The False-Hearted Teddy (11 page)

“None, and I can’t figure Todd as the killer either.

Yeah, he’d poison Tony, but not Jennifer.”

“Then my money is on Donna. She knew Jennifer and obviously hated her.” Ash inhaled sharply. “You don’t think that confrontation this morning at breakfast . . . ?”

“Was deliberately intended to provoke an asthma attack that would cause Jennifer to use the inhaler? It’s an interesting idea, but why make it so complicated? It’s too much like a bad episode of
Murder, She Wrote
. Real killings aren’t like that.”

“Hey! I liked Jessica Fletcher.”

“I know, and if you ever wonder how much I love you, think back on all those Sunday nights when I sat watching with you, resisting the urge to tell you all the different ways it went wrong.”

Ash’s eyes bulged out. “Honey, who the heck do you think you’re kidding? Half the time I couldn’t hear the dialogue over your running commentary on the show’s faults.”

“I may have made an occasional critical observation,”

I said sheepishly.

“And conducted the occasional crime reconstruction using the kids and sometimes the dog to illustrate how something couldn’t happen the way Jessica said it did.”

“I don’t remember that.” My cheeks began to grow warm.

With a gleeful grin, Ash whipped the wireless phone from the satchel. “How about I call Heather and Chris right now to see if
they
remember?”

“All right, I’ll admit it: I was a colossal pain in the butt. I’m sorry. Can we get back to discussing the actual murder?”

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85

“If the present topic is embarrassing, of course, darling.”

“The bottom line is that there’s no point in speculating until we do two things: We’ve got to learn as much as we can about everyone involved, including Jennifer, and then figure out how the suspect entered their room twice without being noticed.”

“Todd was Jennifer and Tony’s partner. He might’ve needed access to the room, so couldn’t he have been issued a key?”

“Considering how jealous Tony is, that’s about as likely as The Beatles getting back together. Still, I’ll have to check that out. Speaking of The Beatles, do you know what John Lennon would say right now if he were alive?”

“No, what?”

“Let me out of this coffin!” I half-shouted while frantically shoving my hands upward against an invisible and closed casket lid.

A trio of women, each carrying teddy bears, paused in front of our table to peer at me in consternation. Then, muttering amongst themselves, they continued down the aisle. Ash gave me an I-can’t-believe-you-said-that-in-front-of-normal-people look and I made a quick mental note to myself to reserve my dead Beatle jokes for venues other than teddy bear shows.

At last she said, “So, tell me, since we don’t have any access to the police computer system, how are you going to do the background checks?”

“I’ll start by going up to our room and using the laptop to Google everyone involved. It’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll find something useful. After that, I’ll do some discreet witness canvassing back down here in the hall and hope the cops don’t notice.”

Ash squeezed my hand and stood up. “Well, I’ll leave you to brainstorm, because I’m going to find the woman that Mulvaney chased off. She liked Brenda Brownie, and 86

John J. Lamb

more importantly, we don’t need her wandering the exhibition hall telling everyone that we were arrested. Then, when I get back, you can start investigating.”

Once Ash was gone, I reached into the satchel, pulled out a steno pad and began making some notes. It was a little difficult to concentrate because the exhibit hall was growing crowded and very noisy. I looked up periodically from my notebook to check out the passing crowds, and saw Sergeant Delcambre approaching our table. I snapped the steno pad shut and slid it into the satchel. The very last thing I wanted to advertise was the fact I was conducting my own investigation.

Delcambre heaved a sigh that was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “Hey, before we go back to headquarters, I want to apologize to you for my boss’s behavior.”

“It wasn’t your fault, but thanks. It must be difficult working with someone who’s perpetually going off half-cocked.”

“It’s . . . challenging.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. If you don’t mind me asking, just what is her major malfunction?”

“You ever see the old movie,
Sunset Boulevard
?” Delcambre jutted his chin out and did a fairly credible job of mimicking Gloria Swanson’s imperious tone, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”

“So, she’s Norma Desmond, huh?”

