The Case of the Flashing Fashion Queen - A Dix Dodd Mystery

by N.L. Wilson

  “One call and I can have you arrested on the spot, Ms. Dodd. And if you try to run, I’ll make that call so fast you’ll think you’re running backwards.” Judge Stephanopoulos held up her cell phone for emphasis.

  “I understand, Judge. And I wouldn’t dream of betraying your trust.”

  She huffed. “If it wasn’t for Rochelle’s faith in you...”

  I sent a quick ‘thank-you-I-owe-you-big-time’ look at my friend. Rochelle flashed back a ‘you-can-bet-I’ll-collect’ acknowledgment. And I bet that she would.

  I didn’t like the formality with which Judge Stephanopoulos addressed me this morning. But I couldn’t blame her. Technically, she was helping someone wanted by the police. Technically, she could get in a bit of trouble here herself—the line she was walking was pretty thin. But, this was a woman made of some brass. And honor. She was also a woman who believed in justice, and I had a feeling she’d do whatever she could to see that it prevailed.

  So when I had called Rochelle (to confirm some things I suspected and to ask for—okay, beg for—her help), she’d presented everything to Judge Stephanopoulos who, according to Rochelle, shook her head and reluctantly agreed to meet with me and hear me out. Under one condition—that after I’d had my say, I’d turn myself in whether my suspicions panned out or not. I had agreed. We met. She listened. And she—yesss!—agreed to help me.

  We would go to the Weatherby home together, where I would turn myself over to the police. Judge Stephanopoulos was an officer of the court bringing in a fugitive. But she’d make sure I had a few minutes of say before Dickhead hauled me away. That’s all I asked for. Yet if my theory was correct and I could pull this off, there would be no need for Dickhead to arrest me once this meeting was over.

  Now, as we sat in the Judge’s car, she glanced back at me again as she put her phone away. “All I can offer you is time and forum. But nothing beyond that.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  We were simply driving around Marport City now as we waited for the meeting hour to approach. Having stopped at the local drive-through coffee shop, I was well and truly caffeined. Dylan had gone over to the Weatherby house earlier, with instructions to call me on my cell once everyone had arrived.

  Even though the Judge’s windows were tinted and therefore I wasn’t likely to be spotted, it was strange being out and about the town as ‘me’. There were no disguises today. No hair dye, no tinted shades, no red blazer. Firstly, I didn’t want Ned Weatherby or his parents to recognize me from the real estate agent fiasco, but also because I was through with running from the Flashing Fashion Queen. Through with disguises on this one. Through with hiding because of her.

  “You know, Dix,” Rochelle said, “Dylan Foreman could be in a bit of trouble here, too.” She was sitting in the front passenger seat while Judge Stephanopoulos drove. “If you don’t walk away from this scot free, Dylan doesn’t either.”

  Judge Stephanopoulos nodded. “Rochelle’s right, Ms. Dodd. Detective Head could well arrest Mr. Foreman for aiding and abetting.”

  I’d thought of that, of course.

  I’d given Dylan the option of cutting and running from mi vida loca last night while he still could. As it stood, there was nothing that could concretely link him to me since I’d been on the lam. Sure, he’d helped me escape custody at the office, but that couldn’t be proven. And Dylan was too smart to admit to anything, or be intimated under police questioning. He’d get a genuine chuckle if they pulled the good-cop, bad-cop shit with him. But once he entered that Weatherby house to set this up with me... if my goose was cooked, his good-looking gander was hitting the BBQ too. I had made that perfectly clear to him.

  Dylan hadn’t blinked. Had not hesitated. He hadn’t missed a heartbeat before he answered my offer with, “Forget it, Dix. We’re in this together.”

  Those words echoed through my mind now, as we drove around Marport City.

  Then my cell phone rang. Judge Stephanopoulos glanced at me via the rearview mirror. Rochelle turned once again in her seat to stare as I answered.

