Once Cal and I let ourselves out of 210 Madison Avenue, we snuck back to the 4-Runner and called the police from a pay phone at a nearby gas station. Again, not very creative, but it did the trick. We waited a block down from the house until we saw a police cruiser stop and park out front. Cal, who made the call, had thoughtfully told the 911 operator that the back door of the house was unlocked, and when the officers made their way around to the back yard, we drove back to my place. I dropped Cal off at his car and parked the 4-Runner in the garage. I slowly made my way upstairs to my condo, popped a couple of aspirin to ward off the headache I had, and got ready for bed. The alarm clock read 3:10 when I finally slipped under the covers.
*****
The alarm on the nightstand in my bedroom buzzed at ten, but it seemed like my head had just hit the pillow. I didn’t even think I’d had time to make a dent in it.
I shut the alarm off, dragged myself into the bathroom and took a long cool shower. I gingerly washed my hair, the bump that Cal had given me throbbing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Once I’d dressed, I plodded into the kitchen and took a couple more aspirin, then prepared a strong batch of coffee.
While I waited for the java to brew I called Jack and asked him to meet me at my office at 12:30, which would give me just enough time to wake up. From the tone in his voice, I could tell Jack was puzzled that I wanted to meet on a Saturday, but he was agreeable.
Two cups of coffee, and then I donned sunglasses and headed outside. A dry heat indicated that the mercury was already high and climbing higher.
On the way to the office, I stopped for a bagel and munched on it as I downloaded the video I’d recorded in the sub-basement.
“...that you did, Mountain View Apartments, and he was the first buyer for this house,” I heard myself say. The quality of the recording was decent.
“Never heard of him. You know, you’re smarter than you look.” Dom said next. Then I heard Cal snorting at the comment. I remembered this part of the conversation – I had just asked Dom if he knew Garrett Owens.
I listened to the entire conversation, right up until Cal and I argued about whom he’d attempted to bean with the Oscar. The camera had shut off when I dropped to the floor after Cal hit me. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad the recording hadn’t stopped earlier. Dom’s confession sounded crystal clear.
Just at noon, Jack poked his head through the doorway.
“Right on time. Have a seat,” I waved him over. I finished typing an email and sent it before turning to Jack. “I’m just taking care of a few things here.”
“I hope this meeting means you have some news,” Jack said, settling into a seat across from my desk. He crossed one leg over the other, then ran a hand through his hair. His stark white shirt had circles of sweat under the armpits, but otherwise he looked crisp and clean.
I turned the computer monitor around so he could see it. “Listen to this.” I clicked on the video and pressed play. Hissing blared out of the speakers, then my voice.
“What’s this?” Jack said, staring at me.
“Hold on,” I shushed him.
Jack folded his arms and listened. At first he seemed irritated, but as the recording progressed, anger turned to disbelief. When Dom got around to how he had killed Ned, Jack bolted upright in the chair.
“The man talking to us is Dominic Saunders,” I said after the video finished. “This happened last night – well, this morning, early.”
“How did you get that?” Jack sputtered.
I explained the events of the last evening, concluding with how Cal and I didn’t want to face charges ourselves, so we’d left Dom in the basement and called the police anonymously.
“Incredible,” Jack said, shaking his head. “But you were the guy who didn’t want to break the law.”
I felt my cheeks getting hot. “And see what happened when I did. I boxed myself into a corner. I'll send you the video.”
“What do I do with this?”
“Show it to the police. It may not be sexy, but it’ll get the ball rolling.”
“And when they ask about the others on the tape? The voices with Dominic?”
I smiled. “You can tell them you don’t know.”
“Bend the law.” He raised his eyebrows. I fought off a bigger smile.
Jack smiled back, then his face clouded over. “What about the memorabilia?”
I shrugged. “Once the police get involved, I’m sure they’ll work with Gray’s daughter, Edna, and maybe an insurance company, to catalogue the collection. They’ll have to talk to Henri about what he sold, to see if they can recover any of it.” I pursed my lips. “Since the house was sold, there might be a fight between Edna and the new owners as to who owns the collection.”
