“So this explains it,” Des said to Claudia. “Why you’ve been so anxious to gain power of attorney over your mother’s business affairs.”
“I was concerned,” Claudia conceded coolly. “And why not? Some of those pieces belong in a museum. There’s no telling what Tolly might have done with them. If she wanted to leave the man a chunk of money, fine. But the family’s art collection? I couldn’t accept that. Because I love my mother and I’m worried about her.” Claudia trailed off, her eyes cast down at the table. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Not at all. You’re not the only one who’s worried.”
“Meaning what, Des?” Glynis asked, frowning at her.
“Would you ladies please excuse us?” Des was already on her way out the back door. “We’ll be leaving you now.”
“Certainly,” said Glynis, saving one final glare for Yolie.
“That blonde ball of fluff better hope she never tangles with me again,” Yolie growled as Des led them across the courtyard toward their Crown Vics. “I will kick her skinny pink ass.”
“Don’t mess with Glynis, girl. She’s got major juice.”
“Not to mention some shifty moves,” said Soave. “Yesterday she fails to disclose Guy Tolliver’s huge windfall on a technicality. Today the man turns up dead. Was she just doing her job, like she said, or was she doing a job on us? How do we know she’s not a part of this thing herself?”
“We don’t know, Rico,” Des acknowledged as they arrived at their cars. She leaned against hers, gazing up at the magnificent brick hugeness of Four Chimneys. “What we do know is someone is after the grand prize-this place and all that comes with it. A calculated, systematic master plan is taking shape. And they aren’t done yet. There’s still one more step. Mighty big one, too.”
“The old lady,” Yolie said in a hushed voice.
“You think her life is in danger?” Soave asked.
“I know it, Rico,” Des said. “Poochie’s bound to be their next target. They won’t have everything they want until she’s dead, too. And these are not patient people.”
“We’re putting an armed guard on her right now,” Soave said with grim determination. “She needs protection around the clock.”
“I’m guessing she won’t like the idea much,” Yolie said.
“Count on it,” Des agreed. “But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll do what we tell her.”
“We can keep her safe, Des,” Soave promised. “But you’ve got to help us out here. Haven’t you got any idea who we’re after?”
“I wish I did, Rico. But I’m still a million miles from nowhere, and getting more damned frustrated by the-”
Her cell phone rang. She glanced down at the home screen. It was Mitch. She took his call.
“Your troubles are over, Master Sergeant,” he said to her excitedly. “I’ve just figured out how we can blow this whole thing wide open.”
CHAPTER 21
“Kind of busy here,” Des said back to him over the cell phone.
“That’s what I figured,” Mitch responded as he sat behind the wheel of his truck, sipping hot coffee. “But I need face time with you. I’m parked out on Route 156 about a hundred yards from the driveway.” He and a crush of TV news vans. “I tried to get inside, but the trooper told me to am-scray. And it’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone use pig latin, let me tell you.”
“Mitch, I can’t give you any time right-”
“Wait, have you guys figured out yet that Poochie’s the next victim?”
Silence from her end. Until she said, “We’re putting a twenty-four-hour guard on her.”
“No, you don’t want to do that. This is what I need to see you about. I have fresh doughnuts.”
“Mitch, I can’t just pick up and… did you get any jelly?”
“Do I know you or do I know you?”
He heard her sigh. “Okay, the trooper will let you through. I’ll met you at the fork.”
Eric’s fragrant sheep farm seemed uncommonly peaceful in the morning sunlight after the hubbub down at the road. It was so quiet Mitch could hear the bleating of the denizens as he waited there.
It took Des ten minutes to stride her way down the private drive to him, looking ultra-stressed. When the master sergeant was tightly coiled she developed a yen for jelly doughnuts. Absolutely her only junk food vice- unless you classified carrot sticks as junk food, and Mitch did.
She hopped in next to him and lunged for a football-sized jelly doughnut, attacking it ravenously. “Tell me how you figured out that Poochie is next in line. I’m a trained homicide investigator and I just got there. What makes you so damned smart?”
“I watched a great deal of Larry, Moe and Curly in my formative years. And I know how you can cut through all of the procedure and nail your killers. In movie parlance, it’s known as cutting to the chase.”
“That’s funny, we call it that in real life, too.”
“Okay, now you’re being pointy.”
Des stuffed the last of the doughnut in her mouth, dabbing at her face with a napkin. “Mitch, tell me why we don’t want to put a guard on Poochie.”
“Because if she has police protection then she’ll never be attacked.”
“Well, yeah, that’s kind of the whole idea.”
“No, it’s not. You have a golden opportunity here to smoke them out. But our killers have to think she’s alone in the house when she calls them up. Otherwise, they won’t come over.”
“Slow down. Who is she calling?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute.”
“Keep talking.” She reached for another doughnut.
“You set up a video camera in Poochie’s parlor. Wire the whole room for visuals and sound. Then, at your behest, Poochie calls up the suspects and says, ‘I know it’s you. We need to talk about this. Please come over right now.’ And so they do. Meanwhile, you’re in the next room watching the whole thing on the monitor. She gets them to incriminate themselves on tape. And you swoop down on them and, bam, case closed.” It occurred to Mitch that Des had not stopped staring at him for the longest time. “Okay, I know exactly what you’re going to say next.”
“No, I really don’t think you do.”
“It smacks of entrapment, right? I’m well aware of that particular problem, and I have a way around it- Soave’s on board from the get-go. He can run it by the district prosecutor. Get proper au-thorization for the video camera. It’ll all be aboveboard.” Mitch dug a cinnamon cruller out of the bag and bit into it. “I’m done. Say what you were going to say.”
“First of all, it’s not my case. Second of all, no. Third of all, that’s not a plan-it’s a Hail Mary pass from the last reel of one of your dumb-assed old Saint movies.”
“The Saint movies were not dumb-assed. And it so happens the police were happy for Simon Templar’s help. Especially when George Sanders played him. He was a highly undervalued leading man.”
“Mitch, there is absolutely no way any of this can happen.”
“Sure it can. You own Soave.”
“Tawny owns him. I just rent him out by the day.”
“You think he won’t go for it?”
“Baby, we can’t possibly endanger a civilian’s life that way. They could just come right through the door, guns blasting. Meanwhile we’re sitting in the next room going ‘Uh-oh, what just happened?’ Besides, you’re assuming they’ll confess everything in great detail. That’s strictly Hollywood. Out here in the reality-based community the bad guys just deny, deny, deny. Only way we can ever get one to admit he’s done anything is by offering him a deal to rat out his partner. And the only way we can do that is if we know who the hell they are.”
“So let’s use our heads.” Mitch paused to collect his thoughts. “Back story, we’re looking at two families who share a history of hostility and, it now turns out, common blood-in the person of Pete Mosher. Both Poochie Vickers
