I cut the stroll down memory lane short and headed for the nursing home. We crossed over another new set of train tracks, parked, and went in where we were greeted by none other than Brandy Standke. Of course my old nemesis would be employed at the very place Addison and I needed to frequent while solving this damn case—because that’s how the universe works—but seeing Brandy didn’t bother me like I thought it would.
Her hips had gotten a little wider (probably from cracking people’s hopes and dreams with her bare thighs), and her boobs were much bigger (because why, universe, why?). I mean seriously, she already had flawless skin and silky brown hair, why did she have to dominate the boob game as well? Her bigger and better double-Ds were showcased in pink camouflage scrubs and accentuated by the condescending sneer I’d often fantasized about punching off her face. But my hand no longer ached to rearrange her cute little button nose.
Brandy stood in the entryway with her hands on her hips like she’d been waiting for me, which she probably had. “Dylan James,” she spat. “Carol mentioned you’d be in this morning to interview a couple of my clients. What are you now, some kind of rent-a-cop?”
Addison tensed up beside me. I put a hand on her shoulder and beamed a smile at Brandy, surprised by how authentic it felt. “Addie, this is Brandy. Brandy...you became a nurse. That’s so great.” I honestly couldn’t reconcile the Brandy in my memories with the woman in front of me who went to school to help people, but maybe she’d changed? I sure had.
Brandy eyed me like she was waiting for the punchline, but I only smiled wider.
“Brandy?” Addison looked at me, and understanding ignited in her eyes. She turned to take in my old nemesis and her eyes narrowed.
Before Addison could unleash her rage and possibly ruin our chances of seeing the women we needed to interview in order to solve the case and go home, I stepped between them and pulled out my badge.
“Addison and I are private investigators and we’re here to interview Mrs. Rogers, Ms. Samuelson, Ms. Long, and Grandma about the thefts.”
Brandy eyed my badge before turning toward Addison, who dutifully showed hers as well.
“We may need to interview some of the staff as well,” Addison said, still glaring. “If you could get us a list of who was on duty when the jewelry disappeared, that’d be most helpful.”
Brandy gave a curt nod before turning on her heel. “Right this way, please.”
The nursing home had been recently renovated, so the smell of fresh paint mingled with old-people fragrance and hospital-grade cleaner. Brandy escorted us under an archway—which was new—through a common area with a piano, and then past several more rooms before stopping to knock on a door. A strained female voice bid us to come in, and Brandy opened the door and peeked her head in.
“Hello, Mrs. Rogers, you have guests. Are you decent?”
“Depends,” she responded. “Is it a man or a woman?”
“Ah, it’s two women,” Brandy said.
“Well, damn it! I’m gonna have to put on panties now.”
I glanced at Addison, who had her lips pressed together, trying not to laugh.
“Mrs. Rogers, why wouldn’t you have panties on to begin with?” Brandy asked, still peeking in the partially closed door.
“Not that it’s any of your business, young lady, but I was hopin’ to get lucky.”
Shaking her head, Brandy stepped into the room. She was inside for a few minutes before calling, “You can come in now.”
“If that old lady is naked, I’m going to hurl,” Addison whispered.
“You’re not interested in seeing how far your boobs will hang down when you’re her age?”
“Hello, Pot,” she said.
“I’m at least a cup size smaller than you.”
“And you’re a really bad liar,” Addison retorted.
Mrs. Rogers sat in a chair beside her bed reading a book and wearing a floral print moomoo. With her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she was bent over the pages, her lips moving as she read.
“Have fun,” Brandy said as she walked past us and back into the hall.
Fun, right. Only Mrs. Rogers didn’t appear to be aware of our presence. I found this strange considering she’d just carried on a seemingly coherent conversation with Brandy seconds before.
I cleared my throat, but she didn’t look up. “Hello, Mrs. Rogers,” I said.
Still no response.
Addison rolled her eyes. “We don’t have all day, Dylan. I need to go find some Wrangler butts and more coffee.”