  “We’re ready, Dix. Everyone’s here.”

  “Thank you, Dylan.”

  I snapped the phone shut. Drew a deep breath. “Judge Stephanopoulos, Rochelle, its show time.”

  Judge Stephanopoulos nodded, then headed the car to Ashfield Drive. And though I knew what awaited me, she couldn’t drive fast enough for my liking. But once the house was in view, my gulp was audible.

  “Well, isn’t that a proper welcoming committee,” Rochelle muttered.

  I’d expected cops, but good Lord! The street in front of the Weatherby mansion looked like a river of red and blue bar lights. Shit, there were enough police cars to escort President Obama through Kandahar.

  My thoughts flashed back to Dylan. I’d instructed him to call me only when everyone was convened. Detective Head, on the other hand, would have been dead set against allowing this gathering to happen. He’d have used every threat and intimidation tactic at his disposal, including this display of police might, to make Dylan cave on that point. But Dylan hadn’t blinked. Thank you, Dylan.

  Everyone would be sitting in Jennifer’s study right now, nervously awaiting my arrival. And Judge Stephanopoulos was my ticket in there. I surely hoped.

  I opened the door and climbed out of Judge Stephanopoulos’s car.

  “Dix Dodd, you’re under arrest.”

  Detective Dickhead’s gleeful words reached me at the same time as the reek of the stale cigarette smoke that clung to him.

  “Back on the butts, Detective?”

  “Yeah, and just see what it’s done for my mood,” he smiled. “Now, hands behind your back, Dodd.”

  He was in a better mood, all right. Hell, he was almost dancing as he pushed me up against the car and nodded to one of the female officers present. The officer—Officer H. Lapp according to her badge—frisked me quickly, then put the handcuffs on me. This I’d expected, given my last encounter with Dickhead when I’d taken off on him, leaving Blow-Up Betty in my place. He would make damn sure it wouldn’t be happening again, and the female police officer was there to ensure that no pleas of feminine emergencies would throw things off.

  But when Officer Lapp moved one hand to my head and another on the small of my back to prompt me into the police car, Judge Stephanopoulos, followed by Rochelle, stepped out from the Judge’s car.

  “Unhand Ms. Dodd,” the judge said, quietly but with unmistakable authority.

  The female officer glanced at Judge Stephanopoulos, then did a double take. “Oh, Your Honor.”

  Judge Stephanopoulos had presided over a great many criminal trials in Marport City, and most cops had testified before her at one time or another. She had a reputation for being intelligent and fair, for running a tight and efficient courtroom, and for being someone you just did not want to piss off. Officer Lapp looked to Dickhead for instructions. Yet she relaxed her hands enough to allow me to stand straight again.

  “Judge Stephanopoulos,” Dickhead said. “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction aren’t you?”

  “I’m an officer of the court, Detective Head,” Judge Stephanopoulos replied. “I’m making this my jurisdiction.”

  “Not from where I’m standing,” he grated. “From where I’m standing, Dix Dodd is a dangerous fugitive on the run. I have to haul her in.”

  Okay, this is where it got tricky.

  And I watched the two—Judge Stephanopoulos and Dickhead—my head snapping left to right, right to left with every volley of words. My money was on the judge. And, well, my everything was on the judge.

  “This doesn’t concern you at this point, Judge,” Dickhead said. “This isn’t your courtroom. This is my bailiwick.”

  “This may not be my courtroom, Detective. But I assure you it concerns me. According to Ms. Dodd, a crime has been committed.”

  “Yeah, by Ms. Dodd, and I’m— “

  Judge Stephanopoulos raised her hand quickly, silencing him. “And
, again according to Ms. Dodd, I’m directly involved.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, as though trying to summon patience. “Look, dear, if you’ve got information we should consider, I’ll be happy to look into it. Right after we finish processing this prisoner.”

  Yeah, I caught it—dear.

  And by the way Officer Lapp was biting her lip, she’d caught it too.

