Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

Chapter 4

So you’d think things would be a little crazy by this time. Well, you’d be thinking correctly.

All hell broke loose. Accusations were flying, rumors were flying. Teeth were flying (Beth Mary sneezed). Evil looks were being pinged around the room from every direction, and unfortunately only heading in one direction — my mother’s.

The questions started. Yes, Mom had been out for her pre-dawn walk. So what? She always walked in the coolness of those hours. And of course there was the fact that Mom had been a magician’s assistant, something she’d told all her peers at the Wildoh. Why not? It was a past she was proud of. She never told them how the magic was done, of course. She’d been sworn to secrecy all those years ago, and still felt bound by her oath. And Mom had told them about the things she’d escaped from, and places she’d popped herself into. Also, she’d mentioned the fact that she’d never met a lock she couldn’t pick (a skill I seemed to have inherited).

That, combined with the fact that Mom was famous for her early morning walks, sealed the deal for most of the residents. And oh yeah, half the residents had already spun a dozen wild yarns about how she had disposed of poor Frankie Morell. Hefty bag in the swamp. Hair in the hamburger. Some old fellow in Complex D thought he found a toenail in his almond pecan ice cream. (Had to be Frankie’s, of course.)

And now that Harriet Appleton had reported her ring missing, suspicious minds were overheating. Mother had means. She had motivation (there certainly was no love lost between Harriet and Mom). She had opportunity.

Crap.

But frankly, I was getting suspicious of Harriet Appleton.

What if she were lying?

Maybe Harriet and Wiggie were trying to cash in on the recent thefts? File a false insurance claim and collect some money for nothing, while laying the blame for the ‘loss’ at my mother’s feet? Or maybe they were responsible for all the thefts! What if that uptight, proper facade of Harriet’s was just a cover? What if they were really criminal masterminds? What if the crown jewels were tucked under their bed? The Hope diamond hidden away in the sock drawer underneath the support hose?

Oh, oh - what if Harriet was a Harry? Or Wiggie a Wanda? (Okay, that was pretty far out there, not to mention irrelevant, but it could happen. Hell, it had happened with my last case.

But would Harriet, or Harriet and Wiggie, go so far as to off Frankie Morell and blame my mother? I’d seen worse in my line of work. There had to be a connection between the thefts and the missing Frankie. Logic dictated it.

I was bound and determined to find out the truth.

And so was the soon-to-arrive Sheriff’s Deputy Noel Almond.

It was Big Eddie who appointed himself taker-charger in the situation. Yes, that was his terminology. At least he didn’t dub himself the ‘decider’. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a single number. Number two on his phone, by my reckoning of the bend of thumb. Efficient man. Now that was a taker-charger for you, with the local sheriff’s office on speed dial. Less than two minutes later, Deputy Noel Almond’s white Dodge Charger sped into the yard. No sirens blared and no bar lights flashed, but he arrived at a pretty good clip.

Deputy Noel Almond was everything mother had described him. Tall and handsome and, God, yes, hot. He was everything my Marport City nemesis Detective Richard Head was not. Besides a man, I mean. Deputy Noel Almond was no Deputy No Nuts.

My immediate, utterly instinctive reaction was to go over and begin giving the good Deputy my professional take on the situation. With one leg twined around one of those muscular, khaki-clad legs.

The sheer outrageousness of the impulse shocked me a little. I mean, I like men. I enjoy men. But at 40-something, my hormones had been around the block often enough to have adopted a more laid back approach. Even they knew that men are trouble, and that a guy needs to demonstrate they’re worth the aggravation. And here they were zipping and zinging around my body like teenager hormones.

Funny, as … gifted … as Lance-a-Lot had been as he’d made his way to the lake to retrieve the golf balls in those happy Speedos of his, the good deputy in his Florida Sheriff’s green police pants and close-fitting short-sleeved shirt turned me on the more.

But what was I to do? Nothing! Certainly not straddle him then and there. I had to remain in character, remain part of the scenery to get more information to clear my mother. I had to sit back and watch and listen. He of course, knew that I was a private investigator; he had sent the fax to my office, after all. I just hoped Deputy Almond had the good sense not to expose me in front of everyone.

