by Norah Wilson
“It’s him!” Beth Mary shouted. She tipped her chair over and left it on the floor as she raced to the picture window, thumbing her teeth back in as she went.
“Who?” Mrs. Presley asked, but she herself was already on her way across the room. “Him who?”
Tish grabbed under her boobs, adjusted them left-right-center in one deft motion. “Lance-a-Lot. Golf lessons were yesterday; ball retrieval today.”
“Oh.”
Mona grabbed Mrs. P by the hand, ‘Come on, you got to get a look at our Lance.”
Even Big Eddie sauntered his way over to the window.
“It’s time for us to go, Wiggie.” Harriet grabbed her husband by the shoulder (and I couldn’t help but wonder what she grabbed him by when they were home).
For all that, Harriet was taking her sweet time leaving. And with each step, she craned rotated her neck around just a little more until I thought she might snap it clear around (and if there was one demon-possessed woman in that room, my money was on her).
“Leaving so soon, Harriet?” Mother asked sweetly.
Harriet stopped short. “I am not going to lower myself to your level of entertainment, Katt.” She spat my mother’s name out as if it spoiled in her mouth. She waved a flustered hand to the window. “And this … this … spectesticle I do not need to see.”
She practically pushed poor Wiggie through the door and it swung firmly shut behind her.
I leaned in to Mom, “Did she say spectesticle? Now there’s a slip of the tongue.”
Mom looked up at me, trying to give me a genuine smile, and it broke my heart that she didn’t quite pull it off.
As if on cue, the doors swung open again. A dozen other women came rushing into the room. Some said hello to Mom, others — very obviously — did not. Chairs began to fill up as the women, and yes, Big Eddie too, took their seats in front of the window. Seven or so more ladies strolled to the front of the building and claimed the lawn chairs there.
“Got a chair right here for you, Katt. Right beside me,” Mona yelled, and I felt the relief flowing off my mother.
Mona Roberts was definitely going on my Christmas card list. Which brought that list to a grand total of … one.
Mom led me along by the arm. “You’ve got to see this, Dix!”
She took her seat beside Mona, and I stood beside my mother’s chair. All eyes were forward focused, looking out the window waiting for this Lance guy to clean the lake. I scanned the crowd of anxious faces.
Okay, like how boring was this place? There they sat, a group of senior woman and Big Eddie looking out the window as if Frank Sinatra himself were going to jump out of that truck. They leaned forward, they grinned widely. Why, you’d never catch me acting like that. No chance in hell. Not in a million years. Not in a —
“Oh my God!” There was a high-pitched squeal.
That was from me.
Lance-a-Lot got out of the truck. He was average height I supposed — just under six feet tall. His black hair looked almost blue with the sunlight on it. He was tanned, muscular, and wearing nothing but the happiest pair of Speedos on the planet. Yes, Speedos. Bursting with happiness, if you get the picture. Overwhelmed with joy — if you know what I mean.
Okay, enough of the euphemisms. The guy was hung. And at full attention.
“Mercy!” Mrs. P shouted. “What’s that freak of nature?”
“Gotta love mother nature,” Tish commented appreciatively.
With my sharp investigative mind, I watched the diver closely. I was a PI after all, I had to catch every little detail. And every big one, too.
Lance Devinny obviously knew he had an appreciative audience. He strolled a few feet from the truck, stopped suddenly and gave a quarter turn to wave at the ladies and beamed a full smile. Big Eddie grumbled, “Now, what’s that boy got that I ain’t got?” He ran a hand through his own dark hair — thinning as it was. The hair, not the hand.
Out of politeness, no one answered.
Did I mention Big Eddie wore polyester pants?
The group continued to watch as Lance turned back around, flexed his butt cheeks — left, right, left again — and made his way to the water. He walked out to his waist, then quick as anything dove into the shallow lake.
With a collective sigh, the group leaned back. And there was an appreciative moment of silence. And by moment, I mean, literally, moment. But tranquility shattered pronto.
“Help! Somebody help!”
Everyone jumped. Even the ladies who’d taken chairs outside came in to see what was going on.
