ceepak is a lot like George Washington with an axe in one hand and a slice of cherry pie in the other.
"Billy's been down here a couple times."
"Last night?"
"Yeah. After the thing with the crowbar. I was scared. I called the girl in the office and she came up with flashlight and all but couldn't catch my sisters or their husbands in the act. This was like three a.m."
"Go on."
"Well, after she left, I still couldn't sleep, so I texted Billy. He was down here in like ten seconds flat."
"Were you wearing the diamond during your intimate encounter last night?"
"What?"
Ceepak sort of blushes. So I jump in. “Did you keep the ring on when, you know, you took everything else off?"
"That's none of your freaking business."
"Yes, ma'am, it is,” says Ceepak. “We need to establish when your ring might have been off your finger in order to pinpoint when it might have been stolen.
Connie looks down at the floor. “It pulled out Billy's hair."
"Come again?"
"The Galuppi. When I ran my hands through Billy's hair when, you know, we were kissing and stuff, it got snagged. When I yanked it out, it ripped out a huge clump of hair."
"So you took it off?"
"Yeah. Billy told me to."
"Did you store it in the drawer?"
"I can't remember. I was kind of caught up in the moment, you know?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I might've just tossed it on the top of the table. Yes. I remember, later, when, you know, Billy was . . . when we were . . . it was kind of taking forever . . ."
Ceepak nods to let her know he doesn't need the graphic details on that part of the show.
<
br /> "I guess I got a little bored and looked over to admire the ring cause it was right there on top of the table, sitting in front of the lamp, which has all those pretty seashells in the glass bottom there, and the moonlight was streaming through the crack in the curtains, I swear it was like I was looking at a jewelry ad in Modern Bride magazine."
"And then Billy left?"
"I'm not sure. I fell asleep first."
"But he had to head back to his room,” I toss in. “Before your parents woke up."
"I guess. Yeah. He was gone when I woke up."
Ceepak strokes his chin. Thinks. “Did you put the ring back on first thing this morning?"
"Gosh,” says Connie. “Wow. I can't remember. Guess I was still kind of sleepy. I put on my bathing suit, went down to the pool, did a couple laps. Went to the office for some coffee and one of those powdered doughnut holes they put out. A box from the grocery store. Very cheap buffet. They really shouldn't call it a breakfast bar."
"What happened next?"
"After the doughnut hole, I went back to the pool. Let one of the nieces paint my toenails. Read my bride magazine some more."
"When did you notice the ring wasn't on your finger?"
"When my sister Jackie came out to the pool with her kids. The boys were eating Doritos for breakfast, can you believe it? Doritos and Fanta Orange because it's sort of like orange juice. Anyway, Jackie says, ‘So where are the Galuppi family jewels this morning?’ I look at my finger, see nothing but a white circle, nearly have a heart attack. I look up at the second floor. I see a maid pushing her cart right past my room and Donna's husband Tommy lugging an ice chest down the staircase. The blonde girl from the office is carrying towels and junk up on the balcony. I see Billy come out of his room, yawning and stuff. Everybody is going about their totally normal business, which makes me freak out! I say, ‘Oh my gawd, oh my gawd,’ kick away the niece working on my nails, almost slip on the stairs running up them in my bare feet, run to my room and—” Her eyes widen. “—my door was ajar. It was open!"
"Had you locked it when you left?"
"I don't know! I can't remember. I had to go downstairs to get coffee because this hotel is so chintzy there's no coffeemakers in the room and Billy had brought a couple beers with him when he dropped by at four a.m. so I was kind of muzzy headed this morning, you know what I mean?"
I can relate. One time, after a night of highly competitive beer pong, I left my apartment wearing one sneaker, one sandal, and one sock.
"I looked everywhere for the ring. I swear. The bedside table, the drawer, the dresser, on top of the TV. I even crawled under the bed!"
"And this was what time?” asks Ceepak.
"About an hour ago. I ran outside and started screaming, ‘Call 911, call 911.’”
Which, obviously, somebody did.
"So,” says Ceepak, “the ring went missing sometime between four a.m., when your fiancé requested that you remove it, and eleven a.m., when you realized it was missing. A seven-hour window. Tell me, does Billy have a key to your room?"
Connie nods. “They gave me two when I checked in. Don't tell my parents. Please?"
"I will not volunteer any unsolicited information. Danny?"
"Yeah?"
"We need to talk to Billy."
We sure do. Billy may not have enjoyed being upstaged by his mother-in-law-to-be in the diamond department. Maybe he took the Galuppi family diamond with him when he made his early morning escape so the engagement ring he gave his future wife wouldn't look so ridiculously tiny for the rest of their married life. Either that, or he needed to finance his upcoming honeymoon.
* * * *
There's a small bar out back of the Mussel Beach Motel. It's actually a blue wedding tent attached to a shed where Becca's dad keeps the booze—and where Becca and I snuck in one winter when we were fourteen and played piña colada with the blenders.
It's noon and the cranky bartender (Becca's cousin Bernie) is serving beer to his only customer. Billy. He's sitting in an aluminum patio chair with blue and white vinyl straps.
"Sir?” says Ceepak.
"Yeah?"
"We need to ask you a few questions."
Billy gestures to the empty chairs circling his table. “It's a free country, dudes."
Ceepak and I sit.