I’d much rather be exposed later when we were alone.

Oh boy.

~*~

Big Eddie and Deputy Almond huddled themselves away from the crowd to converse. Glancing over to the rest of us, mumbling and jerking a thumb or nodding a head toward our group every so often. The Deputy caught my attention more than once, and I saw the hesitation there.

“You’re becoming quite the frequent visitor, Deputy.” Tish purred the words as she sashayed up to Almond. She settled a hand on his bare, tanned, muscular forearm and let it slide down.

God, her timing was inappropriate. But her taste was bang on.

“Good morning, Ms. McQueen,” Deputy Almond drawled. “You’re looking just pretty as a picture again this morning. Fresh as a daisy. Cute as a button.”

Oh, God, one more cliché and I’d puke.

Like Big Eddie, Deputy Almond seemed to know how to work the older ladies. Notice I said older ladies. Handsome as he was, I was immune to his charms.

“That’s a lovely outfit,” he said to Tish.

“This old thing?” Tish batted her eyelashes. “Why, thank you, Deputy.”

Yeah right, this old thing had the price tag still attached to the back, a fact I happened to notice when Tish did another of her dip/squeeze/show hooters thing.

Tish beamed at the Deputy, and he beamed right back at her. Smart man. He knew that a little flirting goes a long way. Well, for those folks who are susceptible to such tactics.

When Tish sashayed herself away, Deputy Almond addressed the crowd.

“Now, Big Eddie tells me we’ve had another robbery.”

We?

Mother must have caught the disconcerted raising of my eyebrows. She leaned in and whispered, “He’s been here often, and it’s a small community. Everyone knows everyone, including Deputy Almond.”

Okay, so the local cop was one of the gang. I got it. But I didn’t know if I liked that. Would that make him likelier to believe the gossip about my mother?

“This wasn’t just any old robbery!” Harriet jumped from her chair. “My grandmother’s antique ring was stolen!” She glanced at me before she continued. “And I know it was Katt Dodd. Most likely with the assistance of her thieving, smut-talking daughter, Dix Dodd.”

Excuse me?

I was about to step out of Dix Dodd erotica writer mode and into Dix Dodd geriatric ass kicker mode, but it was the Deputy who opened his mouth first.

“Now, Mrs. Appleton … Harriet.” There was no sweetness here, no flirting and flattering. “If you’ve got any proof of your accusations, then I want to hear all about it. In fact, I’ll want to talk to all of you.” He scanned the room. “But first, I have to check out the crime scene.”

Of course he’d want to talk to everyone.

Harriet stood. Wiggie stood up right after her, as if pulled by a string. Together with the Deputy and Big Eddie in full taker-charger mode, they headed out of the rec room.

“There goes Lance-a-Lot,” Mona called. But few heads turned toward the window to see.

I ventured a glance though the window at the wonder wood coming out of the water. He walked with all the bravado of a professional stripper. He dropped the bag of golf balls on the green, their wet whiteness shining in the sun. He raked his hands through his hair, arched his tanned body in a stretch, and smiled toward the rec room. Oh this guy was a showman. Pity no one was watching the show.

I glanced at Mom. Her gaze appeared to follow Lance-a-Lot as he shook himself and got into his car, but I knew she wasn’t really seeing him. Though she smiled and projected a damned good ‘haven’t-a-care-in-the-world’ attitude that probably fooled some of the residents, it didn’t fool me. I knew she was faking it. But I admired her fuck you face. She refused to let them see her sweat, and I was so proud of her.

It turned out to be a long afternoon. I’m sure every resident of the Wildoh strolled into the rec room at least once over the course of it. Of course, that had something to do with the fact that Deputy Almond had made the polite ‘request’ that all residents come in and answer a few questions. Who could refuse? Everyone wanted these thefts cleared up and the thief caught. Refusal meant suspicion. Suspicion meant rumors breaking out. In a small community like the Wildoh — a rumor would travel like the wind once it was broken.

Nobody wanted to break wind.

Slowly but surely Deputy Almond made his way through the interviews. After his inspection of the Appleton suite (yes, the lock appeared to have been picked, yes he dusted for prints, no he didn’t find any, and yes, double dammit, he did see a picture of Harriet’s antique ring and the insurance papers). It had been a doozie.

