Baby Daddy Mystery

by Daisy Pettles

  “Why you acting like that?” Harry asked as he looked up from the computer screen.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like you been sucking on persimmons.”

  I updated Harry on Sassy’s arrest and Veenie’s disappearance. I also filled him in on what we’d learned from Bert about Doogie and the bank scam.

  He tugged at one end of his mustache. “Things don’t look so good for Sassy, that’s for sure. Maybe you ought to take a run out to Leisure Hills, see if you can shake Doogie out of his hidey-hole.”

  I pondered that idea for a moment and decided it was a darn good one. Doogie seemed to be the key to a whole lot of things. Maybe if we could pin him down, we could get him yakking. I was about to ask Harry if he wanted to arm up and ride shotgun with me out to Leisure Hills when Veenie burst in the door. Her face was red as a fireball candy and she was winded like she’d been running from the law or after a fresh-baked pie. The sweat was pouring off her chubby cheeks, and her white hair stood up on top of her head like a Mohawk.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Get your car keys, Ruby Jane. Hurry it up!”

  I grabbed the keys off my desk and shot toward the door. Veenie had already turned heel and was halfway out the door. I called after her, but she was headed straight to the Chevy like a fat little BB. She was firmly seated on the passenger’s side, rolling down the window by the time I caught up with her. I jumped into the Impala and keyed the ignition, but it just sat there, dead as a tin can. No noise. No rumble.

  “Dag nabbit!” I cursed.

  “Let’s go!” Veenie yelled. “He’s getting away! He’s running for it!” She was twisted around in the seat, pointing down Main Street behind us. She was kicking her fat little legs against the car seat like it was a horse she could spur into action.

  “Who?” I asked. “Gosh darn! Who we chasing?”

  “Doogie!” she yelled as she pointed far down Main Street at the figure of a short man with dark hair who was carrying an orange Hoosier Feedbag grocery bag in one hand and a six-pack of Big Red pop in the other. The man was walking fast, tapping his cane as he went, eating up the sidewalk with each brisk little step. He was wearing clip-on sunglasses over his regular black-framed glasses and a hooded, blue windbreaker. He kept looking nervously over his shoulder in the direction of the police station, then the bank. By the time my eyes were focused in the bright daylight, he’d turned down the alley at Pokey’s and disappeared from sight.

  I jammed the key around in the ignition and hit the accelerator, but the Impala sat there dead as a doornail.

  Veenie looked at me, then at the ignition.

  “It won’t start,” I explained.

  “You still got the spare key to Harry’s Toyota?”

  “Sure.”

  Veenie popped open the door and ran out behind the Impala to Harry’s Toyota and yanked on its door. It wasn’t locked. She was seated in the shotgun spot by the time I got in and keyed it to life. One click of the key, and we were off. I caught sight of Harry standing at the big front office window, waving his arms and yelling naughty things after us. I spun his car around and headed around the corner to where the alley came out on the other side. I threw Harry a wave and a kiss as I shot after Doogie.

  We rounded the corner, squealing rubber, but the alley was empty. I stomped on the brakes. No sign of Doogie or anyone else.

  “He had food and pop. Where you reckon he was going?” I asked Veenie.

  Her face scrunched up in thought.

  Just then, Pooter swooshed around the corner on his banana-seat bicycle. He flipped up his aviator shades and asked us if we were looking for the Hollywood guy.

  We both nodded vigorously.

  “If you hurry, you can catch him. Saw him squeal out of the bank parking lot in a beat-up old Caddy, black, out-of-state plates.”

  “Which way did he go?” Veenie asked.

  Pooter pointed to the right. “Poor Farm Road.”

  Veenie tossed Pooter a dollar bill from her bra, and we hung a right to catch Poor Farm Road.

  Veenie was sitting on the edge of her seat now. She had the binoculars pressed to her glasses. Sometimes it helped her see a little better in bright light. The binoculars were cracking against her glass lenses as the car sped along, so she gave up after a while.

