“Oh, right,” Mecredi said. “Yeah, whoever is actually robbing these places has been leaving behind a card with my name on it.”
“That's... interesting.”
“No, it’s not. It's insane! Who in their right mind would rob a place and then leave a business card?”
“Polite criminal?” suggested Zane.
“Worse than that, they didn't even spell my name right. They spelled it ‘Mercredi.’ There's only one ‘r’ in my last name. Idiots.”
Zane shrugged. “Could have been a typo.”
“And you think I’d keep cards with typos on them?” Mecredi looked like a man who wanted to pace around, but there was little room to do it and the guards didn’t look like the sort who would allow such a range of motion for their prisoner anyway.
“Obviously someone is trying to set me up, but the damn cops have been after me for so long, they're taking a chance that it really is me doing the robberies. They're saying I fudged the cards on purpose so that it wouldn't be pinned on me.”
“You didn't…right?” Casey asked.
“No, I didn't.”
She jotted a note. He seemed to be truthful, but this was a master criminal she was working with here. He could pull the wool over her eyes without much fuss. Then again, she was a detective. Her training was in catching people like Mecredi when they were doing their best not to be caught.
“Then who do you think is doing this?” she asked.
“Who knows?” He chewed on his lip. “There are plenty of upstarts in the business. They're always trying to deflect an investigation. Just never knew anyone to be this forthright about it.”
“Do you have any ideas where we can start?” Casey asked, pen at the ready.
“Well, you know who my attorney is?”
“Mr. Chalser.”
“Also known as the Diamond Defendant,” Mecredi noted.
“Ah, yes,” Casey said, writing that down. “I thought the Chalser name sounded familiar.”
Zane coughed. “Want to let me in on the joke?”
“Chalser is often tapped to defend jewel thieves from all over the country,” explained Casey. “He’s their go-to guy when they get busted.”
“Interesting.” Zane ran his fingers through his thick black hair. “Never knew that about him.”
Mecredi glanced back at the guards. “Anyway, I asked him if he knew anyone local who could be up to something like this. He named Kip Kastion, Stella Sazon, and Nick Naples.”
“What's with you thieves having alliteration in your names?” asked Casey as she wrote down the names.
“Part of the gig,” Mecredi replied nonchalantly.
“Right.” She stood up and dropped her notepad back into the briefcase. “Well, we'll get back to you if anything turns up.” She turned to leave but then stopped. “By the way, Mr. Mecredi, how do you plan to arrange payment?”
The Gem Marauder gave her a serious look. “You get me off the hook, lady, and I'll make it worth your while.”
KIP KASTION
Kip Kastion’s office was over-the-top resplendent. It was a mixture of dark mahogany and modern glass, with a double-sided fireplace, an in-wall wine rack, a large-screen TV, and a huge desk that took up most of the room. There was a leather sofa and two chairs in the corner, where Kip led Casey and Zane. Casey watched as Zane looked around appreciatively.
“Let me guess,” Kastion said in a smooth voice that instantly put Casey on her guard, “you're here about the Mecredi thefts, yeah?”
“Got it in one,” Zane answered, always more trusting than Casey had ever been.
“Obvious he didn't do it,” Kastion said, motioning them to sit down.
Casey found that statement interesting. “That's what he says. But why would you think that?”
“Oh, come on, Ms. Lane,” Kastion said with a mocking tsk-tsk wag of his finger. “What kind of thief would leave a business card behind?” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Unless...” He tapped on his chin for a few moments. “Could be a smart trick, actually.”
“Also what he said,” Casey pointed out.
“Really? Interesting.” Kastion dropped the musing look and leaned forward as if to show he was giving them his full attention. “Anyway, what do you want with me?”
“Just following up on some leads so we can try to get to the bottom of this,” Casey answered, struggling not to fall into the trap of instantly trusting this guy. She just had to keep telling herself that it was all bravado. Kastion was just like Zane: money, charm, looks—and no brains.
