Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

Chapter 2

My ass died on the highway. About six hours after the A/C did.

Somewhere on Interstate 75 between Atlanta and Macon, Georgia, my hindquarters officially called it quits. That’s what 23 odd hours in a car will do to you. Between all that sitting, the lack of sleep, lack of a good meal, and my all-consuming desire (spelled N-E-E-D) for a long, hot shower, I was glad to see this road trip nearing its end.

Mrs. Presley had stretched herself out quite comfortably in the back of my mother’s car for most of the trip. True, Mom’s Bimmer wasn’t that big, but neither was Mrs. Presley. Shoes off, of course. She wore moisturizing patches on her eyes and a dark sleep mask over that. When she wasn’t sleeping, she did her ‘crosswords’. She sang along with the radio and pulled out a small hand-held battery operated fan. Cal and Craig had packed her a picnic basket for the trip, and she chomped most of the way there.

She was in prime shape by the time we hit the Sunshine State. Fresh as a daisy.

Dylan on the other hand wore a scruff of beard. And, damn him, it looked good. Sexy. Manly. I wanted to run my hands over it to feel the roughness against my palm. Not that I would, of course. It had been awkward enough the few times we’d bumped each other in the closeness of the BMW.

No, there’d be none of that. Not while we worked together. And shit, not with that decade between us. Still, there was a spark there.

Man, he even smelled good, which should have been an impossibility. Granted, we’d freshened up in rest stop bathrooms along the way — a splash of the face and a quick swipe of the pits. But whereas I was beginning to smell like old socks left in a gym bag too long, Dylan had an earthy, musky man-smell thing going on. And it worked for him.

Well, okay, it worked for me.

(I said my ass was dead — other parts of me were very much alive. Compensating even.)

That was Dylan Foreman, though — sexy without trying. And if his ass had died somewhere along the highway about the time mine had checked in with the coroner, well someone forgot to tell the jeans that packaged it.

Frankly, I was anxious for Mother to get a look at Dylan. Yeah, juvenile, I know. Especially given the seriousness of Mother’s situation. But Katt Dodd was certainly one to appreciate the finer things in life. She loved men. Handsome young ones, distinguished older ones. She appreciated class. She appreciated looks. She liked when a man refilled her wine glass and opened doors for her. And Lord knew she certainly appreciated the young men at the strip clubs. (According to Peaches, she was on a first name basis with more than a few of them.)

Which is why it had surprised me when she cut short her visit with me in Marport City and took off back to Florida with that Frankie Morell. Frankie was not much of a looker.

I’d had misgivings about Frankie from the start. He was a little too smooth to be glass, a little too clean to be squeaky. Yet his leather-soled shoes squeaked with every step he took. I should have run a criminal records check, had my sources in Florida ask around about him, check out his credit history, INTERPOL background check, fax his mug to America’s Most Wanted to see if anything cropped up. You know, normal daughter stuff.

But I’d been busy. I’d put my misgivings about Frankie Morell on the shelf. And now my mother was apparently paying the price.

Coincidence?

I feared not.

Missing Frankie — missing jewels. There had to be a connection. I’d have to find it. True, my intuition wasn’t ‘calling’ yet, not pointing me in any particular direction. But give it time….

~*~

While Dylan, Mrs. P and I landed in Pinellas County as a trio, it was only Mrs. P and me who were going to the Wildoh Retirement Home (Motto: We supply the wild; you bring the oh!). Dylan would follow later, but not as my assistant and not as a guest. To investigate fully, he’d need to find a way to come in undercover. Before we’d even hit the Florida state line, we’d formulated a plan, made some calls and put it into action.

Dylan would be staying at the Goosebump Inn, about a mile from the Wildoh Retirement Village. Just a quick jog down the road for the fit Mr. Foreman. We checked him in to Room 46, along with all the fancy electronic equipment we’d brought with us. As command central for our operation, the room was on the small side, but on the plus side of the ledger, it was around the back of the motel and away from traffic.

Did I mention it was small? Barely-turn-around-in small, with a three-quarter sized bed and a chair that looked downright menacing, huddled there all lumpy and mean. Dylan gave it one look, then began piling it high with equipment. There was a small TV in the corner perched precariously on a too-small, too-wobbly chrome stand. In the bathroom, the showerhead was mounted so low, Dylan would have to crouch down to catch any spray.