The voice was coming from the hallway. So was the sound of low-heeled shoes thumping down the hallway along the tiled floor. The door to the rec room swung open, and Harriet Appleton stood there, one hand on her chest, one hand on Wiggie’s. Poor Wiggie looked more out of breath than she did.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, immediately taking charge of the situation.
“My mother’s wedding ring!” Harriet shouted. “It’s gone. Stolen! It was one of a kind, precious and priceless. It was an antique! It was my grandmother’s,” she wailed. She glared at my mother. “You did this, Katt Dodd! I know dang right well you did!”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “And you’d better stop making accusations you can’t back up.” I gave her my best glare.
She didn’t miss a beat. “I had the ring out late last night. I was giving it to my great niece for her own wedding ceremony. I put it back in my jewelry box — Mr. Appleton saw me do it.” Wiggie nodded on cue. “And now the ring’s gone.”
“I had nothing to do with this!” Mom said.
Harriet huffed. “A likely story. I’m calling Deputy Almond. You’re a thief, Katt Dodd. And most likely a murderer, too.” She turned to me. “And we’ll see whether or not there are accusations that can’t be backed up!”
“Harriet, I’m innocent!” Mother pleaded to her. I couldn’t help but notice everyone else moving away from my mother. Everyone but Mona, of course. And Mrs. P. “I would never take your ring.” She looked around the faces of the crowd gathered there. “I’d never steal anything.”
Even Big Eddie turned away.
Chapter 4
So you’d think things would be a little crazy by this time. Well, you’d be thinking correctly.
All hell broke loose. Accusations were flying, rumors were flying. Teeth were flying (Beth Mary sneezed). Evil looks were being pinged around the room from every direction, and unfortunately only heading in one direction — my mother’s.
The questions started. Yes, Mom had been out for her pre-dawn walk. So what? She always walked in the coolness of those hours. And of course there was the fact that Mom had been a magician’s assistant, something she’d told all her peers at the Wildoh. Why not? It was a past she was proud of. She never told them how the magic was done, of course. She’d been sworn to secrecy all those years ago, and still felt bound by her oath. And Mom had told them about the things she’d escaped from, and places she’d popped herself into. Also, she’d mentioned the fact that she’d never met a lock she couldn’t pick (a skill I seemed to have inherited).
That, combined with the fact that Mom was famous for her early morning walks, sealed the deal for most of the residents. And oh yeah, half the residents had already spun a dozen wild yarns about how she had disposed of poor Frankie Morell. Hefty bag in the swamp. Hair in the hamburger. Some old fellow in Complex D thought he found a toenail in his almond pecan ice cream. (Had to be Frankie’s, of course.)
And now that Harriet Appleton had reported her ring missing, suspicious minds were overheating. Mother had means. She had motivation (there certainly was no love lost between Harriet and Mom). She had opportunity.
Crap.
But frankly, I was getting suspicious of Harriet Appleton.
What if she were lying?
Maybe Harriet and Wiggie were trying to cash in on the recent thefts? File a false insurance claim and collect some money for nothing, while laying the blame fo
r the ‘loss’ at my mother’s feet? Or maybe they were responsible for all the thefts! What if that uptight, proper facade of Harriet’s was just a cover? What if they were really criminal masterminds? What if the crown jewels were tucked under their bed? The Hope diamond hidden away in the sock drawer underneath the support hose?
Oh, oh - what if Harriet was a Harry? Or Wiggie a Wanda? (Okay, that was pretty far out there, not to mention irrelevant, but it could happen. Hell, it had happened with my last case.
But would Harriet, or Harriet and Wiggie, go so far as to off Frankie Morell and blame my mother? I’d seen worse in my line of work. There had to be a connection between the thefts and the missing Frankie. Logic dictated it.
I was bound and determined to find out the truth.
And so was the soon-to-arrive Sheriff’s Deputy Noel Almond.
It was Big Eddie who appointed himself taker-charger in the situation. Yes, that was his terminology. At least he didn’t dub himself the ‘decider’. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a single number. Number two on his phone, by my reckoning of the bend of thumb. Efficient man. Now that was a taker-charger for you, with the local sheriff’s office on speed dial. Less than two minutes later, Deputy Noel Almond’s white Dodge Charger sped into the yard. No sirens blared and no bar lights flashed, but he arrived at a pretty good clip.
