The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One (9 page)

The detective blinked. “You went to his
apartment?”

“Just to the complex. We wanted to see where
he lived.”

“I see.”

I was certain Detective McElroy was
struggling not to smile about our amateur sleuthing.

“We discovered he’s living well beyond his
means,” Josephine said.

“And you know that because?”

“Megan, that’s the lady who rents the
apartments, she told me what they cost.”

“Maybe he has roommates.”

“No. Megan was certain he doesn’t. But he
does have lots of visitors of the female persuasion.”

McElroy’s lips twitched.

“She has a crush on him, you see. And it’s
too bad, because she seemed like a nice girl. Eddie is not nice,
but he’s very good-looking, which I’m sure prevents many women from
recognizing that he’s pond scum.”

“Yes. Well.” The officer cleared his throat
and concentrated on his note-taking.

I was almost certain the words he’d just
written were “pond scum.”

“And you, Ms. Subramanian? Is that your
opinion as well?”

“I agree, Eddie Colter is definitely pond
scum. Toxic pond scum.”

He looked across at me and blinked, and I
clamped my lips shut. This was no place to put my Eddie prejudices
on display.

“Besides,” Josephine said. “Having a sick
daughter does not give him the right to help himself to other
people’s money.”

That statement, which brought us back to the
issue at hand, showed off Josephine’s tart side to good effect.

“Do you have any evidence?”

“Yes, we do,” Josephine said.

I handed over the bag, and Josephine and I
watched as he went through it. He glanced at the receipts and then
concentrated on the spreadsheet and the affidavits.

“What I get from this is that he overcharged
eight people one time each by about $10 on average.”

“That’s only what we can prove,” Josephine
said. “But he’s been shopping for some of these people for over a
year. And we discovered they never check their receipts and change,
so it’s likely he’s stolen a good deal more.”

“But all you can document is roughly a
hundred bucks’ worth.”

“Theft is theft.”

“Of course it is. But to get this department
involved, I need stronger evidence that he’s stolen a lot more than
this.”

“What about the baseball card? And the
necklace? Don’t forget those.”

“Those are rumors. And you’re a third
party.”

“So that’s it?” Josephine said. “You do
nothing?”

“I can arrange for someone to speak to Mr.
Colter. Likely that will put a stop to it.”

“Can you do it now?” I said.

“Why the rush?”

“Josephine feels insecure. You see, Eddie
has access to a master keycard. And neither of us doubt he’s
capable of more than a little petty larceny.”

McElroy sat back and rubbed his knuckles
across his lips. “Okay. Where’s this Eddie likely to be right
now?”

I glanced at the time. “He should still be
at work. And I need to get back. I have an activity in twenty
minutes.”

“Tell you what. You head on back, and I’ll
follow along and talk to Eddie. Let him know we’re aware of the
situation. That should stop him from harassing you.”

“Can’t you arrest him?” Josephine’s voice
held a uncharacteristic plaintive note. Given my experiences with
Eddie, I didn’t consider it an overreaction on her part.

Detective McElroy shook his head. “Doubt it
would stick. You’d be better off reporting this to whoever’s in
charge at Brookside so they can fire him.”

“The manager is his uncle,” I said.

“Like I said, I’ll talk to him. Let him know
I’m keeping an eye on things and that if anything happens to either
of you, I’ll be looking into it. Would that help?”

“Guess we have to hope it does,” Josephine
said, sounding more like her usual self.

“I have a request,” I said. “Please don’t
mention my name when you speak to Eddie.”

He cocked his head. “You have a history with
Eddie?”

I knew what he was asking. Especially after
Josephine said Eddie was good-looking.

“He’s a bully. I try to avoid him whenever I
can. But, well, once I didn’t quite manage it.”

He sat back, pursing his lips, giving me
that aware look that made me feel he knew more about me than I
would like him to know.

“And?” he said.

“He grabbed me and tried to kiss me.”

Josephine shifted. I glanced at her to find
her lips set in a firm line.

“When was this?” the detective said.

“Two weeks ago. I’ve been avoiding him ever
since.”

