Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

A prayer or two said.

And strict instructions from Mother to call collect when she settled in.

That was women for you.

Chapter 11

Mother was still upset over the missing watch. More so than ever after it was discovered at the scene of the latest crime. But where it showed up didn’t seem to bother her near as much as who had found it. Roger Cassidy. But why would that bother my mother? I was pretty sure there was nothing going on between the two of them.

“I just don’t understand how it could end up at Roger’s,” Mother said, worriedly. “I’ve never even been in his place.”

Well, I understood how that watch could end up at Roger’s. I just had to prove it.

Mother was very anxious to have the watch back, but of course, the cops were not about to return it. It had been bagged and tagged as evidence.

“Worse case scenario,” I told her, “I’ll buy you a new watch.

She shook her head. Not in a ‘no, no, don’t spend your money on me’ kind of way, but more in a ‘you just don’t understand’ kind of way. And she wasn’t about to elaborate.

Maybe I didn’t understand. God knows I’m no Dear Abby. Maybe such a gift from Frankie really meant something to my mother. Even if Frankie didn’t seem to anymore. And what about that hooker back at the jailhouse who claimed to know Frankie? What about my mother’s flirtation with Cotton Carson?

Whatever the case, soon enough the real thief would be exposed and Mother would be cleared of suspicion for those crimes.

Then it would be a heck of a lot easier to concentrate on the disappearance of Frankie Morrell, with mother no longer a suspect in the thefts. At the very least, it would deflect suspicion away from my mother, which in turn would make those who’d been suspicious of her in the first place feel guilty as hell. Good. I hoped they’d lose a month of sleeps. I hope they’d hang their heads in shame.

Like I said before, pettiness is underrated.

~*~

“Pinch-me Pink? Or something more subdued? Like….” I looked at the label of my own tube as I pulled it from my front pants pocket — “…Chapstick.”

I held up the choices for mother. She grabbed her Pinch-Me Pink while I smeared on the Chapstick. But she hesitated in her reach. And damn it if I didn’t almost hear her sigh.

Katt Dodd was wearing down. I didn’t like to see this.

Power naps taken (yes, even by me), we were geared up for the afternoon at the rec room. Everyone freshened up. It was Wednesday. Three days since Dylan, Mrs. P and I had arrived in Florida and two days until Mona’s birthday party. Something about the Florida weather — all that sun and fresh air, I slept like a log, thoroughly and deeply. Though an hour hadn’t been near enough to fully rejuvenate Mother after the night she’d had in jail, it did help. She was ready to face her accusers again. And she was ready to face her only friend at the Wildoh, Mona Roberts.

I hadn’t told Mother yet that I’d solved the crime. Why? Well, I knew she’d argue with me when I told who committed the crimes and was trying to frame her. This was going to hurt mother.

Also because I’m a great big freakin’ show-off. I wanted to do this — have the whole it-was-the-butler-with- the-candlestick-in-the-library moment — in front of my mom. A person just never outgrows that. Whether it’s jumping in the pool, riding a bike with no hands, marching down the aisle at graduation or kicking a jewel thief in the crotch — really, a person just never outgrows those ‘look, mom!’ moments.

Mother stiffened noticeably when we walked into the rec room. Well, noticeably to me, and no doubt to Mrs. P, who flanked her on the other side. But Mother’s obvious tension was probably not that noticeable to anyone else. Katt Dodd’s million-dollar smile beamed across her face.

The rec room was packed. A smiling Mona sat at the crib table, but flanked by an angry Roger Cassidy and an even angrier Vanessa Trueman. Annamarie Tildman didn’t so much as turn her head mother’s way. She just stared down into her crib hand, boring a hole into the cards with her eyes. Beth Mary was nearby in the kitchen, and her glance at mother, Mrs. P and me was brief and to the point. She was obviously firmly now on the “I-Hate-Katt” bandwagon. With her hands behind her back and one foot hiked up onto the wall, a short-skirted, tight-sweatered Tish leaned up against the wainscoting. Big Eddie looked frankly chastising as he surveyed the three of us. I didn’t see Wiggie for a minute. Not because he was completely hidden behind Harriet standing in front of him there by the windows (he was only half hidden), but because he looked just that despairing as he stood there. Harriet herself was in her typical hmph-mode. She stood heel to heel, toes out and arms crossed so tightly in front of her, it looked like she was going to slice her skinny self in half at the middle. (One could only hope).

And then there was Dylan Hardy (yes, heavy on the ‘har’) standing close to one wall. White paint flecked his muscled forearms. Under my gaze, he crossed his arms across his chest, which did lovely things for his biceps. He really did look every inch the security guard/handy man. Poor guy. With any luck, he’d be putting that paintbrush down very shortly.

And guess who else was there?

“Well, hello Katt, Mrs. Presley, Dix! So good to see you all again. As always, ladies, you’re looking lovely. Did you enjoy the chocolates and flowers?”

Noel Almond.

Of course the asshole had shown up. The voice mail I’d left for him had been pretty explicit. When. Where. What would be happening. The only thing I left out was ‘who’.

But I was surprised that he hadn’t shown at mother’s door before this little meeting. I know cops, and they don’t like surprises. They don’t like having their thunder stolen. They don’t like when smart women come in and show them up by doing their jobs for them.

So yeah, I was surprised. And a little suspicious. Did Deputy Almond know something I didn’t? Something I should?

Mrs. P was so kind as to answer Almond’s question. “We certainly did enjoy the presents. I love chocolate. Can’t go wrong with flowers. But I wonder, Noel, did you enjoy your bill from the restaurant where you and Dix dined last night?”

Apparently, Deputy Almond had yet to receive that bill, for he looked truly taken off guard by Mrs. Presley’s comment. But he wasn’t the only one.

When I shot a look at Dylan, his face was carefully, tellingly blank. He’d known that I’d met with the deputy; I’d told him as much. I think I even told him it was over dinner. I just hadn’t mentioned it had involved chocolates and flowers. Shit.

Almond recovered quickly, pushing any uneasiness he might have felt from Mrs. P’s jibe aside, and smiled again. “The main thing is that our Ms. Dodd had a wonderful time last night. Fine French restaurant, a little laughter, coziness, small talk…. Did I mention how helpful the talking part was?”

Grrrrrrrrrrr.

Okay, firstly the ‘our Ms. Dodd’ sounds like something out of a Jane Austen novel, and I’m the last candidate for a character in one of those. Secondly, did he have to blab to the whole world I was so foolishly manipulated?

“Why Deputy,” Tish purred. “A French restaurant? You’d think you’d have taken a real lady.”