“That could get interesting,” Jack said.
I glanced at the wall. “I may have to give The Maltese Falcon poster back.”
“That would be too bad,” Jack smiled ruefully. “I think you earned it.
“Thanks,” I said.
“The thanks goes to you. You found out the truth about Ned’s death.” A weary sadness settled across Jack’s face. He again was the spitting image of Burt Lancaster in The Killers. “I knew I was right about Ned. I just wish it made me feel better.”
“I know,” I said.
He stood up and thanked me. We shook hands. Jack stared at the computer monitor, with Dom frozen on the screen. It was all the validation he needed, with none of the peace he wanted. He shrugged his shoulders, then left.
*****
Soon afterward, I headed to the hospital. Henri’s room was quiet, with only the sounds of voices speaking in French breaking through the other noises in a busy building. The good news was that Henri was awake.
“Oh, Reed,” Evaline beamed at me as I scooted up a chair and sat down next to her. Henri was propped up in bed, a stack of pillows behind his back.
“You look tired, eh?” Henri said.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I said. The three of us chatted for a few minutes about Henri’s health – improving dramatically, a few problems with his vision, but they expected to send him home soon; the weather – too hot for Evaline, but she would survive; and how much we all hated hospital food – especially the green Jell-O.
“Do you remember what happened? Who attacked you?” I asked the questions as soon as I could politely fit them in.
“I don’t remember,” Henri said, while Evaline shook her head dejectedly. “I was in the back office, working. Then I wake up here.” He seemed disappointed with himself.
“The doctors say a head injury can cause him not to remember,” Evaline explained.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure the police will find who did this to you.” I thought about the taped confession. I had no doubt they would learn the truth.
Evaline excused herself, ostensibly to use the restroom, but I think she knew I wanted to discuss business with Henri. “Henri,” I asked, “Do you remember why you called me the other day? When my cell phone wasn’t working.”
“Ah, yes. I wanted to tell you about the Oscar that man brought into the store. It was the fake one, just like Frank Gray’s wife gave him. I called that man about it. I wanted to know how he got it.” His face clouded. “Evaline tells me the Oscar was stolen from the shop.”
“I’m sure it’ll turn up.” I paused. “Was that fake Oscar the only one created? Couldn’t there be more of them?”
Henri smiled slyly. “Not like those.”
“Those?” I cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Ah. I told you Gray had one fake Oscar, yes?” He leaned toward me conspiratorially. “He had two. His wife asked my help in making another. She wanted to know which actor it should be for.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I suggested she have one made for Luise Rainer, best supporting actress in 1937.”
“Knowing there weren’t supporting actor statuettes back then.”
“I knew I couldn’t fool you.” Henri clapped his hands in delight. “And it didn’t fool Gray either. But he thought it was great fun, eh? Fake Oscars intermingled with his real Oscars. What a collection.”
Evaline came back in the room. “What is so funny?” she asked. Henri explained, laughing some more. As the saying goes, it was music to my ears.
After a bit more chatting, I stood up to leave. “Thank you for your help, Reed,” Henri said.
“My pleasure.”
Evaline looked at me with tears in her eyes. “You’re a good boy.” She patted my cheek.
“You take care of him,” I pretended to scold her.
“You must go, yes?” Henri said.
“I’ve got some other errands. When you’re back at the shop, you let me know, and I’ll stop by.”
Henri smiled weakly. “That’s good. We have a Bogart poster for you.”
“I can’t wait.” I gave Evaline's shoulder a squeeze, shook Henri’s scrawny hand, and left.
*****
When I returned home that evening, I made a call to Samantha Healy. She didn’t return my call until Monday morning. I arranged to meet her at a Starbucks near her house. I arrived early, ordered a drink, and waited.
