Bad Reputation, A (7 page)

“It sounds like a gang I'd rather not know,” he said. “The stuff my friends and I do—that I used to do—was never this daring. Tricks, sleight of hand, little cheats, you know? I never broke into anyone's house to steal things. You called the police right away, I hope?”

“They don't have any leads.”

“What did this woman look like?”

“Well, I have no room to talk, but she was plus-size, like me. Full-figured, as I like to put it. Very nicely dressed. Dark hair.”

Jerry's attention was caught. “Bit of a lisp?”

“Now that you mention it, I believe she did. Good grief, do you know her?”

His expression darkened. “I have a really good idea who she is.”

“The next time you see her, tell her I want my stuff back. No, here's what I want you to do. Set the cops on her. People like that shouldn't be allowed to run free.”

“I agree with you completely, Billie.”

Billie and I spent the rest of our visit reminiscing about our horrible pageant years, but Jerry was pretty quiet. Much quieter than usual. I'd seen that preoccupied look before, and it worried me.

When we got in the car to go home, Jerry slammed his door shut. “I can't believe Honor would do something this extreme.”

“How well do you actually know this woman?”

“She was one of my first friends in the underworld—she and Jeff and Rick and Del. We had a lot of fun. This is not fun.”

I'd never met Jeff, but Rick was the same Rick who'd become entangled in the death of the movie director who was using our house for
Curse of the Mantis Man
. After I solved the case and cleared Rick of murder charges, he'd agreed to leave us alone. So far, Del had acted like a gentleman. Honor sounded like something else, something dangerous. Would Jerry do something equally dangerous to stop her?

“What are you thinking, Jerry?”

“Until I find her, I can't do anything.”

“Tryouts for
Oklahoma
are tonight, right?” I wanted to make sure he was occupied.

He must have tuned in to my concern. “Don't worry, Mac. I'm not going to charge off in all directions, but we are definitely going to catch her.”

***

When I dropped Jerry off at the theater, I noticed Bea Ricter among the crowd of excited people waiting to audition. “Is there a role for Bea in this show?”

“She'd make a good Aunt Eller,” he said, “the cranky but loveable matron of the plains.”

“Cranky I can see, but loveable?”

“That's why it's called acting.” He gave me a kiss. “Sure you don't want to hang around?”

“No, thanks. I'm afraid Evan will shanghai me into the show. Call me when you're ready to come home.”

He went into the theater, and I sat for a while in the car. I'd told Jerry I had no desire to make contact with the pageant world, and this was the prime reason why. Talking with Billie had brought up a host of unwanted memories. I'd wasted too many of my childhood evenings in theaters and hotel ballrooms, all dressed up in stiff, jeweled dresses, my head piled with heavy hairpieces and congealed with hair spray. Just the sight of those giggly younger girls waiting to audition made something cringe inside. They looked like they were having fun. It was never fun for me to parade around on stage, fearful that a wrong step or a tentative smile might cost me the crown my mother wanted so desperately.

Whew. Enough soul-searching. I was no longer six, and my mother was no longer on the hunt for Little Miss Perfect. Now I was Miss Ace Detective and could do exactly as I pleased, and it pleased me to go home to see what I could find out about Honor Perkins.

***

I spent about an hour online with no success until I remembered Mrs. Forest claimed she'd lost her fortune by putting all her money in Double Delite Doughnuts. I looked up Double Delite and found the company was still in business with steady sales. Okay, so was Mrs. Forest also a swindler? When I looked her up, all I found was a picture of her and several other elderly ladies at church functions, including the sale of a cookbook with recipes from the congregation. I looked up the account of the robbery at Billie's house, which appeared to be an isolated incident in the neighborhood. None of this fit.

***

When I picked up Jerry, he reported that auditions had gone well, and that the tall, scholarly looking young man standing with Bea was her son, Ferris.

I did a double take. “You're kidding, right?”

“Nope. Must take after his dad.”

Ferris Ricter had dark curly hair and glasses and was actually smiling, something I'd seen Bea do only in her yearbook pictures.

“He came to give her a ride home. Seems to be a regular guy. Joked that his mom wasn't a fan of the movie or the wheel, but chose ‘Ferris' after an old boyfriend. I asked him if he'd like to be in the orchestra, but he said he was in Celosia for only a few days.”

“Well, what do you know?” Ferris escorted his mother out. “Has Bea said anything else about her feud with Wendall?”

