Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2) ddm-2

by Norah Wilson

  “I’ve known for weeks that Eddie Baskin was committing the thefts. I just couldn’t figure out where the goods were going,” Almond said. “I needed someone on the inside. Someone so on the inside she didn’t even know I’d put her there. Someone with the smarts, and more importantly, the motivation, to figure this out.”

  “And you knew if you rode my mother hard enough, I’d be damned motivated. Not to mention the way you baited me along the way, pissing me off. All to spur me into action.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He turned away at the sound of the approaching sirens and was smiling when he turned back around. “Sorry about all that, Dixieland,” he said, using one of Dickhead’s few G-rated … um, nicknames … for me. He turned to Eddie Baskin, who wasn’t looking so very big, and Lance a … Little. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say….”

  The arms that wrapped around me were my mother’s. “I knew you’d save me, Dix.”

  Mona came to stand beside us as we watched Big Eddie and Lance being placed in the police car.

  Big Eddie looked back at Mona. “I’ve always loved you, Mona!” he shouted. “Ever since the day we met. Will you wait for me, sweetheart?”

  Her eyes were full of tears. She put a hand to her chest, and tried her best to swallow down the lump in her throat. And Mona Roberts gave Big Eddie the only answer a woman like Mona could give. “God, no!”

  “What about you, Katt? Were you waiting for me?”

  The voice came from within the rec room, just inside the door. Deep. Gravelly. Croaky as if the owner of it were parched. And everyone went inside to see the wet, muddy, worse-for-wear Frankie Morrell dripping water on the carpet.

  Everyone but Mother, that is. She was hightailing it across the grounds of the Wildoh, making a disappearing act of her very own.

  Chapter 17

  The gals of the Goosebump Inn all gathered around when the police came to check on Lance’s rental. It was all there. All of it, even Harriet’s missing ring. And more.

  Apparently, Big Eddie had been working and waiting for years, spying on his fellow Wildoh residents, gathering information on who owned what. Building confidences. Planning who to steal from, and who to set up. Frankie’s disappearance was just a convenience to him. When he had the plan ready, he called his nephew, Lance (oh poor boy; not aptly named) and put the plan into place. And it would have worked, had it not been for … me. A fact I told everyone who’d listen, and even some who wouldn’t. (Harriet Appleton held her hands over her ears in a very childish way.)

  Later in the day, Mother had a talk with Frankie. It wasn’t that she’d run away from him back at the rec room. She’d run away from the moment. “Too much, Dix,” she explained. “Too much, too soon.” Well, it wasn’t much of a talk in that the communication was pretty much one way. Mother’s way. All the way.

  “We’re through, Frankie Morrell.”

  Frankie pleaded his case. He’d been lost. Disoriented. Wandering around in the swamp for days. Oh my word, he could hardly remember a thing! Frog amnesia, mother assured him. Frankie swore that had to be the case.

  Deputy Almond, however, was putting his money on a different excuse for Frankie’s amnesia. Apparently an over-zealous dominatrix (aptly titled the Dark Intruder) had taken a session a little too far with a few select clientele. One of her leather-clad clients had gotten away and called the police. Whereupon the old dom had figured it was game over and released the remaining gentlemen before the police raid.

  That case was still open, with numerous charges pending against the Dark Intruder (and surprisingly no more men coming to the fore to testify against her). Almond was anxious to talk to Frankie. Anxious to get him downtown to ask a few questions and get a few answers. Though I didn’t know how anxious Frankie would be to talk about these alleged dungeon days.

  Deputy Almond told me this discreetly. Not within range of the prying ears of the Wildoh. He saved Mother that humiliation at least.

  But I hated to have to tell these things about Frankie to Mother.

  Turns out I didn’t have to. She was through with Frankie. Completely. Eternally. No, it wasn’t Cotton Carson. Nor really even Frankie’s disappearance (which was, after all, her frog-related doing). In fact this breakup had been a long time coming. That’s what they’d been fighting about before Frankie had even disappeared. That’s what the watch had been about. Not only did Frankie give her that expensive piece of jewelry to try to win her back, he’d had it engraved. That’s why mother had been so desperate to get it back. Not because of the expense of the gift, or soft sentiment toward the giver, but because of what Frankie had had engraved:

  Katt Dodd, marry me?