Deputy Almond set himself up in a little room off the side of the rec room. Sort of a kitchen-type thing. (Okay, I guess those in the know might actually call it a kitchenette, but when your domestic skills are as non-existent as mind are, it’s a kitchen-type thing). It held a little two-burner stove, a fridge that might hold two cases of beer, tops, the world’s smallest table, and two God-awful plastic orange chairs. The room was glassed-in, which allowed me to watch the interviewing process. Of course, it also allowed Deputy Almond to scan the crowd of those who waited to see who was nervous and who wasn’t, who talked to whom. Who tried to stroll toward the door, who watched the door. Smart man.

Smart, good looking, totally ripped man.

Time and time again, as the Deputy finished an interview and escorted the person out, he would pause to meet briefly with Big Eddie. The two of them would confer, then scan the rest of us in the room. The Deputy would nod, then Big Eddie would step forward and call a name. Jesus, it was like a junior high school dance, without the testosterone. Hell, without the estrogen in most cases. But breaths caught and tension rose when the Wildoh residents waited to see who was next.

I kept my gaze averted from Big Eddie. Kept it ducked every time so as to not get the ‘you’re next’ with a nod and authoritative jerk of the taker-charger thumb. Not because I was intimidated or scared. Not at all. But because the longer I was here, the longer I could watch the residents react to the police presence. One at a time.

Oh, and it gave me plenty of time to get my ass whooped at crib.

Mona hauled out the cribbage board when it was evident we’d be there for a spell. She called out, “Who’s up for a game while we wait?”

Surprisingly, some of us were.

Not that I like crib. Nor that I’m any good at it. But as I watched Mona head toward the small card table at the back of the room, crib was just an excellent idea.

I took one of the chairs (more of the plastic orange variety) and sat with my back toward to the wall so I’d get the best view of the interview room. Mom sat across from me; she had no desire to know what was going on behind her in that small room. This wasn’t easy for her. A tall redheaded gentleman, Roger Cassidy — who did a slight little bow thing that was really kind of charming — sat on my right. Mona sat on my left. She squeezed mom’s hand once, shuffled the cards with a flash and flair that would shame a Vegas dealer and started passing out the cards. We played cut-throat, every man for himself. The stakes, at Mona’s suggestion, were two bucks a game, double for skunk. Of course, she won repeatedly. She played with a ferociousness that hockey coaches would love to bottle, pegging the bejesus out of me. Of course, it didn’t help that I was distracted.

I was in full PI mode as I watched Deputy Almond work the residents. Every fidget, I caught and registered. Every careful mutter, I witnessed.

Most of them knew nothing or little, which was easy to tell by their reactions. But this was told in different ways: some people were overly animated in their defense, some were under animated. Most maintained eye contact, while a few looked away nervously, but not with the guilty type of nervousness. Of course, my intuition was on full alert as I waited for the feeling to crawl up my spine as the right Wildoh resident went in for the interview.

Didn’t happen.

Every time Big Eddie called someone else forward, I’d get a little niggle of anticipation and I’d think, this is it. This is the one. But as soon as the interviewee sat down and started talking … nothing. The feeling went away.

“I’ll go next,” Mrs. Presley said, impatiently after the first half dozen people filed in and then out of the little interview room. “I’m here on vacation. And besides, this shouldn’t take long.” She was right of course. Short and sweet it was. I watched, amused, really. It was obvious right from the get-go that Mrs. P (who has lots of police-interviews under her belt being the proprietor of the Underhill Motel) wasn’t a bit scared of Deputy Almond. If anything, she was enjoying the interview. Hell, she seemed to be conducting the interview. When she finally rose to leave, about five minutes after Almond had prompted her with a polite right hand on the door and his left hand adjusted in a right-this-way directive, Mrs. P was well in command of the conversation.

The door opened.

“So, it’s five letters, and starts with a ‘w.’ Any idea, Deputy?”

Oh, no. She wouldn’t.

Almond’s eyebrows knit in a pensive expression. “I’m thinking, Jane.”

