There was a collective mumble of agreement around the room. Mom looked at me with a half sympathetic “You sure, honey?” look.
Okay, usually when I reveal the culprit, it’s to a little more fanfare than this. A little more ‘Dix, you’re so wonderful. So great. Fantastic. Smartest PI ever.
And the absence of fanfare would have been fine. Except for one thing. While everyone else was hotly denying Big Eddie Baskin’s guilt, Big Eddie wasn’t. He wasn’t saying a word. Silently smiling.
I didn’t like when the person I had just accused stood silently smiling.
Not at all.
The hush went in a wave around the room and crested in the middle where Big Eddie stood. Big Eddie walked over to me with an unsettling confidence. All eyes were upon him now. Well almost all eyes were on him. Dylan was watching me. So was Deputy Noel Almond, damn it.
“Interesting theory you have there, Dodd.” Deputy Almond said. “But it’s full of holes. Completely full of holes. Keys were not used in the break-ins. All locks were picked.”
“Exactly!” I said. It didn’t take a genius or crack PI to figure that one out.
But the tides had turned. I was on the defensive now. Right about this time, Big Eddie was supposed to be defending his position, justifying his every move. Damn it! He should be flustered. Panicking and giving me more rope to hang him with. But that wasn’t happening.
I continued. “Eddie couldn’t use his keys on the break-ins. The cops would be smart enough to be able to tell if a lock had been picked or key had been used. No, Big Eddie had to be sure that he wouldn’t be suspected. He had to make it look like the locks were picked, thus he picked the locks.”
No reaction. Geez! No reaction.
“I found this.” I held out the little tool thing.” She held out the tiny golf club-ish/hockey stick-y thing. “I was snooping around yesterday when I found this on the floor.”
“That’s … that’s Eddie,” Mona said. “It’s just one of his charms.”
“One of my many charms, Mona,” he said, winking at her.
Dear God, why wasn’t he turning pale? Why wasn’t he blustering and running from the room? At the very least sitting down. Big Eddie was looking far from the criminal I was trying to peg him to be. Far from a man with something to hide.
And then there was the polyester pants thing….
“Search me.” Big Eddie spread his arms wide, palms open in an offering gesture.
“Ew—”
“No, I’m serious,” he said. “I get my groceries brought in. I sold my car a month ago. I’ve not been off the grounds for weeks. Haven’t had to. And I’ve been so damn busy with repairs around here. Harriet’s ring went missing just two days ago; Roger’s broach was stolen last night. If I was the one who took the jewels, then I’d have to still have them. Check me.” Again he spread his arms, oh and yuk, his stance. He turned to Noel Almond. “Deputy, get your colleagues in. Get the feds. Hell, call in the Marines if that’s what it’ll take to shut this girl up.”
Oh, I was getting mad. And a little worried. I looked at Dylan. His brow was lined too. He was still in character — still Dylan Hardy, the thick as bricks security guy, but where no one else could, I could read the concern on his face.
Deputy Almond took the floor. “Whereas Big Eddie brought it up….” he punched him in the arm in some stupid male bonding ritual. As if he’d shot him with HGH, Eddie Baskin stood a little taller. “I’m going to bring my officers in to search the place. The whole place — all the grounds and everyone’s condo. I don’t have search warrants. But I don’t need them if there are no objections. You’re all gathered here. This seems to be pretty much everyone. Does anyone object to a search of their premises?
The fucker! How could anyone object?
Harriet glanced at Wiggie, and he actually kept eye contact for a change. Tish only smiled, but it wasn’t her place but Mona’s that was going to be searched, so why should she mind? Mona’s face shot red again.
“And remember,” Almond added for selling emphasis. “We still have a missing person on our hands in the suspicious disappearance of Frankie Morrell. If everyone is agreeable, and we can bypass the warrants, we’ll possibly be one step closer in solving that murder.”
“Who said anything about a murder?” I said. “All you have is a missing persons case.”
He looked over at me that dismissive, oh-are-you-still-here? look I was too damn used to from my years working at Jones and Associates. Then he smiled broadly, as if I was supposed to melt or something. “Right, Dixie. Until we actually find out where your mother … um, I mean, where the body is stashed, then we get to call it a murder.”
Within the hour, fifteen officers were pulling into the Wildoh.
I recognized Officer North from the other night. Almost imperceptibly, certainly apologetically, she waved at my mom. One by one, while the residents waited in the rec room, the condos were checked.
Big Eddie insisted that the officers start at his place — his shop, his apartment. He helped all he could. Thought of places to check that the officers perhaps would not (air ducts, vacuum cleaner bags). He unlocked every door for them, pointed out every wall safe, and stood by while each was opened. All the while Dylan tagging along in good, old thick-as-a-brick fashion in case any heavy lifting was required.
Oh, and guess what they found?
Not a damn thing.
Not one single shred of evidence to point to Big Eddie, or anyone else.
Chapter 12
So what did I learn from the search?
I now knew that Roger Cassidy had the largest collection of big boob magazines on the planet — dating back to when the big boobs of yesteryear had yet to be dwarfed by their silicone sisters. Harriet and Wiggie had separate bedrooms (surprise, surprise). He slept on a twin bed while she reserved the queen sized bed for her own pencil-like form. Beth Mary had the second biggest big boob magazine collection on the planet — though hers wasn’t as neatly stacked as Roger’s.
Vanessa Trueman’s place was neat at a pin, while Quinn Foster hadn’t done the dishes in a week (which is two days longer than my record, thank you very much). Big Eddie had piles of underwear — literally. Boxers. And about two weeks worth of laundry undone. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by his slob state. Laughed it off. Happy as a clam the whole time Deputy Almond and the others searched his place.
Many of the residents seemed to swear by Bengay. There were too many litter boxes around for a residence that was supposed to be pet free. Six out of ten people really do not make their beds up before leaving the house in the mornings (I would have guessed higher), and hotel-stolen ashtrays are the norm rather than the exception.
Yes, through Dylan, I learned all the above and more (in many cases TMI) about the Wildoh residents.
Oh, and I also found out that Mona Roberts slept on the floor in a sleeping bag in an empty room. No furniture. Nothing in the closets. Just a few meager belongings spilling out of one old suitcase on the floor.