  It was a personal thing. A privacy thing. And now, a done thing.

  “Are you going to call Cotton, Mom?” I asked her.

  She smiled. “Maybe. Probably. He’s nice enough.”

  “I think he’ll be your knight in shining armor,” Mrs. Presley suggested.

  Katt Dodd smiled at her. Smiled at Dylan and me standing there in her living room. “Oh, I don’t need a knight in shining armor, Jane. I’ve got daughters.”

  ~*~

  “I told you before, Katt,” Mona said. “I do not take charity.”

  “Oh for Pete sake, Mona. How can it be charity? It’s your birthday. With everything going on, I didn’t get a chance to go out and buy you a present. The least you can do is let me take you out for a night on the town.”

  Mrs. P was finally getting her wish. We — me, Dylan, Mom, Mrs. Presley — were all bingo bound. It was our last night in Florida. Our flights were booked for tomorrow — one way to Marport City. The BMW would stay with Mom. Least I could do. No, not quite. The least I could do was insist — finally insist — that my mother sell me the condo. I’d been there too long free of charge. She needed the funds. With business the way it was, I could easily now get the mortgage. Sure it would mean giving up some things — such as the new fancy-schmancy office in favor of going back to the old office (I heard the plastic aloe vera still rested in peace on the window sill), but that was fine.

  Dylan had rented a Lexus to drive us around in style. I’d made reservations at the Maison Petite Colombe. And after dinner, we’d be playing at the biggest bingo hall in Florida. High-dollar bingo around the clock, satellite hookups to link the biggest games across the state, big screen TVs to display the numbers on, the whole shebang.

  It didn’t take a hell of a lot of arm twisting to convince Mona to join us. Tish was having some decorators over and Mona didn’t really want to be there for that. (The papers weren’t even signed yet, and Tish was going in for the kill.) Plus despite Mona’s stiff upper lip, finding out about Big Eddie’s betrayal had to hurt. Mother had offered her a place to stay as long as she needed, but with a despair that frightened me, Mona refused.

  But she would come out with us this night.

  Mother was worried, too. I could tell. But it was an edged worry as we got ready. One that I could not place. She was more thoughtful than usual. Not lost in thought so much as working within thought. We dressed — dolled ourselves up for the evening. Mother wore the new watch I gave her. And lastly she put on the family jewel. The diamond ring Peter Dodd had given her.

  “I’m worried about Mona, Mother,” I said. “Where will she go?” Dylan had done some checking, or rather some more checking on Mona Roberts. The granddaughter was well again. Cancer in remission. Getting stronger every day, thanks to Mona covering the hospital bills, which had depleted her own savings. But financially, Mona’s daughter was barely scraping by. There was not enough for the two of them, and Mona didn’t want to add to their burden.

  Of course, Mom looked like a million bucks. Young. Full of life.

  Mona came over around six, and despite the situation in her life, looked almost as wonderful as Mom did. She smiled best she could.

  The doorbell rang shortly after her arrival.

  “That’ll be Dylan,” Mrs. P said.

  I
knew it was. I caught myself then. The little tummy sucking anticipation, the smile that threatened to play. I knew it wasn’t a date. Even as I walked to the door, and swung it wide, I knew it wasn’t a date.

  Oh shit.

  It was a date.

  Dylan looked like a million bucks, too, in his faded jeans, print shirt and navy Hugo Boss jacket. Casual but damned elegant. His hair was freshly washed and tamed, and his skin glowed. I’d bet the Manolo Blahnik mules (Mother’s) on my feet that he’d been to a barber for an old-fashioned straight razor shave. He looked, and smelled, good enough to eat.

  Oh, and he was carrying flowers. Lots of them. And it was with school-boy charm that he pinned a corsage on Mona, Mrs. P and my mother. The ladies all giggled as they walked out to the car. The big bouquet of red roses could only be for me.

  I smiled as Dylan handed them over.

  “Thank you, Dylan.” I tipped onto my toes to kiss his cheek.

  He smiled down at me. “What happened here … between us….” He glanced to the fold out couch where so recently we’d teased and tantalized each other. Where we’d gotten so close.