“Mrs. Rogers,” I said louder.
Addison stomped hard on the floor, clapping her hands.
Mrs. Rogers startled and then looked up at us. “Oh, hello there. I didn’t hear you come in. It’s a bit early for lunch orders, isn’t it? Oh well, I’ll take a pastrami sandwich on rye with a pickle, and be sure you slather enough mayo on there to soften the bread up good. My chompers ain’t what they used to be.” She pointed to the teeth sitting in a cup of liquid on top of the counter.
Addison’s eyes bugged out.
I stifled a laugh and drew closer to the elderly woman. “I see that, but we’re not here from the kitchen. We came to talk to you about the thefts.”
“The thefts?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am. I’m Dylan James and this is my partner Addison Allen. We’re private investigators. My dad said you were recently burglarized and some jewelry was stolen. Can you tell us more about that?”
She set her book down on the nightstand. I made the mistake of glancing at the cover, which showed some scantily clad couple bending uncomfortably over a rock formation as they made out in the wilderness. We were in my home town, but clearly this was someone who could better relate to Addison. I took a step back and motioned my friend forward.
“I don’t have any jewelry, hon.” Mrs. Rogers eyed her hand longingly. “I used to wear a wedding ring, but I came down with the gout a few years back and my hands swelled up somethin’ fierce. The doc had to cut it off.”
“So you didn’t have any jewelry stolen recently?” Addison asked, looking over the notes I’d taken this morning. The tightness around her mouth told me her patience was wearing thin. “A necklace, maybe?”
Mrs. Rogers’s hand went to her breastbone and her eyes turned sorrowful. “I forgot all about that old thing. It was a cameo...came from my momma, passed down from her momma. The thing’s been in my family for years. I didn’t have any daughters to pass it down to, just a son, and I don’t much care for his wife. No granddaughters either. But my first great-granddaughter is due any day now, and my momma’s necklace has gone missing. I never take it off, so I don’t know what could have happened to it.”
Addison’s expression softened as she listened to the tale. “Can we help you search for it?” she asked.
Mrs. Rogers shrugged, looking helpless. “I don’t know what good it will do, hon. I threw such a fit when it first disappeared that the entire staff was in here turning the place upside down. No luck.”
“Do you think someone stole it?” I asked.
“That’s what one of the nurses asked. She said jewelry has been coming up missing lately. She had me file a police report, but these cops don’t do a dang thing but sit up at Jerry’s, drinking coffee.”
“Jerry’s?” Addison asked.
“The restaurant next to Safeway. It’s been closed for a few years now,” I replied.
“I’m sure those lazy good-for-nothings have found a new watering hole,” Mrs. Rogers grumbled.
I was shocked by her indignant behavior, but Addison’s jaw tightened in determination. “Forget those cops,” she said, pulling a small notebook and pen from her purse. “We’re gonna figure out who took your necklace and get it back to you, Mrs. Rogers. Now, can you tell us who all was in your room on the day it disappeared?”
“Oh, hon, I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast,” Mrs. Rogers admitted. “But there was a gentleman here to look at the swamp cool
er that day. I remember on account of him being a real looker.”
“Did you get his name?” I asked.
“I was far too busy inspecting what his jeans did to his rear end every time he bent over. I ain’t never seen a butt that tight before.”
I covered my face and turned away, unable to handle the situation. Thankfully, I had Addison. She stepped up to the plate and said, “So...nice firm butt. What else can you tell me about him?”
We got the details about the blond cowboy wearing a wife-beater, jeans, and boots, who tinkered with the AC unit and took off.
“He wasn’t close enough to touch you?” I asked, wondering how anyone could have gotten the necklace off her without her noticing.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Think I’d let a young buck like that come into my room and not ask him for a little shoulder massage? Shoot, I haven’t worn underwear in days, just waiting for him to come back.”
