My mate said, “Go ahead, love. Sit down whilst I turn the jug on to boil.” I did. I sat at a barstool at a counter overhang. “Whose house is this?”
“It’s the Blandings’ place.”
“Vera Blandings?”
“Right.”
I started hyperventilating. “She was murdered here! In the bathtub…not in the cabana bathroom, was it?”
“No. And she didn’t drown in the bathtub.”
“What do you mean she didn’t drown? She is dead, right?”
“Will be soon.”
Oh great. I thought I was going to throw up. “No! I won’t let you do it!”
The copper kettle whistled.
“Fine, so I won’t make the tea. I thought you wanted a nice hot cuppa. Perhaps you’d like to have the honors of serving?”
“Stop it. I mean I won’t let you kill her.”
His expression turned scary. Scary because I instantly knew I hurt his feelings. “I am no murderer. If you don’t know me by now then I’ve failed at my calling.” I stuttered and ran over to him. I grabbed his arm, he brushed me off.
“I’m so sorry. I really am. I’m just so confused. Nothing makes sense. Well, yeah, some stuff does but it’s like trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle in the pitch-black with some pieces missing and others that don’t belong anywhere like red herrings.”
He said, “Cinderella, I can’t help you if you don’t believe.”
“Believe what?”
“That I’m your soul mate through history. My purpose is to help you unravel the mystery of who you are and why your family is the way they are. Once you’ve come to an understanding and have made peace with your lot in life, only then can we move on to our Shangri-la.”
“I trust you, Mr. Jones.” I hugged him.
He hugged me back. And then he poured the tea. Thunder cracked. I watched the lightning out the window over the kitchen sink. Actually, it was a nice lightning bolt, if there was such a thing.
We each sat on a swivel barstool and sipped the sweet hot liquid. Yum.
I asked him, “What is our Shangri-la?”
He smiled warmly. “Our Shangri-la is a very special place that only a chosen few get to visit. It’s just shy of heaven.”
“Is it better there?”
He grinned.
“How much longer do you think it will be before we get to go?”
“It has to get worse here before it gets better, love. But don’t worry about the journey. You’re a strong woman. And you are never alone. Not really.”
“I’m never alone?” Was that an eerie threat? “What—” I caught myself. I didn’t need to get this guy mad.
“What year is it?”
“1970.”
I popped up and carried both of our china cups to the sink and washed them. Dream boy found a towel and dried. We grinned at one another.
“Come on, love.”
“All right. Where to?”
“To the conversation pit.”
I followed him into the orange-carpeted living room. We descended three steps into a six-by-six area filled with large pillows. Psychedelic patterns. A freestanding avocado green metal fireplace at one end. It wasn’t lit. We sat down. Hey, this was pretty comfy. I stretched out and snuggled my head on his lap. He slipped his arm beneath my breasts.
My eye caught upon a portrait on the wall across from us. It looked like one of those where you send a photograph off to an artist and they paint a portrait from it. It was a traditional posed family portrait. Vera Blandings, tall, thin, brunette, with legs up to there. Two little brunette girls, about two and four, I’d guess, all in ribbons and bows. And a wolfishly handsome man—with the darkest blue eyes I’d ever seen. I sat up. “Hey, I know him.”
“Bill Blandings?”
“Yeah. Only he was a pirate when we met.”
“He and your mother were an item, you know.”
“No!”
“Yes. And when Vera found out, she shot him. Thus the pirate.”
“She shot his eye out? What a horrible thing to do. Hey, no, my momma wouldn’t be running around with a married man. You must be wrong.”
“She had to lead him on to make him trust her while she gathered evidence. It was part of the job. When Chloe worked undercover at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing in 1945, she discovered that police Sgt. Bill Blandings and the personnel director Wimpledink were stealing imperfect currency and funneling it to offshore banks.”
“So Momma wasn’t really fooling around with a married man?”
