by N. C. Lewis
Marge offered a weak smile. "Not one of his most expensive pieces, but of considerable value none the less. It's the little details that make all the difference." She turned to Amy and Danielle. "I'm Marge Christopher," she said, offering her hand. "We are members of the Jersey Rodin Collectors Circle. Would you join us for lunch?"
Amy shot a quizzical look at Danielle.
"Amy girl!" Danielle said in her easygoing voice. "We ain't never dined with Elvis before."
Chapter 6
"Please call the police once we are at our table. I must report the theft for insurance reasons," said Marge to the headwaiter. She turned to the individuals dressed as Columbo, Batman, and Robin. "Thank you for your help. I'd be grateful if you would remain to give a statement. I'm sure the headwaiter will find you a complimentary table."
The headwaiter gave a little bow and sniffed. "It is the least we can do. There is a private room at the back of the restaurant. I'll seat everyone together in there. Please, follow me."
He hurried through the open restaurant door into the cool interior. With quick short steps, he led them into the main dining area. Lighthearted chatter mingled with delicious aromas. Waiters scurried around carrying trays of food and clearing tables occupied by customers dressed as characters from the cinema, television, and comic books.
"This way," the headwaiter called, disappearing into a doorway at the far end of the restaurant. "We reserve this space for private parties."
They entered a small room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Congress Avenue. It contained four tables, all with an excellent view. On each table, a white tablecloth, four place settings, and at the center, a large crystal decanter filled with water.
"Looks like y'all were expecting us," Danielle commented.
"Our staff sets up this room at lunchtimes although it is used mainly in the evenings," explained the headwaiter.
He guided the four Elvises to the first table. Colombo, Batman, and Robin were shown to the second, and Amy, Danielle, and female Elvis sat at the third with Marge.
"I hope you enjoy your meal." The headwaiter made a little bow and sniffed. "I'll be back shortly."
Three waiters appeared almost immediately: one for each table. Amy ordered a house red from a plump moonfaced server.
"It's been a trying day." Marge gulped down the wine, emptying her glass. She appeared to be in her late fifties, possibly older, and carried herself with the confidence of wealth. "I find in such circumstances it is always better to have company." She waved her empty wineglass in the air. The moonfaced server hurried over and refilled it. "Quite palatable. Leave the bottle on the table."
Amy and Danielle made their introductions.
Marge drained her glass then poured another, took a sip and nodded toward the shorter Elvis woman. "This is Oceana Peach, a dear friend and fellow member of the Jersey Rodin Collectors Circle."
Oceana raised her glass. "Nice to meet you." Even though the words were formal, she spoke with a strong New Jersey twang.
"Tell me about the Collectors Circle," Amy said to make polite conversation.
Oceana opened her mouth to respond, but Marge jumped in. "Our club is for private collectors, mostly residents of Jersey. Seventy-five members at last count." Marge waved a hand toward the four male Elvises. "Robert, George, Brendan, Reginald. Insurance, banking, marketing, real estate, respectively. All very successful, and all interested in art, not only Rodin."
Amy's eyes followed the direction of Marge's hand to the four Elvises. They chatted merrily, letting out cackles of laughter. It was difficult to tell their ages with all that makeup. But she had observed earlier that none had the typical pot belly of middle-age. They were lean, muscular, more like Elvis in his prime than in his later years.
"Thirty-eight, forty-two, thirty-six, fifty-five, respectively," said Marge as if reading Amy's mind. "We share the same personal trainer, although I'm not the most regular customer."
"I've never been able to stick to a consistent exercise schedule, either," Amy admitted.
The food arrived, and for several minutes they ate in silence.
Danielle forked green beans into her mouth, glanced at Oceana and chewed. "Guess y'all are a collector?"
"Not a collector." Oceana flashed a grim smile. "Not on what I make as a checkout clerk, but I love Rodin's work. Discovered him in middle school. Never lost interest."
"We make an exception for Oceana," interrupted Marge. "She is our club secretary. Keeps minutes, manages the schedule and arranges for our treasured items to go on display at various museums and art houses. I don't know what we'd do without her." Marge patted Oceana on the hand.