  My heart lurched. Sent up that big red flag again. Because Dix Dodd didn’t do close. End of story. But somehow my mantra wasn’t doing for me what it was supposed to do.

  “Don’t worry, Dylan,” I said. “What happens in Florida stays in Florida.”

  Dylan sighed, “I wasn’t worried, Dix. But we can’t just ignore what happened.”

  “Oh my, look at the time,” I said, ignoring him.

  I expected at least a huff of frustration. But instead Dylan grinned. Just a bit a first, then widely.

  “This isn’t over, Dix Dodd,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “Not by a long shot.”

  He kissed me again. Long. Hard. Masterfully. Just like the handyman … er, gardener … in my fantasy would have done.

  I felt myself slipping. Oh shit! … Dix Dodd was kinda, sorta, almost doing … closer.

  And, oh, Lord, it still scared the hell out of me. Enough to pull away with a shaky laugh. “Come on, let’s go. They gals are waiting for us.”

  We had the same waiter at the restaurant. Actually, we had the same table. And whoa, big surprise — Deputy Noel Almond was sitting at it. He rose when we marched in.

  “Hey, Deputy,” Mrs. P called. “Give me a seven letter word for—”

  “Apology,” he offered, cutting her off.

  Mom looked at him. “That’ll almost do.”

  Almond smiled. “Tell you what. I’ll make that apology … and I’ll also pick up the tab for the meal.”

  “You haven’t seen how much Dix can eat,” Mrs. Presley offered, helpfully. “Like a horse. She just never stops.”

  Gee, thanks, Mrs. P.

  “Oh, I think I can manage,” Almond said. He looked directly at me. “We found everything, Dix. Thanks to you. All the items that were reported missing — and a few that hadn’t — were found in Lance’s room at the Goosebump. And you were right about the banking angle, too. It’ll take a few weeks to straighten everything out, but thanks to you, Eddie Baskin won’t be bilking anyone out of their life savings.”

  “How’d you figure that out, Dix?” Mona asked.

  I shrugged, the picture of modesty.

  Okay, I preened.

  “From what Mom told me, I knew he helped a lot of people with their banking and financial affairs. Which got me thinking … why stop at stealing jewelry from residents when he could probably talk them into granting him signing authority on their accounts and totally clean them out? People trusted him enough. Then I figured it out — the jewelry thefts were just a ruse, a way to make everyone suspicious of everyone else at the Wildoh. That way, he looked like a hero when he rode in to help ‘protect’ their assets.”

  Almond hung his head. “I shoulda figured that myself.”

  I could have told Almond to take it easy on himself. He wasn’t privy to the same information I’d had, specifically, the fruits of Dylan’s less-than-legal search. He didn’t know Eddie Baskin was the anxious owner of a first class ticket to a country that would welcome and shelter an embezzling weasel. His thought processes weren’t guided by the knowledge that there necessarily had to be some higher stakes hi-jinx going on than mere jewelry theft.

  Yes, I could have let him off the hook. But I didn’t. He’d been a prick to manipulate me.

  As it happened, he let himself off the hook.

  “Yeah, I shoulda seen it coming, maybe,” he said. “But give Big Eddie credit. He’s smarter than he looks. By infecting everyone with paranoia, he pretty much guaranteed folks wouldn’t talk to one another about money matters. Of course, we’ll also do a forensic audit of the Wildoh’s books. It seems the owners trusted him nearly as much as the residents did.”

  His warm gaze found mine and I relented. I think the guy really was sorry. And well, he was paying the bill….

  “Have a seat, Deputy,” Mother said.

  Almond and Dylan’s hands both shot to pull out the chair for me. If it had been yanked out any further it would have been placed at the next table. The men looked at each other, eyes locking. And it was Noel’s hand that came off the chair. Dylan waited as I sat (and then I had to do that scooting thumping into the table thing that drives me nuts) while Almond attended to the older ladies.

  “So you’re picking up the tab, eh, Deputy?” Mrs. P affirmed as she looked for the priciest item on the menu.

  “Of course, Mrs. Presley. Everything’s good here, and fairly reasonable.”

