by Donna Doyle
"And howexactly do I live?" Marilyn fired back. "You think you got me all figured out, don't you?"
Digby raised both of his hands in an apologetic fashion. "Forgive my bluntness, Mrs. Tucker. It's just that Greenacre Manor in Calmhaven is offering slightly different living conditions than the place you are presently staying at."
"You must be the first smart policeman I've ever met," Marilyn muttered and she plopped herself down at the far end of the kitchen table, as far away from Digby and Dora as she could. No drink was offered, just her perpetual scowl. She licked her lips. "So? What do you want?"
"You may have heard that your former husband, Bernard Bloomsteyn, is about to remarry?"
"I heard as much." Marilyn studied her nails.
"His bride-to-be is gone. She completely disappeared."
Marilyn stopped the study of her nails and looked up. "Of course she's gone. She must have found out what a creep Bernard really is."
"Somebody painted his house," Digby went on.
"Sure. I wish I had the money to paint this dump," Marilyn shrugged. "Who cares?"
"It's not that," Dora offered. "Somebody wrote a threat on his front wall."
Marilyn burst out in a laugh. Loud and unpleasant. "Now I get it. Of course…" She shook her head. "That's why you are here. Bernard thinks I messed up his house. It all makes sense." She threw her hair back over her shoulders and hissed, "Do you know he just came here to see me. Can you believe it, he accused me of kidnapping his lover."
Digby acted dumb. "Hejust came here? What did he want?"
"He's so dumb," Marilyn said with a scowl. "He told me to release the woman." She chuckled. "As if I care whom he marries. But I have nothing to do with it. I couldn't have."
"Why not, Mrs. Tucker?" Digby asked.
"Because I was in prison until two days ago. And from what Bloomsteyn told me, his so-called new flame has been missing now for over three days."
"You were in prison?" Both Digby and Dora exclaimed in unison.
"Yeah," Marilyn answered. She actually chuckled. "I was in prison… for two whole years." Her face took on an empty, faraway look. "That's a long time… Actually, I was supposed to be released a month ago, but some idiot didn't process the paperwork properly, so I was only released a few days ago." She snickered. "I suppose it was all for the best, because otherwise you would have arrested me for messing up Bernard's house."
She turned to Digby. "I thought you were a smart policeman, Bigbee, but I see that I was wrong. A smart police officer would have checked my past; you clearly didn't."
Digby looked down, and Dora knew what he was thinking. Marilyn Tucker was right. He should have checked. It would have saved them the trip, but he hadn't thought of it, as he had been too excited with the prospect of going on a trip together with Dora.
Marilyn Tucker actually laughed out loud when she saw the confusion on Digby's face. "Don't worry, honey," she chuckled. "We are all learning. You should talk to that other woman. The one who came to see me in prison last week."
Dora and Digby both frowned. "What other woman?"
Marilyn shook her head. "I didn't know her. Never seen her before. A pretty thing she was. She asked me what I thought of Bloomsteyn." She laughed again. "I could tell her ears were hurting when I got done with her."
"And you don't know who she was?"
"I didn't care, Bubsby. I think she was a detective or something. You know, one of those smart women you see in those police-series on TV, always one step ahead of the bad guys, pretty as you like, and forever single."
Dora and Digby stared at each other. Their time was up, and they could leave without arresting Marilyn.
Since she had been in jail, it was highly unlikely she had anything to do with the disappearance of Deborah Smythe.
But who then had done it, and who had been painting that horrible message on Bloomsteyn's house if his ex-wife had not been able to do so? They were not a step closer to solving the mystery.
Digby pushed his chair away and got up. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Tucker," he said while motioning Dora with his eyes to follow him.
"Whatever," Marilyn scowled.
As Dora got up too, her eyes fell on an actual oil painting that was hanging in the living room. Dora could just see it through the open door. It was a painting of a beautiful forest and right at the edge, sniffing at some daisies stood a newborn deer, harmless, cute and innocent. "That's a pretty painting, Mrs. Tucker," she said. "Did you paint it yourself?"
An odd thing happened.