  “Lay rubber, Ruby Jane!” she shouted. The air conditioning was blasting full speed. Veenie also had all the windows powered down in the Toyota. It sounded and felt like a tornado was beating on my ear drums. “There!” she screamed.

  We were on the gravel road now. Up ahead a cloud of dust swirled. I could make out red brake lights on a black car. The car skidded. The Caddy was traveling fast. It fishtailed in the gravel, wobbling and swaying like a sick possum. Approaching the gate house to Leisure Hills the Caddy didn’t slow down. It blew right through the mechanical arm. Metal flew everywhere. I gunned Harry’s Toyota and followed suit.

  The Caddy squealed into the back lot of Leisure Hills, and Doogie jumped out, holding the orange Hoosier Feedbag bag close to his chest, along with the six-pack of Big Red pop. He scurried up the back walkway and disappeared into the building.

  Veenie didn’t wait for me to park the Toyota. She jumped out while I was still rolling. Somehow she hit the ground running and shot toward the back door where Doogie had vanished. By the time I had the car parked and made my way to the back door, she was standing with her hands on her knees, wheezing like a hundred-year-old pump organ in need of repair.

  I eyed the door. It had a key card unit on it. No way we could bust in.

  I looked at Veenie. She looked like a sweaty fireplug.

  “Whad’da’ya waiting for?” Veenie wheezed.

  “To see if I’m going to have to bury you.” I gave her a few seconds to catch her breath while I contemplated the situation. Doogie was inside, so I reckoned we had him cornered now. We could saunter in the front door. If need be, we could call Boots for backup. But from the way Doogie crashed through the mechanical arm on the gate and the sound of the cop car siren I heard wailing not too far away, I reckoned he or Devon would be along shortly.

  Nurse Pruitt rolled up next to me and Veenie by the back door. She was wearing her peach-colored uniform and her giant marshmallow shoes. She was riding high-and-mighty in a golf cart. “You gals need some oxygen?” she asked as she pointed to a pair of tanks and a coil of plastic hose with a face mask in the back of the cart.

  Veenie rolled onto the backseat of the cart and took a giant hit of air. Then another one. That brightened her up. Her cheeks plumped up like little red apples.

  I explained to Nurse Pruitt what was happening, and she gave the cart a stomp, giving us a quick ride up to the main entrance. “You gals sure you don’t need a doctor?”

  Veenie was up now and raring to go. “Nah, I’m okeydokey, but you better keep a doc nearby for that old hound dog Doogie. Soon as I get a hold of him, he’s gonna be needing someone to put the pieces back together again.” She’d just finished talking when we both saw Doogie through the wide picture window on the front porch, running through the lobby toward the kitchen, his cane about the only thing keeping him upright. That’s all the encouragement Veenie needed. She was off again. And I was after her, bringing up the rear.

  Spying us, Doogie ran, slipping and sliding, into the kitchen. By now he’d dropped his groceries and the Big Red pop. The pop cans had burst and rolled across the floor, spitting red and slicking up the linoleum. I slipped in a puddle of Big Red but regained my footing by grabbing hold of the salad bar cart. I heard something rip and hoped like heck it was my pants, not my tendons.

  By the time I got into the kitchen, there was a circle of people in white serving hats gathered in the back near the freezers. I elbowed my way through the circle to find Veenie sitting on top of Doogie, who was face down on the checkered linoleum. He was kicking and screaming, but she was giving it right back to him. Weight wise, Veenie had the upper hand. She was sitting on his lowe
r back, yanking at his rooster comb of hair with both her hands. Whether he liked it or not—guessing by the way he was cursing and kicking, he did not—Doogie Duval, senior Romeo, was down for the count.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Boots stood in the doorway of the holding cell at the jail, his hat in his hands. He had his sunglasses off and clipped to his shirt pocket. “You gals blew right through the front gate out at Leisure Hills. That’s a crime, just so you know.”

  Veenie shook her head. “Doogie did that.”

  “She’s telling God’s truth,” I offered.

  Boots murmured something under his breath.