Samantha strolled through the door like a queen coming to court. She slid her sunglasses off her face, tossed her hair back seductively, and surveyed the room, well aware of the many eyes that were on her. She looked comfortable in khaki shorts and a denim blouse tied in a knot at her waist, exposing her flat, tanned stomach. She spotted me at a small round table and strolled over.
“What’s this all about?” The legs of a chair screeched as she pulled it out and sat down across from me. More eyes turned our way. “Why’d you need to see me?”
“Coffee?” I asked, holding up my mocha.
She shook her head. “I really don’t have time for this.”
“But you came anyway. Must be my charm.”
“You threatened me,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table.
I sat back in mock horror. “I merely said I had some information about Dominic Saunders that you might like to know.”
At the name Samantha paled. “So you mentioned on the phone.” She spoke through a slit in her mouth.
I let a long moment hang between us, building the suspense. “It was you who broke into Ned’s house, after he died,” I said when the tension was just right.
Samantha’s jaw dropped. “What? How did... What are you talking about?” she stammered.
“You’re not a good liar.”
Her cheeks flushed red. She took a couple of deep breaths. “What makes you think I broke into Ned’s house? Why would I want to do that?”
“To get something that belonged to you.” I resisted a smile.
“How do you know about that?” A few people turned and looked our way.
“Unless you want your dirty laundry aired in public, I’d suggest you keep your voice down,” I said softly.
She scooted her chair closer. “Tell me!” she hissed, elbows planted halfway across the table.
“Remember when I came to the house?” She nodded. “You mentioned that Ned didn’t have much of anything in the house, just a stupid poster.”
“So?”
“You couldn’t have known about the poster unless you’d been in Ned’s house recently, because he’d just acquired it. That one statement has been eating at me, and then when Dominic told me about your little affair, it came together.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now she was really lying badly.
“You know Dominic. The electrical guy that Ned hired. You were all over him, at least that’s the way Dominic tells it. And he said that you were angry because Ned still had some things of yours.”
“My grandmother’s brooch. Ned still had it,” she said softly.
“And once he was dead, you could get it without any trouble.”
“Yes.”
“Did you also call the insurance company?”
Samantha’s face twisted into an ugly sort of mask. “You’ve done your research,” she said finally. “So what do you want?”
I sat back. “I only wanted to confirm that I was correct. I don’t plan on doing anything with the information, but I thought you might like to know that Dominic killed Ned.”
“What?” For the first time Samantha was something other than self-absorbed or angry. “Why?”
“I can’t reveal that, but you could call Jack.”
Samantha stared at me, saying nothing. Then she slumped back in her chair, deflated. “When we divorced, I couldn’t stand Ned,” she whispered. “But I never wanted him to die.”
I gazed back at her. She seemed like a lost puppy, and I actually came close to feeling sorry for her.
I tossed off the last of my mocha latte and stood up. “I hope you find what you’re really looking for,” I said and walked away. I could feel her eyes boring into my back as I walked out the door.
*****
She looked so different I hardly recognized her. The spiked hair was gone, as was the black makeup, except for a bit of mascara around the eyes. She wore white shorts, a blue blouse, and sandals. Even her posture seemed more cultured.
Erin Abel strolled to a table in the corner and sat down, her book bag thumping loudly as it hit an empty chair near her. She hadn’t noticed me sitting off in a corner, watching her come in.
I stood up and made my way through the maze of tables, stopping in front of her. She had her nose in a book. I cleared my throat and she glanced up.
“Oh, the asshole,” she said, her voice flat and unimaginative.
“That’s right,” I said.
“What do you want?”
“May I sit down?”
Erin narrowed her eyes, staring me down. I held the gaze until she finally used her foot under the table to shove an empty chair backwards. I sat down across from her and folded my hands in front of me.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she spat.
“I owe you an apology,” I said.
“Damn straight you do,” she threw back at me.
“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” I continued. “But I’d like to make it up to you.”
Erin sat up in her chair, wary. “How?”
