Larceny and Lace (20 page)

“"Do you treat all your perps this well?”"

“"You’'re bleeding all over the place. The upholstery in my car will never be the same. And we’'re not
too
nice, because we’'re going to keep you here until we can talk with McDowell’'s alarm company. Unfortunately, we couldn’'t find any sign of an alarm system, and we don’'t want him to know we’'re checking up on him. Our clerk is calling a long list of area alarm companies as we speak. You might be here a while. Do you want to make a phone call?”"

“"No, thanks. I’'m a big girl. My father won’'t worry. He’'ll think I’'m at Eve’'s.”"

“"And her parents will think she’'s at your place. How long have you two been playing that card?”"

“"Pretty much since we were five.”"

“"Well, Ms. Meyers forgot. She made a phone call to her mother, who kindly delivered these.”" Werner set my em barrassingly dorky alligator slippers on his desk in front of me. “"For after your feet are bandaged.”"

“"I left these at Eve’'s years ago,”" I said, picking them up. “"I designed them in fashion school. Our assignment was to make something creative with an
alligator
zipper.”" I unzipped my alligators’' mouths so their teeth would show.

Werner chuckled.

“"I got the highest grade.”"

“"Mrs. Meyers also left you each a pimento cream cheese sandwich.”"

“"Yuck! Eve and I hate those. Just the smell tests our gag reflexes, and she knows it. The woman’'s diabolical.”"

“"She did seem to think you deserved whatever I had in mind.”" His eyes twinkled as he stood and took my arm. “"Lean on me if it hurts you to walk.”" I carried my slippers and I leaned, while my stomach growled but I ignored it. It hurt worse on the hard floor than in the grass or on the rug in the McDowell house. Werner saw that my eyes were tearing up and he slipped an arm around me.

“"You’'re not going to carry me again, are you?”"

“"Not through the squad room, I’'m not.”"

“"Good.”" I tried footwork variations and found it easiest to walk on tiptoe. In the squad room, the eleven o’'clock news was on. We stopped to watch McDowell shouting his outrage over his home being broken into.

“"He’'ll do anything to get on the news,”" I said, glad he wasn’'t using any names. Then again, he couldn’'t know whether Eve and I were still at his house when the police arrived. “"He’'s trying to plug his dike,”" I said, “"in case Vinney might be thinking of using him, or his guesthouse, as an alibi or hiding place sanctioned by McDowell—--which the old goat most assuredly did not.”"

Werner nodded and I got the urge to tell him about McDowell practicing his fire speech the night
before
the playhouse fire, but I was pretty sure that was Lolique using us as dupes. Maybe. “"The councilman isn’'t honest,”" I said. “"I’'m sure of that, because he’'s lying about what happened tonight. But I think he might be worse than a liar.”" Werner looked at me with speculation. “"Does McDowell know that’'s how you feel?”"

Possibly, I thought, since he saw Eve’'s car in the woods by his house tonight, so he must know we were nosing around. He’'d also learned that I’'d been “"hanging”" around at his dealership—--upside down, mind you—--to examine his dead wife’'s picture, and yet . . .

“"I don’'t think so.”"

“"Keep it that way.”"

Thirty-five
Sometimes there are two very opposite directions, and we go with the stronger one at the end. It’'s an impulse thing, like ‘'Oh, I love both so much, but it’'s got to be one or the other because the two don’'t work together.’'

—--MARC JACOBS

Eve and I appeared doomed to spending the night at the station, but where?

I had to perform some Mad—--as in Madeira—--Magic, and fast, like charming my way out of a paper bag, also known as: a jail cell.

We found Eve getting her foot bandaged in first aid.

“"I’'m hungry,”" I said as we finished. “"How about you, Eve?”"

“"Not enough to eat the sandwiches my mother brought. Is she a trip or what?”"

“"A trip through the scary house,”" I said, “"unless she’'s helping, which she does so well.”"

“"Mothers,”" Werner chuckled, escorting us, one on each arm, across the squad room, but not in the direction of his office. Scrap! “"Detective, could you go for some Mexican food?”"

He slowed. “"I’'m going off shift in a few minutes.”"

“"Good, you can get it, and when you get back, between the three of us, we can put together the pieces of the murder puzzle while we eat. No sense in you eating alone.”" I know, low blow, but for a worthy cause.

He hesitated.

“"My treat,”" I said.

Clearly, he was torn. “"I’'ll have to put you in a cell while I get the food,”" he said, almost to himself.

“"Don’'t forget the Mexican beer,”" Eve said. “"I could go for some cold Cerveza Dos Equis. Sound good to you, Mad?”"