Amy saw an almost imperceptible shrinking away from the older woman's hand, sensed a gleam of something distasteful in Oceana's eyes.
Chapter 7
"Think you'll ever see the blue-footed booby again?" Oceana lowered her voice as if she was sharing a secret.
"I hope so," Marge replied in a slurred tone. "It's not the money; there's always more of that...but the intrinsic value of the thing."
"Art is so much more than dollar signs," said Oceana.
"So true. So true."
They fell into silence.
Amy finished her soup and enjoyed the savory fresh buttery bread that came with her grilled salmon. For now she was content to listen while her mind processed all that had happened. Oceana, she mused, gave the impression of a docile servant. Her eyes, though, were intelligent and cold like a snake about to turn on its charmer.
"Where y'all staying?" Danielle raised her glass as if trying to hide her face.
"Cherry Tree Towers Hotel," replied Oceana.
"All y'all?"
"Yes. It's an expensive hotel. Fortunately, club funds pay my expenses."
They exchanged contact details. Marge was a little old-fashioned, so Amy and Danielle wrote their telephone numbers on a slip of paper. "A perk of being the secretary," Marge said when they were done. "Oceana gets to stay in hotels and dine in restaurants most girls from Newark can only dream of. That's so, isn't it darling?"
Oceana tossed her head. "I'm very grateful." The sour tone in her voice conveyed the opposite.
"Can't understand why you remain in that dratted city," Marge said, giving her a sharp glance. "Full of criminals and lowlifes."
"It's a city of art and culture," protested Oceana.
"Art and culture?"
"The Newark Museum, Branch Brook Park with its lakes and cherry tree trails. Then there is the huge Cathedral Basilica of the Sacred Heart—"
"Enough! It's a fleapit."
Oceana dropped her eyes, a crimson wave washing over her face. "Was born there; Newark's home."
In the strained silence that followed, Amy half wondered whether the thief had worked with Oceana. She would have known what was in the suitcase, and that they would be waiting in line outside of the Joyeux Mangeur Bistro. Could it be Oceana was in league with a shady gangster from Newark? They'd steal the statue and split the profit. Why snatch it in broad daylight, though? Surely there would have been more discreet opportunities.
After a minute or two, Danielle placed her glass on the table and directed her attention to Marge. "The Tin Man must have followed y'all from the hotel, knew what was in the case and waited for his chance."
Marge picked up her glass and took a careful sip. "What makes you say that?"
"Only a fool would steal a purple suitcase wrapped with a large yellow bow in broad daylight on Congress Avenue. That Tin Man ain't no fool. He knew what was inside the suitcase. Probably a dude who knows y'all. Y'all can hang your hat on that."
Marge stared hard at Danielle but offered no further comment.
Danielle turned to Oceana. "What do you think?"
Oceana shifted in her seat. "Makes sense. If the Tin Man is a professional art trafficker, finding the statue will be like trying to catch the wind." She looked sideways at Marge. "That statue is gone for good!"
"The Tin Man might
still be in the city," replied Marge, her voice shrill.
"If he is," Danielle commented, trying to calm down the situation, "the police will catch him and y'all will get the statue back."
"Fat chance! Most cops can't even issue parking tickets without botching something up." Oceana spat out the words with venom.
Danielle arched an eyebrow. "Amy's husband," she began in a low, slow voice, "is a detective. I'm sure he would have something to say about that."
Oceana blinked, her sour mouth a straight line. "A detective?"
"Nick works for the Austin Police Department," said Amy, speaking up at last. She didn't mention his recent heart attack or his reassignment to the lollipop liaison unit which monitored traffic violations in school zones. Instead she said, "It would be unusual for the department to assign a detective to work a single robbery."
Oceana sat up straight, alert, lips turning up slightly at the corners. "Really. No cop on the case? Then the statue is gone for good."