“And the pool is open for the season,” the receptionist had gushed. All of 16 by my guesstimate, with a nametag that read Rosie Sinatra, she’d eyed Dylan very thoroughly as she showed him to the room.

Dylan thanked her, but pool play was the last thing on our minds.

We’d checked on the Internet, made a few phone calls — that’s what had led us to the Goosebump. I wanted Dylan close, but discreet. Not that I had any illusions that he’d blend in. With that six-foot-four frame and lean good looks, that wasn’t going to happen. But I wanted him separate, seemingly moving in another world. He’d get himself into the Wildoh one way or another.

I felt a twinge of guilt hiding Dylan’s part in the plan from Mom, but it was for her own good. (Jesus, I felt old just thinking that.)

Mrs. Presley had so not been down with the plan as we’d formulated it en route. She hadn’t liked the idea of keeping mother in the dark, even to a small degree. “Family doesn’t do that, Dix. Family sticks together. Trusts each other. Counts on each other, through thick and thin. You hear me, Dix?” she’d said from the back seat. “Thick and thin.”

My dead butt had slunk down further in the seat with every word of admonishment.

But finally we’d convinced Mrs. P to play along. Well, okay, we’d bribed her. One night of bingo before we left Florida, and….

“Okay, you two,” she’d said. “Here’s the deal. If you answer my crossword question in 30 seconds, I won’t breathe a word to Katt about Dylan. Ready? Give me a six-letter word for ‘style,’ starts with D … and go!”

Drape? No that’s five letters.

Dashing? I counted on my fingers. Crap!

Style, style….

“Doggie!” I’d shouted at the top of my lungs, pumping my arm in the air. “I got it! It’s doggie-style!”

“I think the word’s design,” Dylan had said dryly.

Mrs. P had sat back, tsking. “Gracious, Dix, what is it with you?”

But we’d gotten her on side, and that was the important thing.

It was late afternoon before we got Dylan settled and made our way over to the Wildoh.

As I stood outside her little apartment waiting for her to open the door, I squinted my eyes to the slanting sunlight, all Clint Eastwood like. Hands on hips, feet spread wide apart, shoulders back, I braced myself. Steadied myself. Steadied my nerves. Steadied my mind and body before the inevitable.

Katt Dodd opened the door, took in the sight of me, then threw her arms around me and hugged me tight.

Must. Breathe. Now.

I love my mother. I’m just not the touchy, feely type.

“Why, Dix,” she said, finally releasing the death grip. “What a surprise! What are you doing in Florida?”

That was Mother. Not oblivious to the gravity of her situation, but totally making light of it. Not just keeping the stiff upper lip, but keeping it in a smile. Yet there was something more there. I’d seen it when my father had died — those last few weeks when mom had stayed with him night and day. There was worry behind those sparkling blue eyes.

Her apartment — Suite 101 of Complex B — was on the ground floor. I’d not been pleased with a ground floor suite when Mother had told me she’d bought the place, but she was determined this was the one for her. This was the one with the best ‘vibes’, she’d said. And I knew there was no changing her mind after that. The complex itself was nice, and complete with everything — laundry service, bus service into town for those who didn’t like to drive, a recreation room (and I hear a pretty competitive cribbage gang gathers there) and a tennis court. There was even a driving range set over a man-made lake, complete with little floating islands for distance markers. Mother didn’t play golf, but from her frequent emails, I know that the range was a pretty popular place.

“Surprised to see me, Mom? Well, I bet you’re not nearly as surprised as I was when I got the fax from Deputy—”

“And you can be no one other than Mrs. Presley,” Mother said, turning to Mrs. P and effectively shutting me up. “Dix has told me so much about you.”

“Call me Jane. I like your lipstick.”

“Do you?” Mother smacked her lips. “Why thank you. It’s Pinch-me Pink.”

I rolled my eyes. If there was one opening line that could seal a friendship between the two, that was it. They’d bond like schoolgirls now.

“What am I thinking, keeping you on the doorstep?” Mother stepped back. “Come on in.”

We followed her into the foyer of her tiny apartment.

