Notorious Nineteen (20 page)

My mom has squeezed a table and four chairs into the kitchen. My sister and I did our homework here. We ate breakfast here. And this is where important announcements were made. Engagements, pregnancies, college choices. This is also where I stomped and fumed over curfews, rolled my eyes at my parents’ antiquated ideas, and plotted how to sneak out when they were asleep. My sister never did any of those things. She was the perfect child.

I moved out from under my parents’ roof a bunch of years ago and I haven’t been completely successful at re-creating this comforting and stabilizing environment for myself. I’m hopeless in the kitchen, and I never seem to have the time to build my nest. Holidays like Christmas and Easter sneak up on me and fly by before I can decorate my apartment and wrap presents. Maybe if it wasn’t so easy to come back to my parents’ home I’d work harder at building my own. On the plus side I have a hamster and a cookie jar. Okay, so I keep my gun in the cookie jar. But it’s a start, right?

I sat at the little table across from Grandma and watched her shell peas. I could smell the ham heating in the oven with the brown sugar and mustard glaze, the ham studded with cloves and draped in pineapple rings, and I was ready to gnaw my arm off with hunger. Problem was, I couldn’t stop thinking about Susan Cubbin and the gold bar. She shouted
Aha!
in her husband’s office and next thing she had a gold bar. No way could I walk away from it.

“I have an errand to run,” I said to my mother. “If I’m not here for dinner don’t worry about it. I’ll stop by later and get leftovers.”

The van was in the driveway when I got to Susan’s house. I went to the door, and Susan sighed when she saw me.

“You know,” Susan said.

“I know you pawned a gold bar.”

Susan pressed her lips together, and she blinked away tears. “He’s dead,” she said. “Jerkface is dead.”

“Why do you think he’s dead?”

“It’s all here. All the money he stole from those people. It’s all still here. He didn’t run out on me. He went to the hospital, and he expected to come back. He had it hidden. It was in a place I would never have thought to look.”

“Did you tell this to the police?”

“No. It’s proof he was guilty, and I feel bad about it. I mean, isn’t it enough that he’s probably dead?”

“What about Cranberry Manor?”

“He hated that place. He said the old people were always complaining. And he said they cheated on everything. Cards, Bingo, taxes, Social Security. Half of them are collecting on dead relatives.”

“It’s still their money.”

“I know, but I can’t be the one to tell on him. It seems mean. He was my husband, and he wasn’t so bad. He just had a lot of issues.”

“Can I help?”

“Yes. You can help me figure out a way to get the money back to Cranberry Manor without making Geoffrey look like a monster.”

“Give me some history.”

“Come on in and I’ll show you what I found.”

I followed Susan to the dining room table and looked down at what appeared to be a blueprint for landscaping her yard.

“Yesterday I was sitting out back having a glass of wine and the sun kept reflecting off something in the yard. So finally I got up to see what it was and at first I thought it was a gold button that popped off something and got smashed into the grass. I tried to get it up, but it wouldn’t come, and I kept digging away more grass and more grass, and what do you think I found?”

“A gold bar.”

“Yes. And then it hit me. I remembered Geoffrey was always talking about his big scheme to landscape the yard, and how flowers were as good as gold. Five years ago he started working on this blueprint. He’d haul it out and work on it some, and then he’d file it away and go on to another project.”

“I haven’t seen your backyard. Is it filled with flowers?”

“No! That’s the thing. He kept saying flowers were as good as gold but he only planted a few flowers. There were some bushes in the yard when we first moved in and they’re still there too, but that’s it.”

“He was buying gold and planting it,” I said.

“Yes. And he was marking off the locations of the bars on the blueprint. It hit me like a big brainstorm! Like
BLAM!
I went all over the house looking for the blueprint, and when I couldn’t find it I went to his office. It was real smart of him, because when the police searched the office they didn’t bother to take the landscape plan.”

“Did you find all the bars?”

“I got all the ones that were marked on the plan. I don’t know anything about the price of gold, so I don’t know if all the Cranberry Manor money is there. It wasn’t easy to get those stupid bars up either. It took me all night, working with a flashlight and one of those little shovels.”