  Rochelle jabbed me with her elbow. “Oh, man,” she whispered, “the judge’s gonna castrate him.”

  Castrate him? Why, was it Christmas already? I felt the excitement bubble up inside; I heard the carols playing in my head: Deck the halls with Dickhead’s balls, falalalala la la la la.

  Only when Rochelle elbowed me a second time—harder—did I realize I’d been humming.

  Eyes narrowed, Judge Stephanopoulos regarded Detective Head. Like something out of a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western, she stood with her arms at her sides as if she was ready to whip out a six-shooter. He glared right back. And though I had little doubt before, I really had no doubt now as to who would be winning this exchange, because she smiled at him. It was not a sweet smile.

  “Let me explain something to you, Detective,” Judge Stephanopoulos began. “And I’ll say it slowly so that hopefully you won’t get hung up on the big words.”

  Dickhead blinked.

  Another elbow in the ribs from Rochelle, and I bit back the ‘you go girl!’ that threatened to erupt.

  Judge Stephanopoulos continued, “Ms. Dodd is in no danger of fleeing at this point, Detective. You have her in handcuffs. You have her in custody in the pure definition of the law. You have many officers on the premises. On the other side of the coin, I have knowledge that an injustice has been done, and is continuing to be done. And I believe that this injustice will not be rectified until and unless Ms. Dodd addresses those gathered within that house, and gives the information to all, including yourself, that she has given to me. I am an officer of the court, acting in—”

  “She can tell her lies downtown!” Dickhead interjected.

  “She’ll tell her truths here!” Judge Stephanopoulos’s voice rang with authority.

  Dickhead’s struggle was written clearly on his face. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to concede. He ran his tongue over his lower lip quickly. He rocked on his heels. Just when I thought he was going to agree, his glance fell on me and his face hardened.

  “No.” He snapped. “Not going to happen. This is my show and what I say goes. And I say Dixielicks is going downtown.”

  “Then let me put it another way, Detective,” Judge Stephanopoulos said. “Dix Dodd is going into that house right now. Rochelle and I are going with her. And if you try to stop us, you’ll have to arrest me along with Ms. Dodd. And in that event, you’d better make damn sure that you keep me behind bars a good long while. Because I assure you, Detective, when I am no longer a guest of the county, and when Ms. Dodd has proven her innocence, I will make it my personal mission to have you busted down to picking up dog shit in the park. And if you don’t believe me, Detective, then just try me.”

  It was the way she said ‘try me’... with the barely-there restraint in her voice. Almost as if she was daring him to call her on this. Almost as if she wanted him to do it.

  Dickhead stared at the judge, hard. But not for long.

  “Ah, hell!” He turned away and snarled in the general direction of Officer Lapp. “Well, what are you waiting for? Take Dodd into the house!”

  Officer Lapp took me by the elbow, but not hard. Rather as a demonstration that I was indeed in custody.

  Inside the Weatherby house, police lined the walls. Though no weapons were drawn, it was still intimidating walking the gauntlet. Obviously, they were serious about my not escaping custody this time.

  And all eyes were on me as I entered the study.

  “Dix!” Dylan had been sitting on a small sofa beside Mrs. Presley, but surged to his feet at the sight of Officer Lapp’s grip on my obviously cuffed arm.

  “Hey, Dylan.” I smiled reassuringly. “Everything’s cool.”

  Judge Stephanopoulos and Rochelle followed me into the room, and stood beside the door. And of course, Dickhead came to stand beside me, breathing down my neck.

  I looked around the room.

  Ned’s lawyer, Jeremy Poole, sat beside a nervous looking Elizabeth Bee on a matching sofa placed on the other side of the room. She looked from Dylan to me, then back to Dylan again with a confused, questioning look on her face. A tall, portly man completely decked out in baker whites stood between the two sofas. I knew this had to be Kenny Kent, the Weatherby’s caterer. Billy Star was there, standing beside Jennifer’s bookcase beside a rigid Luanne Laney. The latter had a steno pad and pen poised in her hands to take notes. Wow, that woman was efficient. Or psycho.