“A lot of grumbling about people keeping their promises.”

“She doesn't seem the type of person who'd want to be in a musical comedy.”

“That's where the keeping promises comes in. Apparently, she'd promised Evan she'd try out. I heard her tell him she'd do the role, but then they'd be done. Evan says she does keep her word.”

“And gets really angry when other people break theirs. So Wendall must have messed up big-time with her.”

“I wonder what he promised her.”

“Flora said Bea wouldn't tell him.”

“Oh, so there are many things he's done wrong, and Bea wants him to guess.”

A group of young women went past, all calling “Good night.”

Jerry waved good-bye. “You're going to have a case pretty soon, Mac. Those girls would kill to play Laurie. Fortunately, there is a clear front-runner.”

“Good.” I had enough to worry about. The growing discontent among the members of the Art Guild, the break-in at Billie's, and most of all, the mysterious Honor Perkins and her connection to Jerry. He'd told me he wasn't going to charge off in all directions, but that's exactly how I felt, pulled this way and that with no answers in sight.

Chapter Eight

“
Camp Lakenwood! Camp Lakenwood!

Where sex is wild and free!

Camp Lakenwood! Camp Lakenwood!

Come share a beer with me!”

I buried my head under my pillow. How many more months until June?

“Breakfast is ready!”

Jerry then launched into another unacceptable verse of the Camp Lakenwood song. The only way to stop him was to get up, get dressed, go downstairs, and express my concerns. But once again, my stomach rebelled.

Good lord, I thought as I staggered into the bathroom. Have I miscounted my pills? I checked my birth control pill dispenser. Everything was in order. I simply could not be pregnant.

By the time I came into the kitchen, I had things under control. That is, until I smelled what Jerry was cooking, and he said, “Cinnamon toast and sausage coming up.”

I really wish he hadn't used that phrase. “Just the toast, please, and some coffee.”

Fortunately, he'd turned away to check on the sausage. “I've been thinking about what we should do about Mrs. Forest, Mac. Don't wait for her to call you. I think you should find me and haul me in to talk to her. That way, I'll be able to see what her game is.”

“What if she doesn't have a game?”

He faced me. “I have never been to Millersberg. I swear on whatever you want me to swear on.” I must have looked like I felt, because he frowned. “Are you still feeling queasy? Maybe you should go to the doctor.”

“I don't think it's anything to worry about.”

I could tell Jerry wasn't convinced, so I changed the subject. “I forgot to ask if Bea got a part in the show.”

“This is top secret info, but I think I can trust you. Bea is Aunt Eller, mainly because no other woman her age tried out. Evan will post the cast list later today, and I predict many hearts will be broken. Nice try changing the subject, by the way, but I still think you should see a doctor.”

His argument had to wait because my cell phone rang. The caller ID said “Nell Brenner.” “It's Nell. I hope she's calling to say she can come by today.”

She wasn't. “Thought you'd like to know somebody tossed a brick through the gallery window last night.”

“Uh, oh.” Celosia has its share of troubled teenagers, but I had an idea someone was sending a more personal message.

“Dad's got some people investigating. If you want to have a look, you'd better come now. As soon as they're done, we're fixing it.”

“Thanks. I'll be right there.” I closed my phone. “Someone threw a brick into the gallery window.”

“Not very subtle of them. How many members does the Art Guild have?”

“When they met at Pamela's shop, I counted eight, including Pamela, and I can't rule out Larissa.”

Jerry handed me a plate of cinnamon toast and brought his plate loaded with toast and sausage to the table. “Eat what you can. I won't be offended.”

I nibbled a corner of toast. “Thanks. I'll stop by the drugstore and get something for my stomach.”

He handed me my coffee. “Why don't I come to town with you? I can get in some more
Oklahoma
practice this afternoon.”

“Sure.”

“After we come back from Millersberg.”

I knew he wasn't going to let that go.

***

Yellow police tape kept a small crowd back from the front of the gallery. Bits of glass littered the sidewalk and dangled dangerously from the jagged edges of the broken window. Nell's father, Celosia's chief of police, and two other officers gathered information from the shopkeepers and a thin man in jogging clothes.

Pamela Finch was there, and as soon as she saw me, she hurried over.

“What did I tell you, Madeline? Didn't I say I had bad feelings about this?”

I was glad Jerry came with me because I really didn't want to deal with her and her bad feelings. I wanted to look around. He picked up on this right away.