Her hard appearance lifted for just a moment, almost as if a curtain had been drawn aside and a part of Marilyn's heart, that had been carefully locked away, opened up, and she blushed. "No, my father did."
"He's quite an artist," Dora said with admiration in her voice. "Just looks like Bambi… you know, that funny, little deer in that old movie Walt Disney made?"
Marilyn pressed her lips together. "You are right. My father painted it for me… He called me his Bambi."
9
Pasqualini, an accountant to die for
"Marilyn Tucker may not have been the one who vandalized the front of Bernard Bloomsteyn's house, but she sure had a lot of shady stuff to say about the man." Dora excitedly gesticulated with her arms as to underline the importance of their findings.
Molly Gertrude listened attentively, while slowly sipping her tea.
After Marilyn Bloomsteyn-Tucker had victoriously shared she had been released from prison a day after Deborah Smythe had gone missing, she had softened up a bit. She had even offered them both a cup of water, which both of them had politely declined. And then she had opened up about her life with Bernard Bloomsteyn.
And Dora's ears had been rattling…
"They'd been married five years," Dora began. "Marilyn had money, Bloomsteyn had not, but somehow Bloomsteyn weaseled his way into her life and she fell in love with him."
Molly Gertrude stopped Dora for a moment. "Wait… where did Marilyn get her money from?"
Dora smiled. "Crime. Plain, old fashioned crime."
Molly narrowed her eyes. "What did she do?"
"She smuggled drugs. At the time she owned a boat, a fast one. Apparently, she met some folks who needed someone with a boat to smuggle drugs from the Caribbean into the country. She made several runs and made a good profit. That's when Bloomsteyn showed up."
Molly Gertrude gasped. "Did Bloomsteyn smuggle drugs too?"
"I don't think so," Dora shook her head. "But he seems to be listening to a whole slew of other demons. I told you he's addicted to gambling…"
"I know," Molly Gertrude mumbled as she took another sip of her tea.
"Here's the thing," Dora said, almost bubbling with excitement. "In order to pay for his habit he stole lots of money from Marilyn, and then, to make sure Marilyn couldn't get back at him, he tipped the police. Anonymously of course. He figured with all he knew about Marilyn's evil activities, there was enough evidence to put her behind bars for years, and he could go on undisturbed.”
Molly Gertrude nodded. "What a crook. And because he never participated in any of the drug runs or didn’t do anything so-called illegal, there was nothing Marilyn could accuse him of."
"She got five years in jail," Dora added, "but she cooperated with the investigation, said all the right things, and behaved like a little angel in prison. Thus, she was released only two days ago. No doubt much to Bloomsteyn's horror."
"I can see why he thought Marilyn would have kidnapped Deborah," Dora grunted. "He deserved as much, only Marilyn had nothing to do with it."
Dora nodded. "It still doesn't tell us what happened to Deborah. And…" she tilted her head, and thought long and hard, "…it's strange that Bloomsteyn called on both, the police and us to investigate. According to his logic, his ex-wife did it… So why get the police involved? It seems a man like him wants to stay away from the police as much as a burglar wants to stay away from the light."
"It's simple," Molly Gertru
de spoke. "After all I've seen and heard, I believe the man has big debts. Gambling debts, and he needs lots money, and he needs it fast. You told me some thugs were just about beating him up at the Golden Dipper where you and Digby wanted to have coffee. It's quite possible somebody is threatening him and wants to settle the score."
Dora readjusted her glasses and rolled her eyes. "I would… What a creep."
"But think," Molly Gertrude went on. "Put yourself in his shoes. What would you do in his place, if you would have the same perverted mind?"
"God help me," Dora fired back and scowled.
"Just think," Molly Gertrude insisted. "What is the most logical place to get money?"
Dora pressed her lips together and shrugged, "I guess, he could be robbing a bank?"
"He could…," Molly Gertrude said with a chuckle, "…but he doesn't. The man is a coward, and doesn't like to take any risks. He was convinced Marilyn kidnapped Deborah, so sending the police wasn't such a bad thought. If Deborah returns on time he can get married and he has access to all of her money. No sweat."