I wanted to elbow her for missing the point. “"We can wait in your office.”"

“"So you can look though my files and talk my men into helping you?”" But he’'d stopped walking.

I guessed that my charm would no longer serve where the Wiener was concerned.

“"Dos Equis, yes,”" I said.

“"But what do you want to eat?”" Werner asked.

“"Enchiladas, chimichangas, burritos, chile rellenos. We like to mix it up and share. What about you?”"

He rolled his eyes, took some bills from his pocket, and tossed them on a desk.

“"Jimmy, did you get that?”"

“"Yes, sir.”"

“"Go as soon as you’'re off shift and get some for yourself. Get a couple of six-packs of Dos Equis. I’'ll be off shift by the time you get back and I’'ll need self-medicating.”" He looked us over, head to foot. “"It’'s gonna be a looong night.”" He then steered us toward his office.

Whew! “"Thank you for not putting us in a cell.”"

“"I should have my head examined. You’'re a manipulative perp, you know that?”" I tried to look innocent. “"That’'s us, scheming perps wearing the lamest slippers on the planet.”"

“"She does have a sadistic streak, my mother,”" Eve muttered. “"When I called, she didn’'t ask
why
we’'re here but said we probably deserved it.”"

“"She’'s a smart one,”" Werner said, rolling two comfortable executive-type office chairs up to his desk.

Eve sighed, wiggling a plush pink foot from which a dimpled face with yellow yarn hair smiled—--her old Cabbage Patch doll slippers. “"Though my feet do feel better. Even the one that’'s not cut hurts from wearing heels. How do you do it, Mad?”"

“"Sore is better than ugly. I’'m a vain fashionista.”" Eve barked a laugh. “"And a stupid one.”"

Werner cleared his desk, shaking his head the whole time, probably as much at himself as Eve, for getting sucked in.

“"My feet are wrapped in a cloud,”" I said. “"I padded the soles of my chubby gators with three inches of foam at a time when platforms were making a comeback.”" Werner stopped procrastinating and sat behind his desk.

I sat forward. “"I’'d like to speculate about the two murders given the latest information we’'ve garnered. Okay with the two of you?”"

Werner gave me a pointed look. “"You’'re playing sleuth again.”"

“"I’'d be stupid not to. If a metaphorical fireball lands in your lap, you get the hell out of the way, and you find out where it came from so you can keep it from happening again. I’'ll bet you’'ve got questions up the wazoo that you’'d like to toss out. Heck, Eve and I might know some ‘'details’' that verify your speculation and vice versa.”" Werner shrugged as if he could care less. “"I’'m in it for the beer.”"

“"Fine, but you’'re missing a primo brainstorm. Eve, let’'s talk about McDowell’'s first wife.”"

“"Gwendolyn Isobel,”" Eve said, “"known by Councilman McDowell as Saint Belle.”" Werner sat straighter.

“"Right.”" I eyed Werner. “"That was her quilt, her diamond, and her wedding band I gave you. She died around thirty years ago, right?”"

He gave a grudging nod. “"An heiress. Thirty-three years ago. Cold case. Ice cold.”"

“"Did you get an ID back on the bones from the FBI lab yet?”" I asked. Werner crossed his arms and shook his head in the negative.

“"Tonight Lolique admitted to us that she gave me Isobel’'s old clothes for my shop. I say Isobel because Gwendolyn didn’'t like her first name so she used her middle name.”" Werner grabbed a notebook. “"A hot lead for a cold case.”"

“"See, wasn’'t this better than locking us up?”"

“"I’'m reserving judgment.”"

“"So the bones might be Isobel’'s, because they were wrapped in a quilt she’'d taken to a fair. Her rings were in the quilt, so maybe she slipped them in a pocket while locked in a trunk, hence the tire tracks. Now, the bones left in my building were clean.”" Werner’'s jaw dropped for half a beat. “"How do you know they were clean?”"

“"Simple deduction, my dear Watson. No body grunge on the quilt.”" Werner’'s head came up before he went back to his notes. “"What happened to her between the trunk and the body drawer?”" he asked.

“"Hey, you have to throw something into the pot,”" I said as our food arrived. Before I opened containers, he grabbed a beer and swigged it from the bottle. “"Her bones would have been clean if left unburied,”" he muttered. “"It takes maybe three to five years in the open air,”" Werner said, “"for them to get . . . clean.”" I was glad he didn’'t give us details for a visual. I watch
Bones
. I know the drill. Yuck.

“"Did anybody ever demand a ransom?”" I asked.

“"McDowell said no.”"

