Family Jewels (Dix Dodd Mystery #2)

many ladies and gentlemen of my age here. And I assure you, when I am cleared of these crimes — and I will be — it is my intention to campaign tirelessly to get your elected Sheriff kicked out of his job. Every gray haired granny will be after his ass by the time I’m through, and I’ll make sure he knows it’s because of your actions, Deputy. Because of your harassment of an innocent senior. I have friends well beyond these Wildoh walls, and some in very high places. And I assure you, I am far from shy in front of the cameras. Would that be enough to unseat a Sheriff? Maybe not. But I’m betting he’d be prepared to cut your ass loose to take the heat off himself.”

Noel stared at her, but silently. Hell, she’d shut us all up.

“You think my magic is all in my head,” Mother said. “Just an old woman’s foolishness. Well, just watch how quickly I can make your job disappear. Your reputation.”

(And if I was judging things correctly, I bet his gonads, too, right about now.)

“Go ahead, try me,” Mother said. “You’ll find Cotton Carson is the least of your worries.” She went right up to him and got in his face. “Piss me off one more time, Deputy, and I swear to you the moment I’m cleared of these ridiculous charges, I will not only sue you for harassment, dereliction of duty and anything else I can think of, I will fucking mobilize a grey wave.”

Deputy Almond tried to stare my mother down. Failed. Though not miserably. The stare down lasted way past when my eyes began watering. But he failed nonetheless.

Muttering under his breath, he punched a few numbers into the cell.

“North? Deputy Almond here. Get forensics down to the Wildoh again. We’ve had another theft.”

Call completed, Deputy Almond sat on the sofa. “Can I bother you for a coffee, Mrs. Presley?” he asked, sweetly.

“Certainly. Cream, sugar, or spit?”

Well, he didn’t think that one over for very long. “Never mind.”

He opened up his handy-dandy note pad. Clicked open his pen. “Now, let me ask you a few questions, Mrs. Dodd,” he said to my mother.

Big Eddie sat down, his charm-filled necklace giving a tink with the motion. God that thing, must weigh a pound. About six mid-life crises rolled into one.

“Time for you to go, Eddie,” I said.

He looked at Almond. Almond nodded. “Yeah, Eddie. This time … I’ll handle it myself.”

“Don’t you need someone to safeguard the scene until forensics arrives? To make sure it doesn’t get, you know, contaminated?” he asked. “I can do that.”

“I’ll look after it myself this time.”

“You sure, Noel?”

“Quite sure.”

Eddie left, growling at a head-hanging Dylan as he went.

Mother sat on the sofa. She smiled at Almond as though he were the sufficiently chastised child and the time-out was over.

I learned a lot from this exchange. Relearned some too.

First, Mother’s strength. That was a refresher course. Katt Dodd had gone through some hard times in her life, especially when our father was dying and she had to be strong for Peaches and me. And now that the Dodd diamond was on the line, her real strength showed through again. The diamond meant the world to Mother, but she was the real rock here. She was the real family jewel.

Secondly, I learned never to accept coffee from Mrs. P when she’s ticked at you.

Thirdly and more importantly, I learned that Deputy Noel Almond didn’t believe my mother was guilty either.

Chapter 14

I hung around while the forensic guys did their job, watched as they took fingerprints and samples. Closely. Noel Almond did too.

When they were gone, and a coffee-seeking, caffeine deprived Noel Almond himself was out the door later that morning, I set out in search of Dylan. I didn’t have to look far. Big Eddie had him doing a shitload of work again today. As far as I could see, the only ‘security’ Dylan was providing for Eddie Baskin was securing that he’d get lots of rest and relaxation. Poor Dylan had been vacuuming, cleaning, painting, mowing lawns, trimming hedges — you name it — while Eddie enjoyed the free time.

And sure enough, as I headed toward Complex C in hopes of finding Dylan, I watched Eddie heading toward the lake’s driving range.

Yes, his he-vage rode down too low and his pants rode up too high. And yes, he was smiling as he headed out to play golf. But I saw it … that fixed grin was just a little bit strained as he made his way to the driving range.

And apparently, Big Eddie was feeling a little off his game this fine morning for within the ball- filled mesh bag that he carried in his left hand, a glowing orange ball stuck out like a … well, like a glowing orange ball among a whole bunch of white ones.

Big Eddie needing some of his own magic spin on that ball, perhaps? Not so very confident in his own drives and slices? Little shaky these days?

Good.

Fan-freaking-tastic!

I wanted him rattled. Rattled men make mistakes. (Not to be confused with that other well- known maxim, men are rattlesnakes.)

~*~

I found myself checking things over as I approached Complex C where Dylan was working again today. You know, a pat to the hair, a tug to the shirt, stomach in chest out kind of thing. But no, I wasn’t primping. Well, not a lot. And certainly not for Roger Cassidy, who with a scowl and muttering a slew of four-letter words, met me in the doorway on his way out. Well, kind of met me in the doorway. More like on the step as he slammed the door closed behind him when he saw me aiming to enter.

I watched him storm off in a huff.

Dylan knew I was coming, but he wasn’t hanging around the entryway waiting for me, nor did I expect him to be. We were still undercover. For awhile yet, I was Dix Dodd, erotica queen of the north, (that in itself was telling — Almond knew my real persona, Almond was keeping it mum) and he was Dylan ‘heavy-on-the-har’ Hardy.

I met a few other grumpy people in the hallway. Grumpier, of course, when they saw me. Grumpier still when they saw my fuck-you smile. But that was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary in my line of work. I sloughed it off.

I knew I’d find Dylan in the supply room in the basement. I’d like to say that was a brilliant deduction on my part, but we’d prearranged the meeting spot.

Dylan was mixing paint when I arrived. Well he was kind of mixing paint. The can was definitely open. There was a wooden stir stick in it. There was a roller brush in the unspotted tray.

He dropped the ah-shucks, thick-as-bricks persona the moment he saw it was me rounding the corner. “You look different, Dix.”

Those first four words threw me back a bit. What had he noticed? A glow to my skin from the Florida sunshine? More lightness in my blond hair from the same? A lightness to my step? Roses in my cheeks? A sparkle in my eyes? A —

“Oh, it’s your shirt,” he said, nodding. “Your mother ironed for you.”