by Terry Odell
Randy stood there, in charcoal slacks, a black and white tweed sweater over a gray shirt—and a tie. Had he worn a tie for her? The smile stayed on her face all the way down to his truck.
It wasn’t long before they’d left Pine Hills behind. Traffic was light, and Sarah enjoyed watching the sky turn pink with the approaching sunset.
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Randy said. “It’s nice to get away from work. Thanks for inviting me.”
“We’ll both have to thank Maggie.”
“You never said what we’re going to see tonight.”
“The Mousetrap. Agatha Christie. It’s a mystery. Right up your alley.”
“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”
“How are Starsky and Hutch?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she studied him more closely and saw shadows under his eyes. She hadn’t talked to him since Tuesday night. Had something happened to them? She wished she could suck back the words, not remind him.
“No change. But at least they’re not getting worse.” His voice was flat, but controlled.
Sarah felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “I’m so glad. Othello’s home, but he’s really weak. How old are you?” Where had that come from?
He looked at her, eyebrows lifted. “Thirty-four. Why?”
“No reason. It occurred to me that I don’t know a whole lot about you. We haven’t talked about much other than your detective work. Maybe we can forget it for tonight.”
“You’re probably right, but turnabout is fair play. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight. At least for another few months.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“Ever come close?”
“No again.” Randy reached over and let his hand rest on Sarah’s thigh. “The closest I came was a two-year on-again, off-again relationship that’s been over for at least six years. She realized I cared more about my police work than going to fancy parties to meet all the right people, and I realized I couldn’t stand fancy parties.”
He took his hand away to shift gears after a red light changed to green. Sarah noticed that his hand didn’t come back. She’d spent all afternoon asking herself these questions and now they were all pouring out. He must think she was giving him the third degree. And about his love life. Darn!
“What do you want for dinner?” she asked, desperate to change the subject. “Italian, maybe, since we didn’t have that Monday?”
“Sounds good to me.”
When Randy said nothing for several miles, Sarah pleaded with him. “It’s your turn. Ask me something. Anything.”
“What kind of shampoo do you use?”
“What? What kind of a question is that?”
“You said ask you anything. So, answer.”
“Thriftway’s Peach Blossom. But I meant something more personal. I was rude asking you all those questions. I thought you’d like to get back at me.”
“That was a personal question. The scent of your hair is one heck of a turn on.” Randy’s expression was dead earnest.
“I’m blushing, aren’t I?”
“And it’s very becoming.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I think I’ll sit here and look out the window and keep my mouth shut.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah and Randy worked their way across the row of seats and settled into wait for the play to begin. Dinner conversation had been comfortable, and she thought Randy had forgiven her for the questions she’d thrown at him on the drive. Thinking of them still made her cringe.
The lights dimmed and she glanced at Randy. These seats weren’t designed for someone his height. He had slouched down as a courtesy to the people behind him and his knees were practically under his chin. She patted his leg. He smiled and whispered, “I’m used to it.”
Strains of Three Blind Mice sounded from the stage. The curtain rose to darkness and a woman’s scream. Sarah reached for Randy’s hand and settled back to enjoy the play.
Halfway through the first scene, “Mrs. Boyle” entered and recited her first line, “This is Monkswell Manor, I presume.”
Something about that voice made Sarah sit bolt upright in her seat. She leaned forward waiting to hear more, imagining the woman dressed in a sophisticated suit rather than the trappings of a sensible dowager. She felt Randy pry her hand from his. She must have hurt him, she’d been squeezing so hard. She leaned toward him and he lowered his head so she could whisper in his ear. “That’s her. That’s my Gertie. Mrs. Boyle. I’d know that voice anywhere.”
A not-so-polite throat clearing came from the row behind them. Randy squeezed her hand gently and nodded, putting his finger to his lips. Sarah could barely contain herself for the rest of the first scene. During the brief pause before scene two, she saw Randy studying the playbill.
“I don’t want to disrupt the play,” he whispered. “I’ve got her name and I’m sure we can find her.”
“I hope you don’t mind me giving it away, but I know the play. She’s going to get killed at the end of the first act. She might not stay for curtain calls.”
“She’s got no reason to think you’re here. The playbill says the cast comes out to the lobby to chat with the audience after the performance. If you give me a positive ID, I can arrest her tonight.”
The curtains opened and Sarah had to restrain herself from leaping up and pulling Gertie—Mrs. Boyle—Harriett Pickett, according to the program, off the stage.
During intermission, Randy called the Cottonwood police. Sarah fidgeted in her seat now that it looked like they’d caught Gertie. Her Gertie.
The rest of the play passed in a blur. As soon as the house lights came up, Randy and Sarah moved toward the lobby, where two uniformed police officers waited. Randy identified himself and spoke to them. They nodded and one walked down a side corridor.
“What did you say? Where’s he going?” Sarah asked.
“He’s going to let the manager know what’s going on, but we’re going to be cool and not do anything until after this meet-and-greet business is over. Assuming she’s the right person, Cottonwood will keep her in custody and we can question her at their station.”
