Dylan saw it the same time that I did — the little grains shiny on my fingertips.
“I call it sand,” he said.
While I’m no sand expert, this was just too coincidental. Fine sand at mother’s condo; fine white sand right here. And when I looked closer, there wasn’t just a dusting of it on the counter, there was a trail of it. Leading all the way to the cabinet in the corner.
Dylan and I stared at each other. Then did a double take back to the cabinet. It was padlocked.
“Got the combination?” I asked, not even trying to keep the please please please out of my voice.
Dylan frowned. Obviously the answer was no. Then that I’m-so-smart look crossed his handsome face. He grabbed a screwdriver and started working on the cabinet’s hinges.
“I would have thought of that,” I said.
I wouldn’t have thought of that. If I’d picked up a screwdriver, it would have been for leverage to pry the damned door off. Or a chisel and hammer to beat the lock off it. But leaving the cabinet and lock intact made so much more sense.
“Were you present when Almond’s team searched in here?” I asked him.
“I was in the room, but not over here. Had my ears open. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary. It’s just sand, after all.”
Sixty seconds later, the left side of the cabinet door was off. Among the expected stuff — the pile of girlie mags, the florescent paint (presumably for the magic golf balls), duct tape, more duct tape, six rolls of quarters and two rolls of dimes — there was something else. Filled half way with fine sand, was a child’s plastic beach bucket.
“Didn’t the bucket of sand strike anyone as off when they searched in here?”
“Apparently not. Of course, lots of places use sand in their outdoor ashtrays. Probably no one would have given it a second look.”
Not even Noel Almond?
Dylan stuck his hands in and began sifting through the sand.
“What the hell?” Dylan mused. We both felt it … the anticipation … like when you’re a kid and plowing through the Styrofoam popcorn to find the Christmas gift hidden inside the big box. “Nothing.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why keep sand under lock and key.”
I didn’t have the answer.
But I knew this was the question.
Oh, and then there was another question in the room. “What the hell are you two doing?” Big Eddie Baskin asked.
“Boss!” Dylan said, reverting to his security guy persona. He pulled his hands from the sand as if he’d been caught with them in the proverbial cookie jar and wiped them on his pants.
How much had Big Eddie Baskin heard?
“I didn’t expect you back so early, Boss,” Dylan said. “How’d you make out playing golf at the lake? Get a hole in one?”
Golf balls pinged and bounced on the floor like angry white punctuation marks as Big Eddie threw the bag down.
“What the fuck’s going on here?” He growled.
Dylan spoke quickly. “Miss Dodd here,” he gestured to me as if Eddie needed direction as to which Miss Dodd he was talking about, “bet me I couldn’t get into the cabinet.” He smiled widely. “Guess I showed her, huh?” He turned to me again. “Pay up, lady!”
I didn’t have my purse with me, but pulled a folded twenty from my pants pocket and put it in his hand. “Guess you were right, Dylan.” I looked to Big Eddie, smiling to piss him off all the more.
He was thinking things over. Wondering how much I knew … just what I’d figured out so far by my access to the cabinet. His eyes shifted from Dylan to me, and back to Dylan again. But he wasn’t jumping down Dylan’s throat, so apparently he believed him.
Dylan was still grinning like a fool. “Twenty bucks!” He turned to Big Eddie. “It was only supposed to be ten, but when she found out I didn’t know the combination, she doubled it! Guess I showed her,” he repeated, pocketing the money, still grinning.
The guy deserved an Oscar.
If I was reading Eddie’s glare correctly, it was me he wanted to tear to shreds.
He said. “You’ll find no jewels in there. Don’t you think you’d be better off hunting to see where your mother stashed the ring?”
“What’s the sand for, Eddie?” I asked.
“Building castles.”
“That ring meant the world to my mother.”
“Then she shouldn’t have lost it, Dodd.”
“I know you took it.”
“Prove it.”
“Oh, I will.”
He chewed on that a moment. Then he kicked me out — out of the maintenance room, out of Complex C. And I could hear the reaming out he was giving his poor, simple “security guard” even as I walked away from the building. But I wasn’t worried about Dylan. He could handle Big Eddie.
The sand. I clutched tightly the handful I had in my pocket. Sand is sand? Well, I’d seen enough CSI shows to know things aren’t always as they appeared.
I didn’t yet know who Eddie’s accomplice was, but I was getting closer to fingering him. I didn’t yet know what the sand was for.
But soon enough I would.
Chapter 15
The rest of the day was uneventful. (Note here I say the rest of the DAY. The evening was significantly eventful, thank you very much.)
After Big Eddie kicked me out of the complex, I resumed snooping and talking to the Wildoh residents. Or rather, trying to talk to them. I was, after all, on the proverbial shit list, so it was not an easy task. When I walked into the common rec room, a wave of people cleared out around me. And, yes I carefully guarded my water bottle at all times. Just as carefully guarded my reactions and interactions.
But more than anything, it was a figuring day. I was close. Very close. But how did the sand fit in? How did Big Eddie stash the jewels so very confidently? So very thoroughly without worrying about a thing? Who the hell was his accomplice?
And the frustrating as hell part was that I knew the answers to these questions were all right in front of me somehow. Sticking right out there for me to grab a hold of. Red flag waving!
What the hell was I missing?
I have faith in my skills. And given enough time, I knew I could answer all these questions, figure this all out. But that was the problem. Time was the problem.
Too damn many questions.
And here’s another question.
Why did everyone at the Wildoh still believe I was Dix Dodd, erotica writer? Almond could have given me up on that, but clearly he hadn’t, as I soon ascertained from those I tried to converse with. No one at the Wildoh was any the wiser about my PI status.
Not saying that anyone was overly friendly to me. The only time I didn’t have to wring words out of people was when I asked about Lance-a-Lot and his pool cleaning, Beth Mary piped up with “He’ll be here tomorrow!”, but quieted when she realized she was supposed to be ostracizing me.
Group mentality. I’d seen it before. Confronted it before. Everyone (with the notable exception of Mona Roberts) was on the Dodd sucks bandwagon. T-shirts, bumper stickers, banners. Okay, no one had gone that far yet, but how far off could bumper stickers be?
Give me time. Oh, Lord, give me time.
~*~
“So have you got things figured out yet, Dix?”
Mother wasn’t quizzing me. Certainly she wasn’t fretting (much). She was simply asking. She didn’t seem terribly worried. Why? Mountain dew and cupcakes will do that to you I guess. It was as if Mother had relinquished worry over to me.