Chapter 8
Late into the meal, the headwaiter reappeared followed by two uniformed officers. Amy recognized the taller—Officer Rees Jones. Officer Jones had worked with her husband on several criminal cases. Nick, she remembered with a smile, considered him to be one of the better patrol officers in the department. Since most officers were very good at their job, Amy knew Officer Jones was exceptional.
For several minutes the officers took statements, writing quickly on notepads, voices soft, almost deferential.
"Tell me again what happened," Officer Jones said to Marge.
She did, and he wrote on his pad for a while. Finally, he said, "Anything else?"
"No, Officer. That's about it." Marge touched her forehead. "The insurance company will want a police report. I suppose I'll have to tell them it was a random street robbery."
Officer Jones glanced at his notes. "A street thief wouldn’t go to the length of dressing up, so we can probably rule that out."
"Then I suspect the man was part of a bag-snatching gang," Marge offered.
Officer Jones considered that for a moment. "You saw the Tin Man's face?"
"Yes?"
"Probably not a member of a bag snatching gang, then. They work in groups of two or three and wear hoodies to foil identification." He slipped the notebook back into his pocket.
"Oh, I see." Marge sounded disappointed.
"Tell me. Who knew you were dining at the Joyeux Mangeur Bistro this afternoon?" Officer Jones reached back into his pocket, retrieving his notebook.
"Members of our group—Robert, George, Brendan and Reginald. They chased after the thief, almost caught him."
"Anyone else?"
"The only other person who knew our whereabouts is Oceana. She keeps our schedule."
◆◆◆
After Amy had given her statement, Officer Jones took her aside. "Not much more we can do here. Today we are overstretched. The departments had to bring in extra officers to cover the parade and annual antiques convention. There is—"
"When will you catch the thief and return my suitcase?" Marge interrupted, her breath laced with the sour fragrance of partially digested wine. "I'm assuming the police department will give this matter top priority." She slurred her words and swayed a little.
Officer Jones spoke quietly. "We'll file a report. Crimes like this are often part of a pattern."
That didn’t satisfy Marge. "I want the name of the detective in charge of the case. And I want that detective to find my suitcase and its contents. As for the thief—sentenced to life!"
Officer Jones reached into a pocket and pulled out a business card. "Call this number later today. They'll give you an update on the investigation." He tried to force a little joviality into his voice. "We will call you if we recover the suitcase before then."
Chapter 9
They were getting ready to say their goodbyes when a rotund man of about fifty scurried into the room. "Cody Laurent." He extended his arms out wide with a smile that was almost friendly.
Everyone turned to gaze at the owner of the restaurant.
He dipped his head in mock servitude. "Yes, I'm The Cody Laurent, owner and creator of Joyeux Mangeur Bistro, at your service." He paused a moment as if expecting applause. When there was none, his face reddened. "We pride ourselves on great food and service. Has everything been to your satisfaction?"
There was a general murmur of agreement.
"The meal was excellent," said Amy.
"Lovely wine," added Marge.
"Exceptional service," chimed in Oceana.
Cody's face lit up, and like the waiter had done earlier, gave a little bow, although his was somehow more flamboyant. "The headwaiter explained everything," he said, with a flourish of his arms. "Such a tragedy, and outside our doors!" Again he spread his arms wide. "It was an act of great charity for him to invite you to dine in our establishment. A decision I'm fully in support of. Joyeux Mangeur Bistro is all about giving back." He hurried over to Marge. "I believe you were the victim?"
"Yes." Her voice was low, gruff, and a little wary.
"Madam, I'm something of an amateur sleuth—have to be in this business. If the staff aren't stealing from you, it’s the customers. I'd like to help solve this crime."
"Is that so?" Marge's eyes flashed with curiosity, the wariness gone. "Please, go on."
"Most crimes are easy to solve once the bare facts are exposed to the bright light of day. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?"
"Please do."
"Is it true the suitcase contained an expensive sculpture?" Cody watched Marge closely. His hooded eyes reminded Amy of a mongoose assessing a snake.
"Of a blue-footed booby, yes."
"A blue-footed what?"
"A sea bird, looks like a cross between a heron and a seagull."
"Ah! I see." Again Cody dipped his head. "And you are certain the statue was in your suitcase?"
