Rogues Gallery (11 page)

I shook my head slowly, mournfully. “This looks like a one-person job, but which one isn't as obvious as I'd hoped. I hate to admit this, but if we want to resolve this without a lot of accusations and denials and disruption, then I guess it
is
a case for Sebastian McCabe.”

First, though, I went back to Serena Mason and asked her permission to see if my brother-in-law could figure out who stole her necklace without causing a disturbance in the process.

She thought it over while I watched her run a hand through her short hair. Have I mentioned that she's a beautiful woman? “Well, I would like to get it back,” she said, “as long as you're discreet.”

“That's my middle name.”

Lynda rolled her eyes.

Santa was tucking into his breakfast of egg casserole with goetta, a southern Ohio sausage treat made of steel-cut oats, ground pork, spices, and about a thousand calories per forkful. Nicholas, sitting next to him, was keeping up, making me wonder how well and how often the boy normally ate.

“We have a problem,” I announced. “Somebody stole Serena Mason's pearl necklace here at the house, just a few minutes ago.”

Mac put down his fork. For him that was a major expression of interest. “Who?”

For a genius, he could be pretty thick sometimes. “If we knew who, it wouldn't be that much of a problem, would it?”

“It could be, but never mind. So, we have a Christmas mystery on our hands.” His brown Santa Claus eyes twinkled like a Christmas tree. “Did you ever stop to think, Jefferson, that every great mystery writer eventually writes a Christmas mystery? I can think of excellent stories by Christie, Stout, Queen, Sayers, and of course Conan Doyle off the top of my head. Mary Higgins Clark and her daughter Carol write one together every year.”

I wanted to hit him. This was no time to show off his vast knowledge of crime fiction, what with the kids at a dozen tables around us throwing food at each other and antsy to sit on Santa's lap and demand outrageously expensive electronic toys.

“Gee, that's swell, Professor, but Mrs. Mason refuses to call the police, so I was hoping you could find the light-fingered culprit and get her pearls back without a lot of fuss that spoils the festive occasion.”

Mac stroked his beard, which was the real thing dyed white for the occasion, although the long hair on his head was a wig. “Oscar won't like that.”

That was not news to me. Erin's police chief, Oscar Hummel, takes a proprietary interest in all crimes under his jurisdiction. He especially sees stars when Mac interferes, except on those increasingly frequent occasions when he breaks down and asks Mac for help.

“Describe the circumstances leading up to the discovery of the theft,” Mac said, ignoring Oscar's likely reaction, as I knew that he would. I did my best to give a detailed account of the events leading up to his ostentatious arrival at the front of Serenity House. At the end I tacked on what I had learned about the rap sheets of the Three Wise Guys.

“So which of the three is it, Santa?” I asked.

I figured there was a 50-50 chance he could tell me.

“Your focus on Polly's community service charges is quite understandable, old boy. However, I would like to know who else was present when Serena displayed the necklace.”

“As far as I can remember, Polly, Lynda, Nicholas, and I were the only other people close to Serena. Some of the crafters and their customers a few feet away might have also seen it, but Serena wasn't making a major production number out of it.”

“You didn't steal the necklace, did you, Jefferson?”

When I responded with stony silence, he turned to Nicholas. “Did you do it, Nicholas?”

The lad's eyes got big as quarters. “Gosh, no!”

Mac turned back to me. “Then you shall have to search your three major suspects.”

You've got to be kidding me.
“That's it? That's your brilliant idea? I could have thought of that! I was hoping to avoid even raising the issue with Triple M until we had the goods on the thief. You know she never saw a lost sheep she didn't think she could save.”

He nodded. “Indeed I do. I find her perpetual optimism most edifying. Nevertheless, a search is necessary. You can blame me, and tell Polly that I said it was for the suspects' own good.”

I got a little hot. “Why don't you tell her yourself?”

He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Obviously, I am otherwise engaged. On this occasion I shall have to function as a literal armchair detective while you function as my eyes and ears.”

The armchair in question was just waiting for him to sit in while he took Christmas orders.