“And sometimes I envy Bill Holden at the bottom of the swimming pool.” He glanced down the aisle and lowered his voice. “From the outset, she was always a marginal detective, but not long after she was promoted to investigations she worked a couple of slam-dunk, smoking-gun homicides. For instance, one of them was the murder of a pawn shop clerk where the crook left his freaking ID

on the counter.”

“Call Sherlock Holmes and the Baker Street Irregulars.”

“Exactly. But the media made a huge deal out of it The False-Hearted Teddy

87

because she was one of the first female homicide investigators on the department. They created a monster.”

“You have my sympathies. So, what’s up with Tony?”

“Mulvaney arrested him. He’s being transported to police headquarters for questioning.”

“You think he did it?”

“The murder weapon was in his room, so there’s probable cause to make the arrest.”

Noticing the oblique answer, I said, “Yeah, I don’t think he did it either.”

“Let’s just say, I have questions.”

“Such as why he took the inhaler back up to his room and then gave you consent to search.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Mulvaney was so focused on browbeating us that she missed the chance to pick up some pretty important information. You interested?”

Delcambre pulled his notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “Of course.”

“I saw Jennifer use that inhaler on Friday morning, shortly after I stopped Tony from going
Raging Bull
on her. She had it in her purse.”

“When did that happen?”

“Call it ten-twenty.”

“So, if it’s the same inhaler, we’re talking a twenty-two-hour window for the suspect to burg the room and alter the inhaler.”

“That’s how I see it.”

“Anything else?”

“Did anyone tell you about the disturbance at breakfast this morning?”

“What? You think the woman . . .” Delcambre began to flip through the pages of the notepad.

“Donna Jordan.”

“Yeah, Jordan. You think she has something to do with it?”

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John J. Lamb

“I’m not accusing her, but there’s definitely bad blood between them.”

“Over what?”

“Donna accused Jennifer of stealing her teddy bear designs.”

“And she’d kill her over
that
?”

“They were apparently the same designs the Swifts just sold to Wintle Toys for three hundred and fifty grand—not that you need a six-figure cash amount as a motive for murder. I worked a homicide once over the theft of an Our Lady of Guadalupe medal that was worth two dollars and eighty cents retail. People often kill for stupid reasons.”

“Good point.”

“And add this to the mix: there’s also the possibility that Todd Litten, the guy who wrote the books for her teddy bears, was suffering from a serious case of unrequited puppy love for Jennifer.”

“We heard about what Tony said.”

“It’s worth following up on. In fact, it’d be premature to eliminate him as a suspect.”

“I know, but if he was in love with Jennifer, what would his motive be?”

“How about something as simple as ‘if I can’t have her noboby else can either’? I’ve worked a few of those.”

“Me, too. But the problem is that Mulvaney is absolutely convinced Tony did it and she’s using Litten as our main witness.”

“How so?”

“He can testify to Tony’s ongoing physical abuse of Jennifer and how frightened she said she was of him.” He glanced toward the exhibition hall door. “And I’ve got to take off, because she’s waiting outside in the car. But . . .”

“If I come up with anything, I’ll call you. Got a card?”

“Thanks, man.” Delcambre dug a business card from his badge case and handed it to me. Then he gave me a The False-Hearted Teddy

89

wry, knowing grin. “Oh, and should I be concerned as to what might lead you to think that you’d come up with evidence pertaining to an official murder investigation?”

“Do you really want the answer to that question?”

“Nah.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Nine

Once Delcambre left, I resumed work on my notes and was jotting down a rough chronology of events when I heard someone clear their throat to announce their presence. I looked up and realized that if Ash returned in the next few moments, there was an excellent possibility that I might witness a second murder this morning. The lady teddy bear judge who’d made the suggestive “big one”

remark was standing in front of our table, fondling one of our bears. It was apparent she wanted to chat and I knew it was no coincidence that she’d arrived while my wife was gone.

Furthermore, the judge had dressed up for her visit.