“That’s it. She only pretended to be in love with Bill, trying to get closer.” He was silent for a bit, just stared at me uneasily. He sighed then started speaking again. “One night he raped her. Your mother was still committed to solving the case so she pretended to be in love with the horrible man and one night, his wife Vera staged a murder. She shot him with blanks and he played dead. Chloe thought he really was dead and that’s when she ran off to hide in Miami.”
I gasped. “What? He did what?”
My mate hugged me gently, offering a comforting smile. “Shh, love. It’s in the past. Besides, Bill got his comeuppance. Vera was mad at him for fooling around with your mother so she used one real bullet. He lost his eye. And that was only the beginning of his punishment.”
“He deserved it. The bastard.” I couldn’t think of what he had done to my momma. I started wishing I would hear the “Donna” song. Too much bad information. I closed my eyes. Nothing.
“Despite what she went through, your momma did good. She got Bill, Wimpledink and Shirley Fiddler busted.”
“Shirley Fiddler?” I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
“Yeah, Wimpledink used his girlfriend to make the money drops.”
“Okay, right, I read something like that before. Shirley F, Wimpledink’s girlfriend… F for Fiddler. Hey, is she any relation to my neighbor, Officer Dick Fiddler?”
“Yes, she is Dick’s mother. She gave birth to him in prison.”
“And Wimpledink was the father?”
My mate nodded.
I rolled that information around in my brain for a while. “I read that Wimpledink was convicted of murdering a Secret Service agent by ricin and corn cockle poisoning. Is that why you were roughing Dick up in that dream I barged in on and showing him his father’s poison plants? I distinctly remember you mentioning corn cockle…and aren’t castor beans the source of ricin?”
My mate nodded again. “Yes, I was trying to make him see the wrong of his parents’ ways but now I’m not so sure he got the message.”
A flashback shot through me. “I’m not so sure myself. I ran through Dick’s backyard to knock on his back door yesterday. It was full of exotic plants. Are they poisonous too?”
“I’m afraid so, love. He’s inherited some nasty habits from his parents.”
“How can you say that with such certainty?” I loved it when my mate was confident. The contours of his jaw were so manly. I felt so protected next to him.
“I’m your mate. I know everything that might concern you…or endanger you.”
“So you think he’s dangerous?” I didn’t have to look at him to know I was right. My mind was racing overtime. The jigsaw pieces were finally falling into place. “So if Officer Dick is the counterfeiting couple’s son, then he might have some counterfeit money.” I was feeling very clever. At the rate I was going, I might give writing crime fiction a try.
“He does indeed.”
“And he might be after other people’s counterfeit money as well… Of course, he broke into my house on Tuesday when I was having one of our dreams. I awoke to find him groping my leg. He could very well have searched my house and removed the money before I woke up. Dick had the opportunity and means. He must be the one who stole the counterfeit money from me.” I felt a slight euphoric rush. “I’m sleuthing in my dreams now, assembling clues, not just collecting them.
“And I suspected Perry…” I felt guilty for suspec
ting Perry when he’d been innocent.
Perry. His money had been stolen as well. “Hey, did Dick steal Perry’s money from his office?”
“Very good, love. Yes, he did. I’m afraid I can’t stop him now.”
“But Perry said that the person who stole the money was his mother’s murderer. Vera Blandings’ murderer.”
“You’ll see.” He turned around.
A man walked right in the back door. A man with a full mane of long black hair. I whispered to my mate, “Is that a young Dick Fiddler?”
“Yes, love. Watch what he’s up to. Don’t worry, he can’t see us.”
Dick hollered, “Delivery, Miss Blandings.”
“Just set it on the counter, thank you.”
He left a paper sack on the countertop, walked back to the door and loudly slammed it but didn’t exit. He snuck into a back hallway.
Vera Blandings trotted out into the kitchen from the other direction. She unwrapped a sandwich and took a big bite. Then gobbled half of it.
For someone so slim, she had a ferocious appetite. Wait… Was she choking? Something was wrong. I watched her fall to the floor convulsing. Perhaps she was epileptic?