“So Mecredi is pointing the finger at me, eh?” Kastion more said than asked. “Can't blame him. I'd do the same if I were in his shoes.”
“You'd blame yourself?” Zane asked, looking confused.
Casey looked at Zane sideways for a moment before putting her attention back on Kastion.
“What is it you do here, if I may ask?”
“I run an imports and exports business.”
“But you're considered a well-known jewel thief,” Casey stated.
“That’s true,” Kastion answered, obviously unfazed by the statement. “Some businesses handle imports differently than others.”
“Where were you on the night of April 7?” Casey asked after glancing at her notepad.
“Rome.”
“Can you prove that?”
Kastion fished through the papers on the marble coffee table while saying “Hmmm” a few times. Then he got up and went over to his desk, opening a few drawers and looking around in there too. Finally, he snapped his fingers and reached back to the credenza behind him and pulled back an envelope.
He walked back over to where Casey and Zane were still seated. “Here ya go.”
“Anyone can forge one of these,” Casey said, studying the plane ticket.
“I'm a thief, Ms. Lane,” Kastion clarified, “not a forger.”
“Do you have any pictures or anything of proof?” asked Zane. “You know, something we could see that places you in Rome at the time?”
Casey was actually somewhat surprised at this moment of clarity from her temporary counterpart. It was a question she had planned to ask, of course, but the fact that he beat her to the punch was mildly impressive. He was a still an idiot, clearly, but maybe he was already picking up some of the basics of investigation. Even if he were able to eventually master that, Casey doubted the man would ever finish writing a book. She couldn’t even imagine him finishing reading one.
“I suppose I could show you my Facebook feed,” Kastion said while cracking open his laptop.
“No, that's okay,” Casey said quickly. Possibly a little too quickly. She couldn’t stand it when people showed pictures of themselves, and she truly despised the concept of Facebook and Twitter and all of those other sites that seemed to be nothing more than a haven for narcissism. She imagined Zane had multiple accounts.
“There're quite a few great pics of me near the Colosseum,” Kastion said, focusing more on Zane, who appeared to maintain an interest that Casey did not share. “I also have a great selfie standing next to the beautiful sapphire I lifted while there. Just before I took it.” He sighed at his computer. “This thing needs to be replaced. It’s gotten very slow ever since I started looking at those sites with the nak… erm, I mean, I think it has a virus or something.” He was mildly red-faced. “It'll just take a minute.”
“No, no, we believe you,” Casey said, seeing this as her out. “Besides, we need to be moving on to our next appointment.”
“We do?” Zane asked with a face of disappointment.
“We do,” she affirmed.
Zane’s eyes were all over the place as they prepared to leave.
“Thank you, Mr. Kastion,” Casey said, “you've been most helpful.”
“He has?” Zane said while following her out.
STELLA SAZON
Zane followed Casey onto the restaurant’s outdoor veranda, where she noticed the bright pink bougainvillea climbing the trellises
and the potted palms throughout the space. It was inviting, in an ostentatious sort of way. The table canopies provided much needed shade from the blazing sun, and there were cooling spritzing stations set up around the patio’s hedge-type enclosure. Casey was impressed.
When Stella Sazon walked out, Casey recognized her immediately. She was nearly middle-aged with an extravagant hairdo, strong business attire, and a look of someone who didn’t take crap from anyone.
Casey walked over to her, flagging her down with a raised hand.
“Excuse me, are you Stella?”
Ms. Sazon glanced over Casey with a look of distaste.
“Call me Ms. Sazon,” the woman said. “Here to talk to me about the infamous Gem Maurader, Miles Mercredi?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Casey answered, finding it interesting that Ms. Sazon knew why they were there. “And I believe it's Mecredi, not Mercredi.”
“So?” Ms. Sazon said, rolling her eyes. She then glanced at her watch. “I have to leave for an appointment soon, so let's make it quick.”
