Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

She blinked rapidly. “Thank you, Dix. I have faith in you.”

~*~

I spent the rest of that day like a woman possessed. It was one of those hot-as-hell, muggy Florida days. Sweat rolled off me, refusing to evaporate in the hideous humidity, and I kept the water bottle filled. I talked to all the Wildoh residents who would talk to me. None of them yet knew that I was a private investigator. They still thought I was the not-too-bright, erotica-writing daughter of Katt Dodd. So although they talked to me with hostility, it wasn’t guarded hostility.

Except Big Eddie. He wasn’t the least bit hostile. The fucker was still just a grinning. I knew he was the culprit. He didn’t seem to care. Smug son of a bitch.

I snooped around every complex, watched the comings and goings of everyone that I could. One of those people coming and going was Dylan, going about his security/maintenance duties. He nodded at me politely each time we passed, me on my overt fact-finding mission and he on his covert one.

I charted. I plotted. I drew little stick figures and great big question marks, as I tried to tie each and every individual into Big Eddie Baskin.

I thought about motive.

I considered money.

I pondered access.

And I had no doubt Dylan was doing the same.

And why was I looking for connections to Big Eddie? Because he had to have had an accomplice, that’s why. Someone had to be working with him to get the jewels off the property.

And I didn’t like how these lines of thought looped and led.

That evening Mother was almost her old self again. Apparently the pinkie swear promise was all she needed to buoy her spirits. She insisted we all ‘doll up’ and head out for a night on the town.

I did the DD (designated driver, not Dix Dodd) while out with Mom and Mrs. P But I enjoyed a nice, cold glass of wine when I got home. And only as I relaxed and sipped, did I realize how tired I was. Pooped. Beat.

And I slept like the dead. I didn’t stir until the next day, when I awakened to my mother screaming and pointing a shaking finger to the empty wall safe.

Chapter 13

I couldn’t believe it.

Yet there it was….

That safe was not twenty feet from where I’d slept all night! How could someone have broken in and gotten by me? It just wasn’t possible. And it was also highly risky. Whoever broke in here had to be pretty damn sure I’d not wake up. But how?

Then I stood up from the sofa bed and reeled sideways. What the hell? I sat down again. The dizziness passed quickly, but when it did, I realized my brain was shrouded in a fog that was just beginning to dissipate. And not a sleep fog. I blinked.

Jesus, someone had slipped me something! But who? When? Oh, where should the ass-kicking begin?

My own, perhaps. Instantly the answer came to me.

I’d been careless yesterday. The damn heat, I’d carried a water bottle around with me all day. Of course, I’d set it down everywhere I’d gone. To take notes, to run to the bathroom at Mona’s. I’d set the water down to shake hands with Roger (whose other hand was covered with chocolate … geez, I hope it was chocolate).

Damn damn damn! Anyone could have slipped something into my water. I’m never that sloppy. But if I had in fact been slipped a mickey, why the delayed reaction? Why hadn’t it hit me until hours later? How could it not hit me until….

Oh, shit, until I’d had that drink of wine after dinner. It must have been something fairly innocuous until it was intensified by alcohol. That perfectly predictable glass of wine.

Or, shit, shit, shit, maybe someone slipped something into the wine itself? Slipped into Mother’s condo in order to slip it into the wine. Not that I could prove it. I’d polished off the last of it, a partial bottle of Shiraz. The same one Dylan and I had drunk from the other night. There’d been just enough left for a single glass.

Whatever the method of delivery, in the water or in the wine, it had worked. It had been lights- out drowsiness when my head hit the pillow, which I attributed to stress. I’d crashed early, thinking my subconscious might solve the mystery my conscious mind seemed unable to crack.

Mother was crying. Even the nerves-of-steel Mrs. P looked a little shaken.

Shaking the last of the cobwebs away, I headed to the sliding door. Damn it! Not only was it unlocked, it had been left mockingly ajar! One white panel of the sheers rippled out into the wind. There were no tell-tale wet footprints. No muddy hand prints on the wall. And no water on floor this time, no little piece of greenery — heart-shaped or otherwise. I checked the lock. Of course, it wasn’t broken.

“How could it be?” Mother asked me, bewildered.

How could I answer her?

~*~

I made two calls. The first one, I made easily, to Dylan. He was at the Goosebump. I know I woke him up — that was evident by the groggy “‘Lo”. But his alertness was instantaneous upon hearing my voice and the panic I tried to keep from it. Dylan Foreman was pretty good with his own bullshit buster. I told him what had happened. He’d be right over. He’d throw on his Dylan Hardy security uniform and be there as quickly as he could. He didn’t bother to tell me not to worry. That would just be too damn condescending in the circumstances.

“Thanks, Dylan.”

“And Dix,” Dylan said, before he hung up. “One of my contacts came through with that information on Frankie Morrell. Appears he does have a thing for hookers — blue haired, sharp clawed, whip brandishing … you name it. He’s been picked up twice in the last year soliciting undercover female cops. And apparently, he has some pretty kinky tastes when it comes to the services he pays for.”

“How kinky?”

“You don’t want to know.”

That was all I needed to know.

That was going to break my mother’s heart.

But if Frankie was into assorted games with hookers, I wanted him nowhere near my mother. Not that I wanted him missing or dead. Just no-damned-where near my mother.

The second call I made reluctantly. Yes, I had to call Deputy Noel Almond. That was a hard pill to swallow. I didn’t mind waking him up. Hell, I was silently pleading please be asleep into the phone even as I dialed his cell. But I just didn’t want to ask for help from the bastard. But there was no way around it. He had to know about this crime. And while I had him on the phone, I filled him in on the new info on Frankie Morrell.

On the missing ring news, Noel seemed a little surprised. Heavy on the little. I know the guy is trained to hide emotion, but I’m trained to catch the flickers of it.

When I told Almond about Frankie’s fetish for floozies, all he said was, “Well, that’s interesting.” But he said it with absolutely no interest in his voice. Not a bit.