“I hope you can see, Officer, that something
needs to be done,” Josephine said.

He nodded. “I see no reason to mention your
name, Ms. Subramanian. After all, you weren’t involved in
confronting him about the thefts. I would have advised against
that, by the way.” He turned that piercing look on Josephine, who
didn’t seem the least bit fazed.

“I quite agree with you, but Myrtle and
Bertie were determined.”

“We’d better get back,” I said, standing.
“Thank you for your help, Officer.”

“My pleasure. Here’s my card. If anything
makes you uncomfortable, you can call me. Anytime.” He handed us
each a card, then came around the table and opened the door for
us.

I turned and glanced back at him as I held
the second door for Josephine. He looked solid and reliable, and I
was glad to know he was on our side.

“Do you think that did a bit of good,”
Josephine asked as we got back in the car.

“I don’t know. But I do know I’m not
comfortable leaving you alone until we see what happens when he
talks to Eddie.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Come to dinner with the group tonight. We
can squeeze in one more, and I’ll feel better knowing where you
are.”

“I do think something needs to be done about
that young man before someone gets hurt,” Josephine said, pursing
her lips. “And I thought we were doing it today. But now, I guess
we’ll have to wait and see.”

“So, you will come to dinner with us
tonight?”

“I’ll still have to come back to my
apartment afterward.”

“I could spend the night? On the couch. With
my phone set to speed-dial Detective McElroy.” I’d looked at his
card before putting it in my purse and realized we’d used the wrong
form of address.

Much to my surprise, Josephine said, “Yes,
I’d like that.”

Mac

Since the divorce was finalized, my brothers have been urging me to
get out there. Meet someone new. My sister went even further. She
posted a profile for me on MatchMadeinHeaven.com and then bugged me
to get in touch with the women who responded. After one appalled
look, I told her to delete the profile or I’d have her
arrested.

She might have a point, though, given the
highlight of my week, heck, my whole month, was a theft report by a
senior citizen. Although if I’m honest, it was her companion who
was the highlight. If Devi Subramanian had responded to that
profile my sister posted—and if the last ten years hadn’t
happened—I would have been tempted to respond.

Except, I still haven’t worked out how to
ask a woman I’ve just met whether she wants kids. Lisa and I tried
for seven of the ten years we were married, and it exhausted us
emotionally, financially, and physically. I still feel tapped out
whenever I remember that time.

Mostly I don’t think about it. And I don’t
date. Not yet, at least. And maybe not until I’m old enough for
women whose biological clocks have run out.

After I ushered the two women out, I
returned to my office to finish up the report I’d been working on.
Ten minutes later, I saved my work, picked up my keys, and told
Doreen I was going to interview a suspect.

Approaching Brookside, I saw a shuttle bus
was parked by the front door and Devi was assisting with the
boarding. I drove past and did a circle of the neighborhood to give
the bus time to load and take off. Then I returned and did a
circuit of the facility before parking and going inside.

“Good afternoon, Officer,” the pretty young
thing at the reception desk bubbled at me after I showed her my ID
and asked to see Eddie Colter. “If you’d take a seat, I’ll see if
he’s available.”

Instead of sitting, I walked over to the
bulletin board. It was divided by day and listed the activities for
the month. There were a substantial number of them including trips
to the mall, concerts, and this evening’s dinner at Red
Lobster.

I’d just finished doing a count when a loud
squawk made me jump. That was followed by a whistle and a croaky,
high-pitched voice saying, “Pretty boy, pretty boy.”

I turned to see the speaker was a parrot
whose cage was decorated with a prominent sign stating Don’t touch
me, I bite!

Following the parrot’s announcement, the
receptionist chimed in with, “Here’s Mr. Colter, Officer.”

I switched my gaze from the parrot, which, I
realized in retrospect, had made no remarks about my arrival, and
watched Colter walk toward me. Tall and muscular, he moved with an
athlete’s grace and the arrogance of someone who knew he was better
looking than ninety-nine percent of the species. I wondered how the
parrot knew that. Or had someone trained it?

