Sammy Keyes and the Cold Hard Cash (13 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

When I finally made it to the Heavenly Hotel, I plomped my backpack on the counter and got right to the point. “Hey, André. I have something that may interest you. The only catch is, you can’t ask me any questions.” I looked right at him. “Deal?”

He pushed his cigar stub forward with his lips, then reeled it back in and clamped it between his front teeth. “Deal,” he said, looking a lot like a laughing camel.

I pulled the picture of the Jackal from my backpack and slid it across the counter. “Look familiar?”

“That’s him!” he said, and for the first time in the whole time I’ve known André, the cigar fell out of his mouth. He snatched it up and jabbed a finger at the picture. “That is definitely him!” He looked at me. “Where’d you get this? How’d you know? Who is he?”

I pinched my lips, raised my eyebrows, and waited.

“Oh yeah,” he said, looking totally dejected. “But how can you expect me not to ask questions?”

I gave him a little smile. “That’s also a question.”

He rolled his eyes, then said, “So now what? Which is also a question, I know, but you gotta be willing to answer that one…!”

I laughed. “Now you call the police department and ask for Officer…make that
Sergeant
Borsch.”

His forehead was suddenly all knotted up. “Wait a sec—isn’t he that jerk cop who gives you trouble everywhere you go?”

I sort of shrugged and nodded. “Yeaaaaah…used to be.”

“Whaddaya mean,
used
to be? I remember that cat. He’s one royal pain in the…uh,
backside.
”

I nodded again. “Let’s just say we understand each other better now. He’s really not as incompetent, vindictive, and obnoxious as he comes across.” I gave a lopsided little smile. “He’s actually all right.”

André shook his head. “Well, this is big news to me.” He chomped down on the cigar again and gave me the camel look. “And I’m not sure I believe it.”

“The
point
is,” I said, tapping the picture, “you were duped by this guy, and you seemed pretty tweaked about it. I don’t know his name, but I’m pretty sure I know where he lives. If you don’t
care
who he is or what he took out of Buck Ritter’s room, that’s fine.” I started to pull the picture back. “I mean, what do
I
care?”

André slapped the picture down. “No, okay. I just don’t really get how you got his picture or why you’re doing this.”

I looked him in the eye. “You don’t treat me like a little kid, André. You’ve always been, you know,
decent
to me. Even nice. I mean, come on. You gave me a job, right?”

“Are you saying this is costing me?”

“No!”

He just stood there, blinking across the counter at me, his cigar completely still.

I just stood on the other side, looking straight at him, not twitching an eyelid.

Finally his cheeks crinkled up a little and he said, “But why that Borsch guy? Why not—”

“Who? Squeaky and the Chick? Look, I’ll give you the picture. All I’m asking is that Sergeant Borsch is the
only
person you talk to about it and that you don’t mention my name or how you got the picture.” I started to pull it back again. “If you don’t care, that’s fine. I’ll stay out of it.”

André scratched his neck and muttered, “I haven’t quit kicking myself since it happened. I do not get duped. Ever.”

I shoved the picture toward him. “So do something about it. I’ve also got information on someone he’s working with—”

“He’s
working
with someone? Who? What are they up to?”

I frowned. “André, those are questions.” Then I grumbled, “I don’t know what they’re up to, okay?” I took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll tell you what I know, but you have to promise to leave me out of it. You talk only to Sergeant Borsch, and you never mention me.” I leveled a look at him. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He frowned at me a minute, then muttered, “Deal.”

For insurance, I stuck my hand out.

He hesitated, then shook it.

“Okay,” I said, lowering my voice—not that anyone else was around, I just automatically lowered my voice. “I’m pretty sure they both live across the street in the Senior Highrise. The manager there knows everybody. His name’s Vince Garnucci. Get Sergeant Borsch to show him this picture and he should be able to tell him who he is.”

André gave a short, quick nod. “Vince Garnucci. Got it.”

I pointed to the picture. “This guy’s
friend
lives in apartment four-two-seven. Tell Sergeant Borsch that he should knock four times, then two times.”

“What’s that? Some kinda secret knock?”