  “Well, if it isn’t Dix Dodd! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Presley shouted into the room. “Why when Dylan picked me up this morning and told me about the party, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Bless her little ass-covering heart. “And didn’t I see your picture in the paper the other day? Something about... some case you were working on or something?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Presley,” I said. “Good to see you again. And yes, that was me you saw in the paper.”

  She smiled and looked around the room. “You know, it’s just like old home week here—all these familiar faces.” Half the men in the room averted their gazes—looking up, down, sideways and everywhere, except at Mrs. Presley.

  Detective Head just looked angry. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  I turned to expose my handcuffed wrists to him. “Can you remove these?” I had visions of dramatically pointing to the guilty party as I made my Sherlock Holmes-style speech.

  “Not a chance,” he sneered.

  Damn.

  “Damn.”

  “Please watch what you say, Ms. Dodd,” Pastor Ravenspire said. He was standing between Ned and his father, and all three stood over the chair where Ned’s mother sat behind Jennifer’s desk. “I’m not used to such language. And frankly,” he looked around the room—a little too quickly, a little too nervously. “I don’t know why I’m here in the first place.” He looked at his watch. “I... I can’t stay long.”

  Mr. Weatherby Senior took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on again. “You... you look familiar,” he said to me. He turned to his wife. “Doesn’t she look familiar, dearest?”

  “Yes,” the old woman said slowly, thoughtfully. “Yes, she does. Give me a minute... I’ll place that face.”

  Oh great, that was all I needed for Dearest to recognize me. I’d have to do this quickly.

  I drew a deep breath, expelled it, and began. “Each one of you has been called here today for a reason. Each one of you knew Jennifer Weatherby. Each one of you was close enough to murder Jennifer Weatherby. And one of you... one of you did just that.”

  I waited a moment for the hands-to-heart dramatic gasp, but obviously no one was as impressed as I was by my theatrics. I cleared my throat and continued. “A little over a week ago, someone disguised as Jennifer walked into my office. This person told me that her husband, Ned Weatherby, was having an affair and she wanted me to trail him for a week and keep a record of his activities.”

  Ned sputtered. “That’s... that’s preposterous! I wasn’t having an affair. Jennifer was—”

  He paled. He looked at his mother, his father, then quickly to the floor.

  “What is it, Neddy?” his mother asked, turning in the chair to look up at her son. “Jennifer was what?”

  Loyally, Ned remained silent.

  So I finished for him. “Jennifer was having an affair herself, wasn’t she, Ned?” I had no desire to bring this out into the open, but I had little choice in the matter. “She was having an affair, and you knew about it.”

  He let out a shuddering breath. “Yes, I knew. She and Billy Star had been involved for some time. But was is the operative word, Ms.
Dodd. Jennifer ended it.”

  Billy hmphed loudly, but didn’t say a word.

  “Still, that must have angered you, Ned.”

  “Of course it angered me!” He looked at his hands and played a moment with the wide gold band he still wore. When he spoke again his voice was softer. “But I wasn’t always the best husband in the world. Jennifer deserved... more. More attention. More affection. More everything. I was so concerned about making money, growing my business, sometimes Jennifer felt... forgotten. I know she did. That’s why... that’s why that damnable Billy Star was able to seduce her.”

  “Why didn’t you fire Billy?

  “I couldn’t. When I bought him out—”

  “—and you bought him just before stocks in the company skyrocketed, Ned?” I offered. Yes it was a dirty dig, but I wanted to gauge his reaction. I thought there might be a trace of guilt there, but Ned didn’t skip a beat.

  “That’s right. When I bought the son of a bitch out, his continual employment was part of the agreement. I couldn’t fire him for anything short or embezzlement. Certainly not for... for having an affair with my wife.”