I pulled a note from my pocket and set it in front of her. She stared at the paper for a second, then stretched her hand out and took it cautiously, as if it might burn her.
“Who’s this?” she asked after reading it.
“He’s a producer. Mostly commercials, but he’s done a few documentaries. He’s a friend of mine. I called him earlier today and asked him if he would have any work for a newcomer.”
“He owes you one,” Erin said bluntly.
I nodded. “Yeah, but he’s a good guy. He said he could use some extra help, behind the cameras to start, but maybe more later. It’s worth giving him a call.”
Erin gazed at the paper, crinkling the edges with her thumb and forefinger. I was about to get up and leave when she spoke again. “Why are you doing this?”
“I owe you one,” I said. “I shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up the way I did.” I pushed my chair back and got up. “I hope you make it big.”
For the first time, she smiled, and her face was radiant. Well worth the price of admission. I told her so.
“Thanks,” she said, blushing. “And thanks for this,” she held up the note.
I smiled back. There were tears in her eyes. Happy tears. It made my Monday.
*****
“Hey Reed, how ya doing?” Deuce said to me when I returned home late that afternoon. He was slouched back in a lounge chair on the porch, a can of Pepsi in his hand. His front door was open and the groovy sounds of reggae wafted out to us. “I’m waiting for Ace to get home. Hot enough for ya?”
“Yep.” I sat down on the steps and stretched my legs out.
“You finished work for the day?”
I nodded.
“You want a Pepsi?”
“Sure.”
He went inside and returned shortly with a cold soda.
“We’re gonna play pool later tonight. You interested?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’m kind of tired.”
“You need any more help on the case?”
“No, I wrapped things up today.”
A funny look crossed his face, a mix of happiness and disappointment. “Does that mean I don’t get to help out anymore? Or carry a gun?”
“Not this time, pal. But there’ll be other cases.”
He brightened up. “Yeah, then I can quit working at the video store.”
Willie Rhoden’s car pulled up, rescuing me from saying anything about the frightening idea of Deuce wielding a weapon.
“Hi Reed. Hi Deuce,” she waved as she got out and locked the car door.
“Hey, Willie,” Deuce hollered. “You want a Pepsi?”
She strode up the walk, looking fine even in her scrubs. “Sure. I’ll take a Pepsi.”
Deuce darted into the house.
“You know he has a crush on you,” I said quietly.
“Uh-huh. It’s cute,” she said, sitting down close to me. “How are you?”
“Case closed, and I’m all in one piece,” I said with a smile.
I heard the phone ring inside Deuce’s place, then him talking to someone.
“Listen, about the other night,” Willie said. “I got scared.”
I put an arm around her, and she didn’t resist. “So you still like me.”
She pinched me. “I never said I didn’t. I just don’t want to complicate things.”
“Dinner and drinks. That’s not complicated.”
“You know what I mean.”
Deuce came back outside. “That was Bob. He’s coming over for dinner, and asked if you guys would like to join us. Barbecued ribs. He makes them really good.”
I raised an eyebrow at Willie. She nodded. “That sounds wonderful, Deuce.”
Deuce beamed at Willie, and she beamed at me.
By the way she smiled at me, I could tell that things were looking up.
The End
Turn the page for an excerpt from the next Reed Ferguson mystery, THE MALTESE FELON!
“Hello! Is this the Reed Ferguson Detective Agency?”
The 40-ish woman with strawberry blonde hair rushed down the hall toward me.
“It is,” I said. I unlocked the office door, feeling her impatience ooze out of her.
“And you’re Reed Ferguson?” she asked as she pushed past me and stood in the small waiting room. She yanked off her coat and threw it onto a couch against the wall.
“I am,” I said as I followed her in and shut the door. “And you are?”
“Gail Saunders.” She whirled around to face me. “I need your help! Someone kidnapped my dog and I need you to get him back.”
I stared at her for a moment. Words, Reed, use your words, I thought to myself.