"You guys need a drink?” asks bartender Bernie from inside the serving hut, which is like a double-wide garden shed.
"No thank you,” says Ceepak.
"Danny?"
"I'm good.” Hey, even my code says you don't drink when you're on the job, especially if the job includes carrying a loaded sidearm.
"Billy,” says Ceepak, “we know you were with Ms. DePinna last night."
"Really?” He gets this cocky look on his face. “Which one?"
"Connie,” I say. “Your fiancée."
Now he winks at me. “We ain't married yet, bro."
"Meaning what?” asks Ceepak.
"Meaning I may be engaged but I'm not dead!” He wheezes up a laugh. “Her sisters are pretty hot too. So's that chick at the front desk. Becky."
"Becca,” I say.
"Friend of yours?"
"Yes,” says Ceepak.
"You should tell her to, you know, put some cucumbers on her eyes or something. Dude—she looks like she hasn't slept in a week."
Probably because she hasn't.
Ceepak cuts to the chase. “When you snuck out of Ms. DePinna's bedroom this morning at four a.m., did you take her diamond ring with you?"
"What? No way. I gave it to her."
"We mean the other one,” I say.
"Oh. Right. Nah. I don't wear much jewelry. Just the one earring."
"You are aware, of course, of the diamond's value?” says Ceepak.
"Sure I am. I bought it."
I jump in again: “The other one!"
He shrugs. “Couple hundred bucks, I guess. Maybe a thousand."
"Guess again,” says Ceepak.
"Really?"
Ceepak nods. “A similar heart-shaped diamond weighing two carats and of comparable color and clarity has a list price of twenty-eight thousand three hundred dollars on the Tiffany Web site."
Ceepak. The man does his homework.
"Dude!” is all Billy says. Then he says it again. “Dude!"
Ceepak looks at me. “Danny?” He head-bobs left, indicating we should leave.
Because Billy is obviously way too dumb to realize that he snagged his hair on close to thirty thousand dollars last night.
Billy attacks the keys of his cell phone with blazing thumbs, no doubt texting all his dudes and bros to let them know that, as soon as he's married, he's going to hock his wife's heirloom ring and buy a new truck.
It's time for Ceepak and me to talk to the sisters.
* * * *
Donna and Jackie DePinna are parked poolside with their kids, about six of them, even though it seems like more because the dark-haired terrors are midget-sized maniacs who enjoy screaming, splashing all the water out of Becca's pool, and bopping each other on the butt with tubular flotation devices.
"Knock it off, Little Tony,” says Jackie.
"Is Tony your son?” asks Donna.
"Fine. You tell him."
"He's a boy. He needs to burn off energy."
"Like your husband?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. But I saw how he was looking at that waitress last night."
"What waitress?"
"At Pinky's Shrimp. The one with the big bazoombas."
Donna straightens up in her chair. “He doesn't have to leave home if we wants to look at that."
"He does if he wants to see real ones."
A girl screams. Somebody chokes.
"Hey, little Tony! Cut that out. Don't drown your cousin. Come over here and drown your aunt."
Ceepak clears his throat. “Ladies?"
Jackie slides her sunglasses down her nose, squints at us over the top of
the frames. “What?"
"We need to ask you both a few questions."
Donna coyly pulls her knees up to her chest. “Are you two trying to find our baby sister's ring?"
"Yes, ma'am,” says Ceepak.
Jackie shakes her thick black hair. “Connie is so immature. She always loses everything."
Ceepak turns to Donna. “Your sister mentioned that she saw your husband, Thomas—"
"Tommy. No one calls him Thomas, only his mother and only when she's mad at him."
"Like when he's leering at eighteen-year-old waitresses,” snipes Jackie.
Donna twirls in her recliner. “Your husband's no saint. He was staring at her rib bumpers too!"
"Prove it."
"What? You think I snapped pictures of him drooling in his shrimp basket?"
"Ladies?” Ceepak sounds like the referee at the Roller Derby. “Your sister Connie tells us she saw Tommy on the second floor terrace right before she discovered that her ring had gone missing. He was carrying an ice chest."
"Because the ice machine upstairs was out of ice so he had to come down here and that machine was out of ice, too."
"Our husbands both went fishing with our father,” says Jackie. “Like always, the men abandoned us. Went off to have their fun, left us here to deal with the mess.” She flicks her hands toward the assorted children. “So when exactly do we get our vacation, huh?"
"Mommy?” a girl screams from the pool.
"What?” Donna screams back.
"I think Joey pooped his pants."
"So sniff his diaper."
"Gross."
"I didn't poop,” hollers a boy in SpongeBob water wings. “I just peed."
Now Donna waves her hand dismissively. “He just peed."
I'm wondering how much chlorine Becca has to dump into her swimming pool on a daily basis to stop it from turning into a crystal blue community cesspool.
"Ladies?” says Ceepak, trying to regain their attention.
But then a girl with a headless baby doll starts screaming while this boy runs around the pool holding the hairy little plastic head in his hand.
"No running!” shouts Ceepak.
"Are you telling my children what to do?” snaps Jackie.
"The tile is wet. He could slip."
Right on cue, the boy slips. Bangs his head on the concrete.
Now he's bawling too.
Ceepak snaps open a cargo pocket on his pants leg, whips out a miniature first-aid kit. He rushes to the howling boy.
AHMM, June 2010 Page 5
