The Diva Goes Overboard

I’m supposed to avoid mayo. What can I use to give some life to a sandwich?

Iceberg lettuce and a slice of tomato usually help. But an onion confit or avocado spread would also add moisture and more flavor as well.

Sophie

“I don’t steal cars, I borrow them.”

“Do you always return them?” I knew she didn’t.

“It depends. A girl has to cover her tracks.” She bit into the croissant. “Mmm. Yummy!”

“Have you ever burned a car?”

“Oh, sure. That’s really the best thing to do. Nobody wants it or cares about it after that. And the owner gets a brand spanking new car so they’re happy, too. You’re kidding me about that being Wolf’s car, right? ’Cause I don’t mess with him. I’d have to burn it for sure if that were the case. They can’t charge you for anything if it doesn’t exist anymore, you know.”

I stared at her in amazement. Surely she didn’t think that was true. “Where did you hear that?”

“It’s the law. Everybody knows it. You seem pretty smart. I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“Doreen, I hate to break this to you, but getting rid of the object of a crime does not mean you can’t be charged.”

She laughed out loud. “You’re so silly. Hey, do you need a ride somewhere? I can give you one before I set the car on fire.”

With any luck, Wong would be here shortly, and Jordan’s car would not be torched. I suspected that Doreen would be going for a ride to the police station for questioning about the attack on Jordan.

“Sure,” I lied. “Did you have fun with Jordan last night?”

“Jordan? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gulped her latte.

What was taking Wong so long? “Jordan St. James.”

“Oh. Him. He’s kind of cute, but I didn’t see him last night. The club was really crowded, though. I might have missed him.”

“Then where did you find his car?”

She studied me. “I thought you said it belonged to Wolf.”

“It’s Jordan’s car. That’s why it says SAINT on the license plate.”

She grinned. “You have a lot of potential, Sophie. I bought it when you said it was Wolf’s. Very well done. I think we could be good friends.”

Just the thought of wearing bathroom rugs, stealing cars, and dancing in crowded clubs made me laugh.

“Doreen, did you know your father?”

“Nope. He checked out before I was born.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “You don’t miss what you never had.”

I thought otherwise. I wasn’t a shrink, but she made it her business to seek out sugar daddies. “What happened to him?”

“My mom and him tried to hold up a jewelry store. But neither one of them anticipated that the owner had a gun. He shot my dad dead, and I was born in prison.”

“That’s very sad. I’m sorry, Doreen.”

“It’s not so bad. Mom will be out in two years.”

“She’s still in prison?”

“Not for that. This last time it was for embezzling money.”

It was a horrible story. No wonder Doreen turned out the way she had. Of course, it might not be true, but given what Bernie had heard about Doreen’s mother, it could be.

Through the window, I could see Wong behind the car, checking out the license plate. She spoke into her radio before entering the café.

“Good morning!” She sat down at the table with us.

“Doreen Donahue, this is Officer Wong.”

Doreen’s smile faded. “We’ve met.”

“Do you know who parked the white car in front of the café?”

Doreen didn’t even flinch. “Not a clue.”

“Really? We’ve been looking all over for it because it was involved in a crime last night.”

Shoot. I was hoping I might be able to bring the baby blanket back to Stella. But not if it was evidence.

“A crime? Like what?”

“Let’s talk about that down at the station.”

“I don’t know anything about a crime. I have to be going now.” Doreen stood up.

“Let me give you a ride.” Wong stood as well.

“Wait! I want to know one thing. Did you set Orson’s car on fire?” I asked.

Doreen didn’t hide her surprise. “How did you know about that?” she whispered.

“I was there.”

She smiled. “See? I told you. They can’t charge you for anything if the car is gone.” She winked at me and walked out with Wong.

I bought the requested lattes along with croissants. When I left the café, the car was being towed away, probably to the police lot.

I hurried to the store. Reba and Ian were beaming when I walked in. Something was different. I gazed around and realized that the expensive chandelier was gone.

“You sold it?” I asked.

They high-fived me, bubbling with enthusiasm.

“The lady said you opened the store for her when it was closed,” said Reba in her soft voice.

“She brought her husband to see it yesterday. Reba and I hoped they would come back. Sure enough, she was waiting for us to open up this morning and had made arrangements for someone to transport it to her house.” Ian accepted a latte and the bag of croissants.

“Fantastic! You two are the best!”

Reba took her latte. “This is a nice reward.”

“I brought something else for you to look at.” I took the pieces of the face out of the bag and unwrapped them. I hadn’t even set them together when Reba gasped. “It’s the faux antiquity!”

“They must make a lot of these,” I said. To be honest, I didn’t find it particularly beautiful. Had it been real, then I would have appreciated it for its historical significance.

Ian nodded. “There are probably thousands.”

“But I haven’t seen any other ones like it in Old Town,” Reba pointed out. “Where did you find it?”

“In an alley. Someone had been beaten and this was where he lay.”

“It was broken, like this?” asked Reba.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps that person stole it and tried to pass it off as authentic,” suggested Reba.