Deputy Noel Almond was everything mother had described him. Tall and handsome and, God, yes, hot. He was everything my Marport City nemesis Detective Richard Head was not. Besides a man, I mean. Deputy Noel Almond was no Deputy No Nuts.
My immediate, utterly instinctive reaction was to go over and begin giving the good Deputy my professional take on the situation. With one leg twined around one of those muscular, khaki-clad legs.
The sheer outrageousness of the impulse shocked me a little. I mean, I like men. I enjoy men. But at 40-something, my hormones had been around the block often enough to have adopted a more laid back approach. Even they knew that men are trouble, and that a guy needs to demonstrate they’re worth the aggravation. And here they were zipping and zinging around my body like teenager hormones.
Funny, as … gifted … as Lance-a-Lot had been as he’d made his way to the lake to retrieve the golf balls in those happy Speedos of his, the good deputy in his Florida Sheriff’s green police pants and close-fitting short-sleeved shirt turned me on the more.
But what was I to do? Nothing! Certainly not straddle him then and there. I had to remain in character, remain part of the scenery to get more information to clear my mother. I had to sit back and watch and listen. He of course, knew that I was a private investigator; he had sent the fax to my office, after all. I just hoped Deputy Almond had the good sense not to expose me in front of everyone.
I’d much rather be exposed later when we were alone.
Oh boy.
~*~
Big Eddie and Deputy Almond huddled themselves away from the crowd to converse. Glancing over to the rest of us, mumbling and jerking a thumb or nodding a head toward our group every so often. The Deputy caught my attention more than once, and I saw the hesitation there.
“You’re becoming quite the frequent visitor, Deputy.” Tish purred the words as she sashayed up to Almond. She settled a hand on his bare, tanned, muscular forearm and let it slide down.
God, her timing was inappropriate. But her taste was bang on.
“Good morning, Ms. McQueen,” Deputy Almond drawled. “You’re looking just pretty as a picture again this morning. Fresh as a daisy. Cute as a button.”
Oh, God, one more cliché and I’d puke.
Like Big Eddie, Deputy Almond seemed to know how to work the older ladies. Notice I said older ladies. Handsome as he was, I was immune to his charms.
“That’s a lovely outfit,” he said to Tish.
“This old thing?” Tish batted her eyelashes. “Why, thank you, Deputy.”
Yeah right, this old thing had the price tag still attached to the back, a fact I happened to notice when Tish did another of her dip/squeeze/show hooters thing.
Tish beamed at the Deputy, and he beamed right back at her. Smart man. He knew that a little flirting goes a long way. Well, for those folks who are susceptible to such tactics.
When Tish sashayed herself away, Deputy Almond addressed the crowd.
“Now, Big Eddie tells me we’ve had another robbery.”
We?
Mother must have caught the disconcerted raising of my eyebrows. She leaned in and whispered, “He’s been here often, and it’s a small community. Everyone knows everyone, including Deputy Almond.”
Okay, so the local cop was one of the gang. I got it. But I didn’t know if I liked that. Would that make him likelier to believe the gossip about my mother?
“This wasn’t just any old robbery!” Harriet jumped from her chair. “My grandmother’s antique ring was stolen!” She glanced at me before she continued. “And I know it was Katt Dodd. Most likely with the assistance of her thieving, smut-talking daughter, Dix Dodd.”
Excuse me?
I was about to step out of Dix Dodd erotica writer mode and into Dix Dodd geriatric ass kicker mode, but it was the Deputy who opened his mouth first.
“Now, Mrs. Appleton … Harriet.” There was no sweetness here, no flirting and flattering. “If you’ve got any proof of your accusations, then I want to hear all about it. In fact, I’ll want to talk to all of you.” He scanned the room. “But first, I have to check out the crime scene.”
Of course he’d want to talk to everyone.