“What a great place you have here.” Mrs. P left her bags by the door (don’t worry, Mrs. P I’ll get those later), and strolled into my mother’s living room.

“Thank you, Jane! I like it too. Please make yourself at home.”

She would.

Mrs. P sat on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and put her feet up. “You get the wrestling here, Katt? I just love those wrestling boys. All slicked up and broad-chested and stuff.”

I cleared my throat. “You know it’s staged, eh, Mrs. P?”

Mrs. P and my mother looked at each other then looked at me as if I were an alien. “And that matters because…?”

Great, two hormonally elevated little old ladies to contend with over the next few days. I felt like the mother of two teenagers. Except I couldn’t ground these two.

Mother glanced at her watch. It was a new one, I noticed — delicate and thin gold band, dainty safety chain, and I swear those were real diamonds glittering around the outside. And by ‘swear’ I mean I said, “Holy shit! Mother where’d you get the watch?”

She looked at the watch as if just noticing it for the first time. A little shocked at seeing it, perhaps. She pulled her sleeve down and covered it quickly. The Pinch-Me Pink disappeared for a moment as she sucked in her breath. “The watch was … it was a present from Frankie. Before he … before I….”

Mother recovered. She straightened, and said. “Try channel 137, Jane. I think wrestling is on in ten minutes.”

Mrs. Presley began flicking.

“Let me get you a drink,” she said to Mrs. P. “You must be parched after such a long trip.”

“Well, yes, it was tiring.”

I stifled a snort. Mrs. P was tired?

“Mother, I really think we should talk about—”

“Not now, Dix, we have company.” She turned back to Mrs. P. This was getting frustrating as hell. “Can I get you a beer? Iced tea?”

“Do you have something with an umbrella in it?”

“Let me see,” Mom answered. “I think we have some left over from Maudine’s stagette party.”

“Stagette party? Mother don’t you think you’re a little too old to be hosting stagette parties?”

If looks could kill, I’d have it from both ladies.

Mother sighed. “Dix, when are you going to get that stick extracted from your butt?”

“Never, thank you very much.”

I was beginning to be even gladder that Dylan hadn’t come along.

“Oh, I almost forgot, Jane. Two very pleasant young men have been calling — Cal and Craig — they seem anxious to know you’ve arrived.”

“That’d be my boys.” She shook her head. “Those two just can’t get along without their mama. I’d better call them.”

“Aren’t children wonderful though!”

I followed Mom into the kitchen — and made myself at home. Not that I was familiar with her kitchen, but she was my mother so it was by default that her refrigerator was mine to snoop through and I had automatic dibs on any cookies I found. (I said a prayer for chocolate chunk.) I plunked down on a cushion covered kitchen stool that deflated with my weight. Having found no cookies, I grabbed a bag of Doritos from the counter and, ignoring the ‘you’ll-ruin-your supper’ raised eyebrow glance from my mother (on which she had automatic dibs, being my mother), opened them and munched one.

“Dix, will you see if there are any ice cubes, please?”

I jumped up and checked the freezer compartment of her tiny refrigerator — moved around the frosted bags of tiny peas (no one ever eats the tiny peas, so why bother with them?), Pizza Pops and what looked like a vodka/fruit slush concoction.

“No ice cubes, Mom.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure.”

“Very sure?”

“Yes, very sure.”

Mother stepped up then down from the little step stool — bag of multi-colored drink umbrellas in hand. But she didn’t rush around the kitchen in usual company mode. She dallied, and Katt Dodd rarely dallied in this life. I took that as my cue.

“What’s going on, Mom? Why do I get a fax from the local Sheriff’s Department telling me you’re in legal trouble?”

“Well, Dix, because I told them to fax you. How else do you think they’d have gotten your fax number?”

That wasn’t what I meant, and she knew it.

“How much do you know?” she asked.

“The Sheriff’s Deputy faxed me that—”

“Oh, Noel Almond? You’ll like him. So handsome! Beth Mary MacKenzie called ‘dibs’ as soon as she saw him drive into the yard and step out of his cruiser. But she didn’t have her teeth in so we all pretended not to hear her. And Mona Roberts — she’s in Suite 222 — just about fainted. Which didn’t go over well with Big Eddie Baskin, let me tell you. I think he’s sweet on her. I’d never seen the woman looking so pale! And Tish McQueen — she’s staying with Mona for a while — out and out flirted with him.”