“Pamela, did you have a premonition?” he asked. “That's my specialty, you know. Tell me all about it.”

I left her pouring the whole story of the slighted Art Guild into Jerry's ear while I walked over to Chief Gus Brenner and asked if I could have a look at the crime scene. Nell gets her large frame, blond hair, and small sharp blue eyes from her father. The chief's a gruff, no-nonsense man, but now that I've helped solve three murders, he's more willing to answer my questions.

He jotted another note on his notepad. “Not much to see. We have a brick and a broken window. Must have happened early this morning.” He gave a nod toward the thin man in jogging clothes. “Mr. Carson was out for his morning run and called it in. Do you have any ideas?”

“Wendall Clarke hasn't made too many friends with the Art Guild.”

“So I've heard.” He closed his notepad. “We've given him a call, and he's on his way. Is he a client of yours?”

“Not yet.”

“Keep me posted.” He called to his daughter. “It's all yours, Nell.”

Nell already had a large piece of plywood to cover the opening. As she and another worker maneuvered the board in place, I walked back to Jerry and Pamela.

“I was just telling Jerry I can't imagine any member of the Guild doing this,” Pamela said. “There must be someone else in town who doesn't want a gallery here. You need to find out who that is, Madeline.”

“Are you hiring me?”

“You know, I think I will. I don't want people to think we're capable of this. Our main goal is to promote the arts and give local artists the opportunity to shine. How much do you charge for—oh my gosh, there's Wendall. He's going to be furious.”

A sleek black sports car drove up and parked behind the police car. Wendall and Flora got out. Flora looked upset, but Wendall seemed to shrug off the incident. He was dressed in his usual black and gave his black scarf an irritated toss.

“We got here as soon as we could,” he said to Chief Brenner. “What's the damage? Just the window?”

While Chief Brenner explained what had happened to Wendall, Flora timidly approached us.

“Good morning, Flora,” I said. “I believe you've met Pamela Finch. This is my husband, Jerry Fairweather.”

Pamela gave her a slight smile and a hello. Jerry shook her hand. “Sorry about the window, but Nell will have it repaired in no time.”

Flora tugged at that same curl. “I hope so. It's really upsetting to think someone hates us so much.”

I knew Pamela wanted to stay aloof, but Flora's sad words must have melted her resolve.

“Dear me, I certainly don't hate you, Mrs. Clarke,” she said. “I want us to work things out. In fact, I'm going to hire Madeline to find out who did this.”

Flora turned her big blue eyes to me. “Oh, that's right. You're a detective. Wendall and I should hire you, too.”

Wendall came up in time to hear this. “Hire Madeline for what? Are you talking about discovering who broke the window? I'm sure Madeline's a fine detective, but we're not going to bother her with something as trivial as this. It was probably just some kids. Nothing to worry about. We can have this fixed before our two o'clock meeting. Good morning, Pamela.” He offered his hand to Jerry. “Wendall Clarke.”

“Jerry Fairweather. I'm Madeline's husband.”

“And a lucky man. Madeline, we'll see you at the meeting, I hope? You, too, Jerry. It's open to everyone.”

“Yes, we'll be there,” I said.

“Good. Come on, Baby, we have a lot to do before two o'clock.”

He took her arm and ushered her back into the sports car.

Pamela dug into her purse. “I don't care what he thinks. I'm hiring you.” She wrote me a check right then and there. “I'd better go open my store. When can you come over?”

“Jerry and I have business in Millersburg this morning. How about after the two o'clock meeting?”

“That sounds fine. Hopefully by then you'll have some idea who did this.”

The plywood was up and secure, so Nell motioned us in. “Figured you'd want to look around.”

Jerry and I stepped into the gallery. The plywood blocked some of the light, but we could still see the area, now painted and ready for art.

“This is a great space,” Jerry said. “The Art Guild should be thrilled.”

“Didn't Pamela tell you the whole sad story?” I asked. “Thanks, by the way, for the diversion.”

“You're welcome. Yes, I heard the Saga of the Spurned Artistes. Which one's most likely to heave a brick?”

“Searching for clues right now.”

There wasn't much to search. A few stray chips of glass sparkled on the wide expanse of bare floor. Paint cans and drop cloths were piled in one corner. A ladder was propped against the office door.

Jerry pointed to a large can in the corner. “There's a trash can to root through.”