I leveled a look at him. “Just make sure you tell him to do it.”

“But—”

“André! We have a deal.”

“Right,” he said, but from the look in his eye, I could tell he wasn’t sure if he’d made a deal with
me
or some shifty stranger.

After I left the Heavenly, I went up the street to the Pup Parlor. Meg and Vera were already busy sudsing up a Boston terrier when I jangled through the door.

“Sammy!” they both called. Then Meg said, “Holly’ll be glad to see you.” She shut off the spray nozzle and lowered her voice. “I think she’s nervous about that pool party today. I’m afraid she’ll decide not to go.”

I headed for the stairs. “Don’t worry—she’s going!”

So I jetted up to the apartment, calling, “Hey, Hollister!” as I looked around for her.

She stuck her nose out of her bedroom. “Hollister? What’s that about?”

I chuckled. “I don’t know—it just came out.” I headed over to her room. “I thought we should come up with a game plan for today.”

“Uh…”

“You’re going,” I said, ’cause I could see she was wavering with doubt.

“But I don’t really know any—”

“You’re going!” I edged past her and into her bedroom. “Let’s see your suit.”

Holly’s room is like a little cottage getaway. There are quilts hanging on the wall, little stuffed bunnies and bears arranged like cheerful friends on her cute white dresser, a dish of potpourri next to a little white alarm clock on her nightstand…. Her room always looks perfect. No socks kicking around, no magazines tossed on the floor, no pinned-up posters…. Maybe it’s because Holly used to be homeless and now really
values
her room. Or maybe she’s just tidy. I mean, I don’t have my own room, but I know if I did, it would be a complete disaster. That’s how it was back when I lived with good ol’ Lady Lana, and if I ever get let loose in another room of my own, I’m sure that’s how it’ll be again.

So maybe Holly’s tidy and I’m a slob.

Or
maybe
I’ve just never had it bad enough.

Whatever. The point is, for a girl who used to get her dinners from trash cans, Holly keeps her room incredibly neat. And when I asked to see her suit, she went to her closet and there it was, on a
hanger.

“Cool!” I said, ’cause it was this sparkly blue with just a hint of green—like the ocean—and it was a one-piece. “I really like that!” The tags were still on it, though, which seemed to me like she was leaving her options open to return it. So before she could stop me, I snapped them off and said, “No backing out—I’ll come get you a little before noon, okay?”

“Are you changing there?”

“Nah. I just wear my suit under my clothes, bring a towel and sunblock, and go for it.”

“We’re riding skateboards, right?”

I nodded.

“So…do you bring a backpack?”

“Uh, yeah.” But all of a sudden I was wondering what exactly I
was
going to do about my backpack.

Or more precisely, about the money.

I sure didn’t want to leave it in my backpack and worry about it while I was playing water hoops!

That would totally ruin the fun.

And I sure didn’t want to leave it somewhere Grams could find it.

That would totally ruin everything!

So…what was I going to do about the money?

“Sammy?” Holly was asking.

“Huh?”

“Man, you just totally spaced.”

“Oh. Uh…sorry.” I headed for the bedroom door. “I’ve got tons to do before the party.” I smiled and said, “I’ll be back—you be ready!”

She laughed and waved. “All right!”

I gave Meg and Vera the thumbs-up on the way out, then hurried home to Grams.

“Good news!” she said from over in the kitchen, where she was unpacking a sack of groceries. “I found that hundred and twenty dollars!”

“Really?” I asked, all surprised-like.

“I don’t remember doing this, but I must have withdrawn it as cash. It’s hard to find a subtraction error when one doesn’t enter the transaction!” She laughed. “I hope I’m not losing my mind!”

“You’re not losing your mind,” I said, feeling great that she was so happy. I checked inside the grocery sack and discovered something that I couldn’t believe. “A Double Dynamo?” I asked, pulling up the yummiest ice cream drumstick known to man. “Are you losing your mind?”

She laughed again. “I always tell you no, so I decided to surprise you.”

“Wow.”

“But you know, I really should stop shopping at Maynard’s. It may be convenient, but T.J. has become a complete boor.”