That was about all I could handle. I thanked Mrs. Rogers for her time and headed out, dragging the giggling Addison behind me.
“Ohmigod,” I said once we were out of earshot.
“Right?” Addison asked. “I totally want to be her when I get old. I can’t wait to see who we get to interview next!”
I sighed, knowing this was gonna be a long day. “Let’s head to Grandma’s room. I think I’ll let you take the lead on this, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Addison assured me. “I got your back.”
I grimaced. “Thanks, buddy.”
Addison
FOLLOWING DYLAN DOWN the hall, I ignored the strong smell of antiseptic wafting around me. We stopped at the third door on the left, where Dylan knocked and peeked inside. “Grandma?”
“Dylan? What are you doin’ here?” the old woman said.
Dylan’s shoulders slumped as she said, “I brought my friend with me. We thought we’d see if we can help find your jewelry.”
“Allow me,” I whispered, and stepped in front of Dylan. “Mrs. James? I’m Addison Allen. Are you up to answering some questions?” I refused to tell her it was nice to meet her because I didn’t want to start the conversation off with a lie.
“It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
“Wonderful.” I faced Dylan. “Do you want to head to the next name on the list and I’ll take this one?”
“Well...if you insist,” she said, a little too brightly.
I stuffed down a chortle and pulled a chair up to Mrs. James’s table, scanning my notes. “Says here you’re missing a couple of rings, some necklaces, and some bracelets. When did you first notice your jewelry was missing?”
“Are you that rich girl my granddaughter has taken up with?”
“‘Taken up with’?”
“You know, in an unnatural sorta way.”
I frowned. “I don’t think I do know, Mrs. James.”
“Oh yes you do, Lebanese. You’re both Lebanese.” She waved her hand.
“Excuse me?” Was she really accusing us of being foreigners? “I was born in Portland, and I can’t imagine Dylan lying about being born in this town—”
“Funny. Queer. Gay. You know, Lebanese.”
Not foreigners, lesbians. She thought we were gay. I just stared at her, unable to even form the words necessary to defend our friendship.
“Don’t look at me like that. We all know your dirty little secret. That’s why Dylan ran off to the city and left that nice Rowe boy high and dry.”
“Dylan and I aren’t...wait, what Rowe boy?”
“Dylan’s childhood sweetheart, Dakota Rowe. If you ask me, that boy is far too good for her. Easy on the eyes, too. Don’t know what he ever saw in my granddaughter. She looks just like her momma, with that fiery-red hair. She probably put some sort of spell on him, just like her momma did to my boy.”
Dakota Rowe? Dylan had a childhood sweetheart she hadn’t told me about? Since when? Switching my focus from finding the missing jewelry to pumping the nasty old bat for Dylan information, I said, “Tell me about this Dakota fella.”
“Oh, he’s a lovely boy. His daddy is best friends with my boy, so they raised those kids together since birth. I think I have a photo around here of them in the bathtub when they was five.” She reached over to her cabinet.
As much as I was dying to see a picture of five-year-old Dylan in the bathtub with a boy, I worried she’d come back before I got the full scoop, so I leaned forward to conspire. “That’s okay, Mrs. James, I’m sure we can find it another day. What does Dakota do for a living?”
“Oh, he takes care of the shitters.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He owns Howdy Doodies. Took it over from his dad.”
“I’m not following.”
“Listen, girl, it’s not that hard,” she snapped. “The shitters you see on the side of the road...toilets.”
“Oh, Porta-Pottys,” I provided.
“Right. Portable shitters. He runs the company his daddy, Howard, started. Him and his brother.”
Okay, this was going down a weird path. “So, he deals in excrement.”
“Makes a lotta money dealin’ in shit, missy, so don’t you go raisin’ your rich nose in the air like your shit don’t stink.”
I didn’t point out that I probably wasn’t the only one raising their noses when they had to deal with a Porta-Potty. I shuddered. Gross.