She was wearing a tight raspberry-colored pullover shirt with a low neckline that showed off more than a little dé-

colletage, snuggly-fitting slacks, and a lip-glossed smile I think was intended to be coy. There was a pale circular indentation at the base of the ring finger on her left hand, which told me she’d probably removed her wedding band only a few moments earlier. Another thing I noticed was The False-Hearted Teddy

91

that she was eyeballing me in the same longing manner that Kitchener has when staring at a pizza crust and, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. My hair is the same color as the brushed aluminum on a DeLorean, I’m lame, and I thank a merciful God for the invention of

“relaxed fit” jeans. So, what was the attraction?

“Hi, remember me?” she asked.

“Of course, you were here yesterday with the judging team looking at our teddy bears. Thank you for the nomination.”

“You’re welcome. I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself yesterday. I’m Lisa Parr and I have to tell you that you were amazing this morning at breakfast.”

“It was just standard CPR and I couldn’t have done it without my wife. She’ll—”

“But you were the one in charge.”

“—be back in a minute so you can also thank her.”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I adore a man who takes command.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Lisa gave me a quick puzzled look. After a moment, she said, “Did you hear the news?”

“No. What?”

She leaned over to speak confidentially and provide me with a panoramic view of her cleavage. “Someone told me they heard a policewoman say Jennifer is dead.”

I pretended to look shocked. “Really? That’s too bad.”

“And that isn’t all. She also said that some detectives just took Tony Swift out to a police car and he was wearing handcuffs. What do you suppose that means?”

“I really wouldn’t know.”

“Do you think he might have killed her?”

“That’s kind of hard to believe. From everything I could see, they were the perfect couple.” I lied with the easy grace of a congressman, hoping Lisa might reveal some useful gossip about the Swifts.

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John J. Lamb

“You don’t know them, do you?”

“No, my wife and I are still pretty new to the teddy bear show circuit, especially on the East Coast.”

“He’s a pig and for all her snooty attitude, Jennifer always made me feel as if I should check my purse to make sure my wallet was still there when I finished talking to her.”

“So, could there have been some truth to the accusa-tions Donna made this morning?”

She looked thoughtful. “There might be. A far as faces are concerned, their bear designs are pretty similar. But how do you prove who had an idea first and if someone stole it from you? It happens. I’ve had designs ripped off, but you’ve just got to trust that you’re a better artisan than the thief and move on.”

“You grin and bear it.”

Lisa laughed a little too heartily at the feeble pun, straightened up, and turned to perch herself on the edge of the table so that I could survey her derriere, which was less than two feet away. She smiled when she saw that I was studiously keeping my eyes on her face. “Let’s talk about something else. I heard you’re a retired homicide detective from the San Francisco police.”

“That’s true.”

“That’s
so
exciting. I’ll bet it was dangerous.”

I thought:
If my wife shows up in the next couple of
seconds, not half as dangerous as what you’re doing right
now, because you’re dicing with death.
Instead I said,

“Mostly it was a lot of paperwork.”

“I think you’re being modest. You know, I write articles for the teddy bear magazines and I’d like to do one about you.”

“I can’t think why.”

“Because there aren’t many male teddy bear artisans with your background. I wonder if we could get together The False-Hearted Teddy

93

sometime before Sunday night so that I could interview you.”

“With my wife, of course.”

She gave me a little pout. “Actually, I was hoping we could meet privately, so that I could get a more . . . intimate and
in-depth
profile of you.”

My cheeks flushed and I realized that she’d just crossed over the line from relatively innocent flirty banter into what sounded suspiciously to my finely honed investigative ear like an invitation to dance the horizontal naked mamba with her. I also knew I had to acknowledge and politely decline the invitation, because if I chose to ignore it, Lisa would view my passive response as a tacit signal to proceed with plans for the in-depth meeting.

I said: “You know, you’re a very attractive woman and I’m flattered and frankly perplexed by your interest. But I have to tell you that I’m very much in love my wife and it wouldn’t be right for me to be alone with you under any circumstances.”