Harriet stood. Wiggie stood up right after her, as if pulled by a string. Together with the Deputy and Big Eddie in full taker-charger mode, they headed out of the rec room.
“There goes Lance-a-Lot,” Mona called. But few heads turned toward the window to see.
I ventured a glance though the window at the wonder wood coming out of the water. He walked with all the bravado of a professional stripper. He dropped the bag of golf balls on the green, their wet whiteness shining in the sun. He raked his hands through his hair, arched his tanned body in a stretch, and smiled toward the rec room. Oh this guy was a showman. Pity no one was watching the show.
I glanced at Mom. Her gaze appeared to follow Lance-a-Lot as he shook himself and got into his car, but I knew she wasn’t really seeing him. Though she smiled and projected a damned good ‘haven’t-a-care-in-the-world’ attitude that probably fooled some of the residents, it didn’t fool me. I knew she was faking it. But I admired her fuck you face. She refused to let them see her sweat, and I was so proud of her.
It turned out to be a long afternoon. I’m sure every resident of the Wildoh strolled into the rec room at least once over the course of it. Of course, that had something to do with the fact that Deputy Almond had made the polite ‘request’ that all residents come in and answer a few questions. Who could refuse? Everyone wanted these thefts cleared up and the thief caught. Refusal meant suspicion. Suspicion meant rumors breaking out. In a small community like the Wildoh — a rumor would travel like the wind once it was broken.
Nobody wanted to break wind.
Slowly but surely Deputy Almond made his way through the interviews. After his inspection of the Appleton suite (yes, the lock appeared to have been picked, yes he dusted for prints, no he didn’t find any, and yes, double dammit, he did see a picture of Harriet’s antique ring and the insurance papers). It had been a doozie.
Deputy Almond set himself up in a little room off the side of the rec room. Sort of a kitchen-type thing. (Okay, I guess those in the know might actually call it a kitchenette, but when your domestic skills are as non-existent as mind are, it’s a kitchen-type thing). It held a little two-burner stove, a fridge that might hold two cases of beer, tops, the world’s smallest table, and two God-awful plastic orange chairs. The room was glassed-in, which allowed me to watch the interviewing process. Of course, it also allowed Deputy Almond to scan the crowd of those who waited to see who was nervous and who wasn’t, who talked to w
hom. Who tried to stroll toward the door, who watched the door. Smart man.
Smart, good looking, totally ripped man.
Time and time again, as the Deputy finished an interview and escorted the person out, he would pause to meet briefly with Big Eddie. The two of them would confer, then scan the rest of us in the room. The Deputy would nod, then Big Eddie would step forward and call a name. Jesus, it was like a junior high school dance, without the testosterone. Hell, without the estrogen in most cases. But breaths caught and tension rose when the Wildoh residents waited to see who was next.
I kept my gaze averted from Big Eddie. Kept it ducked every time so as to not get the ‘you’re next’ with a nod and authoritative jerk of the taker-charger thumb. Not because I was intimidated or scared. Not at all. But because the longer I was here, the longer I could watch the residents react to the police presence. One at a time.
Oh, and it gave me plenty of time to get my ass whooped at crib.
Mona hauled out the cribbage board when it was evident we’d be there for a spell. She called out, “Who’s up for a game while we wait?”
Surprisingly, some of us were.
Not that I like crib. Nor that I’m any good at it. But as I watched Mona head toward the small card table at the back of the room, crib was just an excellent idea.
I took one of the chairs (more of the plastic orange variety) and sat with my back toward to the wall so I’d get the best view of the interview room. Mom sat across from me; she had no desire to know what was going on behind her in that small room. This wasn’t easy for her. A tall redheaded gentleman, Roger Cassidy — who did a slight little bow thing that was really kind of charming — sat on my right. Mona sat on my left. She squeezed mom’s hand once, shuffled the cards with a flash and flair that would shame a Vegas dealer and started passing out the cards. We played cut-throat, every man for himself. The stakes, at Mona’s suggestion, were two bucks a game, double for skunk. Of course, she won repeatedly. She played with a ferociousness that hockey coaches would love to bottle, pegging the bejesus out of me. Of course, it didn’t help that I was distracted.