Dick the delivery boy reappeared, smiling. He stripped Vera’s robe off her and dragged her out of the room. I heard water running. Then Dick took the rest of the sandwich and the bag and ran out the back door for real this time.
A clock on the mantel caught my eye as the hands were spinning instead of ticking. Time was fast-forwarding in this dream. Daddy walked in the door.
“Vera darling, I’m here,” he called out.
I watched Daddy open a can of sardines in mustard. Yuk. He washed it down with a glass of beer. He called out, “Vera, would you like a little snack?”
He rinsed his glass out. “Darling, would you like a little snack?” He disappeared down the hallway where Dick had dragged Vera.
Daddy yelled, “No! No! Vera! Talk to me! Vera!”
I heard the “Donna” song.
~*~
I opened my eyes. I focused on the cracked vinyl roof inside the Chrysler. Somebody was tapping on the window. I frowned and sat up. I rolled it down. It was the female cop who investigated Officer Dick Fiddler’s disappearance. Fawn Fiddler, the shadow dancer.
I said, “Hello, Officer.”
“Ma’am.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Step out of the vehicle, please.”
Step out of the vehicle, please. Great. This couldn’t be good. Not after what I had just witnessed. I stepped out of the vehicle for her.
“Turn around and put your hands on top of your head.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“’Kay.” I did.
She frisked me. I noticed the hand-sanitizing cashier in her red smock, looking indignant toward me. Yeah, a crowd formed. Great, there was the Chinese delivery guy. And the postmistress.
“Okay, you can put your hands down but keep ’em where I can see ’em. No sudden moves.”
What did Dick’s ex-wife and current love toy want? “May I be so bold as to inquire what this is about?”
“I need to see your license, registration and proof of insurance.”
“You frisk citizens for routine show-and-tell?”
“Don’t mouth me, lady.”
I rolled my eyes and opened the car door. I sat down and swung my feet in, under the pretense of searching for the required documents. She asked me to open the trunk.
Hmm…what to do, what to do when your foot is stuck in the glue? I couldn’t very well start up the old dinosaur and make a run for it, I was boxed in by the crowd. I knew very well that I didn’t have the registration and insurance card. So I handed her my driver’s license and keys.
“What about the registration and insurance card?”
“This is my late father’s vehicle. Mine was totaled. I’m just borrowing it—”
“Step outa the vehicle.”
I snarled and did.
“Open the trunk.”
“Fine.” I took the keys back from her, inserted the proper one in the trunk, turned it and closed my eyes before it sprung. I opened my eyes again when the cop body-slammed me to the asphalt.
“What’d I do? You’re smashing my face!”
“You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney—”
“What did I do?” I don’t trust this bitch. She and Dick are up to something. They are in cahoots, I just know it. I can’t believe she’s humiliating me like this.
“You have the right to an attorney—”
“Fine! Get my brother! Judge Perry Payne!”
“You have the right to an attorney—”
“What’s in the trunk?”
She yanked me up, one hand on my cuffed wrists, the other tangled in my curls.
“Hey!” I yelled. Oh my God. I couldn’t believe what was inside the trunk of Daddy’s car.
Chapter Fourteen
Hundred-dollar bills. Well, that solved up that mystery. I knew that Dick had stolen the counterfeit dough from my closet and Perry’s floor. And now he had stuffed them in the trunk of Daddy’s old gold Chrysler. And the cop was in on it.
I said nonchalantly, “What’s that?” I had been framed. Just like Momma had been back in the forties. Ay yi yi.
Officer Fiddler said, “You have the right to an attorney—”
Think, Donna, think. What to do, what to do when your foot is stuck in the glue? Foot…glue… Nope, not coming up with anything. “Officer, this isn’t my car.”
“I know. You have the right to an attorney—”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m tired of you rubbing Perry in my face. Enough about the attorney, all right.”
Her radio squawked. She squeezed it and said something in ten-code. Then she turned to me and said, “Come on, slide in the back of the patrol car.” We walked over to her shiny unmarked dark blue Ford Crown Victoria. Just like Chief Wrigley’s. Bubba. Daddy’s friend.
