The Baby Blue Rip-Off

21

As quietly as possible, I brushed aside the questions of the Cooper sisters, and got their permission to use the phone, and dialed the sheriff’s office. Lou Brown answered.

“How’s it going, Mal? Can I help?”

“It’s gone past that point, Lou. I’m ready to bring Brennan in.”

“You been moving fast, then. I thought you were going to keep me up on what you were doing.”

“Well, I hadn’t done a damn thing till this afternoon, and now it’s broken loose all at once. Is Brennan around?”

“He’s sacked out upstairs. He was out till all hours on an accident call last night.”

“Bother him.”

“That important, huh?”

“That important.”

“Okay.”

I heard the click of the extension button being punched in, and it took ten rings to get Brennan to answer. Good thing he wasn’t a fireman.

“What is it?” he said, very groggy.

“It’s Mallory. Wake up.”

“Oh, Jesus. I was out late, Mallory, have a heart. Trying to catch some sleep, damn it; can’t you talk to Lou or somebody about whatever it is-”

“Brennan, wake up. I got your break-ins solved for you.”

“You what?”

“Know a place called Tony’s Used Auto Parts?”

He sighed. “Down in South End, sure.”

“Well, the garage part of Tony’s is a warehouse for the hot goods these guys rip off. It’s where they keep the stuff till they can get it fenced.”

“Mallory, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we’ve heard the same rumors about Tony’s that you have, and on my say-so the cops used two John Does on that place in the last five weeks, and they never found a damn thing. We’ve pushed our luck on that one about as far as we can. So no matter what you heard about Tony’s, forget it.”

“I didn’t hear anything about Tony’s, Brennan… I saw it.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. I busted in there this afternoon and had a look around.”

“Goddamnit, Mallory! You can’t-”

“Can’t, hell. I did. Now do you want to tell me how you’re going to toss me in the can and so on, or do you want to hear what I found out?”

Another sigh. “Go on.”

“I only saw one of them. A big guy, with a blond crew cut and a broken nose. He’s the one that clobbered me at Mrs. Jonsen’s when I interrupted him loading up that green van. His name is P. J., I think, and I believe he lives above the auto parts shop with some woman, who’s probably in on it, too. The others I didn’t see, but I heard ’em talking. The main guy wasn’t around, but they referred to him as Frank.”

“You’re out of your mind, Mallory. Breaking in there, eavesdropping, damn-”

“Shut up and listen. They’ve got all the stuff they stole from Mrs. Jonsen’s, everything from her color television to her antiques, still stored away in that garage. But from what they were saying, I gather they’re going to skip town tonight, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re loading that stuff into that green van I told you about right this minute, so move it, will you?”

“Well… it’s within the city limits, so I’ll have to call the chief of police and have him get some men down there straight away. If they use another warrant on that place and don’t find anything, the chief’ll have my ass and I’ll have yours.”

“Just do it.”

“Where are you now?”

I gave him the number.

“Well, sit tight there, Mallory. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”

I hung up.

And as I did, Miss Viola Cooper handed me a crystal glass filled with that delicious homemade dandelion wine, and Miss Gladys Cooper said, “Now come into the living room and tell us what this is all about.”

I followed them into the cluttered living room, sat on the sofa, and sipped my wine. They had good reason to wonder what I was doing there; not only had I come around on a Saturday afternoon, rather than my traditional Thursday evening with their hot suppers, but I was also a scraped-up, dirty, disheveled sight from my tumble out of the van in their alley, and I still had the pair of scissors clutched in my hand, I laid them on a doily-strewn end table by the sofa and told the sisters that I had just been witness to the kids who lived upstairs preventing the robbery of the Cooper home by two bogus gardeners.

The old girls didn’t bat an eye. Gladys said, “That doesn’t surprise me. Our roomers are nice young men. I don’t know why old folks are always criticizing you nice, responsible young people.”

Viola said, “We’ve already spoken to Mr. Mallory on that subject, Gladys.”

That they had-several times.

“It’s a point worth stressing,” Gladys said. “How did the boys prevent the robbery?”

“By being here,” I explained. “Evidently, the thieves had information to the effect that your roomers usually aren’t here on the weekend.”

“That is true,” Viola said. “But this weekend they are here…”

“… having a party,” her sister continued. “I don’t know if you noticed that or not.”

If I hadn’t, the ceiling above-rattling with the vibrations of dancing feet and booming stereo-would have clued me in. But the sisters didn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Are these the same people who robbed and killed that poor Mrs. Jonsen?” Gladys asked me.

“And weren’t you present at the scene of that robbery as well?” her sister added.

I nodded yes. “And I know what you’re thinking. It couldn’t just be a coincidence. But don’t ask me how it figures in, because I don’t know.”