They walked inside to a private table that sat near the back of the restaurant. It looked like a place where people went to talk about nefarious things. Knowing Ms. Sazon’s hidden profession, Casey wasn’t surprised.
“Go ahead,” Ms. Sazon said disinterestedly.
“Where were you the night of April 7th, Ms. Sazon?” Zane asked before Casey had the chance.
Ms. Sazon looked Zane over and smiled mischievously “You may call me Stella.”
“Ummm, okay,” Zane said, eyebrows raised.
Casey grunted.
“I was with my mother, at dinner,” explained Ms. Sazon. “She's been having a tough time as of late with her moderate-to-severe rheumatoid arthritis, and I wanted to show her a nice evening.”
“There's a pill for that, I think.” Zane had looked up and to the left, which was something he always did while thinking. In other words, he rarely did it. “You did say it was moderate to severe, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Zane, smiling. Then his face fell. “Well, I mean, not good, but the pills never seem to help people with lesser severity.”
Ms. Sazon nodded. “I'll keep that in mind.”
“What restaurant did you take her to?” asked Casey, trying to ignore their flirting cues.
“WP24.”
“Ah, Puck's place, eh?” said Zane.
“That's the one. Been there?”
“I go all the time.”
Ms. Sazon turned to Casey. “You?”
“No, I’ve never been,” admitted Casey.
“You're missing out. Great lamb chops.”
“I'll give it a shot sometime,” Casey said, not planning to ever go. Not because she didn’t want to try it, but rather because she was perpetually broke. That’s when her frugality raised its head and suggested a question for her to ask.
“Why not just come here? It's your place, right?”
“Invested in it, yes, but I don’t run it. My cousin handles that. I'm just the money. And I didn't come here because here is work. I wanted to relax.”
Casey couldn’t argue that point. “So can your mother verify that you were out to dinner with her?”
“Wait a second here,” Ms. Sazon said, looking back and forth between Casey and Zane, “are you the cops or just P.I.s?”
“I'm a P.I.,” Casey answered.
“So I really don't have to tell you anything, and I certainly don't have to prove anything either.”
“No, you don’t,” admitted Casey. “But you might want to. You see, we were hired by Mr. Mecredi to get to the bottom of who is setting him up.” This point didn’t seem to impress Ms. Sazon in the least. “It's your right to refuse to help us, but our plan is to gather as much information as possible to give to Mecredi's lawyer, and I'm certain he'll be more than interested in knowing the details.”
The woman’s shoulders dropped. “Fine. Yes, my mother can verify the story, if it comes to that.” She then glanced at her watch. “Damn. I’m late.” She stood up. “You already know that I was out with my mother, so unless there’s anything else, I've got an appointment with a gem appraiser in thirty minutes.”
“A gem appraiser?” Casey said, surprised.
“Unrelated, I assure you. Now, is there anything else or not?”
“Just one thing,” Zane said, holding up his finger. Was he about to have another solid investigative question? “Have you got any plans for Friday night?”
Casey sighed.
Ms. Sazon, though, smiled and handed him her card.
“Call me,” she said sweetly and then glanced around before signaling a waiter and pointing at the table where Casey and Zane were seated. The waiter nodded. “And feel free to grab lunch on me. Good luck with the whole Mercredi thing,” she added while walking away.
Zane seemed to be appraising Ms. Sazon as she exited the restaurant.
“She said ‘Mercredi’ again,” he said through pursed lips.
“Did you honestly just ask her out?” said Casey with a touch of angst.
“Sure, why not?”
Casey fought to catch herself. “Uh, no reason. I just thought you weren’t dating anymore.”
“Depends on your definition of dating,” Zane replied. “Going on a single date is not dating.”
“Technically...”
“It's just a fun night and maybe I'll get lucky.”
Casey cringed. “I don't want to know that.”
“I meant about turning up information on her, Casey,” Zane admonished. “You need to get your head out of the gutter.”
