Okay, enough of the euphemisms. The guy was hung. And at full attention.
“Mercy!” Mrs. P shouted. “What’s that freak of nature?”
“Gotta love mother nature,” Tish commented appreciatively.
With my sharp investigative mind, I watched the diver closely. I was a PI after all, I had to catch every little detail. And every big one, too.
Lance Devinny obviously knew he had an appreciative audience. He strolled a few feet from the truck, stopped suddenly and gave a quarter turn to wave at the ladies and beamed a full smile. Big Eddie grumbled, “Now, what’s that boy got that I ain’t got?” He ran a hand through his own dark hair — thinning as it was. The hair, not the hand.
Out of politeness, no one answered.
Did I mention Big Eddie wore polyester pants?
The group continued to watch as Lance turned back around, flexed his butt cheeks — left, right, left again — and made his way to the water. He walked out to his waist, then quick as anything dove into the shallow lake.
With a collective sigh, the group leaned back. And there was an appreciative moment of silence. And by moment, I mean, literally, moment. But tranquility shattered pronto.
“Help! Somebody help!”
Everyone jumped. Even the ladies who’d taken chairs outside came in to see what was going on.
The voice was coming from the hallway. So was the sound of low-heeled shoes thumping down the hallway along the tiled floor. The door to the rec room swung open, and Harriet Appleton stood there, one hand on her chest, one hand on Wiggie’s. Poor Wiggie looked more out of breath than she did.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, immediately taking charge of the situation.
“My mother’s wedding ring!” Harriet shouted. “It’s gone. Stolen! It was one of a kind, precious and priceless. It was an antique! It was my grandmother’s,” she wailed. She glared at my mother. “You did this, Katt Dodd! I know dang right well you did!”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “And you’d better stop making accusations you can’t back up.” I gave her my best glare.
She didn’t miss a beat. “I had the ring out late last night. I was giving it to my great niece for her own wedding ceremony. I put it back in my jewelry box — Mr. Appleton saw me do it.” Wiggie nodded on cue. “And now the ring’s gone.”
“I had nothing to do with this!” Mom said.
Harriet huffed. “A likely story. I’m calling Deputy Almond. You’re a thief, Katt Dodd. And most likely a murderer, too.” She turned to me. “And we’ll see whether or not there are accusations that can’t be backed up!”
“Harriet, I’m innocent!” Mother pleaded to her. I couldn’t help but notice everyone else moving away from my mother. Everyone but Mona, of course. And Mrs. P. “I would never take your ring.” She looked around the faces of the crowd gathered there. “I’d never steal anything.”
Even Big Eddie turned away.
Chapter 4
So you’d think things would be a little crazy by this time. Well, you’d be thinking correctly.
All hell broke loose. Accusations were flying, rumors were flying. Teeth were flying (Beth Mary sneezed). Evil looks were being pinged around the room from every direction, and unfortunately only heading in one direction — my mother’s.
The questions started. Yes, Mom had been out for her pre-dawn walk. So what? She always walked in the coolness of those hours. And of course there was the fact that Mom had been a magician’s assistant, something she’d told all her peers at the Wildoh. Why not? It was a past she was proud of. She never told them how the magic was done, of course. She’d been sworn to secrecy all those years ago, and still felt bound by her oath. And Mom had told them about the things she’d escaped from, and places she’d popped herself into. Also, she’d mentioned the fact that she’d never met a lock she couldn’t pick (a skill I seemed to have inherited).
That, combined with the fact that Mom was famous for her early morning walks, sealed the deal for most of the residents. And oh yeah, half the residents had already spun a dozen wild yarns about how she had disposed of poor Frankie Morell. Hefty bag in the swamp. Hair in the hamburger. Some old fellow in Complex D thought he found a toenail in his almond pecan ice cream. (Had to be Frankie’s, of course.)
And now that Harriet Appleton had reported her ring missing, suspicious minds were overheating. Mother had means. She had motivation (there certainly was no love lost between Harriet and Mom). She had opportunity.
Crap.
But frankly, I was getting suspicious of Harriet Appleton.
What if she were lying?
Maybe Harriet and Wiggie were trying to cash in on the recent thefts? File a false insurance claim and collect some money for nothing, while laying the blame for the ‘loss’ at my mother’s feet? Or maybe they were responsible for all the thefts! What if that uptight, proper facade of Harriet’s was just a cover? What if they were really criminal masterminds? What if the crown jewels were tucked under their bed? The Hope diamond hidden away in the sock drawer underneath the support hose?
Oh, oh - what if Harriet was a Harry? Or Wiggie a Wanda? (Okay, that was pretty far out there, not to mention irrelevant, but it could happen. Hell, it had happened with my last case.
But would Harriet, or Harriet and Wiggie, go so far as to off Frankie Morell and blame my mother? I’d seen worse in my line of work. There had to be a connection between the thefts and the missing Frankie. Logic dictated it.
I was bound and determined to find out the truth.
And so was the soon-to-arrive Sheriff’s Deputy Noel Almond.
It was Big Eddie who appointed himself taker-charger in the situation. Yes, that was his terminology. At least he didn’t dub himself the ‘decider’. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a single number. Number two on his phone, by my reckoning of the bend of thumb. Efficient man. Now that was a taker-charger for you, with the local sheriff’s office on speed dial. Less than two minutes later, Deputy Noel Almond’s white Dodge Charger sped into the yard. No sirens blared and no bar lights flashed, but he arrived at a pretty good clip.
Deputy Noel Almond was everything mother had described him. Tall and handsome and, God, yes, hot. He was everything my Marport City nemesis Detective Richard Head was not. Besides a man, I mean. Deputy Noel Almond was no Deputy No Nuts.
My immediate, utterly instinctive reaction was to go over and begin giving the good Deputy my professional take on the situation. With one leg twined around one of those muscular, khaki-clad legs.
The sheer outrageousness of the impulse shocked me a little. I mean, I like men. I enjoy men. But at 40-something, my hormones had been around the block often enough to have adopted a more laid back approach. Even they knew that men are trouble, and that a guy needs to demonstrate they’re worth the aggravation. And here they were zipping and zinging around my body like teenager hormones.