I nodded. “That’s what I’m afraid of. It could be a coincidence, though. It could have fallen there and broken and wasn’t connected to the man at all, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he was our burglar.”

While I was fairly certain that no one would be asking for the mock antiquity, I wrapped it up and put it back in my tote. Maybe the police would want fingerprints to find the people who attacked Jordan.

I stayed a while to celebrate with Ian and Reba before I walked home.

As I neared my house, I spied Wolf’s car parked on my block and Nina talking with him.

Something was up. I waved at them, and they strode across the street. Wolf carried a file and a huge bag that looked suspiciously like takeout.

I opened the kitchen door to let Daisy out. “Hello!” I called.

“I have news,” said Wolf, raising the file. “And I brought lunch. I figure I owe you a meal.”

“Perfect timing. Please come in.”

Wolf placed everything on the table. “Chinese takeout. Shrimp lo mein, those duck pancakes that you like so much, Szechuan green beans, egg rolls for Nina, lemon chicken, and moo shu pork. I brought extra because I never know who might be here.”

I fed Daisy and Mochie a snack and then poured iced tea for the three of us before joining Wolf and Nina around the banquette.

Wolf sipped his tea. “Man, do I need this! It’s hot out there. So I spoke with a cop from Baltimore yesterday. When I phoned the Baltimore police, no one remembered much about this case. But one guy put me in touch with a retired detective, Nathan Long, who was always disturbed by the murder of Mrs. Harris and the abduction of her children. There are cases that bother cops, especially when they’re unsolved. He had two little girls himself at the time and related to the case, particularly because the Harris girls were abducted.”

“Great! So what did he say?” Nina bit into an eggroll.

“The basics are the same. There were definitely two young girls. Sisters. The important thing, though, is that there was a witness. A neighbor who is no longer living. He unmistakably saw Mr. Harris loading one of the girls into his car in a panic. ‘In a big hurry’ he said, and then Harris drove away, and the neighbor never saw Harris or the girls again.”

“He saw one of the girls or both of them?” asked Nina.

Wolf nodded. “One of the girls. No one knows if the other girl was already in the car, or left in the house, or what happened to her. He sent me some old photos of Mr. Harris.”

Wolf opened the folder and slid copies of photographs toward us. The ones of Mr. Harris weren’t close-up, but he had been a handsome man. Next to those, Wolf placed photos of Orson.

“Wow. This is like those age progressions they do of missing people,” said Nina.

“They’re clearly the same person,” I breathed.

“Looks like it.” Wolf sighed. “I met with Myra and Stella this morning. It was hard news to break.”

“Oh no! They must have been in tears!” I said.

“A lot of emotions. A lot of questions. You can imagine.”

“So does Stella know now that Myra isn’t her birth mother?” I asked.

Wolf grimaced. “Myra told her before I arrived. Normally, I wouldn’t be here telling you this, but I have a feeling Stella will pay you a visit.”

“Is she angry with us?” Nina stopped eating and held her chopsticks in the air.

“I don’t think so. But she has a lot of questions. We all do.” Wolf rolled up a pancake with duck in it. “I didn’t want you to be blindsided. Thanks for finding the photographs. They were a huge help.”

“So what happens now?” I asked. “Closing the case because Mr. Harris aka Orson is dead would mean they accept that he killed his wife and abducted their children,” I protested. “What about the possibility that he ran from a dangerous man?”

“Orson is gone. Stella doesn’t remember anything. Even if you found her sister, she wouldn’t remember anything, either. The odds of finding anyone who knows what happened are a very long shot.”

I toyed with my duck pancake. That wasn’t fair to Orson. Of course, there was always the possibility that he did kill his first wife. But I didn’t believe it.

“Don’t look so dejected. You did a good thing, Soph.” Wolf smiled at me.

“All I did was cause Stella and Myra heartbreak. Nothing is resolved. Now Stella will go through life wondering what happened to her sister,” I groused. “By the way, did Stella mention how Jordan is doing?”

“Jordan? What happened to him?” asked Nina.

“Someone beat him up and left him in an alley,” I said. “He’s in the hospital. I have something for you,” I said to Wolf, fetching the tote where I had stashed the antiquity.

I slid it out and placed the two halves on the table. “This is a mock antiquity. Apparently, they’re all the rage in decorating. As you recall, someone broke into Chatsworth Antiques by breaking the glass in the front door. Now that the employees are back, one of them was able to identify this item, which was one whole piece at the time, as missing. I showed it to her today and she confirmed that this is the item. However, it is mass produced, so there are probably lots of them. Last night when they lifted Jordan to place him in the ambulance, this tumbled on the ground. I can’t say for certain that it was connected to Jordan, but everyone has confirmed that he had a big debt to pay. I think he may have thought this was genuine and tried to pass it off as a valuable antiquity in lieu of payment. I haven’t let anyone touch it. Except me, of course, because I picked it up and carried it home, but I thought you might want to fingerprint it.”

“It looks like a rough surface,” said Nina. “Can something like that be fingerprinted?”

“Oh, sure. You can fingerprint a brick. It’s not the best, but they have some interesting methods to try. Thanks, Sophie.”