  We weren’t in the jail cell, but Doogie was. He was sitting on a cot looking forlorn, his chin cupped in his hands. He was a tiny fellow. Up close, I could see that he was wearing elevator shoes, black ones polished to all get-out. Boots had let him use the restroom to clean up after Veenie had walloped him half to death. His hair was slicked up neat on top of his head again, woodpecker style. It was black as coal, except for the sides, which were white as snow. Definitely a dye job because he was older than me, and his face showed it. Veenie had broken his glasses in the tussle, but Boots had taped the nose bridge together with a strip of silver duct tape. “I’m entitled to a lawyer,” he bellyached. “I want a lawyer,” he moaned over and over again. He looked like he might cry.

  “Course you do,” said Boots.

  Doogie had clammed up as soon as Boots clinked shut the door on his cell.

  I was pondering how to get his lips moving again.

  Veenie had gone at him full force, peppering him with questions, but that just made him pout more. He didn’t seem all that fond of her.

  I asked Boots if he’d bring Sassy in from the back cell.

  He eyed me like I was up to something, which I was, but heck, it was a good something, not anything sneaky or dirty handed. I guess he finally decided the same because he left and then came right back, Sassy in tow. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit (not her color) and black cloth slippers. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her with plastic ties.

  Doogie’s face melted when he saw her. “Honey Bunny!” he cried as he jumped up off the cot.

  “Rooster!” she called. I reckoned that was her pet name for him.

  They sat on the cot together and just sort of rubbed noses for a bit. It was sort of romantic and cute, except for the handcuffs and all.

  Once they were done jail smooching, Doogie gave us a dirty look. “Why you got my little Sassy all tied up in here? She didn’t even know I was in town.”

  And there it was: Doogie’s lips were working again.

  I explained to him that Sassy was being held for the murder of Fussy Jones.

  He looked at her a bit odd. “You killed a man?” he asked, sounding awfully surprised.

  “Heck no,” she said. “I thought you did.”

  “Me?” His darkly dyed eyebrows shot up like raven’s wings.

  “Well, I mean they thought you might have killed someone.” She threw a hand at us. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone murder some fella.” She shot us the evil Hoosier eye.

  I was starting to feel like I was watching a reality TV show. It wasn’t half bad.

  Doogie shook his head. “I’m guilty of a lot of things, Honey Bunny, but not murder.”

  “Well, I know that. Heck, you didn’t even know Fussy Jones.”

  Doogie’s face fell a little. He stared at his elevator shoes. “Well, truth be told, Honey Bunny, I did know Fussy Jones. He’s the guy who built Camelot Court and owns controlling interest in Leisure Hills. That fellow, right? Well, I sure enough did know him. He gave me the place out at Leisure Hills to hide out.”

  Sassy’s forehead wrinkled so hard it looked like an accordion. “How in the heck did you know him?”

  We all leaned in closer, toward the cell bars, waiting for the rest of the story. Veenie was mashed up against me so tightly I had to poke her in the ribs to get her to back off. She grunted, but complied.

  Doogie sighed. “Well, I’ve already been found guilty of this, so I guess I can tell you all that he was one of the fellows who invested in Sun City. Right nice fellow too. Kind of hated to take his money.”

  “But how’d you know him?”

  “Through that dentist.”

  “Bromley Apple?” asked Sassy.

  “Sure. I paid all my investors a grand each to bring in new investors. I found Bromley through my Facebook ad after you suggested to me that Indiana might be a good place to dig up some new business. Once Bromley was in deep, he organized a big meet up at IU up in Bloomington. He brought in some more fellows. Fussy was one of them. And his own brother, Bert.”

  I raised my hand. “Wait just a dog gone minute. Bert Apple was invested in Sun City?”

  “Oh sure. In fact he threw more into the pot than Bromley.”

  Sassy seemed puzzled now. “But I read all the court papers, and none of those men were mentioned or called as witnesses.”

  “That’s because they made a special deal with me.”

  “Special?” asked Sassy.

  “Sure. I mean they weren’t happy when they found out the condos were, well, sort of not real, and that I’d sort of been arrested. I might have told them that they were all just as liable as me because they were sort of legal partners because they’d recruited investors. And I might have mentioned that I had the paperwork to prove they were involved, and then they might have asked if there was any way that paperwork could get lost. And then I might have said maybe the paperwork might get lost, if they’d do me a favor or two.”

