“No. We've been kind of busy.”
Ceepak nods.
“Still,” he says, “that trike owner is a tax-paying citizen. Well, his parents probably are. They're entitled to a full and proper criminal investigation.”
“They are?”
“It's our sworn duty, Danny.”
“Oh-kay….”
“Besides-it was the first crime of the day.”
Advice from Dr. McDaniels. Okay. Got it.
Maybe it was no coincidence Officer Kiger wasn't on the beach Saturday morning to give Squeegee his wakeup call, wasn't there to see folks crawling in and out under the fence, shooting people on the Tilt-A- Whirl.
Maybe he was taken out of the game a half hour before kickoff.
They sent him to answer a call on Rosewood Street.
The mayor's sister's house. The kind of summons you usually can't refuse, especially if you want to keep your job.
We're in the bushes near the front porch steps. Rose bushes. Thorns, wild tangles. I guess if your street is called “Rosewood,” you're officially obligated to grow the prickly buggers.
Ceepak has his magnifying glass out, looking for fibers, I bet. The trike thief could have snagged his shorts on the thorns. I know I just did.
“Excuse me. What are you gentlemen doing in my bushes?”
I think it's the mayor's sister. She's very tan. And very stacked.
“Good morning, ma'am.” Ceepak is, of course, friendly, courteous, and kind. “We're investigating your report of a stolen vehicle.”
“You work for my brother?” she asks Ceepak.
“We work for Sea Haven Township.”
“Like I said … you work for my brother?”
“Yes, ma'am. I suppose we do.”
“I'll have to commend him on his new hiring policies.”
Ceepak steps back from the bushes and onto the lawn.
“Sorry to bother you like this, ma'am.”
“Oh, it's no bother.”
“We have a few questions.”
“So do I. Are you married?”
Ceepak actually blushes.
“Was the tricycle situated here on the porch?” he asks.
“The tricycle?”
“Yes, ma'am. Was it on the porch?”
“Are you really investigating a missing tricycle?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“What a waste of manpower.” Now she's arching her back, like she's yawning, like maybe she needs to go back to bed and maybe somebody should go with her.
“Miss?” I say. “We're kind of in a hurry.”
“Who are you?”
Figures. When you're with Ceepak, women don't even notice you.
“What is this? Take A Stupid Kid To Work Day?”
The mayor's sister? She has this nasty side. And when it comes out is when she squinches up her nose and glares at you. Then you notice where the plastic surgeon didn't do such a hot job.
“Where exactly did you go to cop school?” she asks me. “Some doughnut shop?”
I'm no Boy Scout, so I don't have to do the courteous bit.
“Where'd you get that tan?” I say. “Sears, or Costco?”
“Oh, I see. You're the comedian cop?”
“He's part-time,” Ceepak says.
“He's going to be no-time after I call my brother.”
“No need to bother your brother,” Ceepak says, whipping out his little notebook. “I'll take care of it.” He jots something down.
“What're you doing? You writing him up?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Hah! Good.”
“Now if you could … could you please tell us what happened?”
“Of course.” She acts like she's composing herself, smoothing out any crinkles in her shorts, front and back. She spends more time smoothing out the back than the front. “My son left his tricycle on the porch steps like he always does, even though I tell him not to. Maybe if his father were still living with us, maybe if I was still married-which, incidentally, I'm not-maybe things would be different….”
“When did you first notice it was stolen?” Ceepak asks.
“When he was stealing it! The thief made so much noise! He banged the thing against my screen door!”
“Did you see him?”
“No. I called the police right away. I was all alone … I didn't dare confront him….”
Now she's doing a damsel-in-distress thing that makes it look like she's a ship flashing Morse Code because her eyelids are painted baby blue and every time she blinks we get a dot or dash of bright light.
“You must have been terrified,” Ceepak says.
“Oh, I was. He was right here. And my bedroom? It's right there….”
She points dramatically to a window. I can make out chintzy pink curtains on the other side and one of those hurricane table lamps catalogs say add a touch of romance to almost any room.
What all this means is that the trike bandit banged it against the door just to make certain anybody inside knew he was out here stealing something.
The thief wanted her to call the cops.
“He even kicked over one of my potted plants.”
“We'll write it up … additional damage … for your insurance claim….”
Ceepak jots down another note in his pocket pad.
“And, look down there….” She points to the other side of the porch. “He crushed my Fairy. My beautiful pink Fairy.”
“Your Fairy rosebush?”
Oh. Ceepak knows horticulture, too.
“Yes! See?”
“Yes, ma'am. What a shame.”
“I'll say.”
“Fairies are prolific climbers,” Ceepak says.
“I'm impressed. You know your roses….” She's leaning on the porch railing again.
“A little,” Ceepak says, looking down at the shrubbery instead of up at the mountains. “I'm no expert. Not like you. You did an excellent job mulching these flower beds.”
“Moi?” She gives Ceepak a coy, “silly boy” look. “Hardly. I hire a man to do it for me. He says mulch is the only way to retain moisture in our sandy soil. It's so
She says “hot” like she said “man” earlier.
Ceepak studies the trampled rosebush.
“What a shame. He crushed it under his boot,” he says.
I look down and see where the moist, mulched soil has retained a print.