“Okay,” I mumbled, “but I'm going to hate this.”

“What!” Triple M cried. “Do you understand how humiliating and discouraging it is for ex-offenders to be the first ones suspected of a crime? It's just not fair.”

“Mac said it's for their own good. I guess what he meant is, it's the only way they can clear themselves.”

“It does make sense, Polly,” Lynda chipped in, “fair or not.”

Serena Mason turned out to be an easier sell than I had expected. “It would be a relief to find out that the thief was one of those three and not, for example, one of the clients at Serenity House.” Seeing the look on Triple M's face, she hastily added, “If that turns out to be the case, I mean. Sorry, Polly.”

After a little more discussion, we agreed that Triple M and I would approach each one separately except for Minnie Cooper. Lynda would help search Minnie.

We started with sunken-eyed Elvis Jones because he was closest. The hangdog look on his face once we explained the situation was more sad than defiant.

“I never stole anything in my life,” he said. “I may be a drunk, but I'm not a thief.”

“You are not a drunk,” Triple M said with quiet firmness. “You just have alcohol issues.”

“You didn't want the necklace as a peace offering for your wife?” I pressed.

“I'm so deep in the doghouse now I don't think it would help if I brought her a diamond tiara,” he said gloomily.

We went into a bathroom for the search.

“I've never been searched before,” Jones said.

Obviously you don't fly.

“It's no fun,” I assured him. “And won't be any fun for me, either. Look, if you took the necklace we can handle this with a minimum of embarrassment all around. Just give it to me now and later on I'll pretend to find it somewhere. There'll be no trouble for you. I promise.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I can't do that, Mr. Cody, 'cause I didn't take it and I don't have it.”

When he got down to his undershorts, which had red heart designs all over them, it was pretty obvious that Elvis Jones wasn't concealing anything. I didn't do a body cavity search.

“My wife will kill me if she finds out about this,” Jones said as he put his pants back on.

“She won't find out about it from me,” I promised. “You really ought to think about joining AA, Elvis. I'm sure it would help you stay out of trouble.”

“It's looking better and better.”

When I came out I learned that there had been a bit of excitement while I'd been embarrassing both Jones and myself. Lynda and Triple M couldn't find Minnie Cooper at first. They assumed she'd done a bunk. It turned out that she was just outside grabbing a smoke.

Minnie gave a good impression of outrage. “You're harassing me just because I made one little mistake. Thanks a lot, Sister.”

Triple M glared at her. I could almost hear her famously soft heart harden.

“Okay, it was more than just one mistake,” Minnie allowed. “But how am I supposed to go straight, Sister, if society expects me to be a bad girl?”

Lynda gave her a “gimme a break” look. “You're trying to jive your best advocate, honey. That's bad salesmanship. We could have had the search over by now if you didn't yap so much. I don't know what the big deal is unless you have something to hide.”

“I don't.” Minnie looked like she needed a cigarette, or maybe two at once. “Oh, all right. Enjoy yourself.”

They took her into the ladies' room. You might not think that a nun - sorry, woman religious - would know much about body searches, but Triple M used to work in Army intelligence. On top of that, volunteering at the jail was probably like a post-graduate course in the subject.

“She's clean,” Triple M said as they emerged from the restroom.

“Well, not exactly clean,” Lynda added, “but she didn't have the necklace.”

Minnie stalked off with her nose in the air.

“Why did she put up such a fuss if she didn't have the necklace?” I asked.

“Maybe because her underwear is ... unsubtle,” Lynda said. “Think Frederick's of Hollywood without the class.”

I'm thinking, I'm thinking!
I hadn't finished shopping for Lynda yet. Maybe she'd like ... No, probably not. But I would! I dragged my thoughts back to the subject at hand.

“Elvis Jones had hearts on his undershorts,” I reported. “Nobody said this would be pleasant.”

The youngest of the Three Wise Guys, Billy Major, was the last up. That had me worried and excited in equal measure. This could be it. But if it wasn't it, what then?