“Big Eddie?” I said sarcastically. “Let me guess, Big Eddie is the guy who wears leather, slicks back his hair and does the wheelies on his motorized cart? Oh, and I bet he wears at least a half dozen gold chains dangling down in his wide open shirt collar.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Dix You have no right to mock my friends.”

Okay, she was right. That was uncalled for. It was just so damn frustrating trying to get Mother to focus. And truthfully, I was worried. But it was always like that. Well, since Dad died, anyway. Mother had always been fun loving, but had so much responsibility taking care of Dad in his later years. And stress. And though she never let on to Peaches or me, I knew there was more worry behind her smiling face. Peaches might be the one with the academic smarts, but I was the one who could read people. And I could read the strain on her face no matter how well she hid it behind the Pinch-Me Pink.

“Sorry, Mom,” I said. “I’m an idiot.”

I waited for her to correct me on that.

And waited….

“Er, did I get something right?”

“Okay, young lady. But those chains and charms are very fashionable these days.”

I couldn’t wait to meet, Eddie.

And mom couldn’t wait to tell me more about Noel Almond.

“Deputy Almond is tall and so good looking. Deepest blue eyes. Honey-blond hair and he does this adorable comb through thing with his fingers. And that body!” She scrunched her shoulders up and down as if hugging herself. “Broad shoulders, long legs. And Dix, if I’m any judge of these things — and I am — Deputy Noel is so goddamn wonderfully hung—”

“Mother! I don’t want to discuss how well hung the Deputy is!”

She feigned shock. Poorly. With a dramatic hand to chest gesture. She swung open the door to the living room and called out to Mrs. P, “Jane, does Dix always talk so filthy?”

“She does.” Mrs. P paused in her channel surfing. “Gotta watch that one of yours, Katt. The words that come out of her would make a sailor blush. You should have heard her in the car on the way here. I didn’t even know some of them words, to tell you the truth.”

She let the door swing shut again. “Why, Dix Dodd!” Mother said. “I was going to say the Deputy is so hung up on finding out the truth about the strange happenings around here.”

“No you weren’t”

She grinned. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Mother, do you really think it’s a good time for shlong jokes?

“Is there ever a bad time for them?”

She had me there. Despite myself, I finally smiled. “Good to see you, Mother.”

“Dix,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. And by the eye roll I got from my mother, she knew my fakes as well as I knew hers. But this was serious. And I had to get her to realize that. “Mom, no matter how good looking Deputy No Nuts is, or how grandly he’s hung…” (oh I wanted to go places with this one myself) “…up on finding the truth, that’s not really important right now.”

She looked at me strangely, a minute. Then snorted a laugh. “Oh I get it — Noel Almond, No Nuts! That’s good, Dix.”

I guess my penchant for naming male police officers wasn’t restricted to Detective Richard Head, (aka Dickhead) of Marport City. But come on, his name was Noel Almond. That was a kick me sign waiting to happen.

I pulled off a strip of paper towel to dust my Dorito-orange fingertips on. I thought it would be easier to start with the thefts. Hit less close to home. “So, tell me about the missing jewels.”

She hauled out the small cutting board and began chopping. Her back to me, she began talking. “They started about two months ago. Vanessa Trueman’s ruby earrings went missing. She’s a dear, but a little on the forgetful side, so we all just sort of thought they’d surely turn up somewhere. But then Quinn Foster’s diamond ring went missing, the next day Annamarie Tildman checked her jewelry box and all the diamonds out of her antique broach were missing. Plucked right out!. The alarm went up, Dix. This wasn’t just a matter of a few things going missing. This was a shitload.”

I hated to ask. But I had to. “The diamond ring, the one Daddy got you, Mom … our lucky diamond … is it…?”

“It’s safe. I don’t keep it in my jewelry box. I keep it in the wall safe, behind that picture of you and Peaches Marie that I love so well.”