I finally found my voice. “You want to hire me for what?”
“To find my dog,” she snapped. “He’s been stolen.”
“So,” I paused. “A dognapping.”
“Yes!” she said. “I can’t find anyone that will help me. Oh, I’ve got to get Fuji back!”
“Uh, why don’t you come sit down?” I escorted her into the inner office.
“Thank you.” She slumped into a wingback chair sitting across from my desk. “I’ve been to a number of detective agencies and none of them will help me.”
I blinked. Was this some kind of joke? I glanced up at my prized vintage posters of The Big Sleep and The Maltese Falcon and at my cinematic hero, Humphrey Bogart, who stared down at me from the wall. I loved film noir and detective fiction, especially the classics by Rex Stout, Raymond Chandler, and Dashiell Hammett. I’d turned that love into a career as a private eye and I’d even solved a few cases. I dreamed of being like Bogart, so cool, so suave. My gaze settled on Gail. “How did I end up like Ace Ventura, Pet Detective?” I silently asked Bogie.
“I’m not sure I can help you,” I began as I moved around the desk and sat down. I laid my hands on the surface and tried for a serious pose. “A missing dog –”
“No, you don’t understand,” Gail interrupted me. “Fuji isn’t just any dog. He’s a prize-winning Maltese. A show dog. He won Best of Breed at the Rocky Mountain Cluster Show.”
“I see,” I said, even though I didn’t. I didn’t have a clue about dog shows.
“The Rocky Mountain Cluster Show is the big show in Colorado. It’s held every year in February.” Gail contemplated me for a second. “How much do you know about show dogs?”
Was I that obvious? I cleared my throat. “Not much,” I conceded.
“Competitive dog showing is quite a sport,” Gail said.
Okay, my knowledge wasn’t not much, it was nothing. I had no idea that showing dogs was considered a sport.
“It’s really quite exhilarating,” Gail continued. “There’s the thrill of competition and the fun of seeing such beautiful and amazing dogs.”
“I see,” I murmured again, even though I didn’t. I sighed. It was Tuesday, so why was it feeling so much like a Monday?
“Fuji’s phenomenal.” Gail choked up. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“What happened?”
“He was in the backyard. It was a nice day so I let him play outside. I usually stay with him but the phone rang. I ran inside to get it.” Gail wrung her hands “I was only on the phone for a minute and I didn’t think anything of it. I’ve left him outside like that before, for just a minute or two and nothing’s ever happened. When I hung up, I went back outside and he was gone. I looked all over, thinking maybe he was hiding in the bushes or in the garden, but I couldn’t find him.”
“Did you hear him bark?”
“No, but he’s a friendly dog and he doesn’t bark much.”
“Could he have gotten out of the back yard somehow?”
Gail shook her head. “No way. Because he’s a show dog and he’s valuable, we have our yard fenced, so there’s no way he could escape.”
“No holes in the fence?”
She shook her head again.
“Excuse my ignorance,” I said. “But is it really worth hiring me to find your dog? How valuable is he?”
Gail pursed her lips for a second before answering. “Fuji is worth over $200,000.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You heard me right,” Gail said.
“What makes a show dog so valuable?” I asked. “Breeding rights?”
“Exactly.”
I mentally patted myself on the back. The detective figures something out.
“But it’s not just about that,” Gail continued. “Fuji is like family. We’re all devastated. My daughter cries herself to sleep at night. My husband can’t believe someone stole our dog.”
“So how did the kid – er, dognappers take Fuji?” I mused. “Could they have come through the back gate?”
“No. We have a lock on the gate and it’s bolted from the inside.”
“Is there barbed wire on the fence?” I asked. “Anything to prevent a thief from hopping over the fence to snatch your dog?”
“If I did that, I’d be advertising that I have something to protect,” Gail said. “And my homeowners association would never allow that.”
“How high is the fence?”
She shrugged. “About six feet, I guess.”