"Perfectly certain. I placed it there myself. Didn't want to let it out of my sight."
"And it is valuable?"
"Quite."
Amy couldn’t see how Cody's questions shed any light on the crime. In her mind they established two things. First, the statue was in the suitcase. Second, it was valuable. Both facts were already known by everyone in the room, including Mr. Laurent.
"A meal," Cody began, once again spreading his arms wide, "can never replace an exquisite artifact, but I hope our complimentary dining experience goes some way to help the healing process."
At that moment the headwaiter entered the room. He stopped dead and stared at Cody. The goatee beard couldn't hide the pale, fearful look in his startled eyes.
"Outside!" barked Cody. It was only a single word, but its savagery turned the headwaiter on his heels. Sniffing hard, he hurried out of the room with Cody Laurent close behind.
Chapter 10
Amy and Danielle spent the early afternoon watching the Oz parade snake along Congress Avenue. They strolled around the Texas capitol building grounds and joined in the crowd sing-along of songs from The Wizard of Oz.
It was as the last notes from "Follow The Yellow Brick Road" drifted off into the late afternoon sky when Danielle took Amy by the arm. "The news! Amy girl, you didn’t tell me about the good news."
"What news?"
"The reason for our lunch, girl. What's the good news?"
Amy had clean forgotten, what with all the excitement around the stolen suitcase, the delicious meal at Joyeux Mangeur Bistro, and the exhilaration of the parade.
"Oh, that. It's nothing, really."
"Are you kidding me?" Danielle turned to face her friend. "That's why we met for lunch."
"I thought we met because we are friends," Amy teased.
"Even friends need excuses to meet up, so spill the beans."
Amy tugged at a lock of hair and gazed meditatively at the crowd of happy Oz fans. "Yesterday I was listening to one of my motivational audios. The speaker said some days we are the statue, and on oth
er days we are the pigeon."
"What are you talking about?"
"I've a meeting with Mr. Segenam Fainéant, the property manager of the Hidden Harbor Yacht Club. They want to use Studio Shoal Seven for a long-term staging contract. At long last, Studio Shoal Seven is a pigeon!"
Danielle chuckled, waving her arms in the air. "Let's hallelujah the county—that's fabulous. News that good requires a celebration."
"We had one!"
"Then let's have another! How about an ice-cream sundae at Moonies Burger Bar on our next lunch date, and it's on me!"
Amy laughed out loud. "All right—done. I'm meeting with the property manager, Segenam Fainéant, on Monday morning at nine. Care to join me?"
Danielle pulled up the calendar on her cell phone. "Amy girl, I wouldn’t miss that for the world!"
Chapter 11
Eddie Yates eased his ancient Honda Civic into the Five-Star Motel parking lot at two thirty in the afternoon. The engine wailed like a wounded animal as he shifted into "park." He jerked forward in his car seat catching a whiff of his own stale body odor and prayed his battered Civic would make it to his next payday.
The Hidden Harbor Yacht Club was on his mind. It wasn't easy getting the security guard job—four interviews, the final with Segenam Fainéant, the property manager. Then there was the drug test. "Most fail that," Segenam had warned when he gave Eddie a conditional offer. Eddie never did drugs and only drank when he wasn't on the job, when no one was around. He stayed sober for the urine test.
"You got the job, a seventy-two-hour shift, Friday evening to Monday evening," Mr. Fainéant had said. "Please call me Siggy; everyone does."
The afternoon Texas sun was beating down without mercy as Eddie stepped out of the car and walked to the trunk. He had a few hours until his six p.m. shift, he needed to shower, change, and drive to the yacht club.
A gust of wind stirred up a Styrofoam container and candy wrappers around his feet. Eddie kicked at the trash, shading his eyes from the sun. For a moment he glanced up at the faded billboard for easy loans hung at a slant over a row of rusted dumpsters. In a few days, he wouldn't need a loan. He'd be flush with cash, enough to buy a new car. Maybe, he said with relish, "I'll buy property—a little trailer on the edge of town."