Not surprisingly, Billy initially declined the honor.

“You can't force me. I know my rights, man.”

I held up my hands.
Hey, I'm cool with that.
“Absolutely, Mr. Major.” I was showing respect. “You certainly don't have to cooperate. It's just that I think this would be better than calling Chief Hummel, don't you?”

“I ain't afraid of him.”

Nobody is, kid. He's a teddy bear.
“Of course not. But you've got this community service gig and the judge who sentenced you - ”

“Oh, man!” He said a few other words. “Let's just get it over with.”

Wow! That was easier than I expected. Was it my technique?

Close up, I could see that Billy Major had valiantly but unsuccessfully attempted to evoke a manly mustache. This kid wanted badly to be a grownup, but he was sure going about it the wrong way.

Inside the restroom, I had him take off his Cincinnati Bengals jersey and his jeans. Except for his wallet, his pockets contained nothing but a Christmas tree ornament for which he had a receipt. “How tall are you, Billy?” I was just making conversation as I held up the pants to make sure nothing was taped inside.

“Five-twelve.” I sensed a certain sensitivity on this subject.

“And you don't play basketball, huh?”

“Hate it.”

In five minutes of searching, I found nothing.

Billy looked frustrated and angry at the end, a skinny kid stripped of his dignity and in his underwear. I didn't blame him.

“I'm sorry to have put you through this,” I said. “But at least we know you didn't take the pearls.”

He grabbed his jeans. “I already knew that.”

Lynda, Triple M, and Serena Mason were waiting outside the restroom. I shook my head, not saying a word.

“I hope Mac has another idea,” Lynda said.

He always does, and sometimes it's a good one.

“Breakfast with Santa” was over, and the big man was enthroned on a chair listening to the three-year-old girl on his lap tell him she wanted an elephant for Christmas. On one side of him was a giant Christmas tree loaded down with ornaments, lights, popcorn, and garlands. Nicholas the Elf stood on the other side, his green elf hat cocked at a rakish angle.

I approached Mac from the tree side. “We did the searches,” I said in a low voice while the girl climbed off his lap. “None of the suspects had the necklace.”

“Aren't you going to search me?” Nicholas asked. He didn't look me in the eye exactly, but more like past me.

I chuckled. “I don't think that will be necessary, buddy.”

“The result is exactly as I expected,” Mac said.

“Oh, come on!”

After a boy of about seven or eight put in his order for some death-dealing weapon, Mac turned his attention back to me. “I know who stole Serena Mason's pearl necklace and where it is now. Come see me after Nicholas and I have finished our duties here.”

Nicholas's jaw fell open. Knowing my brother-in-law as I do, I was less impressed.

“You're bluffing,” I said. But I didn't believe it. I was just goading his ego to see what I could get him to spill.

“I assure you that I am not. You know, Jefferson, of all the many Christmas mysteries I have read, my favorite remains ‘The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle.' Please bring Serena with you when you return.”

Sebastian McCabe's laundry list of faults does not include talking in non sequiturs. So he wasn't just informing me about his preferences in crime literature by mentioning the Sherlock Holmes story; he was tossing me a clue. But what was it?

My own mystery reading tends to hard-boiled private eyes like Mike Hammer and Spenser, but I also turn to my
Complete Sherlock Holmes
occasionally in self-defense. Mac has long been deeply involved in the world of Holmesmania, and now my bride had dipped a toe into it as well. At the latter's urging, I'd recently re-read the blue carbuncle story. That's the one where the gemstone of the title is hidden by the crook inside a Christmas goose.

Hidden...

So that was it! The body searches had come up dry because the thief had hidden the necklace somewhere, and Mac thought he knew where. I spent about ten minutes trying to figure out who and where before I gave up and decided to do some Christmas shopping. First I picked up a brightly painted wooden box for Popcorn. Then, looking around carefully to make sure that Lynda didn't see me, I bought her a painting of Main Street in Erin. Neither of us had been born in the town, but it was our home now and always would be. The painting would fill that spot over our couch that Lynda always complained looked too bare.