  I felt I knew where this was going. “So you asked Bromley to put that slicing software on his mother’s computer to steal from the bank?”

  Doogie stared at me. “Nope.”

  “No?” We all cried.

  “It wasn’t Bromley. He didn’t want anything to do with embezzlement or hurting his mom. Said it wasn’t his style.”

  “Who was it then that put the slicing software on the bank’s system?” I had to ask.

  “Why, it was Bromley’s brother, Bert.”

  My head ached now. I could tell by the look on Veenie’s face, it was all twisted up, that hers did too.

  Sassy spoke up. “Then you didn’t kill Fussy?”

  “Why would I do that, Honey Bunny?”

  “Well, I was sort of dating him.”

  Doogie’s face fell. He looked like a hound dog that had been slapped.

  “I’m sorry, Rooster,” Sassy said. “I thought you’d be in jail for the rest of our natural lives. And you know how I just hate being alone. It wasn’t anything serious with Fussy, but dang it, I have to keep a hand in the game. I’m not made to be single. I’m just not!” Tears welled up in her eyes.

  Doogie draped an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

  A number of questions were welling up in me. I asked Doogie why he was blackmailing Avonelle and why he’d shot at me and Veenie when we’d gone out to meet him out at Barbara’s barn.

  He fiddled with the tape on the bridge of his broken glasses. “I didn’t do any of that. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. Guns scare the bejeebers out of me. Heck, she scares me.” He pointed to Veenie.

  Just then Devon rattled in, bringing supper trays for Sassy and Doogie. His eyes were all bright and his step full of spring. He was excited to have a big time felon in custody. He’d made extra copies of Doogie’s wanted poster and already had one pinned on the office wall behind his desk.

  Boots said we should clear out and let the jailbirds eat in peace. Said we could all come back tomorrow during visiting hours.

  Veenie and I walked slowly out to Harry’s Toyota. We both felt like we’d been chasing polecats and rolling around in the dirt all day, because well, we had. “We still don’t know who killed Fussy,” I said with a deep sigh. “Or shot at us. And if we don’t solve Fussy’s murder, Sassy and Doogie will have matching cells over in Terre Haute. And Indiana has the death penalty for m
urder.”

  “You believe that lying little Rooster?” Veenie asked.

  “Think I do. I mean, he seemed trustworthy enough.”

  “What about his claim that Bert was the one who set up his mother as an embezzler?”

  “He’s got no reason to lie about that.” Bert, I was thinking, had pulled the wool over our eyes but good. He had every reason to lie about embezzling. And he knew full well his dead brother could never sit up and defend himself.

  While Veenie was puzzling over all this new intelligence, I clicked on my cell. I’d been letting it charge in the jailhouse and hadn’t checked it all day because of all the commotion. As soon as I flicked it on, the thing practically blew up in my hand.

  Joyce was back with dagger hearts, saying she’d dropped by the insurance office to take Rusty to a surprise romantic dinner at this new Italian restaurant only to find that he and Kayleigh had both been checked out all day. No one could tell her where they were, only that they’d not be back in the office until tomorrow. “Find him!!!” Joyce texted me.

  Joyce had always been bossy, but this time she was paying, so I reckoned she had a right to be ordering me and Veenie around. I asked Veenie to pull up the BMW tracking gizmo on her cell and check on Rusty’s whereabouts. We were both stunned when the tracker put Rusty’s BMW less than two miles away. He was just outside Knobby Waters. At the Moon Glo Motor Lodge, to be exact. “That’s not possible,” I said. “Why would he be there?”

  Veenie rolled her eyes. “Why does anyone check in at the Moon Glo?”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It sure does if he’s diddling Kayleigh. We’re onto him. He knows Joyce is onto him. She’d kicked down all the swanky hotel doors in Bloomington to get at him, but you know how she hates coming down here. No way she’s going to find him at the Moon Glo. She’d not risk getting poor folk cooties.”