“Mrs. Jonsen was participating in the Hot Supper Service,” Gladys said, “just as we are, and…”

“… couldn’t that be the common element between these dreadful robberies?” her sister finished.

“These same people pulled seven other break-ins locally,” I said, “and the Hot Supper Service didn’t turn up in any of them.”

“I see,” Viola said. “More wine?”

“Please.”

She filled my crystal glass, and her sister asked, “How did they intend to rob us?”

I explained that the way I saw it, the thieves were planning to pull their van into the basement garage, come upstairs, tie the sisters up (as they had Mrs. Jonsen), and carry what they took back downstairs, and load up the van.

“And they can do things like that in the daylight?” Viola asked.

Gladys said, “Of course, because people just don’t like to get involved these days, do they, Mr. Mallory?”

“Most of them have sense enough not to,” I said.

At that point the phone rang. It was for me: Brennan, calling to tell me he’d contacted the police and was on his way to meet them down at Tony’s. I said, “Something else you should consider, Brennan.”

“What’s that?”

“This afternoon, these guys were planning to rip off some nice elderly ladies named Gladys and Viola Cooper but got fouled up, never mind why. The main thing is the Cooper sisters are one of my Hot Supper charges.”

“You mean like Mrs. Jonsen was?”

“Right.”

“That’s kind of a strange sort of coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it? The Cooper sisters themselves mentioned it to me a moment ago, and I shrugged it off. But remember how we were looking for a common factor among the break-ins? Like that travel agency that figured in on several of them. And how we considered the possibility of maybe this bunch utilizing several sources of information?”

“You mean the travel agency is one source, and the Hot Supper thing another, somehow?”

“Worth thinking about. Anyway, one thing’s for sure.”

“Yeah?”

“We got another common factor.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You.”

“Me,” I agreed.

Brennan hung up. So did I.

Or began to, anyway, because hardly had receiver touched cradle when Viola Cooper said, “Perhaps you’re wrong.”

I let the receiver drop onto the hook, turned around and looked at the two sisters, standing there side by side like a matched set. How long they’d been poised behind me like that, in the hallway where the phone was on a stand, I didn’t know-and didn’t care, really. It was their house, after all, and they were the ones who’d almost gotten robbed. Why shouldn’t they be interested?

“I’m wrong?” I said. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe you are not the common factor, Mr. Mallory,” Gladys Cooper said. “Or at least not the only one. My sister and I were talking while you were on the phone. We have an idea.”

I grinned. “What have you come up with, ladies?”

“As much as we hate to say it…,” Gladys began.

“… because they are all such nice people,” her sister continued.

“… it seems to us that one of the other persons who brings our hot suppers might be the common factor, rather than you, Mr. Mallory.”

“Hey,” I said. “That’s right. I only bring the food around on Thursday nights….”

“And the other six nights of the week, it’s brought to us by other Hot Supper volunteers,” Gladys pointed out, finishing my sentence this time, “volunteers who service the very same route that you do.”

“And isn’t it possible,” her sister continued, “that one of these other parties might have been using the Hot Supper delivery to… I believe the phrase is ‘case the joint’? Not to impugn anyone’s humanitarian intentions….”

“Do you suspect anyone in particular?” I asked them. They were doing fine so far.

Gladys shook her head. “All of them seem so sincere, it’s difficult to-”

“Now wait a moment,” Viola said. It was the first time I’d heard her break in to offer a new thought, rather than just complete one of her sister’s. “Couldn’t it be that young couple who were delivering the Thursday meals before Mr. Mallory began?”

I said, “The people I took over for, you mean?”

“Yes,” Viola said.

“But they seemed so warm and conscientious,” Gladys said. “I can’t believe that they-”

Her sister was firm. “Then why did they drop out of the program so early? They delivered meals for no longer than a month, do you recall? That was one of the reasons we were so surprised to see Mr. Mallory bringing our Thursday meals.”

Gladys was starting to nod in agreement. “And their business would provide a natural means for disposing of the property they procure. I believe you’re right, Viola.”

I said, “What business is that?”

“Why, they’re antique dealers,” Viola said. “Of a sort, anyway. Their shop is somewhat run-down… nothing fancy; the place almost resembles a junkyard. It’s just outside the city limits out of South End; perhaps you’ve seen it….”

“They just bought the place a few months ago, late last spring,” Gladys recalled. “They explained to us that they have plans to refurbish the shop and the grounds, as well as that barn of theirs, when their financial situation improves.”

Barn! Another warehouse?

I said, “What are their names?”

“Petersen,” Gladys said.

“Frank and Sarah Petersen,” Viola said.