  “Did you get your bill yet from when you took Dix out?” Mother asked.

  Since Noel’s head didn’t shoot off his shoulders, it was a pretty safe bet he hadn’t. He just sat there looking a little confused.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Mother said, when she realized Noel hadn’t yet gotten my pumped-up dinner bill. “How rude of me.” And in the very next breath she said. “I’ll have the lobster. Oh, and it’s such a special night, we must have champagne. Maybe a nice blanc de noir? Ah, here’s a good one….”

  Noel said nothing. Just kept smiling. And smiling. We could run this night into a small fortune for him. I knew that was what he was thinking.

  Okay, the guy had been a jerk. And I am honest and truly the last female on earth to forgive jerks. These chips on shoulder things? Yes, they too are underrated. But he was really trying now. Really trying to be the good guy. The nice guy. He’d been an ass. But didn’t everyone deserve a second chance? He’d offered to pay for this little dinner by way of apology. Did we really need to hike the bill up as high as we possibly could?

  “I’ll have the lobster too,” I told the waiter. “And oh, I’m so thirsty. Better make that two bottles of champagne for the table. And it’s Mona’s birthday,” I pointed to the menu-scouring woman across the table from me. “Can you have your chef improvise a birthday cake? Some of that excellent cheesecake I sampled the other night would do nicely.”

  Mona popped her head up from the menu. “I don’t know what to order. It all looks so good.”

  “Try the lobster,” I suggested, grinning at Noel Almond, who was just then ordering soup.

  It was a lovely meal. And the cheesecake was the single most decadent thing I’ve ever had in my mouth (I know what you’re thinking — we won’t go there. And I said ‘single’.)

  Yes, it was a very pleasant meal indeed. But then Dylan stood.

  Mrs. P and I looked at each other for a panicked moment.

  Surely he wouldn’t.

  Dylan cleared his throat. He tinked the side of his wine glass with his fork, drawing all attention to himself. (Okay, the six foot four frame combined with the handsome as hell looks did not hurt. Let’s just say he drew more attention to himself.)

  He turned to Mona.

  Oh no oh no oh no oh no

  “Say, Dylan,” Mrs. P said into the moment. “What do you say we wrap this night up and head out to bingo? If you’ll just go warm up the car—”

  It was
a try, bless her heart, but Dylan was not to be dissuaded.

  “Mona,” he said. “I don’t have a gift for you. The least I can do for you on this special night is sing Happy Birthday to you.”

  I closed my eyes and braced myself. Not with my hands on the table, not my feet on the floor, but kind of with my head cocked to the side while every muscle in my body tensed. Every hair stood on end.

  Oh Jesus it was bad. Every frigging ‘yo-ooo’ was a like a pin sticking into my ears. Every off key syllable he belted out made me cringe all the harder.

  And God help him, Dylan had no idea.

  None whatsoever.

  I opened my eyes on the last yo-ooo, only to witness half the staff, customers and two seeing-eye dogs beneath the corner table (they’d not been beneath it when he’d started singing) cringing just as I had.

  Mother’s eyes were wide and shocked. Noel Almond looked as if he were considering whether an arrest was in order. Mona’s mouth dropped open in what could only be described as … well, horror. A waiter dropped a silver serving tray on to the floor — and just left it there. Somewhere I heard the click of a cell phone closing (damn, I hoped it wasn’t a camera phone).

  And nobody moved.

  Not a muscle.

  Dylan leaned in toward me. “Look, Dix,” he said. “They’re speechless.”

  “They are that,” I said with a shaky voice.

  Slowly, normal restaurant sounds returned as people got over their shock (how could a man who looks so damned good sound so damned bad?) and resumed eating their meals.

  “Does he have a clue?” It was Noel Almond whispering in my ear. “Does that young fellow have any idea how bad he is?”

  Young fellow?

  It was the way Noel said it. Not in a derogatory way, necessarily, but pointed. And whilst he was settling his hand on my knee under the table.

  Yeah, that surprised me. Not Noel’s question; hell, anyone who’s ever heard Dylan sing wonders the same thing. And certainly not the hand on my knee. No, the surprise was how little I felt as Noel Almond squeezed.