Opening the back door, she tossed my purse into the middle of the seat. She said, “Careful now.” She shoved my head down and nudged me into the cage-like back seat. She slammed the door and then returned to Daddy’s car. I guess she decided she’d better guard the loot in case the crowd turned greedy. The opposite back seat door opened. It was Officer Dick. Vera’s murderer. He ordered, “Come on, let’s go.”
I yelped and scooted over closer to the door I was seated next to. My pulse raced in terror. He yanked me out. I stifled an ouch as my butt smacked the ground. He knocked me down and rolled me out of the way of the door, which he silently shut.
He mouthed, “This way and don’t even think about screaming.” He manhandled me to a crouching position and hooked my purse around my neck. Only my thighs screamed as I duck-walked, bent over with my hands cuffed behind my back.
As soon as we maneuvered in between the overflowing cart return and an armored truck, Dick stopped and unlocked my handcuffs. He threw them under the jungle of tangled shopping carts. “Stand up and act natural.” A gun barrel in my back assured I would comply.
I’d make a run for it at the first opportunity. My eyes went wild scanning the shopping center for an opening. We hurried over to the sidewalk lining the storefronts and he wrapped his arm around me.
I stifled an automatic Eww! response. We rounded the corner and crossed the street. Cuddly Officer Dick and I joined an old lady and two up-to-no-good-looking teenagers at the bus shelter.
I whistled, trying to get their attention. Dick caught my eye and motioned for me to cut it out. I heard the motor of the bus approaching. My pulse quickened as the two kids leaped on first. I was dying to get on but Dick held me back to let the little old lady go first. Finally I climbed on. Shoot. I had never ridden the local bus before, I had no idea what the fare was. I turned and looked at Dick. He was pulling money out of his right pocket.
He shoved me out of the way down the aisle, so I assumed he paid for both of us. I sat with the old lady. He stood beside me. I looked up at Dick and whispered, “Why are you doing this?”
He stared at me hard and whispered back, “It’s my money. And I’m gonna get it back, all of it.”
“But you stole it already. Why did you put it in my car?”
“They were checking bags. I couldn’t take the risk. Good thing I saw you pulling up to the courthouse.”
“So you put it in my car and let your ex-wife do the retrieving?”
He smiled smugly. “Yes, and no matter what, you are going to take the blame for everything. I took care of that. The heat is on, Donna. My colleagues are looking for you right now.”
I froze. He was right. They had dozens of witnesses. Who would believe me? I was officially on the run from a crime that I hadn’t committed.
The old lady said, “My arm’s paralyzed.”
I turned to her. “I’m sorry,” I choked out. I ducked my head out of the purse straps and held it on my lap.
She said, “I was in my car. On Route Seven, stopped at a light. This guy comes down at seventy miles an hour with no intentions of stopping. They had to cut me out. I smashed the arm bone down on some nerves. It’s not broken but the doctor said the swelling won’t go down for a year and a half.”
I glanced at her. “I was in an accident myself recently.” I looked at her pleadingly. Couldn’t she see I was in trouble? Dick glared down at me, lifting his finger to his mouth.
The old lady chatted along. I tried giving her hand signs but she wasn’t paying attention. She said, “My stop, excuse me.”
Shoot. I moved my knees so she could get by. I glanced up. Hey, where was Dick? He must’ve gotten off as well. Why? He abducted me and then abandoned me? What should I do? He’d said the cops were looking for me. I believed him. It was my word against two police officers. Fat chance! He had set the perfect trap and I tumbled into it head over rear end. I could not go home, that would be the first place they’d look. I could not go to Little Mount Vernon, that would be the second. I could not go to work because I didn’t want to. What an adventure this week of sick leave had turned out to be. I could have been PIF-ing right now. But no, instead I was on the lam. This would make a great plot for one of my books some day.
The Immaculate Deception Page 23