“I don’t know why I can’t get it.” Mrs. Presley shook her head. “Five letters, starts with W…. Dammit, what was that clue? Oh, now I remember!”

Oh, she couldn’t!

“It was … a laughing cartoon bird.”

“Woody!” Deputy Almond shouted.

Mrs. P (who by the way had excellent hearing) turned and cocked her ear toward him, “What did you say?”

“A happy cartoon bird … it’s gotta be Woody.”

“Gotta be what?” She cupped her hand around her ear.

“Woody!” he shouted. “You’re looking for Woody!”

“Yes, of course!” She snapped her fingers. “Woody! That’s it!” She paused, looked thoughtful then nodded her head. “Those dang crosswords. Thanks for helping a little old lady out, Deputy.” She winked at me on the way out.

One by one, the crowd dwindled down.

Roger, having lost himself six dollars to Mona, didn’t seem too displeased when Big Eddie called him to go talk to the Deputy. He did the nod-bow thing again and pushed his chair all the way in to the table before going to join Almond.

I didn’t watch that interview very closely. If Roger had something to hide, I would have sensed it at the table.

I was watching Mom by this time. Now, Mom is a pretty amazing card player. She used to kick my ass at crazy eights when I was a kid, not to mention the days of go-fish card parties we used to have. But her mind hadn’t been on the game today. She’d miscounted her hand more than a few times. Whenever Mona pointed out the missed points, Katt just shrugged and insisted Mona mug the points. “That’s the rule. I missed it. You take it.” Obviously, she was nervous about the impending interview with the Deputy.

When Mother’s turn finally came, I watched her approach the small glassed-in interview room. I watched Big Eddie take her elbow to shepherd her inside. And that’s when it hit me. That feeling I’d been waiting for, that tingle….

No. No way. Jesus H. Chris, she was my mother! She could not be guilty.

But what would I be thinking if she were someone else? Someone unrelated?

I’d damn well think she was guilty, that’s what….

Almond straightened when Mom walked into the room. Any trace of friendliness left his face. He assumed a profile of complete authority. No good cop here — just the bad. It was clear he suspected Mom of something, too. He was, after all, still investigating the disappearance of Frankie Morell, and she was still a person of interest in that investigation. How long would his patience last with the crazy lady who turned her boyfriend into a frog?

Frankie Morell. Frankie Morell who was conveniently missing now.

What if he wasn’t missing? What if he was hiding out somewhere nearby? Maybe still on the premises? Still stealing jewels. What if he hadn’t just hopped on a bus out of town? What if he was still around somewhere, framing my mother?

Grrrrrrrrr.

“Was that your stomach growling, Dix?” Mona asked.

“No.” I smiled at her through gritted teeth. “Just me.”

Deputy Almond didn’t look at my Mother much. I quickly decided that was a deliberate tactic on his part, depriving her of eye contact. He spoke, wrote, spoke, wrote. Mother sat there, growing more nervous by the moment. Which was weird for my mother. Katt Dodd didn’t do nervous. But to my discerning eye, and possibly to Mona’s, she was clearly restless as she sat with Almond. She touched her hand to her cheek a few times. She crossed her legs then uncrossed them twice. And she kept pulling at her left shirt sleeves, pulling them down over her wrists.

And despite keeping his gaze down, I have no doubt Almond noticed.

The interview was long. As was Mona Robert’s interview. Both women headed out of the room quickly when Almond dismissed them. That left just me in the room when Big Eddie came out to give the nod and the thumb jerk.

“That’s all right, Eddie,” Deputy Almond said, coming out of the interview room. “Everyone else is gone, I’ll interview Ms. Dodd out here.”

Big Eddie straddled the chair. Jesus, that was one more thing a man in polyester pants shouldn’t do. He sat in the chair Roger the crib player had vacated not too long before. Almond sat where Mona had been — to my left.

His knee touched mine as he pulled his chair in. Yes, I felt the jolt — and not in my knee. Which annoyed me. This man had just made my mother very uncomfortable. I was going to have to have a talk with those hormones of mine about loyalty.

Oh well. Knee should move any second now. Contact happens. No big deal. Tall man/small table accidents occur all the time — probably account for at least five percent of all hospital visits. Amazing more people didn’t do the knee bump thing. These damn tables should come with a warning sign. Yep. Waiting for knee to move back. Any second now.