“I would never,” I said, making sure to keep my nose lowered. “So he’s gainfully employed. I wonder what Dylan doesn’t see in him.”
“Well I thought it was on account of you two doin’—”
“I can assure you, ma’am, Dylan and I are as straight as they come.”
“Well then, why did she turn Dakota down?”
“I have no idea. I’m sure whatever reason she had, though, it was a good one.” And I had a pretty good idea it had something to do with the way she looked at my brother.
“Then you don’t know my granddaughter.”
I bristled under her patronizing stare. “I know Dylan better than anyone, and I can tell you one thing, she’s the most honest person I know, and she’s one heck of a friend, so regardless of whether or not you agree with her decision or why she made it, if she made it, it was for a good reason.” I shifted in my seat and picked up my pad and pen again. “Now, let’s get back to the missing jewelry.”
“I don’t know why you outta-towners have your noses in our business. Ain’t no cause for it, since everyone knows who took it anyway.”
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“Wyatt Adams,” she spat.
“Who’s Wyatt Adams?”
“The heater guy.”
“Right, Mrs. Rogers told us about him. Blond, nice butt, wears cowboy boots, right?”
“I tried to tell Yvonne that boy would lead her straight to hell, but she insists on ogling him.”
“Yvonne?”
Ms. James sighed. “Mrs. Rogers.”
“Yes, of course.” I scribbled Yvonne next to Mrs. Rogers, hoping I’d be able to keep these women straight somehow. “Why do you think he’s stealing jewelry?”
“Why else would a man like that come into a place like this? He walks in here with those tight jeans on, showing his goo-goo like he thinks he’s Magic Mike or something.”
Ohmigod, this woman cannot be real.
I stifled back a groan. “His goo-goo? And wait, you watched Magic Mike?”
“No, I most certainly did not. They had the commercials on. And his goo-goo...his package.” She waved her hands over her nether regions and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Tight Wranglers aside, was he in your room at any point, or did you see him in a place he wasn’t authorized?”
“Was he in my room?” she gasped. “What sort of woman do you take me for? Hell no, he wasn’t in my room.”
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this woman and, luckily, I didn’t have to try, since Dylan returned, her expression hopeful yet guar
ded. “How did it go?”
“About as well as you would expect,” I admitted. “I have a possible name, though.”
“Oh, really?”
“Hello, Grandma, how are you Grandma? It’s good to see you, Grandma,” Mrs. James said snottily.
Dylan rolled her eyes. “Hello, Grandma. How are you?”
“I have gout.”
“Well, that sounds—”
“And hemorrhoids that are drivin’ me nuts, and don’t even get me started on the yeast infection.”
Dylan winced. “Nope, that’s just fine. I won’t get you started on any of it.”
Before Mrs. James could say anything else, another elderly woman came shuffling in on her walker, stalling when she caught sight of us. “Bess, you got visitors!”
“Yeah, Nance. This is my granddaughter Dylan, and her friend.”
“The Libyan?” Nancy asked.
“No, I’m American,” Dylan replied. “Grandma, what have you been telling people?”
I bit back a giggle. “Oh, you have no idea, Dylan.”
“The rich one says she’s not gay,” Dylan’s grandma continued, without acknowledging Dylan had even spoken.
My friend groaned. “We should really get going.”
“Yes,” I agreed, and rose to my feet. “Thanks for the information, Mrs. James. We’ll be in touch.”
“Wait.” Dylan paused at the door. “Grandma, do you know what’s going on with the train tracks?”
“Of course I know what’s going on. It’s my town isn’t it?”
“Can you tell us?” I asked.
“It’s a ploy to get tourists here. They’re adding one of those old-fashioned stagecoach trains and trying to turn this place into some new-fangled tourist trap. It’s a waste of city money if you ask me, but nobody ever does.”
“All right, thanks,” Dylan said, pushing me out of the room.
I couldn’t stop myself from breaking out into hysterical giggles. I leaned against the wall and let the mirth overtake me for a solid minute.
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