"But, in that scenario, wouldn't Marilyn have told Deborah all about his shady behavior and his gambling? I mean, her mouth was full of poison…"
"Maybe," Molly Gertrude answered, "but the man is a master of deceit, and he's confident Deborah is like putty in his hands."
"But you said she slapped him? I still don't understand," Dora sputtered.
Molly Gertrude gave her a small nod. "You are right, the case is not solved yet, and worst of all, Deborah is still missing and we have no clue as to where she could be."
Dora thought for a moment and then looked up with new light in her eyes. "What if Marilyn did it anyway… You know, from prison. There's these stories about crime bosses who organize their whole criminal empire from behind bars. I believe that's what Al Capone did."
Molly Gertrude couldn't help it, but she had to chuckle. "I would hardly compare Marilyn Tucker to Al Capone, but… you are right, Dora. It's not impossible."
"What do we do now," Dora asked, her face despondent.
"There's one lead we haven't followed up on," Molly Gertrude said as she smacked her lips, "and tomorrow we can do something about that."
"What lead is that?"
"I told you about the empty safe in Deborah's bedroom. But I didn't tell you that I found a business card there, with the name of Deborah's accountant. His name is Antonio Pasqualini. Let's make an appointment with the man tomorrow."
The word tomorrow triggered an unexpected response in Dora's emotions. It seemed all of a sudden as if she caved in and gave way to a rising panic.
"Tomorrow… Tomorrow," she wailed. "It's all too going to be too late. The wedding is scheduled for this weekend."
Molly Gertrude frowned. "Dear Dora… Hush my girl. You don't really believe Deborah should get married to Bloomsteyn, do you?"
"No…, of course not," Dora mumbled, "…but you haven't even called off the catering and all the other things. It's going to be a disaster. You have no idea how hard it was to hire the Shocking Blue Jeans, and we are going to end up having to pay for the whole thing. We… we… will not be able to pay for it all."
"No, Dora… no panic. God will take care of it all. I am sure He knows the way."
"Ten minutes," Antonio Pasqualini had told Molly Gertrude and Dora when he bumped into them that morning. Dora had driven them early that morning to Pasqualini's office in an apartment building on the outskirts of Calmhaven, and they had been waiting on a bench in the hall of the office, right next to a giant lemon tree in a stone basket. Just when Molly Gertrude was beginning to wonder whether or not they were wasting their time the accountant, driving an Audi A6, appeared on the parking lot, and only minutes later he stepped through the sliding doors of the building, carrying a briefcase in one hand and clutching several paper files under his other arm.
He arched his brows when he saw both Molly Gertrude and Dora. "Ladies? What can I do for you?"
His piercing blue eyes peered out at them from his stony face as he towered over them with his bulky frame.
"Can we have a few minutes of your time, Mr. Pasqualini?" Molly Gertrude asked as she forced herself up from the seat. Pasqualini put down his briefcase and raked through his light brown hair. "What about?"
"We try to understand what happened to one of your clients, Mr. Pasqualini," Dora added.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. But only ten minutes. After that I will have to start charging you." He grinned, and motioned for them to follow him to his office.
The place was bright and luxurious, with giant glass windows that overlooked the fields outside of Calmhaven. The floor was covered with soft carpet and two cubist, expensive looking paintings hung on the blind wall near the entrance. Pasqualini clearly was used to the better things of life.
Pasqualini motioned with his hands for Molly Gertrude and Dora to sit down on the seats that were strategically placed before his massive mahogany desk. Molly Gertrude let out a soft yelp as she disappeared into the soft material, much deeper than she had expected. She would need Dora's help to get out of that seat.
"Comfortable, isn't it?" Antonio Pasqualini offered her a warm, sympathetic smile. "I bought these at an auction. Some guy couldn't pay his mortgage."
"That's a sad story," Dora said after she had disappeared in her seat as well. "Was it your client?"
Pasqualini's eyes flickered, ever so softly. He forced a weak smile on his face and said, "Of course not, Miss Brightside. My clients always pay their mortgage. That's why they have me."
You couldn't really call Pasqualini's desk cluttered, but there were a lot of paper files and documents. Several post-it notes with little messages to remind him of important things to do were carefully stuck on his desk, around his leather writing pad. It appeared Pasqualini was a busy man.