“So the dognappers would’ve had to climb over the fence to get your dog.”
“That’s what I think,” Gail said.
I looked at Bogie on the wall and thought for a moment. “You’d likely need two people.”
“Why?”
“Picture it,” I said. “The dognapper gets into the yard and takes the dog. Then what? How does he get himself and the dog safely back over the fence? If someone were waiting, he can hand the dog off, then climb the fence. They’d be in and out in less than a minute, and if they had a car right there, they’d be gone before anyone knew the difference.”
Gail nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“Unless someone spotted them,” I said. “None of your neighbors saw anything?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Did you talk to them?”
Gail sighed. “A few of them. Some work, so they wouldn’t have been home. We’re close to the neighbors next door and the couple across the street. But none of them were home when Fuji disappeared.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes, of course.” She grew angry again. “That went nowhere.”
“Why? Someone still committed a crime,” I said.
“Oh, that’s true,” Gail replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Since Fuji is worth so much, the crime is actually a felony. The department assigned a detective to the case, but we don’t have a suspect and there isn’t any evidence to speak of, so the detective said there isn’t anything they can do. Oh, I was so mad.”
“Wouldn’t the people who took your dog need the registration papers if they were going to breed your dog?” I asked.
“That’s correct. But that’s not the only reason to steal a dog. The detective said that dognappings are on the rise, especially with the economy being so bad. He said that thieves are taking dogs and then returning them for the reward money. Because of that, he advised us not to pay any money, but we had to try something to get Fuji back. So we posted flyers around the neighborhood offering a reward of a thousand dollars. We didn’t hear anything for a couple of days. And then we got this.”
She pulled a note from her handbag and handed it across the desk.
I read it. It was a stereotypical ransom note:
Buy a new black Under Armour PTH Victory Team Duffle Bag from Sports Authority. Put $10,000 in unmarked twenties in it. Go to South Valley Park near C-470 on Wednesday. Leave the bag behind the rock outcropping on the west side of Coyote Song Trail at 9 PM and leave. We get the money, you get instructions to get your dog back. No cops or you don’t get your dog back.
Wednesday. That was tomorrow night.
I looked up at her. “When did you get this?”
“Yesterday.”
“Did you tell the detective about this?”
“Of course,” Gail said. “But I’d already opened the note, so there was no way to get fingerprints, and the department doesn’t have the resources to do much beyond taking a report. My husband and I talked about what we should do, and we decided to come to hire a detective.”
“How did you know about me?” It wasn’t like my detective agency was advertised all over town.
“I’ve been all over,” Gail said. “I can’t find anyone who’ll help me. I heard about you from the Smiths. My parents know the Smiths and the Smiths know you.”
Ah, the friend of a friend referral. The Smiths were friends with my parents and two of the Smiths’ sons lived in a condo below me.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “I don’t have the resources that the police do. I don’t know how I could find the dognappers.”
“But you could go with my husband and me to the ransom drop. Follow the dognappers and see if you can find out who stole Fuji. And help us get him back.” Her voice got louder and more exasperated with each sentence. “The Rocky Mountain Cluster Show is this weekend and we’re supposed to show Fuji. On top of everything else, if we can’t show him...” her voice trailed off.
I leaned back in my chair. Go to the ransom drop. That seemed simple enough.
“Obviously, we’ll be paying you for your time,” she said.
I hesitated. Investigate a dognapping? Oh, my mother would be so proud...
“Please, you’ve got to help us. You’re a good detective, aren’t you?”
“I like to think I am,” I said.
“I’d like to think so, too,” Gail glared at me. “This should be an easy job. I don’t know why all those other detectives had reservations.”
I couldn’t blame them. Investigating a dognapping would not be good for my image or my résumé. But other images cropped up, such as bills piling up on my desk. And my reservations disappeared.
“I’ll take the case,” I said.
This time I didn’t even look at Bogie. I was afraid he’d be shaking his head at me, or snickering. Or both.
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