“Where are they?”

“In the kitchen.”

I went to the kitchen and gaped at the bars. They were stacked up everywhere.

“How many are there?” I asked her.

“A hundred and thirty-three. Actually there were a hundred and thirty-four but I took the one so I could get a manicure. Digging up gold bars is hell. My nails were destroyed.”

“I have to think about this,” I said. “Keep your doors locked and your shades down so no one sees what you’ve got in your kitchen.”

“There are so many of them,” she said, looking at the bars. “I didn’t know what to do with them.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I told her. “Just lay low until I get back to you.”

I left Susan, got behind the wheel, and broke out in a sweat. A hundred and thirty-three gold bars. At least five million dollars’ worth of gold, stacked up in her kitchen. This went way beyond putting a couple hundred dollars under your mattress. This was mind-boggling.

I went back to my parents’ house and ate the ham. At least I think I ate the ham. At some point I looked down at my plate and realized it was clean and I must have eaten something, but I couldn’t remember. My mind was on the bars. It was hard to get past the fact that Susan Cubbin had five million dollars in gold in her kitchen. A dilemma I wasn’t likely to face because the men I loved didn’t have stolen gold bars buried in their backyards. At least none that I knew about.

TWENTY-ONE

I WAS SHOCKED
out of sleep by someone banging on my apartment door. I rolled out of bed and padded to my small foyer. The sun was pouring into my living room. The day had started without me. I looked through the peephole and didn’t see anyone. There was more pounding and I realized it was low on the door. I looked through the peephole again, this time down toward the floor. It was Briggs. I opened my door and he rushed in.

“A person could grow old standing out there,” Briggs said. He squinted at me. “Are you still in pajamas? It’s the middle of the day.”

“It’s eight o’clock in the morning.”

“Well, it feels like the middle of the day. I’ve been up since three. I can’t sleep. This disappearing patient thing is driving me nuts. And I think the hospital is interviewing security people. They’re gonna fire me over this.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Are you kidding? It’s worse than
that bad
. They didn’t want to hire me in the first place.”

“Because you’re short?”

“No. Because I’m incompetent. I have no qualifications. All I’ve got going for me is the short card.”

“Better than nothing.”

“Yeah, go figure.”

I walked into the kitchen and got the coffeemaker working. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to find these guys.”

“I’ve been trying,” I said to Briggs. “Do you want coffee?”

“Yeah. You got any eggs?”

“No.”

“Toast?”

“No.”

“Cereal?”

“No.”

“What
have
you got?” he asked.

“Coffee.”

“How do you live like this?”

I took two coffee mugs from the cabinet and set them on the counter. “I keep forgetting to stop at the store.”

I gave Briggs his coffee, set him in front of the television, and brought Tiki in to keep him company while I took a shower. I wanted to help Briggs but I had nowhere to go. I was out of ideas.

I took as long as possible in the shower, drying my hair, applying makeup. I wasn’t eager to start my day.

“Hey,” Briggs yelled from the living room. “Did you die in there? Let’s go!”

I ambled out. “Where do you want to go?”

“The Clinic. I think you should bust in there and search the place. Dollars to donuts Pitch is in there.”

“How am I supposed to bust in? No one answers the door.”

“Break a window. Kick down the door. What the heck do I care? Just get in.”

“Why don’t
you
go in? You’re the only one with a way to get in.”

“I’m afraid I’ll get caught trespassing or something. And then I’ll for sure lose my job. You and Fatso break into places all the time. It don’t matter with your job. And you got a cop for a boyfriend.”

“I’ll drive us out there, and we’ll take a look, but I’m not breaking in.”

“How about if something’s going on?”

“Like what?”

“Like a helicopter landing. Or Pitch looking out a window? Or attack dogs patrolling the property.”

“If we see any of those things I’ll call Morelli.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Briggs said. “I just don’t want Pitch getting away.”

I parked within sight of The Clinic, and Briggs and I watched the building for three hours.

“I’m hungry,” I said. “And nothing’s happening. I’m giving up on this.”

“He’s gotta be in there,” Briggs said. “Where else would he be?”

