“My Picasso still hasn’t been returned. I’m starting to think I should file a complaint against your brother-in-law for gross negligence. Only problem is: where do you file a complaint against the police? With the Mayor? But I want to file a complaint against her, too!”
And it was with this predicament that Ida Baumgartner left Tex, once the latter had assured her that the purple spot on her inner thigh wasn’t skin cancer but an innocent spot and absolutely not life-threatening at all.
Once she was gone, he tapped his upper lip for a moment. Ida’s words had rung a bell. He, too, was the proud owner of a very expensive painting, and just before Ida had walked in, Marge had phoned him and told him all about the break-in Kurt Mayfield had suffered. His Jackson Pollock had been stolen, with Vale and Carew in prison.
It was obvious, therefore, that a second gang was active in Hampton Cove, or even a first gang, in which case Vale and Carew were innocent after all, as they kept claiming.
Then again, innocent men don’t try to escape from prison.
He picked up his cell and dialed the number on the card from the information packet he’d taken into the office to give another read-through.
“Iris Johnson,” said a pleasant voice on the other end of the call. “Johnson and Johnson Insurance. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Miss Johnson,” he said. “This is Tex Poole. You paid me a visit last night in regards to my painting? I wanted to give you an update, just like you asked.”
Miss Johnson’s voice turned unctuous. “Of course, Dr. Poole, what is it?”
“Well, I’ve moved my painting to a safe place, which the contract probably should reflect.”
“Excellent decision, Dr. Poole. I would like to reiterate that the safest place for a valuable painting like yours is in a safety deposit box, either at the bank or at home. Though the bank would add another layer of protection that your home can’t provide. They have alarm systems in place, security guards, steel-enforced doors—the works.”
“No, I want to keep it at home,” he said.
“In a safe?”
“Oh, no, I don’t need a safe,” he assured the insurance broker. “I’ve got something a lot safer than a safe.”
“Safer than a safe?” asked the woman. “And where would that possibly be, Dr. Poole?”
“In my garden shed,” he said proudly. He’d given the matter some thought and had decided that Marge was right. The bedroom, though ideal for admiring an exquisite work of art like Big Gnome #21, was not all that safe after all. Just look at what happened to Kurt. No, a garden shed was the best place for his painting. “No one in their right mind would look inside a garden shed, Miss Johnson.”
“Well, it’s your business, of course, Dr. Poole, but I would still advise you to acquire a safe and then preferably a built-in model so no one can pick it up and run off with it.”
“I think I’ll stick to my garden shed,” he insisted.
“That’s fine, but that means your premium will go up. More risk for us, you see.”
He wavered for a moment, then said, “That’s all right. I’ll happily pay extra.”
The conversation concluded, Tex settled back in his chair. He glanced at the wall, where now a calendar issued by the American Medical Association hung, depicting a 3D rendering of the large intestine, and sighed wistfully when he thought he could have been looking at Big Gnome #21 instead, if not for the burglars and thieves of this world.
Oh, the joys robbed from law-abiding citizens just because some people couldn’t distinguish between mine and thine.
Just then, his phone chimed and he saw that his mother-in-law desired speech.
“Vesta?” he said. “When are you coming in?”
“I’m not coming in,” said Vesta. “The neighborhood watch is demanding my full attention. Did you hear about Kurt Mayfield?”
“Yeah, Marge just told me. Terrible thing. Absolutely terrible. Then again, he probably shouldn’t have kept his Jackson Pollock in his bedroom. Worst possible place to keep a valuable painting like that. Everybody knows that.”
“I’m just calling to tell you to watch out, Tex. Marge told me you foolishly squandered her money on some ridiculous daubing of a troll, and you’ll want to be on the lookout for the same thieves that hit Mayfield.”
He was going to argue that the ‘daubing’ of the ‘troll’ was in fact a precious work of art, but didn’t see the point. There’s no arguing with these cultural barbarians, after all.
“Buy a safe, Tex, or put the painting in the bank. Just a free PSA from your neighborhood watch. And don’t come crying to me when your troll gets nabbed. See you later.” And with these words, she ended the conversation.
Tex shook his head. He loved his wife dearly, but if there was one fault she had, it was that she’d had a mother when she was born.
“Those two crooks tried to escape again,” Vesta grunted as she placed her phone on the table. “Got a call from Dolores and she told me they knocked out the guard and tried to make a run for it. Lucky for us they were too dumb to follow through on their plan.”
“They’ll keep trying,” said Scarlett. “They’ll keep trying until they succeed, and then they’ll come after us, Vesta. Have you thought about that? They’ll come after us and they won’t come bearing gifts.”
“I know,” said Vesta.
They were seated in the outside dining area of the Hampton Cove Star, sipping lattes and eating cake. It was a great spot to discuss neighborhood watch business. The only drawback was that Wilbur Vickery couldn’t join them, as he had to be at the store, and that Father Reilly was absent, too, as he had to be at his church.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Vesta now. “You know how those two claim to have found religion, right?”
“I think that was just a ruse,” said Scarlett, studying her fingernails. “If they’d really found religion they wouldn’t have knocked out their elders and stolen their clothes.”
“Yeah, I know, but even if they’re pretending to have found religion, they won’t say no to Father Reilly visiting them in jail, will they? And when he offers to take their confession, do you think they’ll refuse? Of course not. And if Father Reilly can make them confess, and tell him where they stashed the loot, it’ll be another win for the watch.”
Scarlett laughed. “Vesta, you are a genius!”
Vesta shrugged and contrived to look modest, failing miserably. “Oh, well. You just have to think like a crook to beat a crook. And I guess I’m just one of those people who can think like a crook more easily than others.”
“That’s because you have the mind of a crook,” said Scarlett with a slight grin, and Vesta didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.
Chapter 32
Dooley and I were hiding under the sheets, just like the last time we were under attack. Only this time our attacker was human, not some wannabe terminator, so it only took Blanche five minutes to discover our hiding place and root us out.
“Cats in the bed! Not on my watch!” she grunted, and actually kicked us out! From our own bed and our own home!
“Out! Out, I said!” she yelled as she first drove us down the stairs with a broom, then out the door. “And stay out!” she added for good measure.
Panting, we sat staring at the closed door with a measure of confusion, then I had the bad idea to try the pet flap, only to be confronted once more with the irritable Miss Blanche, who wielded her vicious broom again to drive me out and this time flipped the little lock on the pet flap so I wouldn’t stage a surprise return!
“This is too much!” I cried. “We have to get rid of the woman!”
“I think she’s probably right, though,” said Dooley, much to my surprise. “We do cause a lot of trouble for her. Because of us she has to clean extra hard.” He gave me a sad look. “It’s the shedding, Max. If only we wouldn’t shed so much, I’m sure she would be nicer.”