"I would offer you coffee," he said as he leaned back, "but Dolly, she's my secretary, is at the dentist. Poor girl… she's got a root canal treatment scheduled for today, so I suspect we won't see too much of her today."
"So, no coffee?" Molly Gertrude asked as she widened her eyes.
"No coffee," Pasqualini answered, still keeping his smile in place, although his eyes were far from smiling. "Now, what can I do for you, lovely ladies?"
Molly Gertrude cleared her throat. "You are Deborah Smythe's bookkeeper, right?"
"I am," he said while he rubbed the tip of his nose. "She's a lovely lady."
"And you have been for a long time?"
"Some time, yes."
"What does some timemean?"
"Why do you want to know?" Pasqualini curled his lips.
"She's missing, Mr. Pasqualini. Quite a few days now, and her husband-to-be has hired us to investigate."
Antonio Pasqualini raised his brows and leaned back. "Bernard Bloomsteyn has hired an old lady to investigate the disappearance of his bride? Why didn't he go to the police?"
"He went there too, Mr. Pasqualini."
Pasqualini rubbed his lips, and thought. "I see…" He leaned forward, causing his swivel chair to creak, and shook his head. "I am sorry to hear that. Mrs. Smythe is such a lovely lady. Do you have any leads?"
Molly Gertrude cleared her throat. "How long have you worked for her, Mr. Pasqualini?"
Pasqualini gave her a grin. "You are really Johnnie on the job, aren't you? Well, to answer your question, I've worked for her three very fruitful months."
"Months?" Molly Gertrude frowned. "That's such a short time?"
Pasqualini leaned back again and tapped with his fingers on his belly. "Good business relations always start on zero, Miss Grey. I figured you would understand that."
"But…," Molly Gertrude's mind was working now at full capacity, "… what happened to the old accountant?"
Pasqualini shook his head. "I don't know, Miss Grey. It's none of my business. But I think he retired, or something. You should ask Mrs. Smythe when she's back."
Molly nodded. "Of course." She thought for a
moment and then asked, "Did you ever meet his ex-wife, you know… Mrs. Bloomsteyn?”
Pasqualini grinned. “His ex-wife? Of course not. Why would I have met Mr. Bloomsteyns ex-wife?” He pushed his chin slightly forward and leaned back in his swivel chair. "I know nothing about such women."
"Well, you could have. I mean, you are doing all the finances for Deborah Smythe. She must have told you a thing or two."
Pasqualini vehemently shook his head. "No, she did not. My conversations with Mrs. Smythe were strictly business." Then he chuckled and continued, "I heard his ex-wife is quite a case though." He leaned forward and whispered as if it were a secret, "I didn't get that from Mrs. Smythe though. You know how it goes… you hear things sometimes… through the grapevine. In the bar, on the golf course, at Miss Marmelotte's…"
"Oh," Molly Gertrude simply stated.
Pasqualini licked his lips and continued in the same conspiratorial tones. "I believe she was even in prison." He shook his head as if he couldn't understand how it was possible the world was producing such questionable characters.
"Was?" Molly Gertrude asked as she stared at the man. "Isn't she still in, or did she get released or something? I heard she got six years or so."
Pasqualini blinked his eyes and pressed his lips together. "Eh…Well, I don't know all the details. Women like that do not interest me." He thought for a moment and then said in confident tones, "Yes, you are right Miss Grey, she most likely is still in jail. I said 'was'just as a matter of speech, you know… , it's all sort of the same in speech. Was, or is, or even will be… all the same. He gave both Dora and Molly a wide grin. "Sort of like you say, 'Hi Guys,' when you are talking to a group of people of which most of them are girls, while a guy of course is a male figure. Hee-hee."
Molly Gertrude nodded her agreement, although she couldn't quite follow Pasqualini's logic. "Sure, Mr. Pasqualini, that makes sense."
"So… eh," Molly Gertrude licked her lips, "…how is Mrs. Smythe doing financially?"
"Tssk, Tssk," Pasqualini snorted, and gave her a compassionate look. "I thought you would have heard about client confidentiality. If you want me to open up her books, Mrs. Smythe will have to be present herself."