“She’s the right person. I know it.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but I want you to look again out here where the light is better and you can see her up close. She was in costume up there, and in stage makeup.”
“It’s her. It’s her,” Sarah insisted. Randy put his hand on her shoulder.
By now, members of the audience milled around the lobby waiting to see the cast. Gertie arrived first. Randy held Sarah back.
“Take it easy,” he said. “Slow and careful.”
Sarah took a deep breath and studied the actress who had played Mrs. Boyle. There was no doubt in her mind that the woman was Gertie, and she told Randy so.
“Wait with the officers by the door,” Randy said and approached the woman.
Sarah joined the uniformed men and gave them a polite nod. The drone of conversation in the lobby made it impossible to hear what Randy was saying. She watched the woman’s eyes widen when Randy pulled out his badge. The woman shook her head. She seemed more confused than afraid.
Randy brought the woman to where Sarah waited. “Harriett has agreed to explain what she did,” he said.
“Come on back to the green room,” Harriett said. “I’m sure we can clear up this little misunderstanding.”
The woman’s voice had lost the arrogant sophistication Sarah had noticed in the shop. Now that she wasn’t playing a role, a Midwestern twang took over. Sarah followed the officers down the corridor.
Inside the green room, which was actually a pleasant shade of peach, Harriett fidgeted on the edge of a brown vinyl armchair as she talked to Randy. “I can’t believe this is happening. I was assured everything was taken care of. Like I told you out there, I’m sure if you check with your superiors, you’ll find this is all a big misunderstandi
ng. He told me everything was cleared.”
“He? This guy have a name?” Randy asked. He pulled out his notebook and pen.
Randy leaned into Harriett’s personal space. His size alone was intimidating. Those extra few inches of encroachment would make anyone uncomfortable. She saw him at work now, doing his job. A quick thrill of excitement ran through her, and she almost forgot she was the victim of this so-called misunderstanding.
“Of course he had a name,” Harriett said. “I don’t remember it offhand, because I dealt with him by phone. I remember better when I see someone.”
Randy’s pen clicked and he leaned in a little closer. “Go on,” he said.
Harriett sat up straight, her hands in her lap. “He told me he needed someone to do a small job in Pine Hills. A practical joke. There was good money in it for me for a morning’s work.”
“Tell me exactly what the job was,” Randy said.
Harriett fussed with her skirt, tugging it over her knees. She studied her fingers as she spoke. “He said he’d been trying to talk his fiancée into getting a burglar alarm for her shop, because she spent all day alone in there and he worried. He told me he’d send me everything I needed—clothes, wig, even a prop gun, and if I did a good job, he might recommend me to a big-time producer. I got the costume and a down payment in cash. He said he’d have it cleared with the police.”
Sarah couldn’t contain herself any longer. What kind of a person would believe such a story? “Didn’t it seem funny? A total stranger asking you to rob someone at gunpoint? What did you do with my things? My money?” She heard the edge of hysteria in her voice, felt one of the officers touch her shoulder.
“Let the detective do his job, ma’am,” he said.
Heat rose in her face and she sank down in her chair.
“Oh, you mean the frame and all?” Harriett asked. “I left them in the alley with the clothes like he said. The money was in the purse.” She peered at Sarah. “You didn’t get it back?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Ms. Pickett, I think you’re right about a misunderstanding,” Randy said. “But it’s on your part. There’s no such thing as police permission to enact a robbery. Whoever hired you is not Ms. Tucker’s fiancé, and she never got her property back. You were set up to carry out an actual robbery, for whatever reason this man had.
“Simply because you thought it was a joke doesn’t mean it isn’t still a crime.” Randy’s voice was even, but Sarah saw the way he set his jaw and held his eyes focused on Harriett’s. He sat there and waited. Neither officer moved. Sarah could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. Harriett remained silent.
Randy broke the silence. “Holding someone up at gunpoint, even with a fake gun, is still a felony. You will be arrested. What happens after that depends on how much you cooperate and whether Ms. Tucker decides if she wants to testify against you.” He turned to the two officers. “You want to read Ms. Pickett her rights, gentlemen?”
The two officers stood. One began reciting her right to remain silent and the other removed the handcuffs from his belt and took two steps toward Harriett.
She jumped to her feet. “Hey, just a darn minute. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Her face paled as her hands were restrained behind her back. She looked at Sarah again. “What if I pay you back the money I took, plus whatever those trinkets were worth? Would that be okay? Forget the whole thing?”
Sarah’s head spun. She wanted her money, but this woman couldn’t be allowed to walk away like nothing had happened. She stared at Randy in confusion.
Randy held off the officer with a raised hand and spoke to Harriett. “I’m sure that making restitution will help your case. What will help even more is for you to tell us who you were working for. Perhaps you’d like to go to the station and call a lawyer? I’m sure one would be there before they finish booking you.”
“To hell with a lawyer. What do you want to know?” Harriett asked.
Randy gave Sarah a quick smile that sent a shiver down her spine.
Randy turned to Harriett. “How about the truth this time?”