I tasted a forkful of enchilada. “"Oh, this is orgasmic.”" Werner’'s elbow slipped off the desk so he ended up juggling his fork like a hot potato while I caught his beer bottle before it tipped.

Eve and I drank our beer the way he did. Good and cold. “"So, motive: greed, envy, lust? Or Isobel pissed someone off, got in their way . . .”" Werner chewed thoughtfully. “"Her body was exposed to the elements but out of sight. She could have been left—--”"

“"In the bottom of a well,”" Eve said, taking the heat away from my vision.

“"In a heavily wooded area,”" Werner added.

I nodded. “"In a cave or a quarry?”"

“"So if it was so well hidden, why move it to Mad’'s place?”" Eve asked.

“"Construction?”" Werner and I hypothesized in sync.

“"Nearly the same reason the bones were moved this second time, because I was moving in.”"

“"I’'d like to know,”" Eve said, “"if Suzanne and Tunney are off the hook for Sampson’'s death.”"

“"Suzanne’'s done a runner,”" Werner said, “"but we know where she is. They’'re barely suspects now that I verified Sampson’'s status. Mad, I owe you an apology for that night.”"

“"Accepted.”" I waved my bottle his way. “"You have a job to do. Just, please, try not to do it at another Cutler family party in future. What about McDowell?”" Eve waved her fork. “"Oh, oh. We heard Goodwin say tonight that he thinks McDowell manipulated Isobel’'s father, also Goodwin’'s uncle, into leaving McDowell the dealership.”"

More notes. “"I’'ll look into it.”"

“"And Mad and I think McDowell killed Isobel.”"

“"Guesswork,”" Werner said.

I tilted my head. “"We know McDowell can’'t be trusted. The question is whether he wanted the dealership enough to kill for it. Isobel would have inherited if she hadn’'t died. She would have become her husband’'s boss. Maybe she was planning to divorce him.”" For half a beat, we sat back to digest the information and sip our beer. One six-pack down, one to go, and I was starting to feel it.

“"Okay, Detective,”" I said sitting forward. “"Chew on this. Eve and I saw Gary Goodwin and Suzanne Sampson kissing, outside at her place.”"

“"From a boat,”" Eve said. “"No entering involved.”" Werner grinned. “"Suzanne Sampson divorced both Gary Goodwin and Broderick Sampson. The gossips decided she was Sampson’'s sister, and Suzanne didn’'t bother to correct the misconception. She wasn’'t faithful to either husband and she has the occasional fling with both, not necessarily at the same time. Lolique is Suzanne’'s daughter by Sampson.”"

“"Ah, so they both started hanging around when they thought Sampson was going to make a fortune. Lolique still thinks her father was rich, by the way.”" I told Werner what a mean-spirited stitch Lolique was tonight.

“"Then the two murders are connected,”" Eve added.

I inhaled my beer and coughed a minute. “"Connected by Vinney!”"

“"Vincent Carnevale,”" Werner said. “"Another of Goodwin’'s stepchildren.”"

“"You’'ve been doing your homework,”" I said.

“"I should hope so.”"

“"So Lolique and Vinney are step-siblings?”" I moved my jalapenos to the side of my plate.

Werner speared one for himself. “"Yup. Same mother, different fathers.”"

“"To me, Vinney had less motive than any of them,”" Eve said, “"Yet I practically saw him steal the bones.”"

“"Mad?”" Werner asked, “"how did you know how long Isobel had been dead?”"

“"Easy. I have some of her clothes. She followed fashion trends and liked vintage, but I have nothing newer in style than the mid-eighties.”"

Eve conveniently dropped a few details of my visions into the pot as speculation, but she also threw in a brilliant question, like could Vinney have been hired? I hadn’'t thought of that. Werner had.

We were still at it, our minds on overload, when an officer came in. “"I found McDowell’'s alarm company—--he’'s had several plus some outside contractors. His current company said his alarm did
not
go off last night. And it isn’'t silent. We couldn’'t find the alarm at the house because the remote keypad’'s in a box disguised as artwork in the front hall. The company rep said that was McDowell’'s idea, like it was stupid.”"

“"All part of the lie to cover his ascot,”" I said, “"in the event neighbors or passersby said they
didn’'t
hear an alarm. Which they wouldn’'t have because the door was open, and he didn’'t take the time to set it before he left. I think McDowell acts first, then he thinks.”"

“"You should know,”" Eve said.

Werner opened his mouth and closed it again.

But if McDowell acted on impulse, which he had tonight, maybe Isobel’'s disappearance was too well planned for him to be her killer. But I did not want to give that man an out, even in speculation.