I knew the picture. Peaches and I had been 5 and 7 respectively. Playing at the beach. Building a sandcastle while the waves played in the background. And over the two sun-drenched smiling Dodd girls, our mother’s shadow … holding the camera in one hand, waving with the other. And you could feel the delight of her doing so.

I also knew the safe. Well, not it specifically, but a zillion just like it. The Wildoh condos were fairly new, but cookie-cutter similar in construction. Just like the eat-in kitchen and the convection oven, the mini wall safe was no doubt standard in all the condos, though each would have its own combination.

“I didn’t steal the jewels, Dix,” Mom said.

“I never said you did. Never thought it for a minute.”

“No, but I wanted you to hear it from me. We have to be upfront about everything with each other. That’s what families do.”

I swallowed down my guilt at hiding Dylan away. For her own good, I reminded myself.

“There’s a lot of … a lot of suspicion around here. And a lot of it is aimed at me.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Well, I didn’t know at first. But … but with Frankie’s … hopping off like he did. People just naturally turned their suspicions on me. They stayed stuck on me.”

I wasn’t suspicious of my mother, but was starting to have suspicions about Frankie. I kept them to myself for the moment. “And what about Tish, Beth Mary and Mona? Do they suspect you?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of female friendships, Dix. Mona wouldn’t ever say a word against me. And by default therefore, neither would Tish. And there are others here who are so very friendly. You’ll meet them all tomorrow.”

And I couldn’t wait. Inserting myself into the flow of life at the Wildoh would be a piece of cake. Unless…. “You didn’t tell them I was a private investigator, did you?”

“Of course not!”

I relaxed. “Excellent, better to have them off guard.”

“I told them you ran a bordello.”

“Mother!”

“Kidding, Dix. Lighten up! I told them you wrote erotica. And that you were here doing research for a book. Told them you’d have some questions for them.”

I waited for the sly grin, the ‘ha-ha, got you again’.

And waited….

Ah hell.

“What about Beth Mary and Big Eddie.”

She rolled her eyes. “Beth Mary is as jealous as the day is long. She’s been after my Frankie since the day I introduced them.”

Jesus, I hated to ask: “This is only a one bedroom suite. Does Frankie … live here too?”

She laughed. “Of course not. He rents a little bachelor place in Complex A. Moved in just after we met.”

My shoulders lowered and I sighed with relief. There are some things a daughter just doesn’t want to picture about her mother.

“But often he’ll sleep over after sex, especially if we’ve gone around two or three times.”

Shoulders of steel! Back ramrod straight. Mind cringing.

She turned. Somehow in the midst of our talking she’d made a tray of sandwiches, cubed up some cheese and put some fancy little pickles on a plate. There were three different kinds of crackers and some kind of pate thing. None of her domestic skills had rubbed off on me. She was fine china and haute cuisine. I was chili in a Styrofoam bowl.

“Bring the drinks, Dix.”

They clinked in the glass as I grabbed them. “Ice? Weren’t you … weren’t you out of ice?”

She smiled. “Did you forget? I’m magic.”

She started toward the swinging door again to join Mrs. Presley. But I had one more question.

“Mom.” I approached this carefully. Diplomatically. “Where do you think Frankie disappeared to?”

“Oh, he didn’t disappear.”

“Huh?”

“He changed. I changed him.”

Did she really think she could change that man? Apparently, she did.

Mother continued. “I told him I didn’t like his flirting with all the women. I wasn’t about to put up with it! So I told him it had to stop — or else.”

“What did he say?”

“He croaked.”

Croaked! Oh, sweet Jesus, she’d killed him! I could picture poor Frankie Morell now — his smarmy smile, his bushy sideburns and inch high eyebrows, stuffed in the freezer. Ice hanging from his fingertips. Frost stuck to his nose hairs. Where the hell had these ice cubes come from?

“Mother you … you…?”

“I changed him into a frog.” She plucked an olive off the tray and popped it into her mouth. She was serious. Three chews later: “That’ll teach him to flirt with other women.”

Oh shit! She really thought she’d changed him into a frog!

Mother rolled her eyes. “You’ve always known I have the magic, Dix. I just used it.”

She backed into the door to push it open with her butt, her hands occupied holding the tray. “Close your mouth, honey. You’ll catch a fly. Frankie’s gonna need those.”

I closed my mouth.