“What do you mean, has become? He’s been that forever.”

“But how long have I been shopping there? He’s always curt, but today he checked my money!”

“What do you mean, he checked your money?”

“He held it up to the light, he marked it with one of those pens they use to see if it’s real…he was just boorish. After all the shopping I’ve done there, he treats me like a criminal!”

My stomach suddenly bottomed out.

Not real?

I forced a laugh. “So I take it your money passed muster.”

She hrmphed. “Of course it did! Like I would pass off bad bills?”

I watched her shelve a package of shortbread cookies and tried to act all nonchalant as I asked, “Did you pay with that hundred and twenty dollars?”

She gave me a curious look. “I didn’t spend all of it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I did my best to cover up, adding real quick, “’Cause I really do think Maynard’s is a rip-off.”

So there I am, recovering from one scare, when all of a sudden there’s a knock at the door.

Grams looks at me.

I look at her.

And just as she’s signaling me to head for the closet—which is where I always hide when something like this happens—the person knocks again.

Only this time there’s a voice along with it.

A commanding voice.

One I recognize.

One that has me wanting to hide somewhere much safer than the closet.

TWENTY-FIVE

Dorito hears the voice and goes flying past us toward Grams’ bedroom.

Smart cat.

But as I’m shooting off in the same direction, Grams grabs me by the arm and says, “Samantha! You don’t have to hide from him anymore, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” I say with a choppy laugh. “Right.”

But it doesn’t feel right. Nothing about this feels right.

Why is he
here
? He’s supposed to be checking on the Jackal, not
me.

Did something tip him off?

Did he figure it all out?

Why else would he be knocking on
our
door?

“It’s okay,” Grams whispers. “You’re here ‘helping’ me.”

So I stand there like an idiot while she whooshes open the door and says, “Sergeant Borsch, how nice to see you! Come in, come in!”

So in he steps. He’s in uniform, all right, and he’s got a piece of paper in his hands. A piece of paper folded in half, which he’s recreasing over and over between his finger and thumbnail.

My brain runs off in a panic.

Is it a search warrant?

An order to arrest?

Why’s he standing there looking at me so funny?

It’s like
he’s
nervous.

“Glad you’re here,” he says to me with an awkward smile. “I need to ask you something.” He looks to the living room. “Can we all sit down?”

By now my knees are like jelly, but I try to make my voice steady as I say, “Sounds serious.”

He sits in a chair and says, “Well, actually, it is.” He’s still creasing that paper, over and over. And I’m a total basket case, wondering how in the world things fell apart so fast. I’d spent the whole night thinking up the perfect plan, and now
poof,
I’m busted.

He’s looking right at me, and he’s twitching here and there like a little boy who’s being forced to tattle on a good friend. I’m actually almost feeling sorry for
him
having to break the news to me that I’m busted. I mean, we’d come such a long way since the day he’d tried to arrest me for jaywalking. Since the time I’d called him the Borschman.

Finally he takes a deep breath and says, “Sorry to hit you with this out of the blue, but, you know Debra?”

I blink at him, and the first thing that zips through my mind is, Huh? followed immediately by, Debra the
Dodo
?

“Our receptionist at the station?” he asks.

That’s Debra the Dodo, all right. And it’s not that she’s
dumb,
it’s that she has a really big nose that she piles high with makeup, and she wears her hair in a huge
nest
on the top of her head.

So I nod, and I know
I’m
looking like a complete dodo, but I have no idea what Debra has to do with me being busted.

He gives that search warrant or order to arrest or whatever it is one final crease and takes a deep breath. “Well. Debra and I are getting married next month, and we’d like you to be in the wedding.”

I blink at him.

And blink some more.

And finally I blurt out, “You and Debra are getting
married
?”

Grams scolds, “Samantha!”

“I didn’t mean it like that—I’m just…I guess…” I shake my head. “I had no idea.”

He chuckles. “Let’s hope third time’s the charm.”

Grams leans forward a little and says, “Are you saying you’d like Samantha to
come
to the wedding or you’d like her to be
in
the wedding?”