She bit her lip, which she had to admit she’d been doing a lot since Zane had pushed his way into the detective agency.
“Oh,” she said, “so you're just doing this as a way to snoop?”
“Yeah. Why? Wait...” His eyes lit up. “You're not jealous, are you?”
“Of course not!” she snapped. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I think maybe you are.”
“Give me that card.” She snatched it out of his hand and studied it while he went on smirking. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“Says she's a gemologist.”
“So?”
“So why does a gemologist need to visit a diamond appraiser?”
NICK NAPLES
There were no clouds in the sky as Casey and Zane made their way down the gangplank to the huge yacht at the end of the pier. The sun glinted off the water, so Casey pushed her sunglasses up and then glanced at the monstrosity of a boat before her. The man standing near the railing was wearing a white suit and cap, and looked very at home on the expensive-looking ship. Along the side, painted in red, were the words “THE BEATRICE.”
“Excuse me, are you Mr. Naples?” Casey said while holding up her hand to block the sun, which was still bothering her despite her shades.
“Depends on who's asking,” said the man jovially in an accent that placed him as being a British native.
“We're detectives,” Zane announced.
“Private investigators,” corrected Casey.
“What's the difference?”
Casey turned her attention away from Mr. Naples and instead toward her partner.
“How can you possibly write books about these things if you know nothing about it?”
“What? They're the same thing.”
“They are not.”
“Are so.”
“Frankly,” she added, “I’m amazed you can write at all.”
“Hey.”
“Actually, if I may?” said Mr. Naples. “She's technically correct. A detective is someone who is employed by the police force. A private investigator is someone who has set up shop on their own and takes cases from a third party. Typically detectives and P.I.s don't get along, which is funny because most P.I.s were once detectives. Of course that could just be something that’s used in television for dramatic effect.”
“See, Zane?�
�
“Semantics,” Zane said with a pout.
Mr. Naples blinked a few times. “Seems rather dull, doesn't he?”
“Don't get me started.”
“Excuse me?” Zane said with a huff, and then added, “Hey, wait, if we’re not detectives why is the company called the South Lane Detective Agency?”
“Damn,” said Casey.
“Who’s dull now?” Zane asked with a smug look.
“Still you,” Casey replied.
“So,” Mr. Naples said after clapping his hands together, “I’m assuming you're here to ask me questions regarding the false imprisonment of Miles Mecredi, yes?”
“How the hell did you know that?” said Zane.
“Trivial, my boy!” He held up his fingers and began counting. “One, Mr. Mecredi was arrested very recently; two, everyone knows that I dabble in a bit of gem-lifting on the side; and three, you're holding a notepad that says ‘Ask Nick Naples about the false imprisonment of Miles Mecredi.’”
Zane glanced down at his notepad and flipped it over. “Oh, right.”
“I guess you can write,” said Casey. Then she looked commiseratingly at Mr. Naples. “It's constant, you know?”
“Not surprising.” Mr. Naples placed his hand on his chin and studied Zane. “Looks like a wealthy brat. Probably hasn't worked an honest day in his life.”
“Basically.”
“Excuse me,” said Zane, “but do you guys know each other or something?”
“I don't believe so,” Mr. Naples said as he squinted at Casey. “No, assuredly not. I believe it’s just the case of us both knowing people similar to you.”
Casey nodded. “Exactly.”
“Right. So you have questions about Miles, eh?”
“Just a few things,” Casey said with a wave of her hand.
“Ah, yes,” Mr. Naples said knowingly, “alibis and the like, no doubt.” His head danced slightly as he spoke “Let's see, I haven't stolen anything since early January, and that was in Rome.”
“What's with you guys stealing stuff in Rome?” asked Zane.
“Good market for it. Plus, the food and weather are just exemplary.”
“The food and weather are top-notch,” mused Zane.
Cozy Mystery Bundle #1 (South Lane Detective Agency) Page 5
