Fin could see that Nell was not packing, but he figured that Bobbie would be loaded for rhino, and she was. When the three investigators linked up, Fin said, “Bobbie, this is Nell. Nell Salter, meet Bobbie Ann Doggett.”
Bobbie showed Nell a big smile and shook hands vigorously. Nell gave her a half-smile and shook hands with less enthusiasm, especially when Bobbie looked so approvingly at Fin, who wore a blue cotton turtleneck, Dockers, and a white windbreaker.
Bobbie said, “You look cool in a turtleneck, Fin!”
“Hides a sagging neck,” Nell said, dryly.
Bobbie thought that Nell was very attractive, but not in the usual way, not with that bent nose. Yet she was a mature woman who looked in charge of her life, and that was intimidating to a woman Bobbie’s age.
Nell studied Bobbie and thought she needed to lose ten pounds. And Nell couldn’t fail to notice how she fawned over Fin. He returned her fawning with a badly concealed “aw shucks” kind of foot shuffling. Nell half expected him to tug at his forelock. It was pathetic.
Before the conversation went very far, Fin said, “My Vette can’t carry three.”
Bobbie said, “My Hyundai isn’t very comfortable.”
Nell said, “We’ll take my Audi.”
“We need to go someplace and talk,” Fin said.
“Not someplace where they serve alcohol,” Nell said, looking purposefully at Bobbie. “Have you noticed that he drinks?”
Bobbie grinned at Fin and said, “No worse than a sailor.”
Had to stay home and cook pasta? Nell thought. Yeah. She thought she might faint if it got any more revolting. He’d actually blushed when Bobbie giggled!
“I know what,” Fin said. “There’s a nineteen-fifties lunch counter on Orange Avenue. Let’s go there for a burger and a coke.”
“Out-standing!” Bobbie said.
“In-tense!” Nell said.
“What?” Fin said.
“In-credible!” Nell said. “Let’s go hang out!”
“Is there something wrong?” Fin asked quietly.
“Of course not,” Nell said, with the first of an afternoon full of smirks. “This is all so predictable.”
* * *
The diner was a real fifties-style lunch counter, not one of the ersatz diners that’ve become popular in recent years. This one hadn’t changed since We-liked-Ike, except for an occasional paint job, or a new sheet of Formica on the counter, or some new plastic on the revolving stools.
Fin sat between the two women and ordered a Coke. Nell ordered coffee and Bobbie ordered a large orange juice, and a burger with everything.
“Gotta replenish the vitamin C,” she said, beaming at Fin and adding, “after last night.”
Nell noticed that Bobbie usually placed her hand on his forearm when she spoke to him.
“This is so touching, I don’t need sugar in my coffee,” Nell said to the waitress in a stage whisper.
In that she was getting on in years, the waitress turned her good ear toward Nell and said, “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” Nell said. “Everything’s swell”
Nell also noticed that Fin deferred to Bobbie each time there was something to be explained to Nell during the fifteen-minute conversation. Nell learned about the theft from North Island, and that Bobbie felt it was very suspicious that Jules Temple hadn’t informed them that there was a navy investigator interested in the case.
When Bobbie and Fin were all through telling the story, Nell stared into the bottom of her coffee cup and said, “This is a squirrely case and getting more so.”
“I think it’s clearing up,” Bobbie said.
Nell said, “So Abel Durazo, Shelby Pate, and a deceased Mexican national named Pepe Palmera were in cahoots to steal the navy shoes, sell them in T.J. and …”
“Along with the truck,” Fin added.
“Okay, so they probably sold the truck, or at least planned to use it to haul the pottery … Wait a minute. The pottery shop in Old Town? Do you think …”
“It’s complicated enough,” Fin said. “Let’s not include him in this conspiracy.”
“Okay, for now it’s just those three.”
“Why didn’t Jules Temple tell you about me?” Bobbie wanted to know.
Nell smiled sweetly and said, “Maybe he didn’t think you were that important, honey.”
Fin shot Nell a dirty look and she returned it with a smirk, but Bobbie wasn’t fazed.
“I can’t believe he’d just think it was too trivial to mention,” Bobbie said. “Do you, Fin?”
“I tend to agree with Bobbie,” he said.
“Of course you do,” Nell muttered.
Then Fin turned to Bobbie and said, “But still, I can’t understand why Jules Temple would involve himself with the theft of two thousand pairs of shoes, not to mention going along with the loss of his truck.”
“Maybe the truck’s heavily insured,” Bobbie said.
This time Nell leaned forward on her stool, looked around Fin, and said, “There’s always a deductible on a policy, my dear, that he would have to pay.”
Bobbie leaned over, looked at Nell, and said, “Of course! Since I don’t have your many many years of investigation, I didn’t think a that.”
Fin interrupted quickly. “I think the faking of the truck theft lets Jules Temple off the hook as far as being part of any grand-theft conspiracy. Even if it’s just one of many thefts involving these guys.”
“Are those navy warehouses secure?” Nell asked.
“About as secure as Woody Allen,” said Fin.
“True,” Bobbie said. “They coulda pulled a lotta stuff outta our warehouses over a period of months.”
“Jules Temple can’t be part of that, Bobbie,” Fin said. “It doesn’t check out.”
Nell looked into her cup again and said, “Yet …”
“Yet what?” Fin asked.
“What if his truckers’re independent contractors as far as stealing is concerned, but in cahoots with their boss on something else?”
“Such as?”
“Such as dumping hazardous waste in Mexico, instead of Jules Temple having to spend the money to properly dispose of it.”
“Yeah!” Bobbie said. “I know he’s involved somehow. The guy’s oilier than Kuwait.”
“Could that be why he’s less than forthcoming?” Fin asked. “He’s a waste dumper?”
“Wait a minute,” Nell said. “No, it doesn’t wash. There were only a few drums involved here, and there’re manifests to deal with, waste belonging to different customers on two different manifests. How would he explain to the EPA that manifested waste never got to its destination?”
“By claiming the truck was stolen?” Bobbie suggested.
“To save hauling costs on a few drums of waste, he’s going to give up a truck? No,” Nell said. “No.”
“Okay, I give up,” Fin said. “Jules Temple has nothing to do with anything. Durazo, Pate and the dead man were partners in a conspiracy to steal from the warehouse and to steal the truck. Period.”
“Sounds right,” Nell said.
Bobbie said nothing. She clearly didn’t like anything about Jules Temple, including his goddamn haircut. All she’d say was “So let’s go hook up the two truckers. The shoe on the dead guy ties them in good enough for an arrest, at least.”
Nell nodded at Fin and said, “The porky dude’ll rat off the little Mexican, I bet.”
“Wait a minute!” Fin said. “Just when I got it sorted out another possibility jumped up.”
“Go ahead,” Nell said with a sigh.
“What if Pate and Durazo stole the shoes, but Pepe Palmera, a total stranger, stole their truck while they were having lunch at Angel’s. Isn’t that possible? Pepe Palmera got himself a cargo of waste and shoes, and he drove them straight to T.J.”