“Everything I told you was the truth,” she whimpered.
“Then why don’t you tell us the rest of the truth?” Randy said. “You expect us to believe that you never thought you did anything wrong?”
“I had to do it. You don’t understand.”
She stepped back toward the chair and Randy helped her sit. “Why don’t you try? I can be an understanding kind of guy.”
“It’s my father,” Harriett began. Her voice was low. “He’s eighty-three years old and has Alzheimer’s. He’s the only family I have. But it was too hard to take care of him. I tried. Took him into my home. But he’d wander off, and he didn’t even know who I was anymore. I had to find someplace that would take care of him. But not one of those horrible homes that smells like piss, where they sit around in bathrobes all day, drugged and drooling. He was in good health otherwise and could be sharp as a tack sometimes.”
“I understand,” Randy said. “It must have been rough.”
“I found this fantastic place. Assisted living, they called it. Kind of like a big college dorm for senior citizens. Round-the-clock care, with lots of activities and things to keep their minds active. But it cost a fortune. I’m working three jobs to pay his expenses.”
“I can see how the extra money might have been tempting,” Randy said, “but that doesn’t erase the fact that you committed a crime.”
“It wasn’t the money,” Harriett cried. “I turned him down when it was for money. But then he said he’d get my father kicked out of the facility if I didn’t cooperate. I couldn’t move him. That place was perfect, and there’s nothing else like it around. He was blackmailing me.”
Randy sat up straighter, flipped a page in his notebook. His pen clicked a rapid staccato. A gleam of excitement shone in his eyes.
“Go on,” he said. “How could he do this?”
“Woodland Meadows—that’s where Dad is—is owned partly by Consolidated. This guy, whoever he is, said he had connections there. About two months ago, I got a letter from the Meadows saying there had been some problems with the account and I was behind in my payments. I managed to straighten it out, but then this guy calls me back and says that that was only the beginning—that things would get to the point where I couldn’t straighten them out if I didn’t cooperate. So after a while, I agreed.” She looked at Sarah again, an expression of abject apology on her face. “I didn’t know it would be this bad for you. I thought that someone who could manipulate the administration at Woodland Meadows could pull some strings with the police.”
Sarah looked at Harriett’s pathetic face. The woman was an actress. But not that good. Sarah believed her. Randy’s face revealed nothing. She waited to see what Randy would do next.
“That’s helpful,” he said to Harriett. He fixed his gaze on hers. “What’s your father’s name?”
“Lawrence. Lawrence Pickett.”
Randy wrote in his notebook. “Thanks. And would you have managed to remember the name of the person who set you up for this?”
Harriett’s face was grim. “You better believe I remember.” She stared at Randy. “Can you make sure nothing happens to my father?”
“We can get in touch with the people at Woodland Meadows and make sure that anything involving your father is double-checked through you first. I don’t see a problem with that.”
“Then if I go down, he goes down,” Harriett said, her eyes narrowed. “His name is Brady. Mitchell Brady. I never saw him—everything was done by phone. That much was true.”
“Do you have the phone number you called?” Randy asked.
“I can get it for you.”
Randy stood and helped Harriett to her feet. “I’m still going to have to send you with these officers, but the fact that you’ve been helpful should make a difference when you come up before the judge.”
Harriett dropped her head and allow
ed the two officers to escort her from the room.
* * * * *
Randy parked behind Sarah’s building and helped her out.
“This isn’t exactly how I expected the evening to go,” she said, “but you caught her. And now you can find that Brady guy and maybe everything will be back to normal.” She gave him a puzzled look. “You don’t seem happy.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long couple of days. And I have at least an hour of paperwork to do. She has to be transferred to Pine Hills.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow? Come up for some coffee or something?”
The rush of the arrest had left, more quickly than usual, since he still didn’t have the person he needed—the man who’d hired, or coerced her into the robbery. He wished he had Sarah’s optimism. But after days of trying to make connections, he was ready to admit he could close the case, but would have the wrong person behind bars. And that Laughlin wasn’t going to cut him any more slack. He didn’t realize he’d accepted her invitation until they were standing in front of her door.
Inside, he took a seat on the couch, his gaze halting at the dining room table. The checkered tablecloth didn’t disguise the fact it wasn’t the table he’d sat at a few days ago. He started to comment when Sarah turned and shook her head.
“Nobody’s getting my shop. If I have to sell every darn piece of furniture I own, I’ll do it.” Her voice was tight and he thought he ached more than she did herself.
She went into the kitchen. “I think we need some hot chocolate. Comfort food. Sorry it’s instant packets, though.” She filled a teakettle and set it on the stove. On her way back to the living room she stopped at the stereo. “Bridge Over Troubled Water” began playing.
“Cocoa and Simon and Garfunkel. Mom’s cure-all for the blues.”
“Do I look that bad? Are you taking care of me?”
She smiled. “Tell me about what happens next.”
“They’ll bring Harriett to Pine Hills. She’ll appear before a judge where he’ll explain the charges. My guess is he’ll release her on bail, assuming he believes her story.”