“Well…” He looks at her, then me, then laughs and says, “Debra wanted you to be a bridesmaid, but I convinced her that would be…uh…”

I cringe. “A disaster?”

He laughs and says, “Besides, I can’t see you in a frilly dress and shiny shoes. But Deb and I would like for you to be in charge of the guest book and maybe do a reading?”

“Really?” I ask, still not quite believing what I’m hearing. “You want
me
to be in your wedding?”

“Unbelievable, isn’t it?” he says with a chuckle. “But it was arguments about you that got Debra and me talking to each other, and we’re both…how do I say this…
fond
of you.”

“Wow.”

He looks at me. “So…?”

“So she’d be honored to,” Grams says, giving me a little scolding look. “And congratulations. You certainly deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, then lets out a deep breath and slaps the paper with the back of his hand. “Now back to business.”

And that’s when I make a
huge
mistake. My big mouth shoots off with, “What
is
that?” and when he unfolds it, what do I see?

The picture I’d given André.

How dense did I want to be?

Of course that’s what it was!

But I’d been so paranoid about him busting
me,
and then so shocked about him asking me to be in his
wedding,
that my brain was all muddled up.

“Why, that’s Rex Randolf,” Grams says. “Has he done something wrong?”

Now, I’m giving Grams the fingertip-slice-at-the-neck signal, but when Officer Borsch cocks his head at her and says, “You know this man?” does she zip her lips?

No!

She says, “Yes! He’s visited our neighbor a few times. Actually, he knocked on
my
door last night.”

I stop midslice. “He did?”

Grams nods and tisks and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what he wanted, really. I refused to let him in, and later Rose accused me of trying to steal her man, if you can believe that!”

“Rex Randolf, huh?” Officer Borsch says. “Your manager says he’s never seen this man before.” He slaps the picture with the back of his hand. “And this is not someone you’d overlook. Very flashy dresser.”

So since it was too late to keep Officer Borsch from knowing we knew the guy, I toss in, “Maybe it’s a disguise…?”

Grams’ eyebrows shoot up at me, and Officer Borsch nods at the picture like, Hmm…maybe so. Then he says, “We do have another lead that I’ll follow up on—see if it gets us anywhere.”

“But…,” Grams says. “Lead for what? What’s he done? Should we be concerned?” She turns to me. “A
disguise
?”

Officer Borsch sucks air through his teeth, thinking. Finally he says, “It would probably be wise not to have any more interaction with him until we know more about him. I’ll do some investigating and let you know.”

“But…what’s he
suspected
of having done?” Grams asks.

“That’s a good question,” he tells her. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a good answer.”

So off he goes, and the minute he’s gone, Grams turns to me and says, “Why were you trying to hush me up? You obviously don’t trust him!”

“Who?”

“Rex!”

“Well, we used to not trust the Borschman!”

“But we do now!”

“Mostly!”

“How can you say ‘mostly’? He asked you to be in his wedding!”

“His
third
wedding.”

“Samantha!”

I was heading for the bathroom.

I couldn’t even remember who knew what anymore. My big mushy stew brain was totally bubbling over. I needed a minute to put on the lid. To turn down the heat.

To
think.

“Why are you going in there? Are you avoiding me?”

“What? No! I need to go!”

So I ditched her and went inside the bathroom and locked the door. But as I paced around trying to sort things out, I just got more and more confused. Grams didn’t even know that Rex Randolf had come to Mrs. Wedgewood’s apartment supposedly to thank her for her valiant efforts in saving Buck Ritter. Grams basically knew
nothing,
except that I’d scared a man to death.

But she had dozens of questions lining up—that was obvious. And if I tried to weasel out of answering them, she’d know I was lying. And then the question would be
why
I was lying.

How was I ever going to get out of this?

So there I am, pacing back and forth in the bathroom,
panicking,
while Grams is outside, saying, “Samantha, why are you hiding in the bathroom? What is going on with you?” My brain is spurting and spattering and totally boiling over, and really, I just can’t take it anymore—I’m ready to bust out of the bathroom and spill everything to her.

But then, just as I’m reaching for the doorknob, I have a brainstorm.

A wonderful, stew-busting,
brilliant
brainstorm.