  “Still,” I baited, “your wife turned to another man. That had to make you angry, and not only with Billy Star. But with Jennifer, too.”

  “Jennifer broke it off with Billy. She and I... we were trying to work some things out.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Everything!” Ned swallowed hard and wet his lips. He appeared to be on the verge of tears. “We were renewing our vows on the weekend. And... and we’d come to some understandings. She wanted to go visit her family in Toledo more, and I promised to go with her once or twice over the next few months. And she didn’t want me going to Pastor Ravenspire’s church so much. She didn’t trust him.” He glanced at Ravenspire, who himself squirmed in his chair. “Sorry, Pastor. That was a sore point between us. And Jennifer... Jennifer promised to stop seeing Billy.”

  I’d glanced at Billy often through this exchange—his face grew redder, his fists clenched tighter. And now I redirected my questioning to him. “And did she stop seeing you, Billy?”

  “She said... she said she wanted to break it off,” he admitted, “but... but I know she didn’t mean it. She couldn’t have meant it.” He began to cry. “I... I loved her. And I know she would have loved me if it wasn’t for Ned. Ned took everything from me with the business. I couldn’t... couldn’t let him have Jennifer too.”

  “So you pursued things with her still?”

  He nodded. “I did. Best I could. Quietly. But I would have shouted it from the rooftops if I could have. But, for Jennifer’s sake, I didn’t want anyone to find out. Not until I’d won her back.”

  “But,” I continued, “Ned finding out was the least of your worries, wasn’t it.”

  Billy’s sideways glance confirmed what I had suspected.

  “Luanne finding out was.”

  The pen stopped flying over the steno pad.

  “Yes,” Billy said. “She scares the hell out of me.”

  “That’s enough, William,” Luanne said crisply.

  Apparently, Billy didn’t think it was enough. He ignored her warning. “Luanne found some letters I had written to Jennifer. I was trying to win her back, but... but Ned was doing everything he could to ruin that. Picking her flowers, wooing her. Working fewer hours so he could spend more time with her. So I wrote Jennifer, and told her how I felt. It wasn’t about the money! About the business! Not anymore and I told Jennifer this. Somehow Luanne ended up with those letters. How she found them, I’ll never know.”

  “I’m intuitive,” Luanne said.

  “No,” I walked over to Dylan. He handed me Jennifer’s journal. “You’re nosy. Recognize this? If you were snooping through Jennifer’s journal, then chances are you were snooping through her mail too. You’ve got your own key to the house. You had access to Ned’s and Jennifer’s itineraries. You knew when they were home and when they weren’t.”

  Luanne paled, but she lifted her chin. “Someone had to protect Ned!”

  “It’s too bad no one protected Jennifer,” I said. “You knew about this journal when no one else did.”

  “Luanne?” Ned said in disbelief. “You... you spied on my wife?”

  “I had to. Don’t you see, Ned?” she implored. “I always knew that little tart would betray you. So I did what I did to protect you.”

  “How... how much protecting did you do?” Ned asked, his voice trembling as if he was afraid of the answer. “You’ve never lied to me before, Luanne. Please don’t start now.”

  Luanne’s bottom lip quivered. But she squared her shoulders as she answered. “Over the years of your marriage, I’ve read all of her mail. Every letter she put in that desk drawer, I’d sneak in here and read it. And of course, I read her journal. Kept track of her activities. But I did it all to protect you, Ned!”

  Billy glared at her. “You bitch! You killed her!”

  In a flash, Billy was on Luanne; his hands wrapped around her throat. Almost as quickly Dylan and two male cops pulled him off of her.

  “How could you kill her?” Billy shouted, straining in the grip of the two officers. “How could you do such a thing?”

  “I didn’t!” Luanne shifted her gaze from Billy to me. “Ms. Dodd, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t kill Jennifer.”

  I nodded slowly. “I know you didn’t.”