“Dad's men have been through it,” Nell said. “It's all yours.”

Jerry and I found dried paint stirring sticks, curls of cardboard, wads of masking tape and paper, and a calling card that read: “Larissa Norton, Piano Lessons,” with her phone number and address.

“Did the police see this card?” I asked Nell.

“Yeah, she stopped in yesterday to see if one of the painters wanted his son to have lessons. Guess he didn't.”

“Did she say anything about the gallery?”

“Well, I figured she just wanted an excuse to see it. She looked around and sniffed as if she wasn't impressed. I would've been surprised if she was.”

I put Larissa's card in my pocket. “I'm sure your dad knows the Larissa and Wendall story.”

“Everyone knows it. You have a whole town full of suspects.”

“Before you grill the whole town, let's go to Millersberg,” Jerry said. “We settle things with Mrs. Forest, and then you're free to investigate the Case of the Unwanted Gallery.”

“What's happening in Millersberg?” Nell asked. “That's a little squat of a town.”

“Jerry has some unfinished business there.”

Nell knew all about Jerry's business. “Who'd you rile now, junior?”

“A Mrs. Denby Forest. And I didn't rile her. Somebody's playing a joke.”

She picked up a broom and a dustpan. “You look mighty serious for it to be a joke.”

“That's because the joke's on me, and I have to clean up afterwards.”

Nell chuckled. “And here I thought you'd gone straight.”

“I'm trying. Can I help it if the world won't let me?”

I checked my watch. It was a little past ten. “Okay, Jerry, let's go, and when we get there, let me do the talking.”

“Only if you stop by the drugstore first.”

We stopped by Health Aid Drugs and the pharmacist recommended an over-the-counter remedy for upset stomach. On our way to Millersburg, Jerry asked me if I'd noticed Flora's nervous hair-tugging.

“Yes, she did that a couple of times during lunch. I'm guessing she wants to make certain her hair stays on.”

“That's probably it.”

“What else could it be?”

“I've been in the game too long. I'm always on the lookout for tells.”

“Tells?”

“Little giveaway habits that people are unaware of. Comes in handy when you're playing poker.”

“Or solving crimes. You don't think Flora broke the window, do you?”

“She's the last one you'd suspect, isn't she? Maybe she's not happy Wendall's spending all this money on the gallery.”

“Well, that's a thought. I'll invite myself to another lunch and find out.”

We arrived in Millersberg and drove to Mrs. Forest's house. She was surprised to see me.

“Back so soon? And you've brought Mr. Fairweather.” She shook her finger at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself, young man.”

Jerry hung his head. “He's very sorry,” I said. “He wants to make things right, but he doesn't have a million dollars. Is that the amount you lost?”

“Not exactly. Please come in.”

We sat down in the parlor. “I'm still amazed you were able to find him so quickly,” Mrs. Forest said.

“That's my job.”

“Well, I would be willing to settle for ten thousand.”

I could tell it was taking all of Jerry's self control to remain silent.

“We could set up payments, say, a thousand a month for ten months? I think that's more than reasonable.”

“Would you excuse us for a moment?” Jerry and I stepped back outside. He was about to pop.

“Mac, this is classic. You always start on the high end, scare the hell out of the mark, and then act like you're doing them a big favor to settle for the amount you wanted in the first place.”

“You're certain this is a con?”

“I want you to try two things. One, mention that we're getting the police involved. If she's scamming us, she won't want anything to do with them. Two, tell her I'll have to pay her in cash, and I promise you she'll light up like a Christmas tree.”

We returned to the parlor. Somewhere in the back of the house, a cat yowled.

“I'll feed you in a minute,” Mrs. Forest called to it.

“Mrs. Forest,” I said, “you're not the only one with a complaint about Mr. Fairweather's activities. Would you accompany us to the police station and add your complaint to the list?”

She rubbed her leg and grimaced. “Oh, I'd love to, but this leg of mine gives me so much trouble if I ride anywhere. I believe we can settle this ourselves without involving the police, now can't we? Mr. Fairweather looks like a man who learns from his mistakes.”

I was beginning to see what Jerry was talking about. “I really think you should go to the police.” Jerry tried to look contrite.

“Just pay me what you owe me, young man, and I won't press any charges.”

“That's very generous of you,” I said, “but Mr. Fairweather's current financial situation is somewhat unusual. He would have to pay you in cash.”