It didn’t.

Oh.

Okay.

“Eddie, I think I can take it from here.”

Big Eddie looked like a broken-hearted puppy. “You sure, Deputy?”

“I’m sure, Eddie. I can handle Ms. Dodd.”

Oh, man! What had happened to the air-conditioning?

Big Eddie Baskin glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better get going anyway. You call me if you find anything out, okay?”

Almond gave him a firm nod. “Will do.”

Big Eddie smoothed a hand over the back of his neck as if he’d just worked a double shift at the factory and his muscles were sore. His necklace — chains and charms and all — jingled against his skin.

Deputy Almond watched him go and didn’t say a word until the door had swung completely shut behind Big Eddie’s retreating form. Then he turned to me, “Okay, Dix Dodd. Where’s the missing ring?”

Okay, I moved my knee away.

“Whoa, Deputy, I just got in town, remember? You think I stole that ring? Is that the way law and order works down here? Can’t solve a simple crime so you lay it on the first newcomer to wander in? What are you going to try to pin on me next? The Kennedy assassination? Maybe I’m the one who killed the Black Dahlia? Mind you, I’m a little too young to have committed those crimes, but what the hell. Are you so damned incompetent that—”

He smiled.

Crap.

“No, I don’t think you stole Harriet Appleton’s ring. Never thought it for a moment. What I think is that you’ve watched everyone in this room for the last few hours, just as I did. Maybe better than I did. You’re a trained PI, and from what I hear from my Ontario contacts, a pretty good one.”

Ontario contacts? I wanted names, numbers and a great big pack of thank you notes.

“Why the hell do you think I left you out here so long?”

“Whoops. My bad.”

Leaning back easily in his chair, he ran a hand along his lightly whiskered chin.

I bit down on the half grin (mine, not his, more’s the pity) that threatened to break through. Hell, if Deputy Noel Almond got any more relaxed, he’d be undoing his belt buckle.

I bit down harder. God, Dix, get a grip. This is the same unsmiling man who just finished grilling your mother. The man who thinks she had something to do with the disappearing jewels, if not the disappearing Frankie.

“How much did you lose to Mona Roberts in crib?”

“Six bucks.”

“She let you off easy.”

“You know her?”

“I know everyone here. And maybe that’s part of the problem. Why I’ve not solved these thefts or the matter of the missing Frankie Morell. I’m too close maybe, and that’s why I need your take on things.”

Damn, felt good to be appreciated. As did the idea that he might be keeping somewhat of an open mind about whodunnit. “Well, here’s what I think—”

He stood. “Nope, not now. I have to get some paperwork done, head back to the Appleton apartment one last time, stop by to see Big Eddie, then get to my office to type up these notes.” He waved a handful of sheets of yellow legal paper in my direction as if proving the point. “We’ll talk tomorrow — give you time to mull things over, sort out your own thoughts.”

That was weird. “You want me to come by your office?”

“No, I’ll stop by here. Say about seven. In the evening. And it would be best if we didn’t talk here. Wouldn’t want to make the residents suspicious. Wouldn’t want to blow your cover. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go out to dinner somewhere.”

Okay, if this was a date, it was setting up to be the strangest date I’d ever been on. But was it a date? Or was it an interrogation? Shit!

“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll be ready at seven.”

“Great, it’s a date.” He stood.

Did he mean date date? Or did he mean business date? Did I want it to be a date date?

Of course, if it were, if the attraction was mutual, surely I could use that to my advantage, or rather to Mother’s advantage.

“Looking forward to tomorrow night,” he said.

I smiled. I’d be cool, but not coy. Smart, but not sassy smart. Confident. Poised. “I’m looking forward to it to, Deputy Allman. Almond. Deputy Almond.”

Jesus Christ! I’m an idiot.

My face burned, and Almond grinned from ear to ear.

“Just call me Noel,” he offered, setting a warm hand on my shoulder. “That’s probably easiest.”

Noel. That I could handle.

With a grin, he turned and walked away. I watched him — every rippling muscle in his wonderful physique.

Yep, that I could handle.