It wasn’t easy feeling dissed and dismissed
by a parrot, a thought that had me stifling a grin as I greeted
Colter. He stuck out a hand and squeezed mine far more firmly than
necessary.

“Lucy said you wanted to speak to me?” He
smiled at Lucy, who blushed and smiled back.

Clearly a fan. Unlike Devi Subramanian.
Another thought that made me feel like smiling.

“Do you have an office, Mr. Colter?”

“We can use the manager’s.” He gestured to
show the way.

In what was clearly a power play, he took
the seat behind the desk. It’s the sort of tactic that neither
impresses nor intimidates me. I sat in the guest chair and took my
time getting out my notebook and pen, and then making a note of the
time and place.

“What’s this about, Officer?”

“Just a routine check, sir.”

“Routine check? At five on a Friday
afternoon? I doubt it.”

I smiled at him. I’ve been told my smile is
either reassuring or menacing, depending on whether it’s aimed at
an accused or an accuser. Colter didn’t smile back.

“Completely routine, sir. Your name and
address, please.”

Colter sat for a moment, his jaw working
before he spit out the information.

I got a phone number and the name of his
supervisor. By that time, he was getting restless.

“And your job here at Brookside?”

“I’m the client liaison.” He leaned back and
chewed on a hangnail. Not his best look. “In laymen’s terms, I’m
here to keep the old biddies happy.”

“And how do you do that?”

“Pay them compliments. Spend time with them.
Pretend their conversation is interesting. The old bats love it.”
He gave me a satisfied look as if to say
Not everyone can manage
such a tough assignment
.

I examined him—the relaxed posture, the
arrogant glint in his eye—and thought about Josephine’s assessment
that this man was capable of more than petty thievery. I didn’t
disagree, although I suspected he mostly avoided physical
confrontations. Wouldn’t want to take a chance on messing up that
carefully moussed hair. That didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t
be both tough and dangerous.

“You still haven’t told me what this is
about, Officer. Unless I know that, I’m afraid I can’t be much
help.”

“Detective.” I only correct people about my
title if I don’t like them. “We had an anonymous report that
several Brookside residents have been missing valuable items. Small
things that can be slipped into a pocket.”

As I spoke, he relaxed.

Good
. I wanted him relaxed.

“If anyone is missing anything, they’re
supposed to inform me as the client liaison.”

“I see. So that’s one of your
responsibilities? Along with paying compliments?”

“We need to make sure none of our residents
is taken advantage of.” The words were delivered in a singsong,
like he was parroting an orientation packet.

“Can you check and see if you have any
recent reports in your file? Our source did say there was an
attempt to make management aware of the, um . . . thefts.
But since there’s been no investigation, they came to our
department.”

I’d rattled him with that. He shifted, then
leaned forward with what he no doubt thought was an earnest
look.

“We get these kinds of complaints
occasionally, Off—uh, Detective. And we always investigate them
thoroughly. But we’ve had no complaints for at least six
months.”

“When you’ve investigated in the past, have
you found the culprits?”

He chuckled. “The
culprit
is usually
a memory lapse. Many of our residents have memory difficulties.
Often the item they’re reporting as lost is something they gave
away years ago to one of their kids. That’s why we do a thorough
inventory when someone moves in.”

“That sounds like a difficult
proposition.”

“We do whatever it takes to assure our
residents, and their families, peace of mind.” There was that
orientation blather again.

“Does anyone on the staff ever handle money
for a resident?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The resident gives the staff member money
and asks that staff member to purchase something for them?”

“You think our residents use illegal
drugs?”

That was certainly an interesting
assumption. I sat back, pretending to make a note. Finally, I
looked up.

“Not at all, Mr. Colter. I’m talking about
legal purchases. Like groceries, perhaps. That sort of thing.”

“I do some shopping for residents.”

“I see. What’s odd is that in addition to
reporting these rather substantial thefts, our anonymous source
sent us some receipts. They didn’t make much sense to me.” I
shrugged, giving him my best dumb-cop look. “They were grocery
receipts, you see. Can you think why they would have been sent to
us?”