“Just think about the diamonds, Johnny,” said Jer, taking out his phone and calling up an image of The Dieber’s girlfriend Jamie Borowiak, a nice big diamond necklace around her neck. He scrolled through the girl’s Instagram some more and tapped the diamond ring Jamie had gotten from her boyfriend. In the next picture, a stunning pair of earrings. Switching to Charlie Dieber’s Insta, there was a gorgeous gold watch on display and, finally, an entire collection of expensive-looking cufflinks on Weskit’s Instagram. Jerry tapped the picture. “See these? Worth a fortune. And he takes them everywhere he goes.”
“So nice of these stars to advertise their prized possessions on Instagram,” Johnny said. “That way we know what to look for, going in.” He might not like the prospect of venturing out into the line of fire again, but he did covet other people’s wealth as much as the next crook. Finally he said, “Let’s do this, Jer. When is this party?”
“Starts at nine, and goes on until after midnight, with speeches by the Mayor and the chairman of the local chamber of commerce and performances by Dieber and the girlfriend. Rumor has it there might even be some local talent infesting the stage. We hit the hotel at eleven, out by eleven thirty, tops. Plenty of time to become filthy rich.”
“Filthy rich,” Johnny repeated, his eyes sparkling. “I like filthy rich, Jer.”
“Get used to the prospect. Cause tonight’s the night. Nothing’s gonna stop us now!”
“Tonight’s the night,” Tex spoke into his phone as he sat back in his chair. But then the buzzer buzzed and he jerked up. He checked the small screen that showed an image of the waiting room. When he saw Mrs. Baumgartner stalk in, he couldn’t suppress a groan.
“Did you say something?” asked Denby Jennsen, his colleague over in Happy Bays.
“My receptionist took the day off again,” he explained. “So now I’m supposed to handle all the phones and organize the flow of traffic in my waiting room all by myself.”
“You really should start thinking about bringing in a professional receptionist, Tex,” said Denby, not for the first time. “They do wonders for your peace of mind. And your productivity. I’ve had Vicky for ten years and I wouldn’t know what to do without her.”
“I know, but how can I fire Vesta? She’s my wife’s mother. Marge will never forgive me.”
“I’m sure Marge will understand. And isn’t your mother-in-law like, a hundred years old by now?”
“Seventy-five, and she still thinks she’s hot stuff. She’s launching a solo career.”
Denby laughed. “A solo career! Doing what?”
“Well, singing, obviously. She wants to be the next Beyoncé.”
“Tell her to go ahead. Maybe she’ll be a hit and then you can finally hire a decent receptionist. You need one, Tex. You can’t go on like this.”
“I can, if only she’d come in for work every day.”
He disconnected after admonishing Denby to be there tonight or be square, but before he let in his next patient, he took a moment. Denby had a point. A professional receptionist-slash-secretary would be great. Then again, he didn’t pay Vesta all that much, what with her having room and board at the house and being family. She was more a glorified volunteer than an actual receptionist, and Tex had only given her the job because Marge wanted her mother to keep busy. To be around people. If he took that away from her, he’d deprive her of a big chunk of her social life. Plus, she probably wouldn’t take it well, which might lead to more tensions at home, something to avoid.
Denby meant well, but he didn’t fully grasp the situation. Best to leave things as they were. And so he walked over to the door and opened it, then plastered his best smile onto his face. “Mrs. Baumgartner? Come on in.”
“Vesta not here today?” asked Mrs. Baumgartner, who was one of Tex’s best patients—though Vesta claimed she simply carried a torch for him and that’s why she was in all the time. He had to admit the woman had hypochondriacal tendencies. “So is she sick? Did something happen to her? I thought she looked under the weather when I saw her yesterday. Pale—and has she lost weight? She walked with a limp, too. Hip issues, probably. But then you would know best, wouldn’t you? You are her doctor, aren’t you?”
Great. Soon the whole town would think Vesta was knocking on death’s door.
Chapter 6
It was nice to be out in the garden. There were big exotic flowers everywhere, very colorful and very fragrant. And if I hadn’t been given a very particular assignment, I probably would have wanted to spend the rest of the day there—or at least until my stomach told me it was time to look for greener, food-providing pastures. But as it was, we needed to find out who had murdered this nice singing person, so onward we went.
“Pity the little doggie didn’t have a clue, right, Max?” said Dooley.
“Yeah, real pity,” I agreed.
“Maybe Chickie has other, more observant pets?”
“I don’t doubt it. She probably has a whole army of pets.”
I was still eying Harriet and Brutus with a measure of pique. They seemed to have hit the jackpot when they stumbled upon that peacock. Sleuthing is a collaborative effort—a team sport, if you will—but Harriet and Brutus don’t see it that way. They have this competitive streak that makes them view it as a competition sport instead. If they can manage to lay their paws on the telling clue, they won’t hesitate to rub my face in it. So I decided to go and look for a second peacock, hoping peacocks travel in pairs.
“We need to find peacock number two, Dooley,” I said.
“Peacock number two? Who is peacock number two?”
“Where there’s one peacock, there’s bound to be a second one.”
“You mean peacocks mate for life?”
“You tell me.” Dooley had been watching a lot of the Discovery Channel lately, so if anyone had the inside scoop on these birds with the riotous plumage, it was him.
He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, Max. Though I saw a documentary about hippopotamuses last week, and they don’t mate for life, if that helps.”
It didn’t, but I decided to let it go. “Do peacocks sit in trees?” I muttered as I directed my eyes upwards to the foliage.
“Why are you so eager to find a second peacock, Max? We could ask Harriet what she learned from the first peacock.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Dooley,” I said. “You know what Harriet and Brutus are like. They think this is all one big competition. They’ll never let us near peacock number one, and they’ll refuse to divulge the information the peacock has offered them.”
“I don’t know, Max. Brutus has changed. And so has Harriet. They’re not as competitive as they used to be. I’m sure they all want us to work together now.”
Just then, Harriet and Brutus passed us by. They were both looking extremely pleased with themselves. “So how is it going?” asked Harriet. “Not too well, I imagine?”
“We just discovered a Very Important Clue,” said Brutus with a smirk. “A VIC, as they call it in our business. The Mother Of All Clues, or MOAC as we professionals like to say.”
“It’s going to break this case wide open,” said Harriet.
“So what’s the clue?” asked Dooley.
But Brutus mimicked locking his lips with a key and throwing it away.
Dooley stared at the gesture. “Why are you making those weird movements, Brutus?”
“It means his lips are locked,” Harriet explained. “And so are mine.”
“But… we’re a team, right? We’re all in this together.”
“We’re a team,” said Harriet, gesturing between herself and Brutus. “And you’re a team. And may the best team win.”