“Switzerland?”

“There’s a car coming,” Briggs said. “Duck down!”

The car sped past us and turned in to the driveway to The Clinic’s garage. We sat and waited and an hour later the car left The Clinic and drove down the road. I followed at a distance.

“This is big,” Briggs said. “This is a new car. It’s a silver Lexus. It wasn’t in the garage that night. And it doesn’t belong to Nurse Cokehead.”

The Lexus left Route 1, cut across North Trenton, and pulled into the parking lot of the medical center where Craig Fish had his practice.

It was Craig Fish.

“This isn’t earthshaking, since he’s
supposed
to work at The Clinic,” I said to Briggs.

“Yeah, but why would he go there if there were no patients? He must be checking on someone.”

I drove across town, hit the drive-through window of Cluck-in-a-Bucket, ordered too much food, and stopped off at the office with a tub of assorted chicken parts and a bag of artery-clogging biscuits.

“Hey,” Lula said. “It’s Shortstuff.”

“Hey,” Briggs said. “It’s Fatso.”

I put the food on Connie’s desk and got a bottle of water out of the fridge.

“Anything new?” I asked.

“Vinnie’s in a state over Elwood Pitch.”

“He’s not the only one,” Briggs said. “My job’s on the line.”

I took a piece of chicken. “Morelli’s working on it.”

My phone rang. It was Ranger.

“Babe,” Ranger said. “The bridal salon woman called me again. Why is she calling me and not you?”

“Because she doesn’t have my number?”

“I’ll get even,” Ranger said.

I actually was loving it. “What did she want?”

“She wanted me to remind you to pick up your dress.”

Lula, Connie, and Briggs were watching me when I dropped my phone back into my bag.

“Who was that?” Lula wanted to know.

“Ranger.”

“That explains the smile,” Lula said. And she selected another piece of chicken.

I ate a piece of chicken and a biscuit, and I was thinking it might be a good idea to stop at the bakery on the way to the bridal salon. A donut would be the perfect ending to a really deliciously crappy lunch.

I loaded Briggs into the Rangeman SUV, we made a quick stop at the bakery, and I left him eating donuts in the car while I ran into the bridal salon.

Mary DeLorenzo brought the dress from the back room. “Let’s just try it on to make sure everything is perfect,” she said.

“No time,” I told her. “Things to do. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You really should try it on,” Mary said. “It’s such an important occasion.”

“I’ll try it on at home. Promise.” I grabbed the massive zippered bag and rushed to the door. I couldn’t resist the opportunity and turned back toward Mary DeLorenzo. “Be sure to call Ranger and tell him I picked the dress up,” I told her.

I tossed the heavy plastic bag into the backseat and slid behind the wheel.

“Did you ever check the morgue and the funeral homes to see if either of these guys turned up?” Briggs said. “Maybe we should take a walk along the river and make sure they’re not washed up and lying there.”

“I’m sure Morelli’s checked the morgue. And Grandma would know if they were in a funeral home.”

“What about the river?”

I glanced at him. “Do you want me to drop you off so you can check it out for yourself?”

“You’d drive away and leave me there, and I’d get mugged.”

This was all true. “I’m going to take you back to your car, and my advice is to go home and take a nap. If I get any breaking news I’ll call you. Promise.”

A lot of skip tracing is done on the phone and computer. For the most part Connie does the phone and Internet work and I do the legwork. I have some search programs on my computer, but Connie’s programs are better. For lack of something better to do I ran Geoffrey Cubbin and Elwood Pitch through the system on my computer to see if anything new showed up. I got a big zero, and I was surfing Pinterest when Morelli dropped in.

“I got off work and thought I’d stop by to see if I’d missed any rocket or firebomb events,” he said.

“You missed a bucket of fried chicken. It was the high point in my day.”

Morelli sat across the table from me. “I went deeper on Franz Sunshine and found some interesting things. He has similar clinics in four other states. He owns two midsize jets. And he’s the primary on seven different holding companies.”

“Success isn’t a crime.”

“He’s operating five businesses at a loss, but he can afford to keep two jets in the air.”

“What about FS Financials?”